Yup. That's fairly accurate to what I'm feeling now.
D-day. Er, DR day. I love his Dr. Not just because he's the bearer of, I don't really want to say good, but maybe understandable?, news. Hmm.
Anyway.
Mr X has Hepatitis B. Something very common in Vietnam, where he was born. Vaccines we take for granted here, not readily available there. Hepatitis is rampant. It's possibly why I cringe when I hear a parent proclaim themselves against vaccines. This smug part of me thinks moron because they don't realize how easy it would be for it to all go wrong. But that's a whole 'nother topic and not why I'm blogging on a weekend. Something I rarely do.
He got it as a child in Vietnam. We don't really know how as no one in his family has it. His Dr, a gastroenterologist, is a specialist in Hepatitis and believes that in some cases, it can be transmitted through saliva, not just blood. A common game in the orphanages then (can't say about now) was a spitting game. Gross, but not the point. Before his family moved here, they stayed in an orphanage for awhile.
When you get Hepatitis as an adult it's different. You either beat it, as I did it, or you die. No symptoms. No clue what's lurking there.
When you get it as a child, it's with you for life. However long that may be.
Then, you have two types. ENG positive or ENG negative (and forgive me if it's just a bit off, I'm still learning myself). A lot of what they know about Hepatitis B is theory. It's a theory that those who are ENG positive are worse off.
Mr X was ENG positive. His liver biopsy would have been acceptable for someone who was 75, but he is 36. So, not good.
But in the 9 weeks that we had to wait, the medicine, Hepsera, began to work.
He converted to ENG negative. A test of his blood showed that he went from a high viral load of Hepatitis DNA to no detectable trace. It's as close to a remission as possible with this disease. Except that he's always going to have it.
He has to stay on the medicine for at least a few years or it will just come back. His liver is scarred but without a detectable trace of the virus, it will begin to heal itself. How cool is that? An organ that can fix itself. Sort of.
No special diet. Also? No alcohol. He can't risk even the slightest bit of damage to his liver, but we already knew that. It's strange but, it's life as always for us.
It is still there, but it's not this dark cloud waiting to strike us down.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Random Bits: Technical Difficulties Edition
Because fuck! Yes. It's been that kind of a day. The kind where you have to walk around muttering fuck every few steps just so you don't bite the person standing beside you. And yes, that means I have reasserted myself as the neighborhood asshole. Fuck it.
*Last night, just as I was pondering how my toe finally felt better, it happened again. And it is Mr X's fucking fault. Again. Because for the 2nd time in like a month? I smashed my foot into something that he left lying around instead of putting away. Last time it was his suitcase. This time the treadmill which? Fucking hurt a whole hell of a lot worse. Although? Maybe that's because I already hurt my toe? Someone please do me a favor. Smash your foot into the hardest part of your suitcase. If you can, catch part of your toe on the wheel. Ok, now smash your other foot into the metal leg of a nordic track. Which one hurts more?
Everyone had gone to bed. I went to get on the computer. The light always takes a moment to come on. This time it came on in time for me to see just what the hell had taken a bite out of my foot.
He's supposed to fold that thing up when he's done. He always does.
So, there I was lying on the floor with my foot in the air yelling 'BITCHASSMOTHERFUCKER!', when I realized that my daughter could hear me. Great. At least she knows not to repeat it.
Then I thought? Fuck it, and continued the glorious chorus of fuckityfucks and bitches.
I also, briefly, contemplated going upstairs and shaving every hair off of his body as he slept.
Instead I ranted about it to some friends who are probably sick of hearing about my fucking toes.
*We don't get HBO. Yes, we are too cheap for anything but basic cable. So, I've been renting the shows that all my friends rave about. Right now, I'm hooked on six feet under. Shut up, I know I'm so behind but whatever.
Anyway, I went to the video store this morning on my way to get Hurricane's pictures done. Grab what I think I need and go to checkout. We paid for this program where you can rent 3 DVD's at a time for free. The new releases after a brief amount of time and all the old stuff anytime. It's supposed to automatically renew every month but because we had to get new bank cards (whole 'nother story), it didn't. I hand the kid my card to renew it and..........
I crashed their fucking computer.
He reboots, but it's all messed up and he can't print or check it out.
He was getting really frustrated and looked like he was about to cry. I told him I'd come back later because I had an appointment, but he handed me the DVD's and said he'd handle it.
I think I broke him.
I had to go back later as I realized that I was missing the season finale, only to find that, while they have every other episode? They don't have this one.
Seriously?
What the fuck?
And, to make it all complete? She tried to renew our thing again and?
Yup. Computer crashed.
I'm a jinx.
*Pictures. Ha!
We've gotten some really great pictures of Hurricane. Those biker pics? So cute. But it took great timing and a lot of patience.
And with a foot that was throbbing (fuck) and a slight feeling of guilt for making that kid cry, I was a little short on patience.
Have you ever handed a kid a cupcake and told them they couldn't eat it?
That's what asking Hurricane to hold still is like. He looks at you like you are absolutely out of your mind.
He tried to jump off the little platform about 7 times before I finally told him to go ahead but "If you crack your head open don't come crying to me!!" He looked at me and laughed. I think he's catching on to how utterly ridiculous I am.
She got a great shot of his butt in the air. It was originally going to be a smile over his shoulder. At the last second he bent over to do his yoga.
There's the shot of him stuffing his hand down his pants to play with his third leg.
I briefly considered asking her to keep that one just to freak out my MIL.
There's the one where he is intently studying the prized boogie he pulled out of nose as though he had just discovered where they buried Hoffa.
It took some time, but we did get some really cute pictures without his butt, his boogers or his hand down his pants.
*I came home to blog and of course Blogger was down. I am again considering moving to typepad. However? I think I'm just too damn lazy.
*My ribs hurt from trying to rake out those deep roots. My ribs? I mean really? My arms I get but ribs?
*Another round of "how did these people end up here?"
So, apparently I can be found when searching for NAKED BITCHES, dive boxes (which I finally looked up because I didn't know what it was but I was kind of scared to know. I mean, I thought maybe scuba gear, but considering I don't know anything about diving and looking at how some of these other people found me? I was worried it would be some really kinky sex act that I wouldn't be able to get out of my head), men in panties (?????), "She had enough vodka to make her feel sexy" (really? What the fuck? Because I'm thinking, is there enough vodka in the world to make me ok? And I don't drink! Although, I'm thinking maybe it's time to start again), "Why Mrs X died" (Kind of freaking me out because last time I checked? I was still breathing. Wait.... no, still breathing), sex diary (ha!) and a nasty case of laryngitis (Hell? Call the freaking Doctor!).
And I'm tired.
Tomorrow? I'll tell you about our 'fun' well-child visit where I considered what it would take to make a diaper childproof. And by tomorrow? I mean someday.
*Last night, just as I was pondering how my toe finally felt better, it happened again. And it is Mr X's fucking fault. Again. Because for the 2nd time in like a month? I smashed my foot into something that he left lying around instead of putting away. Last time it was his suitcase. This time the treadmill which? Fucking hurt a whole hell of a lot worse. Although? Maybe that's because I already hurt my toe? Someone please do me a favor. Smash your foot into the hardest part of your suitcase. If you can, catch part of your toe on the wheel. Ok, now smash your other foot into the metal leg of a nordic track. Which one hurts more?
Everyone had gone to bed. I went to get on the computer. The light always takes a moment to come on. This time it came on in time for me to see just what the hell had taken a bite out of my foot.
He's supposed to fold that thing up when he's done. He always does.
So, there I was lying on the floor with my foot in the air yelling 'BITCHASSMOTHERFUCKER!', when I realized that my daughter could hear me. Great. At least she knows not to repeat it.
Then I thought? Fuck it, and continued the glorious chorus of fuckityfucks and bitches.
I also, briefly, contemplated going upstairs and shaving every hair off of his body as he slept.
Instead I ranted about it to some friends who are probably sick of hearing about my fucking toes.
*We don't get HBO. Yes, we are too cheap for anything but basic cable. So, I've been renting the shows that all my friends rave about. Right now, I'm hooked on six feet under. Shut up, I know I'm so behind but whatever.
Anyway, I went to the video store this morning on my way to get Hurricane's pictures done. Grab what I think I need and go to checkout. We paid for this program where you can rent 3 DVD's at a time for free. The new releases after a brief amount of time and all the old stuff anytime. It's supposed to automatically renew every month but because we had to get new bank cards (whole 'nother story), it didn't. I hand the kid my card to renew it and..........
I crashed their fucking computer.
He reboots, but it's all messed up and he can't print or check it out.
He was getting really frustrated and looked like he was about to cry. I told him I'd come back later because I had an appointment, but he handed me the DVD's and said he'd handle it.
I think I broke him.
I had to go back later as I realized that I was missing the season finale, only to find that, while they have every other episode? They don't have this one.
Seriously?
What the fuck?
And, to make it all complete? She tried to renew our thing again and?
Yup. Computer crashed.
I'm a jinx.
*Pictures. Ha!
We've gotten some really great pictures of Hurricane. Those biker pics? So cute. But it took great timing and a lot of patience.
And with a foot that was throbbing (fuck) and a slight feeling of guilt for making that kid cry, I was a little short on patience.
Have you ever handed a kid a cupcake and told them they couldn't eat it?
That's what asking Hurricane to hold still is like. He looks at you like you are absolutely out of your mind.
He tried to jump off the little platform about 7 times before I finally told him to go ahead but "If you crack your head open don't come crying to me!!" He looked at me and laughed. I think he's catching on to how utterly ridiculous I am.
She got a great shot of his butt in the air. It was originally going to be a smile over his shoulder. At the last second he bent over to do his yoga.
There's the shot of him stuffing his hand down his pants to play with his third leg.
I briefly considered asking her to keep that one just to freak out my MIL.
There's the one where he is intently studying the prized boogie he pulled out of nose as though he had just discovered where they buried Hoffa.
It took some time, but we did get some really cute pictures without his butt, his boogers or his hand down his pants.
*I came home to blog and of course Blogger was down. I am again considering moving to typepad. However? I think I'm just too damn lazy.
*My ribs hurt from trying to rake out those deep roots. My ribs? I mean really? My arms I get but ribs?
*Another round of "how did these people end up here?"
So, apparently I can be found when searching for NAKED BITCHES, dive boxes (which I finally looked up because I didn't know what it was but I was kind of scared to know. I mean, I thought maybe scuba gear, but considering I don't know anything about diving and looking at how some of these other people found me? I was worried it would be some really kinky sex act that I wouldn't be able to get out of my head), men in panties (?????), "She had enough vodka to make her feel sexy" (really? What the fuck? Because I'm thinking, is there enough vodka in the world to make me ok? And I don't drink! Although, I'm thinking maybe it's time to start again), "Why Mrs X died" (Kind of freaking me out because last time I checked? I was still breathing. Wait.... no, still breathing), sex diary (ha!) and a nasty case of laryngitis (Hell? Call the freaking Doctor!).
And I'm tired.
Tomorrow? I'll tell you about our 'fun' well-child visit where I considered what it would take to make a diaper childproof. And by tomorrow? I mean someday.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Weeds
Our backyard is severely neglected. We never did anything with it after the house was built. There was no grass. We had talked about having it leveled since it slopes toward the house. 2 summers ago Mr X even began to build a garden area around the shed.
Since then we've simply let it go until the woods we live next to began to take it over.
The garden consists of 2 levels, both now covered in weeds so strong they have turned into trees.
Yesterday it hit me.
I have to clear that mess out. I need to remove every last trace of those weeds. Our neglect.
So I began.
Ripping them out was not going to be enough. Their roots ran too deep and some of the trunks were too thick.
I took Mr X's two-handed clippers and cut them down. I began digging out the deep, thick roots. I pulled and ripped and threw the efforts of my labor in a pile below the first garden level.
After an hour, I had barely cleared a foot deep into the first level.
My back ached and my hands felt weak. I was sweaty and I knew my face was red. My arms were scratched up from where the branches caught me. There was a streak of dirt across my forehead and I had destroyed my old sneakers.
All I could think was that there was so much left to do. My arms and hands shook for an hour after I was finished.
Today, my shoulder aches and my neck is stiff.
And I'm scared.
The weeds wait. I don't know what I'll do when it's all clear.
Since then we've simply let it go until the woods we live next to began to take it over.
The garden consists of 2 levels, both now covered in weeds so strong they have turned into trees.
Yesterday it hit me.
I have to clear that mess out. I need to remove every last trace of those weeds. Our neglect.
So I began.
Ripping them out was not going to be enough. Their roots ran too deep and some of the trunks were too thick.
I took Mr X's two-handed clippers and cut them down. I began digging out the deep, thick roots. I pulled and ripped and threw the efforts of my labor in a pile below the first garden level.
After an hour, I had barely cleared a foot deep into the first level.
My back ached and my hands felt weak. I was sweaty and I knew my face was red. My arms were scratched up from where the branches caught me. There was a streak of dirt across my forehead and I had destroyed my old sneakers.
All I could think was that there was so much left to do. My arms and hands shook for an hour after I was finished.
Today, my shoulder aches and my neck is stiff.
And I'm scared.
The weeds wait. I don't know what I'll do when it's all clear.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Brief
Friday is the day. THE day. Doctor appointment day. Friday, we'll finally have a better grasp on what is going on with Mr X.
I'm trying not to think about it too much. Trying not notice the tone of his skin. Trying not to study his eyes to see if they are even the slightest bit yellow. Trying not to bury him before Friday.
We're happy. Things finally seem to be going well. Life is good.
I guess that's why I expect to all go to shit on Friday.
I'm trying not to think about it too much. Trying not notice the tone of his skin. Trying not to study his eyes to see if they are even the slightest bit yellow. Trying not to bury him before Friday.
We're happy. Things finally seem to be going well. Life is good.
I guess that's why I expect to all go to shit on Friday.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
The One Which Proves We're Crazy and Perhaps That Padded Room Is Not Such A Bad Idea
Girl X came home from school 2 days ago and decided that it was time to introduce Hurricane to the fun that is popping bubbles in the house. But not just any bubbles. No. She had to use the Mutant Bubbles that do not pop unless you physically smash them. And they actually make noise. Do you remember when we were kids and our moms (ok maybe not my mom because ha! But some moms did, I saw the neighbor mom do it anyway) made us bubbles with dish soap and water? Seriously, Mutant Bubbles. The hell?
So, they're having a great time and I'm counting the soapy bubbles being smashed into the carpet and walls as some form of cleaning (See? Looking on the bright side of things! Pardon me while my head explodes) and Hurricane is trying to eat them. Which? With these he is actually succeeding except that you know, soap bubbles. Maybe not tasting as good as he had hoped and it was not such a good idea after all to be eating the bubbles that dropped to the floor. Meanwhile I'm contemplating the nutritional value of said bubbles because I'll take what I can get.
This story does have a point, one which will possibly prove my insanity and that maybe we have found the reason why my neighbors think I'm an idiot and maybe you won't want to be my friend anymore but I am compelled to continue.
Bubbles. Right.
Girl X gets bored and we put the bubbles away and Hurricane does not like this idea because he was maybe getting used to the taste of the bubbles and liking the way they popped in his mouth not in his hands.
So I did what any good mom would do. Put him in front of the TV and dazzled him with Elmo.
"Ooohhh! Look! See Elmo? Yes, lala. Yay! He's going to rap again! Ok, mommy's just going to stick her head in the oven and pretend she doesn't know all the words to this furry little bastard's song! Ok? great!"
Fast forward to later that evening. Hurricane is almost ready for bed. Girl X is brushing her teeth. Mr X is trying to kick himself in the head (Long story short, Girl X managed to kick herself in the face and he wanted to see if he could do it too. Aren't you sorry you asked now? Thought so.)
I look up and... What? Is that? The hell! It is!
"Look! It's a bubble."
Mr X looks.
Girl X looks.
Hurricane sticks a finger up his nose.
There, hanging over the entertainment center was a bubble. One that Girl X had been blowing earlier. It simply hung there, suspended mid air.
It was a bubble. We all got bored very quickly and went on with the night.
Morning.
The bubble?
Still there.
Still floating in mid air.
Evening.
Still freaking there.
Seriously, how long of a shelf like are these things supposed to have?
Now, here is where we kind of lost it and which kind of explains the title and shows you just how pointless this whole damn post is and now maybe you're wishing you could have the last few minutes of your life back and... um... sorry?
Mr X took Girl X to the far end of the room and began waving his arms at it.
Girl X began to also wave her arms at it.
"RISE!!"
Followed by wild arm waving.
And it did.
"LOWER!!"
Followed by wildly bringing their arms down.
And it DID.
Then Mr X decided that it was a bubble sent by the CIA to spy on us.
Because I'm sure they so want to know Hurricane's secret ability to tele-transport himself and then there's that whole climbing the walls thing.
I told Mr X I didn't believe him.
But just in case, after he went to bed?
I mooned it.
Then tonight.... Yes, it's still there. Floating above my entertainment center where no bubble should be.
Anyway, tonight Mr X decided that it was an alien sent to study us. I asked him if he'd been probed yet. Because we all know where aliens probe right?
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Would you like me to check on that?
"Shut up!"
I think he meant no. I think he meant that I should wait until he's sound asleep and then maybe poke him in the cheek a little. Damn. That's so mean. You know? I am so going to have to do that now.
Anyway, I decided to have a little chat with the bubble. (Remember what I said earlier? yeah. So sorry, again.)
I apologized for mooning it. I expressed my distress at having this strange bubble hanging over my entertainment center for 2 days.
It simply hung there. Just out of my reach.
I suggested that perhaps it would like to see the rest of the world. Maybe go to Rome. I hear Rome is a lovely place to visit for bubbles.
It bobbed a little.
I said that perhaps it was a ghost bubble and maybe it should like, head to the light? I told it that it's mommy and daddy bubble would be there on the other side waiting for it.
It bobbed a little more.
Girl X shook her head and went downstairs muttering something about crazy and embarrassing.
Mr X went to bed.
Hurricane continued to sleep with one hand in his diaper.
And the bubble is still just hanging there.
So, they're having a great time and I'm counting the soapy bubbles being smashed into the carpet and walls as some form of cleaning (See? Looking on the bright side of things! Pardon me while my head explodes) and Hurricane is trying to eat them. Which? With these he is actually succeeding except that you know, soap bubbles. Maybe not tasting as good as he had hoped and it was not such a good idea after all to be eating the bubbles that dropped to the floor. Meanwhile I'm contemplating the nutritional value of said bubbles because I'll take what I can get.
This story does have a point, one which will possibly prove my insanity and that maybe we have found the reason why my neighbors think I'm an idiot and maybe you won't want to be my friend anymore but I am compelled to continue.
Bubbles. Right.
Girl X gets bored and we put the bubbles away and Hurricane does not like this idea because he was maybe getting used to the taste of the bubbles and liking the way they popped in his mouth not in his hands.
So I did what any good mom would do. Put him in front of the TV and dazzled him with Elmo.
"Ooohhh! Look! See Elmo? Yes, lala. Yay! He's going to rap again! Ok, mommy's just going to stick her head in the oven and pretend she doesn't know all the words to this furry little bastard's song! Ok? great!"
Fast forward to later that evening. Hurricane is almost ready for bed. Girl X is brushing her teeth. Mr X is trying to kick himself in the head (Long story short, Girl X managed to kick herself in the face and he wanted to see if he could do it too. Aren't you sorry you asked now? Thought so.)
I look up and... What? Is that? The hell! It is!
"Look! It's a bubble."
Mr X looks.
Girl X looks.
Hurricane sticks a finger up his nose.
There, hanging over the entertainment center was a bubble. One that Girl X had been blowing earlier. It simply hung there, suspended mid air.
It was a bubble. We all got bored very quickly and went on with the night.
Morning.
The bubble?
Still there.
Still floating in mid air.
Evening.
Still freaking there.
Seriously, how long of a shelf like are these things supposed to have?
Now, here is where we kind of lost it and which kind of explains the title and shows you just how pointless this whole damn post is and now maybe you're wishing you could have the last few minutes of your life back and... um... sorry?
Mr X took Girl X to the far end of the room and began waving his arms at it.
Girl X began to also wave her arms at it.
"RISE!!"
Followed by wild arm waving.
And it did.
"LOWER!!"
Followed by wildly bringing their arms down.
And it DID.
Then Mr X decided that it was a bubble sent by the CIA to spy on us.
Because I'm sure they so want to know Hurricane's secret ability to tele-transport himself and then there's that whole climbing the walls thing.
I told Mr X I didn't believe him.
But just in case, after he went to bed?
I mooned it.
Then tonight.... Yes, it's still there. Floating above my entertainment center where no bubble should be.
Anyway, tonight Mr X decided that it was an alien sent to study us. I asked him if he'd been probed yet. Because we all know where aliens probe right?
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Would you like me to check on that?
"Shut up!"
I think he meant no. I think he meant that I should wait until he's sound asleep and then maybe poke him in the cheek a little. Damn. That's so mean. You know? I am so going to have to do that now.
Anyway, I decided to have a little chat with the bubble. (Remember what I said earlier? yeah. So sorry, again.)
I apologized for mooning it. I expressed my distress at having this strange bubble hanging over my entertainment center for 2 days.
It simply hung there. Just out of my reach.
I suggested that perhaps it would like to see the rest of the world. Maybe go to Rome. I hear Rome is a lovely place to visit for bubbles.
It bobbed a little.
I said that perhaps it was a ghost bubble and maybe it should like, head to the light? I told it that it's mommy and daddy bubble would be there on the other side waiting for it.
It bobbed a little more.
Girl X shook her head and went downstairs muttering something about crazy and embarrassing.
Mr X went to bed.
Hurricane continued to sleep with one hand in his diaper.
And the bubble is still just hanging there.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
S.O.S.
Topping the list of things that are making me crazy?
Hurricane's incessant training for his future as a mountain climber.
I once believed that the only safe way to baby proof a house, was to nail everything to the ceiling.
I take it back.
The only way to baby proof a house is to have it completely empty. And padded. Lots of padding.
Our home has become the World's Most Awesomest Jungle Gym According to Hurricane: Champion Climber, Toddler Division.
And our Ikea-clad living room is a veritable utopia for climbers.
The corner shelving unit, with it's layered levels, has become a favorite. I had to pry him off the 3rd shelf (halfway to the top!) this morning.
He climbs up on his train table and from there, can reach all the good stuff on my craft table. All those lovely things which seemed to be named 'no' as that is all he hears when tries to touch it.
I nearly had a heart attack the other day when I announced it was dinner time and my bottom-less pit little spawn happily pulled himself into a chair at the table.
"Highchairs? Pshaw! That's sooo for babies!"
And he has now mastered my bed. I watched in disbelief as he stepped onto the ledge at the bottom of my bed, pulled himself onto my nightstand and from there? The bed was cake.
I am waiting to one morning find him scampering along the ceiling. My Hurricane. My spiderman (minus Kirsten Dunst thank you very much). I will hand him a rag and finally, finally! be rid of those damn cobwebs I've yet to be able to reach with the broom.
Each day he surprises me with something new. The climbing, slowly starting to sleep better, the very strange habit of throwing my chapstick into my water glass.
I am almost afraid of what he will do next.
I am even more afraid of what his sister will teach him this summer.
I have little doubt that it won't be long before I am reduced to sending out desperate Morse code messages from the one place even my kids fear. The bath tub. Don't worry, as long as it's filled with vodka, I'll be ok.
Hurricane's incessant training for his future as a mountain climber.
I once believed that the only safe way to baby proof a house, was to nail everything to the ceiling.
I take it back.
The only way to baby proof a house is to have it completely empty. And padded. Lots of padding.
Our home has become the World's Most Awesomest Jungle Gym According to Hurricane: Champion Climber, Toddler Division.
And our Ikea-clad living room is a veritable utopia for climbers.
The corner shelving unit, with it's layered levels, has become a favorite. I had to pry him off the 3rd shelf (halfway to the top!) this morning.
He climbs up on his train table and from there, can reach all the good stuff on my craft table. All those lovely things which seemed to be named 'no' as that is all he hears when tries to touch it.
I nearly had a heart attack the other day when I announced it was dinner time and my bottom-less pit little spawn happily pulled himself into a chair at the table.
"Highchairs? Pshaw! That's sooo for babies!"
And he has now mastered my bed. I watched in disbelief as he stepped onto the ledge at the bottom of my bed, pulled himself onto my nightstand and from there? The bed was cake.
I am waiting to one morning find him scampering along the ceiling. My Hurricane. My spiderman (minus Kirsten Dunst thank you very much). I will hand him a rag and finally, finally! be rid of those damn cobwebs I've yet to be able to reach with the broom.
Each day he surprises me with something new. The climbing, slowly starting to sleep better, the very strange habit of throwing my chapstick into my water glass.
I am almost afraid of what he will do next.
I am even more afraid of what his sister will teach him this summer.
I have little doubt that it won't be long before I am reduced to sending out desperate Morse code messages from the one place even my kids fear. The bath tub. Don't worry, as long as it's filled with vodka, I'll be ok.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Dear New Neighbors,
We have not actually met yet as you have been too busy filling us with dread as we watch you move into your new home. Already, we miss the People Who Are Afraid of Sunlight and Never Talk to Mere Mortals (or as you may call them, the previous owners).
I noticed you moving in late last week, in the rain. It sucked, I know. Moving sucks, really. I had hoped that it was just the hectic pace of moving that left your toddler playing in the rain. In the middle of the street. After dark. But really? When it happened again the next night? I realized you were just morons.
Still, all could have been alright. I could play the game I play with many of the other people who live on our street and I don't want to associate with (like the people who live next door to you and throw their trash in our yard and think the whole world likes to listen to Mariah Carey screeching from the stereo in their garage at full volume) and pretend that I live somewhere else. Somewhere with a HOA. Somewhere you are not.
And then you started parking your cars in front of our house. Yes, that's our house. Across the street and 1 house over. On the end.
See, you have a 2 car garage and... oh what's that? Well, yes I had noticed that it's full of 3 wheelers (I've been having nightmares about them, thanks) and those really loud scooters because the people on the other side of you? They have them too. Yes, that is why their yard looks like a Nascar rally and that was them at 2 am the other night zipping down the road. Yes, I hate them too. Their daughter is evil. She carves things into the siding of homes for fun.
Anyway, yes, the 2 car garage and the lovely, large driveway. And all that space in front of your house to park your 7 vehicles. No, not counting the moss covered rusty truck you had towed into your yard. Yes, that's just a lovely yard decoration.
Back to the 7 vehicles.
See, we like to have people come to visit us because we hate most of the people who live on our street. They like to park near our house, especially the disabled vet who walks with a cane and occasionally has difficulty walking. We used to be able to have 5 cars parked along the front of our house and it was great.
Yet somehow, you have managed to take up that entire space with 2 of your 7 vehicles.
Both parked about a foot and a half from the curb.
Both seem to be becoming permanent fixtures in front of my house.
The only good thing about your arrival is that now? My neighbors don't think I'm the worst thing that ever happened to this street.
I guess even they have their limits.
Sincerely,
Mrs X
PS Move your damn cars before I set them on fire.
PSS HATE!!!
I noticed you moving in late last week, in the rain. It sucked, I know. Moving sucks, really. I had hoped that it was just the hectic pace of moving that left your toddler playing in the rain. In the middle of the street. After dark. But really? When it happened again the next night? I realized you were just morons.
Still, all could have been alright. I could play the game I play with many of the other people who live on our street and I don't want to associate with (like the people who live next door to you and throw their trash in our yard and think the whole world likes to listen to Mariah Carey screeching from the stereo in their garage at full volume) and pretend that I live somewhere else. Somewhere with a HOA. Somewhere you are not.
And then you started parking your cars in front of our house. Yes, that's our house. Across the street and 1 house over. On the end.
See, you have a 2 car garage and... oh what's that? Well, yes I had noticed that it's full of 3 wheelers (I've been having nightmares about them, thanks) and those really loud scooters because the people on the other side of you? They have them too. Yes, that is why their yard looks like a Nascar rally and that was them at 2 am the other night zipping down the road. Yes, I hate them too. Their daughter is evil. She carves things into the siding of homes for fun.
Anyway, yes, the 2 car garage and the lovely, large driveway. And all that space in front of your house to park your 7 vehicles. No, not counting the moss covered rusty truck you had towed into your yard. Yes, that's just a lovely yard decoration.
Back to the 7 vehicles.
See, we like to have people come to visit us because we hate most of the people who live on our street. They like to park near our house, especially the disabled vet who walks with a cane and occasionally has difficulty walking. We used to be able to have 5 cars parked along the front of our house and it was great.
Yet somehow, you have managed to take up that entire space with 2 of your 7 vehicles.
Both parked about a foot and a half from the curb.
Both seem to be becoming permanent fixtures in front of my house.
The only good thing about your arrival is that now? My neighbors don't think I'm the worst thing that ever happened to this street.
I guess even they have their limits.
Sincerely,
Mrs X
PS Move your damn cars before I set them on fire.
PSS HATE!!!
Monday, May 29, 2006
Concessions
Since having Hurricane, I've had to make certain concessions that I hadn't made with Girl X.
With her, it was so easy (or at least that's how I remember it until I actually look back on the journal I kept for her and realize that she did not, in fact, cure cancer while baking me that perfect triple chocolate cake at the age of 6 months). She slept (never mind that from the time she was 14 months old until she was 2 and half I had to drive her around to get her to fall asleep. Once she was out that was it), she ate everything you gave her (except fruit. Fruit was evil), she let me change her diaper (I'm totally ignoring the fact that it was often after she had already thrown her full diaper at my head).
With Hurricane.... well.....
1) I've come to realize that ketchup? It's a vegetable. And the only one he will eat.
I accepted this as fact as I watched him use his grilled cheese sandwich to shovel the ketchup into his mouth and then 'mmmmmm'ed at me as though he'd just had his first taste of those homeade peanut butter eggs I've been salivating over.
Vegetables. Have I mentioned that they are the devil according to Hurricane? Yes. I thought so.
I'm no longer able to hide them in his other food as he will simply spit out the offending bits and continue with the 'good' stuff.
His eating habits make me grind my teeth. And just when I think he will live on pancakes, grilled cheese and cookies? He decides he likes something reasonably healthy (hummus) and I get my hopes up.
2) Sleep. With Girl X, I never would have dreamed of letting her sleep anywhere but her bed or, out of desperation, she could maybe nap on the couch with me.
Hurricane? He has slept the last 5 nights on the floor in front of his door.
Sleep training my ass.
I finally started putting a blanket down in front of the door so at least he wouldn't be directly on the floor. And the gate meant to keep him from wandering the house all night?
When he gets bored with my 'sleep-training', he simply throws his body into the gate thereby knocking it over.
3) Clothing optional.
When Girl X was young, she was always dressed. It didn't matter whether we were leaving the house or not. She was dressed (with the exception of when we'd go to the grocery store and she'd strip naked because nothing says naked like the produce department).
Hurricane. If we're not leaving the house? There are days where it's just not worth it. He hates wearing clothes. It gets in the way of his climbing (which? I am so going to get into. Another day) and peeing on Cat. And I just don't see the point in spending an hour getting him dressed when he's going to strip himself within 20 minutes.
Still, there are some things that are hard and fast rules in this house:
1)Barney is evil and shall never grace the tv screen.
2) Teletubbies are bastards and after spending nearly 2 years watching my brain cells die while Girl X learned to walk the way they do? Funk that.
3) If you're ever not sure if you should do something (this goes for Mr X too) just ask yourself.... How pissed will mom be when this breaks/ gets ruined/ forces her to spend the evening in the emergency room?
That counts for using antique linen as an oil rag, or being the playground daredevil.
With her, it was so easy (or at least that's how I remember it until I actually look back on the journal I kept for her and realize that she did not, in fact, cure cancer while baking me that perfect triple chocolate cake at the age of 6 months). She slept (never mind that from the time she was 14 months old until she was 2 and half I had to drive her around to get her to fall asleep. Once she was out that was it), she ate everything you gave her (except fruit. Fruit was evil), she let me change her diaper (I'm totally ignoring the fact that it was often after she had already thrown her full diaper at my head).
With Hurricane.... well.....
1) I've come to realize that ketchup? It's a vegetable. And the only one he will eat.
I accepted this as fact as I watched him use his grilled cheese sandwich to shovel the ketchup into his mouth and then 'mmmmmm'ed at me as though he'd just had his first taste of those homeade peanut butter eggs I've been salivating over.
Vegetables. Have I mentioned that they are the devil according to Hurricane? Yes. I thought so.
I'm no longer able to hide them in his other food as he will simply spit out the offending bits and continue with the 'good' stuff.
His eating habits make me grind my teeth. And just when I think he will live on pancakes, grilled cheese and cookies? He decides he likes something reasonably healthy (hummus) and I get my hopes up.
2) Sleep. With Girl X, I never would have dreamed of letting her sleep anywhere but her bed or, out of desperation, she could maybe nap on the couch with me.
Hurricane? He has slept the last 5 nights on the floor in front of his door.
Sleep training my ass.
I finally started putting a blanket down in front of the door so at least he wouldn't be directly on the floor. And the gate meant to keep him from wandering the house all night?
When he gets bored with my 'sleep-training', he simply throws his body into the gate thereby knocking it over.
3) Clothing optional.
When Girl X was young, she was always dressed. It didn't matter whether we were leaving the house or not. She was dressed (with the exception of when we'd go to the grocery store and she'd strip naked because nothing says naked like the produce department).
Hurricane. If we're not leaving the house? There are days where it's just not worth it. He hates wearing clothes. It gets in the way of his climbing (which? I am so going to get into. Another day) and peeing on Cat. And I just don't see the point in spending an hour getting him dressed when he's going to strip himself within 20 minutes.
Still, there are some things that are hard and fast rules in this house:
1)Barney is evil and shall never grace the tv screen.
2) Teletubbies are bastards and after spending nearly 2 years watching my brain cells die while Girl X learned to walk the way they do? Funk that.
3) If you're ever not sure if you should do something (this goes for Mr X too) just ask yourself.... How pissed will mom be when this breaks/ gets ruined/ forces her to spend the evening in the emergency room?
That counts for using antique linen as an oil rag, or being the playground daredevil.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
The Unthinkable
I've thought of a million ways to write what I wanted you to know. And I've found a million ways that are completely inadequate. Sometimes things happen that are too big, too deep, too felt for words to properly express.
So, as incomplete as it may be, I give you this.
During our life, it's accepted that we will know loss. We will face the death of a loved one. We will feel the emptiness where they once were. It's a part of the cycle. And even as I write this, you are thinking of your parent or friend, grandparent, aunt, someone you loved who you now mourn. Someone who you will one day be able to share a story about and laugh. It's accepted.
But then there's the part of death that we don't talk about except in hushed tones and only when absolutely unavoidable. We turn our heads and close our eyes because it is not happening to us. It cannot happen to us.
If not us, then who?
The part of death that is so incomprehensible is the loss of a child. A baby.
Because our children never die. Babies are born and they go home with their parents. Miscarriages don't exist.
So when it does happen, the unthinkable, the unbearable, what do we do?
I know that many of you reading this have been in that position (because you got me through some of the worst moments and are still my PALS). I know that you will understand.
I think by the time most of you read this it will be Friday. Those of you in the US are looking forward to a long holiday weekend.
I just ask that you spare a moment for another friend of mine. Because today should have been her son's first birthday.
She's braver than I think she realizes. She's certainly braver than me (and I feel it only fair to add that her husband should be included in this as they are all too often left out). Please give her family, her son, her daughter not yet here, a prayer.
And, if you're feeling very strong, her husband wrote something incredibly beautiful on her blog. You'll find the link on the right under Life After.....
Thank you.
So, as incomplete as it may be, I give you this.
During our life, it's accepted that we will know loss. We will face the death of a loved one. We will feel the emptiness where they once were. It's a part of the cycle. And even as I write this, you are thinking of your parent or friend, grandparent, aunt, someone you loved who you now mourn. Someone who you will one day be able to share a story about and laugh. It's accepted.
But then there's the part of death that we don't talk about except in hushed tones and only when absolutely unavoidable. We turn our heads and close our eyes because it is not happening to us. It cannot happen to us.
If not us, then who?
The part of death that is so incomprehensible is the loss of a child. A baby.
Because our children never die. Babies are born and they go home with their parents. Miscarriages don't exist.
So when it does happen, the unthinkable, the unbearable, what do we do?
I know that many of you reading this have been in that position (because you got me through some of the worst moments and are still my PALS). I know that you will understand.
I think by the time most of you read this it will be Friday. Those of you in the US are looking forward to a long holiday weekend.
I just ask that you spare a moment for another friend of mine. Because today should have been her son's first birthday.
She's braver than I think she realizes. She's certainly braver than me (and I feel it only fair to add that her husband should be included in this as they are all too often left out). Please give her family, her son, her daughter not yet here, a prayer.
And, if you're feeling very strong, her husband wrote something incredibly beautiful on her blog. You'll find the link on the right under Life After.....
Thank you.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
A Realization That Ruined Wednesday Evenings
Because I like that guy who plays Sawyer, this is hard for me to admit. I mean, the guy is hot. But I found myself having to look away during the entire season finale because everytime he came on screen I started to giggle.
It's been bothering me all season. And frankly, last season too. There was something disturbingly familiar about him. Something that made me slightly queasy.
Tonight it hit me.
When he does that 'dangerous' look (Oh damn, I'm not even looking at him and I can picture it in my head and it's making me giggle again. I don't like to giggle.), the one that's supposed to be sexy? And maybe you should just stop reading this. I mean, if you're a fan of the show and really like him, (and this is awful because I do- like him, I mean) then you may not want to know this.
In fact, I'll give you a moment to go ahead and just click on out of here.
Gone?
Anyone left?
Ok, it hit me tonight why he seems so familiar. Especially when he makes that face.
Do you remember this?
Because I do and it has forever ruined him for me.
It's been bothering me all season. And frankly, last season too. There was something disturbingly familiar about him. Something that made me slightly queasy.
Tonight it hit me.
When he does that 'dangerous' look (Oh damn, I'm not even looking at him and I can picture it in my head and it's making me giggle again. I don't like to giggle.), the one that's supposed to be sexy? And maybe you should just stop reading this. I mean, if you're a fan of the show and really like him, (and this is awful because I do- like him, I mean) then you may not want to know this.
In fact, I'll give you a moment to go ahead and just click on out of here.
Gone?
Anyone left?
Ok, it hit me tonight why he seems so familiar. Especially when he makes that face.
Do you remember this?
Because I do and it has forever ruined him for me.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Universe? You May Bite Me Now.
It was a very bad day for the X household. To be more accurate, it was the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day. It involved entirely too much blood shed and not enough vodka. It seems that there is never enough vodka.
First up is Girl X. She chose today to assert her authority over her brother by kicking him and knocking him over as opposed to her usual routine of simply ramming into him.
The repeated assaults have me questioning whether I am facing nature vs nurture here. It does nothing to assuage my fears of her turning into her biological father one day.
Then Hurricane decided that his train table was Mount Everest and today was the day he was going to conquer it. And from there my craft table. He almost made it onto the craft table before he realized that I was standing there, frozen, and he fell.
In case I did not state this clearly before, head wounds? BLEED A HOLY CRAP LOT!!
Great timing too since he's getting his pictures taken soon. I'm grateful for the fact that he finally has hair. Hair that mostly covers up the evidence of my bad mothering.
Remember those chairs I was recovering? The ones with an unholy amount of staples? The ones that made me go out of my fucking mind crazy?
Yeah?
Right. So I thought maybe I should just finish them and get it over with. Except that I picked today to try it. Today. The Day of Much Bloodshed.
Say it with me....
Dumbass.
Staples that shoot into your foot? They hurt. A lot. A lot enough to make you forget that your broken toe is still not healed.
Those chairs can stay a hideous cross between giant purple flowers and blue toile for the rest of eternity because there is no fucking way I am taking one more step towards them unless I'm carrying an axe.
Or a blow torch.
Just as soon as someone tells me how to work a blow torch.
Mr X came home and showed me his hand. He thought today would be a fun day to play with metal shards and slice through the nail bed on 2 of his fingers. That? So ugly! And ow. And bloody. And... ow.
And as a capper to the evening, Girl X wasn't paying attention to what she was doing while clipping her nails and managed to clip off some of her finger.
So tell me Jo Jo, what did you learn today?
First up is Girl X. She chose today to assert her authority over her brother by kicking him and knocking him over as opposed to her usual routine of simply ramming into him.
The repeated assaults have me questioning whether I am facing nature vs nurture here. It does nothing to assuage my fears of her turning into her biological father one day.
Then Hurricane decided that his train table was Mount Everest and today was the day he was going to conquer it. And from there my craft table. He almost made it onto the craft table before he realized that I was standing there, frozen, and he fell.
In case I did not state this clearly before, head wounds? BLEED A HOLY CRAP LOT!!
Great timing too since he's getting his pictures taken soon. I'm grateful for the fact that he finally has hair. Hair that mostly covers up the evidence of my bad mothering.
Remember those chairs I was recovering? The ones with an unholy amount of staples? The ones that made me go out of my fucking mind crazy?
Yeah?
Right. So I thought maybe I should just finish them and get it over with. Except that I picked today to try it. Today. The Day of Much Bloodshed.
Say it with me....
Dumbass.
Staples that shoot into your foot? They hurt. A lot. A lot enough to make you forget that your broken toe is still not healed.
Those chairs can stay a hideous cross between giant purple flowers and blue toile for the rest of eternity because there is no fucking way I am taking one more step towards them unless I'm carrying an axe.
Or a blow torch.
Just as soon as someone tells me how to work a blow torch.
Mr X came home and showed me his hand. He thought today would be a fun day to play with metal shards and slice through the nail bed on 2 of his fingers. That? So ugly! And ow. And bloody. And... ow.
And as a capper to the evening, Girl X wasn't paying attention to what she was doing while clipping her nails and managed to clip off some of her finger.
So tell me Jo Jo, what did you learn today?
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Last Parent Standing
Saturday was hell. Fun, but hell.
It was the first time since Hurricane was born that I was away from him for more than 3 hours. I know it's totally ridiculous. The kid is 18 months old but he's been attached to my hip/knee/ankle/face every. day.
Saturday I went to this scrapbooking thing in the vain attempt to catch up on Girl X's albums. She's 8. I was in the middle of her baby album. I am a little bit behind.
While I had fun, there was also the Guilt.
The guilt that I had left my husband alone with our kids. The same kids known so well for their ability to destroy.
Ok, well Girl X not so much on purpose and really? Not so often anymore. But I worried that I would come home to find my husband had gone insane from the endless questions.
"Why are you doing that? Can I do it? Why not? Why don't animals wear clothes? Why can't fish grow legs? What's that? No, that? Where are you going? Why don't you want me to ask you anymore questions? Aren't you only supposed to take 2 tylenol? Why do you have a headache? Do you still have a headache? How do they get those ships in the bottle? Why doesn't the water go the other way when I flush? Can you make it go the other way? Did you know you could make a toilet flood with lots of toilet paper? I didn't know that but Hurricane just showed me. Did mom say you could do that? Mom would never let me do that. Can I tell mom what you did? How much will give me to keep my mouth shut? You know dad, I haven't been to the movies in awhile......"
And it bugs me because I know he doesn't feel that same guilt when he has a golf tournament and is away all day. I know he's not worrying about coming home to find me tied to a chair with my head shaved and the van missing.
Ok, there's also a little bit of guilt about not spending every waking moment with my kids. But I think that's kind of what got me into the state I've been in anyway. A little crazed, very tired, over stressed. I needed the break for even the little bit of time I had.
I wonder if Mr X feels that. The little pang of guilt that he's doing something for himself. Or is just me? Is that a mother thing? Or is it just me?
I know it's something I need to work on. I should be able to get out of the house for a few hours without calling to make sure it's still standing.
And in case you were wondering, Girl X and I had a lovely time at the movies.
It was the first time since Hurricane was born that I was away from him for more than 3 hours. I know it's totally ridiculous. The kid is 18 months old but he's been attached to my hip/knee/ankle/face every. day.
Saturday I went to this scrapbooking thing in the vain attempt to catch up on Girl X's albums. She's 8. I was in the middle of her baby album. I am a little bit behind.
While I had fun, there was also the Guilt.
The guilt that I had left my husband alone with our kids. The same kids known so well for their ability to destroy.
Ok, well Girl X not so much on purpose and really? Not so often anymore. But I worried that I would come home to find my husband had gone insane from the endless questions.
"Why are you doing that? Can I do it? Why not? Why don't animals wear clothes? Why can't fish grow legs? What's that? No, that? Where are you going? Why don't you want me to ask you anymore questions? Aren't you only supposed to take 2 tylenol? Why do you have a headache? Do you still have a headache? How do they get those ships in the bottle? Why doesn't the water go the other way when I flush? Can you make it go the other way? Did you know you could make a toilet flood with lots of toilet paper? I didn't know that but Hurricane just showed me. Did mom say you could do that? Mom would never let me do that. Can I tell mom what you did? How much will give me to keep my mouth shut? You know dad, I haven't been to the movies in awhile......"
And it bugs me because I know he doesn't feel that same guilt when he has a golf tournament and is away all day. I know he's not worrying about coming home to find me tied to a chair with my head shaved and the van missing.
Ok, there's also a little bit of guilt about not spending every waking moment with my kids. But I think that's kind of what got me into the state I've been in anyway. A little crazed, very tired, over stressed. I needed the break for even the little bit of time I had.
I wonder if Mr X feels that. The little pang of guilt that he's doing something for himself. Or is just me? Is that a mother thing? Or is it just me?
I know it's something I need to work on. I should be able to get out of the house for a few hours without calling to make sure it's still standing.
And in case you were wondering, Girl X and I had a lovely time at the movies.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Playgroup
This is totally new territory for me and I'm not entirely sure what to do. Ok the not knowing what to do is pretty typical but shut up already.
With Girl X, I was too busy to even know what playgroup was.
But now? Now I am home all day with the Child Who Eats Cat and there has to be something better than eating Cat with which to occupy his time. Like painting my living room or finish attaching the new fabric to the chairs which I got bored with months ago and Mr X is all like "Are you ever going to finish this or what?" and I'm all like "Yeah, just let me teach your son how to use the staple gun and we'll be set" or he could maybe reorganize my scrapbook stuff because I don't want to.
Right.
Then I found an ad in the paper for a playgroup. Tuesdays 10-12. How bad could it be?
Did I really just ask that? Because I think if I just think back to all the occasions that Hurricane has had a chance to play with other children his age, this could get ugly.
There is his cousin who is 6 months older but smaller than him. He knocked her over and sat on her for fun. She cried and he laughed.
There is the daughter of a friend who is just 2 weeks younger than him and thinks he's the coolest thing since playdough became non-toxic. She kept hugging him and he gave her The Look and ran screaming after the first 3 hugs.
There was the boy who tried to share his toys and Hurricane happily took his truck and ran off.
Then there is his nasty habit of breaking things (my glasses) and eating things that he shouldn't (Cat, that piece of poop Mr X had to pry from his fingers before he could shove it in his mouth, my nose).
They are going to hate us, but won't it be fun?
With Girl X, I was too busy to even know what playgroup was.
But now? Now I am home all day with the Child Who Eats Cat and there has to be something better than eating Cat with which to occupy his time. Like painting my living room or finish attaching the new fabric to the chairs which I got bored with months ago and Mr X is all like "Are you ever going to finish this or what?" and I'm all like "Yeah, just let me teach your son how to use the staple gun and we'll be set" or he could maybe reorganize my scrapbook stuff because I don't want to.
Right.
Then I found an ad in the paper for a playgroup. Tuesdays 10-12. How bad could it be?
Did I really just ask that? Because I think if I just think back to all the occasions that Hurricane has had a chance to play with other children his age, this could get ugly.
There is his cousin who is 6 months older but smaller than him. He knocked her over and sat on her for fun. She cried and he laughed.
There is the daughter of a friend who is just 2 weeks younger than him and thinks he's the coolest thing since playdough became non-toxic. She kept hugging him and he gave her The Look and ran screaming after the first 3 hugs.
There was the boy who tried to share his toys and Hurricane happily took his truck and ran off.
Then there is his nasty habit of breaking things (my glasses) and eating things that he shouldn't (Cat, that piece of poop Mr X had to pry from his fingers before he could shove it in his mouth, my nose).
They are going to hate us, but won't it be fun?
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Random Bits
* I knew for certain Mr X was home when I slammed my toes into the bottom of his suitcase and collapsed in a puddle of throbbing pain on the floor. And for the second time this year, I have broken my baby toe and possibly the one right next to it.
I have managed to fit the fact that he injured my poor defenseless toes (and yes, I am blaming him because it's more fun that way) into nearly every conversation.
I know I've said in the past about what a baby my husband can be when he gets sick, but what I never admitted (as if it wasn't already painfully clear) is that I am a giant whiney baby when it comes to pain.
*Despite not playing since I was a child and my siblings finally refused to play with me anymore, I managed to completely annihilate my husband while playing the Connect Four game he brought home for Girl X. Many many times. To the point that I think he may refuse to play against me ever again. Or maybe because I told him that it's what he gets for breaking my toe. Beyotch!
*The freakin' moles are back. I'm a little scared of them now. Nothing kills these things. I think it's time to sign whatever occupation order they want and like, maybe give them the shed. The garage. Our house. Whatever they want as long as they promise not to eat us for dinner and yes I am so very sorry about that whole flooding incident and the poison and the flares.
*Upon checking out 6 books on how to make your child sleep (dammit) the librarian looked at me, took in my baggy red eyes and said 'Good luck.'
Too which I replied, "I already them. This is so when he wakes up for the 7th time in a row, I can just smack myself over the head and knock myself unconscious."
She was not amused. And I? Not kidding.
*My toes hurt.
*Mr X proved his love for me by going to see MI3 while he was in Arizona. It means that I won't have to sit through it when it comes out on DVD. Because really? I would rather take my MIL shopping than sit through that movie.
*I am dreading Friday night. I have to interact with actual people at my daughter's school. During a sugar high, I answered the phone and because I hate the phone? I agreed to work the reception desk at her school's silent auction and make 2 cakes for the event.
With any luck I'll get a nasty case of laryngitis and won't be able to say anything stupid. Because if I can talk? I'll say something stupid.
Probably something like my toes hurt.
I have managed to fit the fact that he injured my poor defenseless toes (and yes, I am blaming him because it's more fun that way) into nearly every conversation.
I know I've said in the past about what a baby my husband can be when he gets sick, but what I never admitted (as if it wasn't already painfully clear) is that I am a giant whiney baby when it comes to pain.
*Despite not playing since I was a child and my siblings finally refused to play with me anymore, I managed to completely annihilate my husband while playing the Connect Four game he brought home for Girl X. Many many times. To the point that I think he may refuse to play against me ever again. Or maybe because I told him that it's what he gets for breaking my toe. Beyotch!
*The freakin' moles are back. I'm a little scared of them now. Nothing kills these things. I think it's time to sign whatever occupation order they want and like, maybe give them the shed. The garage. Our house. Whatever they want as long as they promise not to eat us for dinner and yes I am so very sorry about that whole flooding incident and the poison and the flares.
*Upon checking out 6 books on how to make your child sleep (dammit) the librarian looked at me, took in my baggy red eyes and said 'Good luck.'
Too which I replied, "I already them. This is so when he wakes up for the 7th time in a row, I can just smack myself over the head and knock myself unconscious."
She was not amused. And I? Not kidding.
*My toes hurt.
*Mr X proved his love for me by going to see MI3 while he was in Arizona. It means that I won't have to sit through it when it comes out on DVD. Because really? I would rather take my MIL shopping than sit through that movie.
*I am dreading Friday night. I have to interact with actual people at my daughter's school. During a sugar high, I answered the phone and because I hate the phone? I agreed to work the reception desk at her school's silent auction and make 2 cakes for the event.
With any luck I'll get a nasty case of laryngitis and won't be able to say anything stupid. Because if I can talk? I'll say something stupid.
Probably something like my toes hurt.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Spawn
I have a friend who doesn't have, nor want, kids. (No it's not 'abnormal' and yes she's a perfectly lovely person. Sorry, people just usually have a strange reaction to that.) Anyway, she asked what it was about 2 year olds. Actually is something like "How the hell do you people stay sane?"
I'm sorry. Have I left you with the mistaken impression that I'm sane? Or is that we just haven't spent enough time together? Or maybe you are suffering from the same affliction I have?
I call it denial. Or memory loss due to sleep deprivation. Either way, it causes you to forget, or at least downplay, all the things your child did during the toddler years. Often just enough to make you think that having another would be lovely.
During her toddler years Girl X:
*Bit a rottweiler on the face.
*Got in a fight with a 4 year old boy resulting in her first (but certainly not last) black eye and the boy's black eye and fat lip.
*Made blue oatmeal in my kitchen towel drawer because our cat doesn't like tan oatmeal.
*Made me pancakes. On the floor of my kitchen. With dog hair, the milk from her sippy cup and a dead bug she found in the track of the screen door. Then she put it all back in the Bisquick box.
*Stabbed my dad in the hand for stealing a bite of food off her plate without permission. Yes, she broke skin. Yes, it hurt.
*Made 'pretty pictures' on many a prized photo I was foolish enough not to have locked in a safe.
*Broke 2 windows playing Throw-The-Bone-At-Random-Objects.
*Stripped naked in the grocery store, the post office, the playground, and at my brother's college graduation.
*Ate no less than 4 spiders. Funny? She's now terrified of them.
*Used an entire box of super absorbency tampons to "help get the water out of the toilet so Cat can sleep there". And then flushed. It's a whole lot of fun trying to explain why there is an entire box of tampons stuck in your pipe. "Bad month" just didn't quite amuse anyone (except me because I always laugh when I'm uncomfortable).
*Threw up on me in public places. Many times. Enough times that I began to wonder if perhaps we should just never leave the house again.
*Kicked her Dr in the face often enough that he began calling in 2 nurses to help hold her down during exams and jokingly (I think, though maybe not really) lamented about his need to wear a hockey mask in her presence.
*Got her head stuck in a fence.
*Got her foot stuck in a stair rail.
*Broke 2 highchairs, a pack and play, 3 training potties and 1 rocking chair.
I'm sorry. Have I left you with the mistaken impression that I'm sane? Or is that we just haven't spent enough time together? Or maybe you are suffering from the same affliction I have?
I call it denial. Or memory loss due to sleep deprivation. Either way, it causes you to forget, or at least downplay, all the things your child did during the toddler years. Often just enough to make you think that having another would be lovely.
During her toddler years Girl X:
*Bit a rottweiler on the face.
*Got in a fight with a 4 year old boy resulting in her first (but certainly not last) black eye and the boy's black eye and fat lip.
*Made blue oatmeal in my kitchen towel drawer because our cat doesn't like tan oatmeal.
*Made me pancakes. On the floor of my kitchen. With dog hair, the milk from her sippy cup and a dead bug she found in the track of the screen door. Then she put it all back in the Bisquick box.
*Stabbed my dad in the hand for stealing a bite of food off her plate without permission. Yes, she broke skin. Yes, it hurt.
*Made 'pretty pictures' on many a prized photo I was foolish enough not to have locked in a safe.
*Broke 2 windows playing Throw-The-Bone-At-Random-Objects.
*Stripped naked in the grocery store, the post office, the playground, and at my brother's college graduation.
*Ate no less than 4 spiders. Funny? She's now terrified of them.
*Used an entire box of super absorbency tampons to "help get the water out of the toilet so Cat can sleep there". And then flushed. It's a whole lot of fun trying to explain why there is an entire box of tampons stuck in your pipe. "Bad month" just didn't quite amuse anyone (except me because I always laugh when I'm uncomfortable).
*Threw up on me in public places. Many times. Enough times that I began to wonder if perhaps we should just never leave the house again.
*Kicked her Dr in the face often enough that he began calling in 2 nurses to help hold her down during exams and jokingly (I think, though maybe not really) lamented about his need to wear a hockey mask in her presence.
*Got her head stuck in a fence.
*Got her foot stuck in a stair rail.
*Broke 2 highchairs, a pack and play, 3 training potties and 1 rocking chair.
And many other things that I am telling my brain to forget.
But there are other things, little though they may have been at times, that made every one of those other moments worth it.
*Random kisses.
*Her little hands on my cheeks as she very seriously tells me that she has to fart. (I know that's ridiculous but it was funny to me. She always said it in a way that made you think she was going to cause a small explosion and you needed to be prepared).
Giggles.
*Seeing her figure something out that seems so easy to us but has eluded her, that look of pride.
*Watching her bandage Cat and seeing him let her.
*Hearing her sing 'Twinkie Twinkie Little Car' because she didn't know the 'right' way.
*Seeing her fall asleep in her food. Although, this may have been her way of telling me she hated my cooking because she did this a lot.
And many more tiny moments that over ride the insanity.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Going Down In the History Books....
Me: "Is this what I think it is?"
Mr X: "Um.... Yeah?"
"You got me a....."
"Well, the timing just worked out that way but, Happy Mother's Day! Honey?"
"It's a stun gun."
"And a case for it. See?"
"You got me a stun gun for Mother's day."
"It's easy to work. Just turn it on here, touch the person and push that button."
"It's a stun gun."
"Uh-huh."
"Are you trying to kill me?"
"Wha????"
"You armed me, the person who cut herself with a butter knife, with a stun gun. Are you trying to kill me?"
"Funny. It's not going to kill anyone. Here, try it out on me."
"Why? Do you want to end up one of those e-mail stories my parents pass around? A story that people everywhere insist happened to a friend of their cousins' proctologist?"
"I'll put a pillow on the floor to break my fall it will be fine."
"Don't tempt me. Hey, do you think it would be unethical to use this on the moles?"
Mr X: "Um.... Yeah?"
"You got me a....."
"Well, the timing just worked out that way but, Happy Mother's Day! Honey?"
"It's a stun gun."
"And a case for it. See?"
"You got me a stun gun for Mother's day."
"It's easy to work. Just turn it on here, touch the person and push that button."
"It's a stun gun."
"Uh-huh."
"Are you trying to kill me?"
"Wha????"
"You armed me, the person who cut herself with a butter knife, with a stun gun. Are you trying to kill me?"
"Funny. It's not going to kill anyone. Here, try it out on me."
"Why? Do you want to end up one of those e-mail stories my parents pass around? A story that people everywhere insist happened to a friend of their cousins' proctologist?"
"I'll put a pillow on the floor to break my fall it will be fine."
"Don't tempt me. Hey, do you think it would be unethical to use this on the moles?"
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Goat Sex, Bitches, and Special Panties.....
I'm sorry. So sorry. I say that because really? This post sucks. I mean, the title, it's so promising and then, ah. Nothing. Yeah.
L left today. Both my kids cried.
Hurricane will miss her attention, the millions of pictures she took (note, not that ones posted here) and her constant calls for 'little Mr Sexy Lips'.
He learned to say "Hi Ti-ti" (hi auntie) and taught her the joy of a well-placed 'doh!' Also? There was much naked running (and here I interject my deepest apologies porn seekers. I recommend Goat sex. All better?)
Girl X will miss keeping her up late at night and thereby avoiding the very necessary school-night sleep. "It's 5-oh-oh Aunt L! Let's talk for one more minute." Further proof that she is an alien as no child of mine would be that happy at '5-oh-oh' am. I mean... really? 5 am? What the hell is wrong with her? Doesn't she realize she's supposed to save that for college and all night binge drinking right before finals?
I? I will miss being able to take a shower without Hurricane trying to crawl into the stall with me.
The first morning she was here I went to take Hurricane in the bedroom with me while I showered.
"I'll watch him if it's ok with you!"
Are you... wait. Am I on punk'd? Seriously? Ok.
I left her with the basic instructions of:
1)Don't let him eat Cat or various other non-edible items he will attempt to cram into his mouth.
2)Don't mention the 'C' word. You know, the one that sends him into convulsions until you actually give him one of those chocolate-chipped toddler mufflers.
3) Do not block his view of Elmo. He will knock you over and smother you with his bare feet.
She survived but I don't think she will readily make that offer again.
**************
There really isn't much lead in to this. I just like the picture. That and the lady snapping the pictures could not seem to stop. I have a sheet of 16 poses and I think the only reason she stopped was because he finally held up his hand and said 'NOOOO!' and leapt into my arms.
To head off the inevitable question, the shirt reads "I do all my own stunts". And yes, he does.
L left today. Both my kids cried.
Hurricane will miss her attention, the millions of pictures she took (note, not that ones posted here) and her constant calls for 'little Mr Sexy Lips'.
He learned to say "Hi Ti-ti" (hi auntie) and taught her the joy of a well-placed 'doh!' Also? There was much naked running (and here I interject my deepest apologies porn seekers. I recommend Goat sex. All better?)
Girl X will miss keeping her up late at night and thereby avoiding the very necessary school-night sleep. "It's 5-oh-oh Aunt L! Let's talk for one more minute." Further proof that she is an alien as no child of mine would be that happy at '5-oh-oh' am. I mean... really? 5 am? What the hell is wrong with her? Doesn't she realize she's supposed to save that for college and all night binge drinking right before finals?
I? I will miss being able to take a shower without Hurricane trying to crawl into the stall with me.
The first morning she was here I went to take Hurricane in the bedroom with me while I showered.
"I'll watch him if it's ok with you!"
Are you... wait. Am I on punk'd? Seriously? Ok.
I left her with the basic instructions of:
1)Don't let him eat Cat or various other non-edible items he will attempt to cram into his mouth.
2)Don't mention the 'C' word. You know, the one that sends him into convulsions until you actually give him one of those chocolate-chipped toddler mufflers.
3) Do not block his view of Elmo. He will knock you over and smother you with his bare feet.
She survived but I don't think she will readily make that offer again.
**************
There really isn't much lead in to this. I just like the picture. That and the lady snapping the pictures could not seem to stop. I have a sheet of 16 poses and I think the only reason she stopped was because he finally held up his hand and said 'NOOOO!' and leapt into my arms.
*******
As I was begging him to sleep last night, offering him all the cookies he could eat, beer, the freedom to run with scissors, anything just for the love of my sanity sleep!, I tried to remind myself that this is only a short time in my life. And then I told me to SHUT UP! Then the me that was sleeping started yelling 'SHUT UP Bitches!' and then I think I started laughing and Hurricane slowly rolled away from me and fell asleep. I think I might need a full uninterrupted 4 hours of sleep. Gah! That would be beautiful. Moving on because even I recognize that there are only so many times a person can bitch about sleep before someone threatens to shove skewers through their fingers.
***********
Mr X has to go to Arizona for work next week. I hate it when he has to go and he's not looking forward to it but eh.
And fear not, I wrapped my Man Saving Panties around his head which, to my understanding , is the best place for them.
******
And is it just me or does anyone think it's funny that when googling for 'Man Saving Panties' they ask if you meant 'Man Shaving Panties'?
No one else? Really? Just me then. Ok... well... Hee!!
************
And again, because I can, some of my most favorite recent pics of the sleepless wonder.
To head off the inevitable question, the shirt reads "I do all my own stunts". And yes, he does.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
He Wants To Be A Sumo Wrestler
And if he can ever convince his body to gain the necessary weight, I'm sure he'll be quite successful.
He's mastered the fine art of the head butt to the nose, and oh my damn that still freakin' hurts!
Physics is his bitch as evidenced by the fact that my face caved in to make room for his until we looked like a display in a sideshow.
Then he discovered the joy of the surprise attack.
He squared off, facing me, arms lifted at his sides. He monstered and snorted. Stomp the left foot. Stomp the right foot.
CHARGE!!
SLAM!!
And that is why I had to go to the eye doctor with a black eye and broken glasses.
And that is also why I got the talk. The one about domestic abuse and my doctor knows the numbers to call and people will help me every step of the way. I just have to get out of this awful situation.
"You're right. I do. Do you think they give toddlers hard time? Some of those prison toddlers are hard core!"
I don't think he appreciated my humor or believed me.
Until Hurricane did it again.
Punctuated this time with a loud "BAM fo Momma!" He thinks it's hysterical.
I think it forced me to try to pick out new glasses. Which? I hate.
I always end up with frames too small for my face or too bug shaped.
So, this time I got contacts instead.
It's defense really. Because unless Hurricane jabs me in the eye with sharp and pointy sticks again, he shouldn't be able to break them. Right?
Tonight, before bed, I let him run loose in just his diaper. My sister in law, L, is here from California. She's been fawning over him and taking his picture and tormenting him by sticking a ball down the back of his pajamas (I love her!).
They were on the floor playing with the ball. I guess Hurricane was still nursing some hurt feelings over the indignity of having a grapefruit sized ball shoved down the back of his pants. He tucked his head down and raised his eyes to her as she sat, unaware of what was to come.
"Uh-oh. Uh, L.....?"
She kept talking to Mr X.
Hurricane squared off to her and lifted his arms a bit. His lips puckered, nostrils flaring.
"L."
Still talking.
Stomp left foot.
"Uh... Screw it." She'll learn quickly this way.
Stomp right foot.
Charge!!
She had just enough time to register this 25 lb ball of fury barreling towards her, just enough time to look rather horrified, before his little body rammed into hers.
She went crashing backward with Hurricane on top.
"BAM fo Momma!"
And now I get it. It really is funny.
He's mastered the fine art of the head butt to the nose, and oh my damn that still freakin' hurts!
Physics is his bitch as evidenced by the fact that my face caved in to make room for his until we looked like a display in a sideshow.
Then he discovered the joy of the surprise attack.
He squared off, facing me, arms lifted at his sides. He monstered and snorted. Stomp the left foot. Stomp the right foot.
CHARGE!!
SLAM!!
And that is why I had to go to the eye doctor with a black eye and broken glasses.
And that is also why I got the talk. The one about domestic abuse and my doctor knows the numbers to call and people will help me every step of the way. I just have to get out of this awful situation.
"You're right. I do. Do you think they give toddlers hard time? Some of those prison toddlers are hard core!"
I don't think he appreciated my humor or believed me.
Until Hurricane did it again.
Punctuated this time with a loud "BAM fo Momma!" He thinks it's hysterical.
I think it forced me to try to pick out new glasses. Which? I hate.
I always end up with frames too small for my face or too bug shaped.
So, this time I got contacts instead.
It's defense really. Because unless Hurricane jabs me in the eye with sharp and pointy sticks again, he shouldn't be able to break them. Right?
Tonight, before bed, I let him run loose in just his diaper. My sister in law, L, is here from California. She's been fawning over him and taking his picture and tormenting him by sticking a ball down the back of his pajamas (I love her!).
They were on the floor playing with the ball. I guess Hurricane was still nursing some hurt feelings over the indignity of having a grapefruit sized ball shoved down the back of his pants. He tucked his head down and raised his eyes to her as she sat, unaware of what was to come.
"Uh-oh. Uh, L.....?"
She kept talking to Mr X.
Hurricane squared off to her and lifted his arms a bit. His lips puckered, nostrils flaring.
"L."
Still talking.
Stomp left foot.
"Uh... Screw it." She'll learn quickly this way.
Stomp right foot.
Charge!!
She had just enough time to register this 25 lb ball of fury barreling towards her, just enough time to look rather horrified, before his little body rammed into hers.
She went crashing backward with Hurricane on top.
"BAM fo Momma!"
And now I get it. It really is funny.
Monday, May 08, 2006
"We Always Knew She Was Crazy..."
A list of things that, thus far, have not worked in our fight against the Moles from Hell.
1)Castor oil- the salesman (read: stubbly-chinned teen who seemed to know what he was talking about but was obviously rehearsing for his role in Death of A Salesman) assured me that 'this was just the thing to get rid of those nasty little critters, yes ma'am (ok, I'll overlook the fact that you called me Ma'am. I hate, nay, loathe being called Ma'am but whatever), this will make their little tummies upset and ruin their food and they'll just scamper right out of your yard."
I've been told it would be inappropriate to go in that store, grab that little bastard by his malformed goatee and spank him for lying.
I had originally wanted something that would be safe should our dog develop a taste for dirt. Something he has, on occasion, enjoyed.
When, after a week and 5 new holes, that didn't work I stopped caring about the little buggers well-being and just wanted them dead.
2) Poison pellets. Poison pellets= mole candy.
3) Our neighbor's cats. Our Cat is the world's largest wuss. He runs and hides when he sees Hurricane's Elmo begin his dance. He flings poo at his enemies (mostly at 3 am and accompanied by much screeching). So, our neighbor's cats have taken over his duties. They point and laugh at him as he sits in by the patio door. "There's that Cat who flings poo! Can't even catch a little mole! Ha!"
They've been bringing a mole to their owners every night. Last weekend, they had a real party and brought 4 since our neighbors had house guests.
Wasn't that thoughtful of them?
4) Flooding them out and waiting for them with a shovel. I am still avoiding my neighbors across the street, thanks for asking.
5) Demolishing their piles day after day. What the hell do they care? They'll just dig a new one.
So, our next door neighbors brought over a bunch of flares tonight. The idea being that the noxious gas will kill them. They lit them up and shoved them down the holes. All the holes. Our yard was smokin'. I'm sure we broke some of those smoking ban laws but eh...
Still, I have my doubts as to whether this will work.
These aren't just any moles. They are Mutant Moles from Hell.
I wonder what the NRA would say about me using this gun Mr X is buying to kill them. I can picture myself shoving the barrel down the hole and then ending up in a life and death tug-of-war with a Mutant Mole. And I will lose.
And it will be of no surprise to anyone who lives on my block.
1)Castor oil- the salesman (read: stubbly-chinned teen who seemed to know what he was talking about but was obviously rehearsing for his role in Death of A Salesman) assured me that 'this was just the thing to get rid of those nasty little critters, yes ma'am (ok, I'll overlook the fact that you called me Ma'am. I hate, nay, loathe being called Ma'am but whatever), this will make their little tummies upset and ruin their food and they'll just scamper right out of your yard."
I've been told it would be inappropriate to go in that store, grab that little bastard by his malformed goatee and spank him for lying.
I had originally wanted something that would be safe should our dog develop a taste for dirt. Something he has, on occasion, enjoyed.
When, after a week and 5 new holes, that didn't work I stopped caring about the little buggers well-being and just wanted them dead.
2) Poison pellets. Poison pellets= mole candy.
3) Our neighbor's cats. Our Cat is the world's largest wuss. He runs and hides when he sees Hurricane's Elmo begin his dance. He flings poo at his enemies (mostly at 3 am and accompanied by much screeching). So, our neighbor's cats have taken over his duties. They point and laugh at him as he sits in by the patio door. "There's that Cat who flings poo! Can't even catch a little mole! Ha!"
They've been bringing a mole to their owners every night. Last weekend, they had a real party and brought 4 since our neighbors had house guests.
Wasn't that thoughtful of them?
4) Flooding them out and waiting for them with a shovel. I am still avoiding my neighbors across the street, thanks for asking.
5) Demolishing their piles day after day. What the hell do they care? They'll just dig a new one.
So, our next door neighbors brought over a bunch of flares tonight. The idea being that the noxious gas will kill them. They lit them up and shoved them down the holes. All the holes. Our yard was smokin'. I'm sure we broke some of those smoking ban laws but eh...
Still, I have my doubts as to whether this will work.
These aren't just any moles. They are Mutant Moles from Hell.
I wonder what the NRA would say about me using this gun Mr X is buying to kill them. I can picture myself shoving the barrel down the hole and then ending up in a life and death tug-of-war with a Mutant Mole. And I will lose.
And it will be of no surprise to anyone who lives on my block.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Genetics
I went to Girl X's school on Friday for Grandparent's day. I know, but her options were rather limited.
My parents live on the other side of the country and Mr X's parents.....
Well, there is that. His dad is fine, but he would insist on bringing She Who Shall Not Be Named and not even Girl X wants that.
So, there we were.
We had lunch amid all the Grandparents with Hurricane trying to skip lunch and go right for the cake.
After lunch we went to the playground. Girl X helped Hurricane down a slide over and over again. He was in awe. His big sister, his hero.
I held him as she ran off to join her friends on some metal bars.
I watched as she jumped up and swung herself around, upside down. Again and again.
And it hit me.
For as much as she looks like me, she is so very different.
I never would have been brave enough to do what she did. I was the kid who stood back and watched, wishing, but never doing because I was certain I would fall and break my neck.
She sat on the bar and leaned back, upside down again. Hanging by her knees. Laughing with her friends.
I couldn't help smiling, being proud.
She'll be more than I am.
It's what I've always wanted, hoped for.
I waved good-bye, blew her a kiss and walked to the parking lot.
She's going to be great. She'll be more than I am.
***********
I got Hurricane home and he began his daily ritual of attempting to defy physics by cramming his face into mine. Despite my many explanations, he is certain that he can occupy the same space as me at the same time.
It's his cue that he is tired. As if he could climb into my skin and sleep there, safe.
Girl X used to do the same thing.
I've been told that I used to do it as well.
I climbed into his bed with him and curled him into my arms. He closed his eyes and I could feel his breath, slow against my cheek.
I used to do that with Girl X. It seems so far off now.
It amazes me to see how much she has changed and how quickly. There are moments where I want to grab her and beg her to slow down. She's getting so far from me, so far from the parts of me that I recognize. But I know that's not fair. I know she has to become who ever it is she'll be.
And I know that's ok because she'll be more than me.
But Hurricane? We have a deal. I asked him to stay just as he is and he replied "Muhurah?" which I am taking as agreement.
My parents live on the other side of the country and Mr X's parents.....
Well, there is that. His dad is fine, but he would insist on bringing She Who Shall Not Be Named and not even Girl X wants that.
So, there we were.
We had lunch amid all the Grandparents with Hurricane trying to skip lunch and go right for the cake.
After lunch we went to the playground. Girl X helped Hurricane down a slide over and over again. He was in awe. His big sister, his hero.
I held him as she ran off to join her friends on some metal bars.
I watched as she jumped up and swung herself around, upside down. Again and again.
And it hit me.
For as much as she looks like me, she is so very different.
I never would have been brave enough to do what she did. I was the kid who stood back and watched, wishing, but never doing because I was certain I would fall and break my neck.
She sat on the bar and leaned back, upside down again. Hanging by her knees. Laughing with her friends.
I couldn't help smiling, being proud.
She'll be more than I am.
It's what I've always wanted, hoped for.
I waved good-bye, blew her a kiss and walked to the parking lot.
She's going to be great. She'll be more than I am.
***********
I got Hurricane home and he began his daily ritual of attempting to defy physics by cramming his face into mine. Despite my many explanations, he is certain that he can occupy the same space as me at the same time.
It's his cue that he is tired. As if he could climb into my skin and sleep there, safe.
Girl X used to do the same thing.
I've been told that I used to do it as well.
I climbed into his bed with him and curled him into my arms. He closed his eyes and I could feel his breath, slow against my cheek.
I used to do that with Girl X. It seems so far off now.
It amazes me to see how much she has changed and how quickly. There are moments where I want to grab her and beg her to slow down. She's getting so far from me, so far from the parts of me that I recognize. But I know that's not fair. I know she has to become who ever it is she'll be.
And I know that's ok because she'll be more than me.
But Hurricane? We have a deal. I asked him to stay just as he is and he replied "Muhurah?" which I am taking as agreement.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Just Make Her Shut Up Already.
Mr X asked if I thought his plan for getting Hurricane to sleep through the night was working or not.
I think I'm not a good person to ask about this. I'm too tired to answer really.
I guess in the sense that he isn't playing when he wakes up 3 times a night, then yeah sure. It's great. Now instead of waking up and playing poke-the-mommy, he just sticks his butt in my face or lays on my head before falling asleep.
Except last night.
We're in week 6 (I think) of the sleep strike. Last night the 'plan' wasn't working.
Last night was a brutal reminder that real life parenting and what you imagine parenting to be like before you have kids is very different.
At one point I offered to take him to a strip joint every weekend for a year after he turned 18 if he would just go to sleep.
He didn't.
When I woke up this morning he was sleeping in his toy box next to Elmo.
And as if the whole "I'm not sleeping" thing wasn't enough, he's decided to throw an eating issue into the mix.
He eats pancakes, cookies, bananas and grilled cheese sandwiches with the crusts cut off.
That's it.
All those things he used to love to eat, he now refuses.
Tonight I made him his favorite pasta and he stubbornly clamped his mouth shut, crossed his arms and glared at me.
I tried to trick him by offering a bite of banana and then slipping in the pasta, but he caught me.
So I waited until he started screaming for his banana and shoved the pasta in.
He spit the first bite out on principle but he did eat the rest.
And this is how we now get through every. meal.
I think I'm not a good person to ask about this. I'm too tired to answer really.
I guess in the sense that he isn't playing when he wakes up 3 times a night, then yeah sure. It's great. Now instead of waking up and playing poke-the-mommy, he just sticks his butt in my face or lays on my head before falling asleep.
Except last night.
We're in week 6 (I think) of the sleep strike. Last night the 'plan' wasn't working.
Last night was a brutal reminder that real life parenting and what you imagine parenting to be like before you have kids is very different.
At one point I offered to take him to a strip joint every weekend for a year after he turned 18 if he would just go to sleep.
He didn't.
When I woke up this morning he was sleeping in his toy box next to Elmo.
And as if the whole "I'm not sleeping" thing wasn't enough, he's decided to throw an eating issue into the mix.
He eats pancakes, cookies, bananas and grilled cheese sandwiches with the crusts cut off.
That's it.
All those things he used to love to eat, he now refuses.
Tonight I made him his favorite pasta and he stubbornly clamped his mouth shut, crossed his arms and glared at me.
I tried to trick him by offering a bite of banana and then slipping in the pasta, but he caught me.
So I waited until he started screaming for his banana and shoved the pasta in.
He spit the first bite out on principle but he did eat the rest.
And this is how we now get through every. meal.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
I Can See The Headlines Now......
In the list of Things That Are A Very Bad Idea But I Can See We're Doing It Anyway, this is number 1.
Mr X came home from work and said 'We need to talk.'
I told the part of my brain that was screaming to run really fast to shut up. I hate it when he gets all serious like that because it usually means I'm going to have to do something I don't want to do. Like talk to his mother.
We sat down and he hemmed and hawed around what he wanted to say. The part of my brain that controls keeping my mouth shut must have been taking a nap.
"Can you just get to the point already you girl? I'm bored."
Did I ever tell you he has a great sense of humor? He does. Especially when he's about to ask me to do something he knows I'm not going to want to do.
He wants me to learn how to fire a gun.
Yeah. Take that in for a moment.
I can see his point. He leaves for work at the same time every morning. We live right next to this wooded area in a decent neighborhood, but decent neighborhoods can change from day to day.
He wants to get a gun to keep with him too since he works in a high crime area and is always the first one to work. His car has been broken into several times as has the shop.
So I get that.
But then there's the other side of my brain that keeps a running tally of all the stupid ways I hurt myself. The other side of my brain says "Self? Do you not remember the moles? The evil and so not cute like the one who is friends with Winnie-the-Pooh moles? Do you remember nearly taking yourself out with a shovel? Damn. How did I end up in the body of a moron?"
Aside from a paintball gun that my 10th grade boyfriend took from me after I accidentally shot him in the gut, and the time I took a shotgun away from a friend using it knock down a cereal box rather than using a stepstool like a normal person, and why do I know so many stupid people?, I have never held a gun, much less fired one.
And now Mr X is talking about taking me to the firing range (and I now realize that it has nothing to do with pottery) and which gun would work best in my little hands (I'm thinking a small green water gun would be the safest) and lock boxes.
And I'm wondering how long it will be before I mistake my foot for a bullseye. Oh please, you know you were thinking it too. I wonder what the Vegas odds on that would be?
Although, I guess shooting my foot off would be one way to end the issues I have with my lowest extremities. But it might make wearing shoes a bit difficult. And I really love shoes.
Mr X came home from work and said 'We need to talk.'
I told the part of my brain that was screaming to run really fast to shut up. I hate it when he gets all serious like that because it usually means I'm going to have to do something I don't want to do. Like talk to his mother.
We sat down and he hemmed and hawed around what he wanted to say. The part of my brain that controls keeping my mouth shut must have been taking a nap.
"Can you just get to the point already you girl? I'm bored."
Did I ever tell you he has a great sense of humor? He does. Especially when he's about to ask me to do something he knows I'm not going to want to do.
He wants me to learn how to fire a gun.
Yeah. Take that in for a moment.
I can see his point. He leaves for work at the same time every morning. We live right next to this wooded area in a decent neighborhood, but decent neighborhoods can change from day to day.
He wants to get a gun to keep with him too since he works in a high crime area and is always the first one to work. His car has been broken into several times as has the shop.
So I get that.
But then there's the other side of my brain that keeps a running tally of all the stupid ways I hurt myself. The other side of my brain says "Self? Do you not remember the moles? The evil and so not cute like the one who is friends with Winnie-the-Pooh moles? Do you remember nearly taking yourself out with a shovel? Damn. How did I end up in the body of a moron?"
Aside from a paintball gun that my 10th grade boyfriend took from me after I accidentally shot him in the gut, and the time I took a shotgun away from a friend using it knock down a cereal box rather than using a stepstool like a normal person, and why do I know so many stupid people?, I have never held a gun, much less fired one.
And now Mr X is talking about taking me to the firing range (and I now realize that it has nothing to do with pottery) and which gun would work best in my little hands (I'm thinking a small green water gun would be the safest) and lock boxes.
And I'm wondering how long it will be before I mistake my foot for a bullseye. Oh please, you know you were thinking it too. I wonder what the Vegas odds on that would be?
Although, I guess shooting my foot off would be one way to end the issues I have with my lowest extremities. But it might make wearing shoes a bit difficult. And I really love shoes.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Things I Do For Amusement.
A couple of months ago, I had a conversation with some friends about the our kids' aversions to towers.
It used to make Hurricane crazy to see a tower of any kind in the house. It didn't matter if it was blocks or stuffed animals. He would go out of his way to immediately destroy the tower.
Die tower! Die!! AAACCCKKKKK!!
I used to wait until he was down for a nap and then I'd make little towers all over the living room just to watch him go ballistic when he woke up.
And then I got bored with it and moved onto torturing him by making him keep his clothes on and not eating Cat.
Then Girl X dug out Jenga this weekend.
Everything was fine at first.
We set up the game and started pulling out the little blocks.
Hurricane came over to see what we were doing.
I saw his little eyes narrow, trying to remember just what it was he should be doing to this thing.....
there was something......
The tower grew higher and higher.
He watched.
Just when I thought maybe he didn't care anymore, he threw down his sippy cup, screamed and threw his body at the tower as though he were protecting us from a live grenade.
Girl X's eyes got wide and she just sat back.
Hurricane, still screaming and growling, began throwing the blocks as far as his little arms could.
I think he thought that maybe if we lost a few these awful towers would never appear again.
He was oh so wrong.
Because now I remember how much fun it was to watch him go ape-shit over these things.
Even more fun?
Watching him try to destroy a tower of legos.
It used to make Hurricane crazy to see a tower of any kind in the house. It didn't matter if it was blocks or stuffed animals. He would go out of his way to immediately destroy the tower.
Die tower! Die!! AAACCCKKKKK!!
I used to wait until he was down for a nap and then I'd make little towers all over the living room just to watch him go ballistic when he woke up.
And then I got bored with it and moved onto torturing him by making him keep his clothes on and not eating Cat.
Then Girl X dug out Jenga this weekend.
Everything was fine at first.
We set up the game and started pulling out the little blocks.
Hurricane came over to see what we were doing.
I saw his little eyes narrow, trying to remember just what it was he should be doing to this thing.....
there was something......
The tower grew higher and higher.
He watched.
Just when I thought maybe he didn't care anymore, he threw down his sippy cup, screamed and threw his body at the tower as though he were protecting us from a live grenade.
Girl X's eyes got wide and she just sat back.
Hurricane, still screaming and growling, began throwing the blocks as far as his little arms could.
I think he thought that maybe if we lost a few these awful towers would never appear again.
He was oh so wrong.
Because now I remember how much fun it was to watch him go ape-shit over these things.
Even more fun?
Watching him try to destroy a tower of legos.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Random Bits
Since SJ sent me the link for extreme tracking, I have had some pretty normal search hits.
Boobs, sexy girl pictures (Sorry Ichiro!), sex diary (boy were they ever disappointed), just basic stuff you kind of expect.
But this? This makes me worry about you internet.
Tickle Belly Attacking Raspberries.
I'm wondering if it was the same person looking to "Tickle His Belly".
Seriously internet? This is what you are looking for?
I mean, 'tickle his belly' maybe but do you really need instructions for that?
I'm almost curious enough to ask about the sexual perversion that involves attacking raspberries. Almost.
After the round of e-mails I got from some foot fetish people, I know better than to actually ask.
*Hurricane's sleep issues have caused the Mr X to do the thing I HATE with a fiery fury.
Research.
It makes him insufferable.
It wouldn't be so bad if he would just stop with all the questions.
"How long does he nap?"
"What time does he nap?"
"Does he sleep with his head to the North or South?"
"What song are the birds whistling in the morning?"
He calls me throughout the day, wakes me up from the little sleep I get, interrupts my quality slacking time with these damn questions.
My only relief, is that he thinks he's found the answer.
I'll admit that it makes sense. The timing fits. I give it a week and if there is no change, he's going to see his Dr.
*Speaking of, Mr X pushed his Dr's appt back to June. Because it's fun to make me crazy. No, really.
*I am taking special measures to avoid our neighbors across the street right now. Why? Silly internet. You should know by now, I've once again made an ass of myself.
We have a mole problem (they came from these neighbors yard). The little bastards don't have the decency to just go the hell away already.
We tried castor oil.
We tried poison.
I threatened to sick my dad's little buddy on them.
So, when I counted 7 holes in our yard this morning, and realized that they didn't care that I didn't want them here, I went a little bit crazy.
Girl X was eating her breakfast, Hurricane was Opening and closing the bedroom doors (I don't know, I don't ask), so I went outside, in my blue footed pajamas (yes, I am an adult who owns a pair of footed pajamas. Shut up.) and stuck a garden hose in one of the holes. I stood back with a shovel in my hand and waited for the water to push the little bastards out.
And when they did come out, I ran screaming, slipped on the wet grass and nearly knocked myself out with the shovel.
When I got up, I saw my neighbor with her purse in her hands just staring at me like I was the world's biggest idiot.
I guess I don't have the heart to play whack-a-mole with the real thing. It's a shame too because I'm really good at it!
Boobs, sexy girl pictures (Sorry Ichiro!), sex diary (boy were they ever disappointed), just basic stuff you kind of expect.
But this? This makes me worry about you internet.
Tickle Belly Attacking Raspberries.
I'm wondering if it was the same person looking to "Tickle His Belly".
Seriously internet? This is what you are looking for?
I mean, 'tickle his belly' maybe but do you really need instructions for that?
I'm almost curious enough to ask about the sexual perversion that involves attacking raspberries. Almost.
After the round of e-mails I got from some foot fetish people, I know better than to actually ask.
*Hurricane's sleep issues have caused the Mr X to do the thing I HATE with a fiery fury.
Research.
It makes him insufferable.
It wouldn't be so bad if he would just stop with all the questions.
"How long does he nap?"
"What time does he nap?"
"Does he sleep with his head to the North or South?"
"What song are the birds whistling in the morning?"
He calls me throughout the day, wakes me up from the little sleep I get, interrupts my quality slacking time with these damn questions.
My only relief, is that he thinks he's found the answer.
I'll admit that it makes sense. The timing fits. I give it a week and if there is no change, he's going to see his Dr.
*Speaking of, Mr X pushed his Dr's appt back to June. Because it's fun to make me crazy. No, really.
*I am taking special measures to avoid our neighbors across the street right now. Why? Silly internet. You should know by now, I've once again made an ass of myself.
We have a mole problem (they came from these neighbors yard). The little bastards don't have the decency to just go the hell away already.
We tried castor oil.
We tried poison.
I threatened to sick my dad's little buddy on them.
So, when I counted 7 holes in our yard this morning, and realized that they didn't care that I didn't want them here, I went a little bit crazy.
Girl X was eating her breakfast, Hurricane was Opening and closing the bedroom doors (I don't know, I don't ask), so I went outside, in my blue footed pajamas (yes, I am an adult who owns a pair of footed pajamas. Shut up.) and stuck a garden hose in one of the holes. I stood back with a shovel in my hand and waited for the water to push the little bastards out.
And when they did come out, I ran screaming, slipped on the wet grass and nearly knocked myself out with the shovel.
When I got up, I saw my neighbor with her purse in her hands just staring at me like I was the world's biggest idiot.
I guess I don't have the heart to play whack-a-mole with the real thing. It's a shame too because I'm really good at it!
Sunday, April 30, 2006
I Survived.
Thanks to this lovely little book the talk wasn't nearly as bad as I had thought it was going to be.
She didn't ask many questions, just listened.
And I finally understood just how my dad felt when, upon a trip to the Museum of Natural History, I found my sister and her friend giggling over a naked sculpture of some prehistoric man and my 7 year old self declared that it was 'Pshaw! Nothing I haven't already seen!" and walked away in my Miss Know-it-All pants.
We got to the part where it shows all the boy parts and Girl X waved her hand and said "I already know all about that stuff."
Unlike with my dad, I got an explanation. And it's pretty obvious.
She has a little brother.
Also, I thoroughly enjoyed telling Mr X he would someday be responsible for explaining it all to Hurricane and being witness to yet another hair turning gray.
She didn't ask many questions, just listened.
And I finally understood just how my dad felt when, upon a trip to the Museum of Natural History, I found my sister and her friend giggling over a naked sculpture of some prehistoric man and my 7 year old self declared that it was 'Pshaw! Nothing I haven't already seen!" and walked away in my Miss Know-it-All pants.
We got to the part where it shows all the boy parts and Girl X waved her hand and said "I already know all about that stuff."
Unlike with my dad, I got an explanation. And it's pretty obvious.
She has a little brother.
Also, I thoroughly enjoyed telling Mr X he would someday be responsible for explaining it all to Hurricane and being witness to yet another hair turning gray.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Just Wait Until It's His Turn........
I had to have the most awkward of conversation with Mr X tonight. It left me fairly exasperated.
I sat him down and pulled out The Book. The one I'll be using this weekend when I have that talk I'm dreading with the Girl.
"It's time. She needs to know. Is there anything you think we should absolutely cover or leave out?"
He turned bright red, squirmed, and stuttered "Now?"
"This weekend. She wants to know how babies are made and she's not buying that thing about eating a special baby capsule."
He got up and paced the room.
He started to get a little pale.
"You don't have to be in the room with me when I talk to her."
"Oh thank G-d!"
He's still a little nervous though. I catch him glancing at her and then shaking his head and frowning.
She asked if something was wrong with him.
"Yes. He has a daughter."
And that's it. He and a friend, who has 3 daughters, have a plan for the first time a guy shows up for one of the girls. They intend to answer the door in jeans, muscle t-shirts and scowls. They're both big guys. They can be very intimidating. I pity any boy who has to face them. I pity the girls because there is little chance of them getting out if their dads are home.
I look at her and think about that night in the hospital when I lay in the bed beside her and she just looked at me. She didn't make a peep. Didn't move. Just blink and stare.
I got wrapped up in that image of her. My baby. My first born. I let myself forget that eventually she would grow up and need to know things about her body and sex.
Now that time is here and it's not that the idea of telling her about it is horrible. It's the thought that she's not a baby anymore.
Every year it gets harder and harder to keep her from the things that will hurt her.
Her first heartbreak. First crush. The first time some other girl calls her a name (and I'm going to find it very difficult not to find that girl and beat her senseless for it just as I'm sure it will be hard not to run over little Johnny for breaking her heart).
I know that a large part of my fear, as mildly irrational as it may be, is that she's growing too far away from me. Because that's how it was with my mom.
The older I got, the less she wanted to have to do with me. The farther apart we grew until one day, she was just that lady who gave birth to me.
I don't want that to happen with us. I want the kind of relationship with Grown-up Girl X that I always wanted with the kind of mom I wished I had.
And ok, I am choking a little at the thought of having a sex talk with my baby girl.
I take comfort in knowing that Mr X will someday have to have the Talk with Hurricane.
I sat him down and pulled out The Book. The one I'll be using this weekend when I have that talk I'm dreading with the Girl.
"It's time. She needs to know. Is there anything you think we should absolutely cover or leave out?"
He turned bright red, squirmed, and stuttered "Now?"
"This weekend. She wants to know how babies are made and she's not buying that thing about eating a special baby capsule."
He got up and paced the room.
He started to get a little pale.
"You don't have to be in the room with me when I talk to her."
"Oh thank G-d!"
He's still a little nervous though. I catch him glancing at her and then shaking his head and frowning.
She asked if something was wrong with him.
"Yes. He has a daughter."
And that's it. He and a friend, who has 3 daughters, have a plan for the first time a guy shows up for one of the girls. They intend to answer the door in jeans, muscle t-shirts and scowls. They're both big guys. They can be very intimidating. I pity any boy who has to face them. I pity the girls because there is little chance of them getting out if their dads are home.
I look at her and think about that night in the hospital when I lay in the bed beside her and she just looked at me. She didn't make a peep. Didn't move. Just blink and stare.
I got wrapped up in that image of her. My baby. My first born. I let myself forget that eventually she would grow up and need to know things about her body and sex.
Now that time is here and it's not that the idea of telling her about it is horrible. It's the thought that she's not a baby anymore.
Every year it gets harder and harder to keep her from the things that will hurt her.
Her first heartbreak. First crush. The first time some other girl calls her a name (and I'm going to find it very difficult not to find that girl and beat her senseless for it just as I'm sure it will be hard not to run over little Johnny for breaking her heart).
I know that a large part of my fear, as mildly irrational as it may be, is that she's growing too far away from me. Because that's how it was with my mom.
The older I got, the less she wanted to have to do with me. The farther apart we grew until one day, she was just that lady who gave birth to me.
I don't want that to happen with us. I want the kind of relationship with Grown-up Girl X that I always wanted with the kind of mom I wished I had.
And ok, I am choking a little at the thought of having a sex talk with my baby girl.
I take comfort in knowing that Mr X will someday have to have the Talk with Hurricane.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
The Day I've Been Dreading
Girl X wants to know where babies come from. I've been putting it off for many months. Placating her with "Soon" when she asks if I'm going to tell her.
She no longer believes me when I tell her we got Hurricane from Babies R Us.
"I'm 8. Not stupid."
Right. That's what I'm afraid of.
When I was a kid I always had questions about sex. Since my mom was, well... she was herself, I always took my questions to my dad.
His response every single time was "uh. Um. Er. Let's go to the toy store!"
I had a lot of toys.
And I learned a lot about sex on the playground. And at lunch.
Do you know how to make the lunch lady nervous? Start discussing with your 5th grade buddies how many pubic hairs you now have.
I'm not kidding.
So I could go that route. Let the school and her friends teach her. Of course, she may then end up avoiding acorns because her best friend Jenny told her that her older sister who knows everything because she's in the 7th grade said that you get pregnant when a boy makes you eat an acorn.
I was such a stupid kid.
Or I could do what my MIL did. Tell her her body is evil and only whores use tampons.
Ok, I am so not doing that.
So I have to tell her something. Thing is, she's only 8. I don't want to tell her more than she really needs to know at this point.
I also don't want her to freak out one day because I didn't prepare her for her period.
And she's 8. And that could happen.
I'll take Hurricane's sleep issues over having the sex talk with her anyday.
She no longer believes me when I tell her we got Hurricane from Babies R Us.
"I'm 8. Not stupid."
Right. That's what I'm afraid of.
When I was a kid I always had questions about sex. Since my mom was, well... she was herself, I always took my questions to my dad.
His response every single time was "uh. Um. Er. Let's go to the toy store!"
I had a lot of toys.
And I learned a lot about sex on the playground. And at lunch.
Do you know how to make the lunch lady nervous? Start discussing with your 5th grade buddies how many pubic hairs you now have.
I'm not kidding.
So I could go that route. Let the school and her friends teach her. Of course, she may then end up avoiding acorns because her best friend Jenny told her that her older sister who knows everything because she's in the 7th grade said that you get pregnant when a boy makes you eat an acorn.
I was such a stupid kid.
Or I could do what my MIL did. Tell her her body is evil and only whores use tampons.
Ok, I am so not doing that.
So I have to tell her something. Thing is, she's only 8. I don't want to tell her more than she really needs to know at this point.
I also don't want her to freak out one day because I didn't prepare her for her period.
And she's 8. And that could happen.
I'll take Hurricane's sleep issues over having the sex talk with her anyday.
Wish me luck. This weekend is not going to be an easy one.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
In Search of A Good Lock.........
Hurricane is ticklish. Like I am. As in, breathe lightly on the back of his neck and watch him shiver and shrug and giggle.
As part of his bedtime routine, we do the full body tickle. I lay out his pj's and catch him before he can run too far away. He helps me take off his clothes. He puts his hands over his 'bebly' and smiles. I start behind his ears and trace my fingers down to his neck.
I lightly wiggle my fingers.
He grins and hunches his shoulders.
I run my fingers down his arms and lift them.
He giggles a little.
I blow raspberries along the sides of his belly all the way up.
He wiggles and laughs and eventually pushes me away.
He again covers his belly.
He smiles.
"Bebly?" He asks.
I wiggle my fingers over his belly.
His smile widens as do his eyes.
I tickle his tummy and he laughs and rolls over.
I tickle his back and he rolls back.
I trace down to his knees and tickle the little hollow at the back of his knees.
And then we get to his favorite part.
His feet.
I get a little tickle in at his toes and then Mr X takes over.
Mr X has this perfectly scratchy stubble.
He lifts his foot up to Mr X knowing exactly what is going to happen.
He is not disappointed.
His belly laughs are one of the highlights of my day.
I know it seems off topic, but bear with me because what I told you relates to our trip to Target today.
We weren't really looking for anything. We just needed to get out of the house. I skipped the cart and let Hurricane take the lead.
We wandered around the store, flittering from one shiny object to the next. He was having a grand time with the free rein over the store.
But the thing that caught his eye and caused him to stop dead in his tracks?
The pretty redheaded teen who was studying some Rimmel eyeliner.
He ran right into her legs, smiled up at her with his most disarming smile and tilted his head. When he was sure he had her attention, he lifted his shirt and offered her his 'bebly' with a wiggle of his fingers.
She laughed and obliged him with a little tickle.
I am so screwed when this boy hits puberty.
As part of his bedtime routine, we do the full body tickle. I lay out his pj's and catch him before he can run too far away. He helps me take off his clothes. He puts his hands over his 'bebly' and smiles. I start behind his ears and trace my fingers down to his neck.
I lightly wiggle my fingers.
He grins and hunches his shoulders.
I run my fingers down his arms and lift them.
He giggles a little.
I blow raspberries along the sides of his belly all the way up.
He wiggles and laughs and eventually pushes me away.
He again covers his belly.
He smiles.
"Bebly?" He asks.
I wiggle my fingers over his belly.
His smile widens as do his eyes.
I tickle his tummy and he laughs and rolls over.
I tickle his back and he rolls back.
I trace down to his knees and tickle the little hollow at the back of his knees.
And then we get to his favorite part.
His feet.
I get a little tickle in at his toes and then Mr X takes over.
Mr X has this perfectly scratchy stubble.
He lifts his foot up to Mr X knowing exactly what is going to happen.
He is not disappointed.
His belly laughs are one of the highlights of my day.
I know it seems off topic, but bear with me because what I told you relates to our trip to Target today.
We weren't really looking for anything. We just needed to get out of the house. I skipped the cart and let Hurricane take the lead.
We wandered around the store, flittering from one shiny object to the next. He was having a grand time with the free rein over the store.
But the thing that caught his eye and caused him to stop dead in his tracks?
The pretty redheaded teen who was studying some Rimmel eyeliner.
He ran right into her legs, smiled up at her with his most disarming smile and tilted his head. When he was sure he had her attention, he lifted his shirt and offered her his 'bebly' with a wiggle of his fingers.
She laughed and obliged him with a little tickle.
I am so screwed when this boy hits puberty.
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