Tag Archives: Little Ones

About Last Night… (Alternatively Titled: Bats Alive!)

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January 22, 2013, 9:30 p.m.

So even though I have two posts partially finished to, you know – FINISH (one of which is about my Christmas), I have GOT to talk about what happened last night.

At about 11:00 I was channel surfing (we still call it that right? I’m so ’90s about electronics, I’m never sure – I mean, I still listen to CDs forgodssake). And after two hours of complete engrossment in The Carrie Diaries and The Following (try THAT juxtaposition on for size), I was beginning to think that going to bed might be a good idea. But first I had to make sure there wasn’t something super awesome on Lifetime (or at least something starring Jo from The Facts of Life).

So I know it was sometime before midnight when I heard Eleanor crying. She said her foot hurt where the splint covered her heel. Oh – did I mention that she broke her foot this weekend? It’s a long story involving children picking up free weights when they know it’s not allowed and Eleanor’s foot being in the wrong place at the wrong time… Well maybe it’s a short story… But yeah – Eleanor broke her foot. Anyway – it hurt, she cried and I had to give up on 1990’s made for Lifetime movie entertainment.

I gave her some Tylenol and said she could sleep in my room. Then I tucked her into bed with George, who had already found his way there. Wait – did you know that Chris is away on a week-long business trip? Wow – we have A LOT of catching up to do… Well, moving on, I looked at my six year old “book ends” and resigned myself to a cramped night of elbow jabs and pillow stealing.

I suffered for a while, but when our dog, Alice crawled under the covers to make herself comfortable in the area where I would typically choose to place my legs, I decided that one of my bed mates had to go. And because Eleanor was playing the “wounded” card and I have never once won a battle for bed space with Alice, the choice was obvious. I got up and moved George back to his own bed. This was easy enough as George sleeps so deeply you could probably arrange him on a coat hanger, and he wouldn’t notice.

It was the moment when I finally relaxed back into the luxury of being able to move at least one of my limbs, that the scratching noise started. Then continued, persistent and loud.

I had woken Eleanor up with my moving around, so she heard it too. And sensing my newly alert state, she said, “I think it’s just Alice.” Since I was at that very moment straddling my sleeping, 60 lb. dog, I knew for a fact that it was not Alice.

And speaking of that, please take a moment to give it up for Alice, the WORST guard dog EVER. She will bark her head off at a cat sitting on the sidewalk outside of our house – but an unknown creature makes menacing noises IN MY BEDROOM and….nothing.

As the mysterious scuffling (and Alice’s snoring) continued, it became increasingly clear, that I was going to have to get up and “check it out.” I was so tired, I would have preferred to just pretend it wasn’t happening so I could sleep. But the noise was coming from the corner where Chris’ closet was partially open, and I figured that if there was a raccoon in there eating his dress shirts, I’d probably better deal with it sooner as opposed to later. Oh who am I kidding!? I’ve already admitted that I’d be the first to meet my grisly end in a horror movie. I ALWAYS “check it out.”

I tried to make it as “not scary” as possible for Eleanor by saying that the boys might be awake and making noise downstairs. But as I went through the motions of listening for signs of my naughty sons, I was fully focused on that corner, trying to identify the the true source of the commotion

Was it the closet? Or was it the window next to the closet…? It was definitely the window. So all I had to do was open the drapes and take a look.

Oh Christ. I really didn’t want to open the drapes… But hey – it could be an ax murderer or something…so I figured I pretty much had to do it. And with Eleanor’s encouragement, I peeked in the side and saw a small fluttering shape.

My first thought was that it could be a bird since I did once have an experience with a sparrow flying in the window and getting trapped in my room (and let me tell you – you haven’t lived until a bird has crapped all over your room). But in my heart of hearts, I knew it wasn’t a bird. It was the middle of the night. What birds fly around in the middle of the night? I looked a little more closely. And sure enough…it was a bat.

Oh sweet Jesus. I had a bat trapped in my storm window.

I immediately started fuming, “OF COURSE Chris isn’t here, leaving ME to deal with this.” But then I quickly remembered that Chris would have been of no use, as I was fairly certain that “bat removal” was not listed under “Skills” on his marriage resume.

And truly, I didn’t know what I could do at that point. The only way to get the bat out was to open the window. And if I opened the window it would most definitely make a beeline for my nice warm bedroom. No – there was nothing for it. I had to leave it where it was until the following day when I could find “someone else“ to handle the situation.

I have to admit, I felt conflicted… On the one hand, I thought “aw! poor little thing…” and on the other hand, I thought “OHMYGODGROSS! KILL IT! KILL IT!” But either way – it would have to be dealt with in the morning.

And that was another thought. What would happen in the morning? Would the sun burn it to ash? Or was that just vampires? It was late. I was was confused…

Then I realized that Eleanor wanted to know what I saw. So in keeping with the whole “not scary” thing, I told her it was a bug. A really big bug. But it was trapped outside the window and couldn’t get in.

Unfortunately, she insisted on seeing it. Since I obviously wasn’t going to be able to pull off the “it’s just a bug” ruse, I said, “you know…I THINK it might be a BABY bat.”

This did not elicit quite the electrifying response that a six-year-old Kate have displayed at the notion of a thin sheet of glass separating a BAT’S sharp teeth from our tender flesh. Obviously, my daughter is not growing up with a dial’s worth of television channels, one of which undoubtedly airs the odd “Mid-Day Monster Movie Marathon.” No – she hails from the era of closely monitored cable shows and Twilight. She just thought it was sad and kind of icky.

I convinced her to try to go back to sleep, in spite of the futile scrabbling going on behind the closed drapes. But it was difficult for either of us to manage with Alice’s stalking and growling. OH HI ALICE! Thanks for joining us. Yes – there is a bat stuck in the window. Get it girl – GET IT!

Needless to say, there was another hour or two of growling and stalking and giggling and wondering HOW I could possibly function tomorrow on just a few hours of sleep.

And then we woke up.

And there were no scratching and scrabbling noises. And I really hoped this meant that the bat found its way out of the storm window while we were sleeping.

But alas. There it was – a tiny fur ball wedged in the corner. It was so cold outside that the poor little guy must have frozen to death.

On the upside, I no longer had to take immediate action.

So I spent the rest of my busy day ignoring the fact that the there was a dead bat in my window.

Then earlier this evening, I was summoned upstairs by Oliver who sounded quite agitated. He said that he was “afraid of the bat,” so I explained that the poor little thing was dead and no longer a threat to the good, bat-fearing people that lived in this house. My son then continued to inform me that it wasn’t THAT bat that was scaring him. It was another one he could hear in his room.

The chittering (yes – chittering) noises outside of the boys’ bedroom window clearly indicated that our nice warm(ish) house must be a beacon for all uninvited guests of the furry, winged variety.

Crap.

So this is what we’re up to tonight:

But WAIT – it gets BETTER! Shortly after everyone fell asleep, Alice became very interested in my bedroom window. Her (better late than never) warning directed my attention to the original scene of the crime. Scuffling noises again.

This time I wasn’t afraid to look – been there, done that – and was only slightly taken aback to find ANOTHER BAT trapped in the storm window.

If tonight’s bat doesn’t make his move and turn us into new Cullen family members (pray for me, as I am emphatically Team Jacob), I’ll have to address this issue tomorrow morning. So basically, I’ll let you know how the move went once we’re settled in the new house. ‘Night all!

EPILOGUE: January 23, 2013, 8:00 a.m.

It has come to light that our second visitor was actually our FIRST visitor. Apparently, he reanimated last night and is no longer a tiny ball of fur cowering in the corner. Now he is hanging from the window pane, BOLD AS BRASS.

Someone pass me the smelling salts. And the number of a good exterminator. And a blunt object I can use to kill my husband when he returns for his business trip next week, long after I have figured out how to evict unwanted bats from storm windows. Never a dull moment around here…

EPILOGUE II: January 24, 2013, 8:00 a.m.

After a day of talking to Animal Control (who didn’t feel a connection to my bat and suggested that I contact an exterminator), exterminators (who weren’t overly concerned about the bat devouring us in our sleep and offered to come by in day or two to see “if there was anything they could do for us”), and finally a bat expert/rescuer lady (who worked somewhere called “Bats Alive”), we seem to have found resolution.

Here is the deal. The bat cannot get into our house – he really is just hanging out in the storm window. So there is no danger to the people (and vicious guard dog) who live here. And the bat expert lady confirmed that our bat isn’t in danger of freezing to death (THANK GOD). No – he’s just snug as a bug in a rug – happily hibernating in a warm (for him), safe place. She said that as long as he is able to climb out of the window (he is), then he will eventually leave on his own (when he’s damn well ready).

SO, it seems that we will be one big happy family as long as he’ll have us. Or at least until Spring when I’ve had enough, and make Chris get up a ladder to forcibly evict him. In the meantime, friends and neighbors are welcome to drop by and wave hello. He’s dangling in the the window above our front door.

And they all lived happily ever after… THE END

…until… EPILOGUE III (the FINAL installment in the Hood Family Bat saga): January 30, 2013, 6:30 p.m.

We’ve had some very warm, spring-ish weather for the past couple of days. So each morning, I’ve checked the window to see if our little friend had left us. My roller coaster ride of SYMPATHY-REVULSION-SYMPATHY-REVULSION finally leveled out on a steady plateau of cautious fondness. And while I’ve hoped that our bat would make his way back into the wilds where he belongs, I’d by lying if I said there wasn’t a (very) small part of me that would be sad to see him go.

I mean, we’ve had some great learning opportunities over the past week. For example…

Eleanor: Mom, bats are like people. They have five fingers.

Me: How do you know that?

Eleanor: I counted.

Yay Science! Also? That’s his tail. Eeeeewwww!

As the slush melted and we switched from coats to jackets, I knew that our time with the bat would be coming to an end. And sure enough, when I checked the window this morning, he was gone.

Oh no…. He wasn’t gone. He just wasn’t comfortably dangling anymore. He was a furry, crumpled heap. I feared the worst.

So I called the bat expert lady.

She agreed that things sounded dire. And even though she planned to be in my area later that evening for a bat release, she decided that she’d better come assess the situation pronto.

I hustled the kids off to school, telling them that someone was coming to help our bat out of the window and “no – no time to say goodbye – he’s sleeping anyway – I’ll send him your regards!” Then I waited for the bat expert lady.

I won’t string you along. Our bat was alive! But he couldn’t climb out, and definitely wouldn’t have lasted much longer without help.

And since I know you’ve just been DYING to see the little guy’s face…

Yes – her shirt says, “I love bats!” The bat expert lady is awesome.

She noted that he is a “Big Brown Bat.” Which I could have told you… But seriously, that’s the real name. In fact, the “Big Brown Bat is one of the most common bats in Northern Virginia, as well as the largest. Their bodies are about five inches long, not counting the tail, and they have a wingspan of up to 13 inches.” Just so you know.

AND it was confirmed that my use of the masculine pronoun was in fact, correct. Congratulations Hood family, “it’s a boy!” We will remember HIM fondly.

So we are now batless. It’s weird. But ultimately a good thing. I’m glad to know that we were able to provide shelter to a tiny soul in the bitter cold. And that we were able to help send him safely on his way when he no longer needed us. But I’m most grateful for the fact that we now know that bats will nest in open storm windows sometimes, so we can make sure that moving forward, ours always stay firmly shut.

They Coulda’ Been Great: 2012

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8/21/13

I know… A “They Coulda’ Been Great” post for ALL of 2012. ALLOFIT. Oh – there’s not that much of it – I was a sporadic poster that year.

I’ve had so much fun looking back at the silliness evidenced in my 2013 Facebook status updates, that I decided to stroll down memory lane in 2012 (totally worth it if you post funny stories about your kids). Anyway – I dumped it all in a Word doc and decided to post the whole damn thing here.

Yes – I posted it retroactively for December 31, 2012… But I have a thing for chronological order. If this is the first time you are seeing anything about this, my first “They Coulda’ Been Great” post was for January 2013. It explains everything. The impact of social media on blogging, writing, community… Whatever – I write some funny stuff on Facebook and then I post it all on my blog. It’s my new thing. Hope you enjoy it.

Here is 2012 (yes – all of it – allofit, even)!


February 3

7:05 p.m.

Look what just arrived! Thank you to Eleanor who took the picture and suggested a little lip gloss (though she neglected to mention a much needed push up bra…) Stephanie Dulli and I are now READY for those Listen to Your Mother DC auditions. Should we wear our new shirts? Oh – I think so…

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February 4

12:00 p.m.

Eleanor just held something out for me to see, saying, “George thinks this is a tooth.” And…George is right. Half right…as it is HALF a tooth. Must be one of Oliver’s baby teeth that they all played with and LOST before it could be placed under a pillow for the Tooth Fairy. Eleanor’s reaction to this revelation: Gingerly handed it to me, and wrinkling her nose in an excellent “Mom” impersonation said, “well…I don’t think we need it anymore.”


February 16

4:55 p.m.

So….holiday binge eating lasts roughly from Thanksgiving through Valentine’s Day, right? Or is it St. Patrick’s Day? I can never remember…


March 19

1:50 p.m.

Great pictures from the St. Patrick’s Day celebration at the Reston Town Center! But this one reminds me of what a disaster Eleanor was last night… She was beside herself about her face paint washing off in the tub. Cried (SOBBED) for an hour straight. By the end, I was ready to take a permanent marker to her face and call it a day!

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April 9

5:00 p.m.

Out of all of my annoyed demands that they just smile for the camera, already!…of course, this is the kind of picture I like best.

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April 17

4:40 p.m.

First of all! That is NOT our trash can! Second of all – we NEVER play in trash cans! Life in the suburbs…


April 18

2:15 p.m.

I just spent the last hour mesmerized by the Saturday Night Fever Glee. I think I like Disco a little too much…


April 19

7:40 p.m.

I was totally congratulating myself on FINALLY having kids old enough that I don’t have to supervise them when they wake up at the crack of dawn. Then today, I noticed that Oliver has been getting into the ice cream… So much for sleeping in.


April 21

10:05 a.m.

I’m getting really excited for my 40th birthday next week since it means I will be biologically TOO OLD for teenager-like acne breakouts. Right? Right?!?!

6:50 p.m.

Eleanor lost her first tooth! This is always the most awkward shot…trying to see a gap in the BOTTOM teeth…

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April 22

8:30 a.m.

This is Eleanor’s new Barbie. She’s a “horse doctor.” Like a female James Herriott…in satin hot pants.

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April 24

10:35 a.m.

Filed under things that happen when 5-year-olds in hospital gowns have to wait over 30 minutes for their doctor.

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11:15 a.m.

And in a shocking turn of events…We discovered that somewhere in the midst of all of the twins’ sick visits to the doctor, I forgot to schedule their 2011 well check. Mother of the year! Let’s celebrate with extra inoculations all around! I’m mortified…


April 29

4:20 p.m.

I have 3 children and the oldest just turned 7. How is it possible that today is FIRST day that I ever removed a splinter for one of them? Eleanor had one in her finger. Twenty minutes of wailing and running away from me – then a two-second removal with tweezers. With all of the screaming she did, I wonder if our neighbors thought I was removing her fingernail!


April 30

8:50 a.m.

Eleanor: Mama can I have some breakfast?

Me: Sure – what do you want?

Eleanor: I don’t know – what are the offers.

Let me check today’s circulars…


May 4

1:30 a.m.

A middle of the night thought: Is it still possible to invent a new emoticon? Or has every possible combination of symbols now been used?

Related: I hate emoticons.

Also: I now use ” :) ” regularly because I worry about people thinking I’m being serious when I’m kidding and assuming that I’m mad or just really bitchy.

Either way, I always feel like a sell out.

:)


May 5

12:45 p.m.

Know what’s awesome about my mother and mother in law? They come into my disorganized house with its layers of dust and grimy surfaces, and they don’t judge or pointedly scrub counters in front of me. The downside? No free cleaning services.


May 6

11:01 p.m.

I’m exhausted – and I can’t believe the show is over. Though I expect my friends will be thrilled to see my months of shameless self promotion come to an end… Anyway – I want to say thank you to our incandescent Director, Stephanie Dulli and our brave and beautiful Listen to Your Mother DC cast (listed below as “with” since even FB thinks my LTYM reign of terror needs to end and therefore refuses to let me tag more than a few people at a time…) Couldn’t include our first reader (and theme inspiration), Cindy Green since she has of yet to accept my friend request – humph! But seriously – I am in awe of these women and the stories they have to tell. It was an honor to share a stage with them.

11:40 p.m.

On last thing before I stagger off to bed, Stephanie’s husband Zach tweeted this picture of me at the podium during my reading. Is it me, or do I actually look like a giant Oscar award?

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May 7

2:45 p.m.

Eleanor is cracking me up! A relative gave her this paper doll fashion show thing, and after spending the morning coloring them all in, she’s now stationing the dolls around the house in their “homes.” One lives on the dining room table, one on the kitchen counter, one on a living room chair…

And now apparently, ALL the dolls are abuzz with news about a fashion show taking place in HERNDON. Every time I hear her gasp, “OH! You’re going to the fashion show in Herndon too?!” I die laughing. Then one of the dolls exclaimed, “Herndon? That’s really far for me – I’ll have to drive.” So I interjected, “really? Herndon is far for her?” To this Eleanor gave me a quizzical look and said, “well yes. She lives all the way at the refrigerator.”

Eleanor paper dolls

8:05 p.m.

Typical conversation pattern between Chris and me:

Chris: So Cathy Trocchia said she DID go to the show.

Me: Yes – she sent me a message. But I don’t know if Jamie Seifert made it.

Chris: No – Jamie didn’t go.

Me: Oh really? Why – did something come up?

Chris: [shrug – “why are you asking me insane questions” face] I don’t know.

Me: What do you mean, “I don’t know?”

Chris: [more “why the interrogation?” faces] I just don’t. WHY would I know that?

Me: Because you know that she didn’t come – which means either she or Cathy told you that she didn’t come or wasn’t going to be able to come. And women don’t just say “I’m not going” or “I didn’t go” – they give each other reasons. In my world, we tell each other “WHY” we do or don’t do things.

Chris: [“you are crazy” look]

The End

Editor’s note: This was a Mars/Venus anecdote about my incredulity over how Chris always reports “what” information and never “why.” Not about my friend Jamie who obviously had something come up yesterday. She is darling and always answers questions with WHY information, like a good female.


May 14

9:15 a.m.

So I just discovered a major perk to turning 40. I no longer agonize over what to call my mother in law’s friends in thank you notes. Paula or Mrs. Garlick? I’m freaking 40 years old – I think I can just go with Paula!

Now I’m looking forward to turning 50. Because THEN I will no longer feel required to write thank you notes.


May 17

8:00 p.m.

Typical almost-3:00 p.m. scene: I have to get to preschool pick up right now! But I can’t find my keys…where are they?…searching…searching…not in my purse…not in the kitchen…not on the bed…not in the bathroom…not in the refrigerator (yes – I’m checking everywhere)…where can they be?! Now I’m late! No more time to look…where is that spare key?…Excellent! Right where it should be. I’m not THAT late…just a few minutes. No one will even notice. Out the front door! Make sure it’s locked! Wait – what’s that? Oh. … The key.

Note to self: first place to look for my keys would be IN the front door.

Also? This happens frequently.


May 23

8:25 p.m.

I have been so much better about FB lately… But I’ve been offline for a few days due to THIS! Meet Alice – a 5 month old rescue puppy that Chris brought home while I was at Christy Wood’s wedding reception in NYC. Chris and Oliver picked her out and I have to admit – she’s perfect for our family. She doesn’t chew shoes – but keep an eye on your Hungry Hungry Hippos marbles….

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May 25

8:20 p.m.

I think I may be the dumbest person on the planet. Just today, I realized that some of the AMAZING photographers I see on Twitter and FB, are capturing those images of a crystal clear face amidst a blur of people, flowers, toys…what have you, using INSTAGRAM! Side note: I just started using Instagram!

8:28 p.m.

Also, remember when I wrote I’m Shy Every Day? WELL – today was the twins’ preschool graduation and all of the kids got up and said what they wanted to be when they grew up (George said sky diver and Eleanor said horse rider). But little miss “I’m shy every day” herself made my day/week/year when she faced the crowd and answered “Rock Star.” I almost cried – it was just that AWESOME.


May 27

7:35 p.m.

Am I a bad pet owner if I find his annoying? I am so tired… I would happily lie down on the floor if I thought I could get away with it. Now that it’s 7:30 p.m., I’m pretty sure that I missed the Sunday nap window. Yet Chris always manages to catch both (yes – there are two). And this dog…she mocks my fatigue with her spontaneous snoozing.

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June 2

5:00 p.m.

Eleanor: Mama – what should I draw?

Me: The sun.

Eleanor: And what?

Me: And….flowers growing.

Eleanor: OR! How about people sitting under mushrooms – GIANT mushrooms – because it’s so hot?

Why does she even ask me?


June 12

5:25 p.m.

Our boring, rainy day inside has just hit a new low. The twins are now taking turns whacking each other with a package of cookie dough (the old school roll kind).


July 8

10:55 a.m.

Between the kids and the puppy, I sometimes feel like my whole life smells like pee pee.

Unrelated: everything is always sticky.


July 9

8:10 p.m.

Me: Oliver – go downstairs and get your ice cream bowl.

Oliver: [coming back upstairs – without the bowl] Gross! Alice [the dog] was licking it!

Me: Are you serious? You have touched some of the most disgusting…YOU have touched AT LEAST five dead animals. Go get that bowl!

Epilogue: the dishwasher is running and the licked ice cream bowl is still downstairs.


July 13

4:45 p.m.

Favorite moment of the week: running down to the basement to get something and finding my tiny 5-year-old, George dancing his heart out to Just Dance II (which my kids call “Dance Party”). The song: It’s Raining Men.

5:00 p.m.

Actual conversation I just had with my five year old daughter:

[sound of kids playing a loud/rambunctious game involving stuffed animals.]

Eleanor: [enters the dining room looking very pouty and put out about something] Mommy, Oliver is only doing the other animals and he won’t do my hippo.

Me: [yelling into the other room] OLIVER! Do Eleanor’s hippo. Right now!

My life is weird.


July 14

11:45 a.m.

I love listening to Oliver’s chatter these days. The combination of his communication delays, fast growing vocabulary and exposure to television makes for many moments of hilarity.

Oliver: [telling me something about Cars 2] And then Professor Z told his fugs…

Me: Fugs?

Oliver: Yeah – fugs.

Me: What are fugs?

Oliver: [perplexed by my ignorance] They’re trouble making villains.


July 17

7:10 p.m.

When you open a bag of ramen noodles and little noodle shards fly everywhere.


July 18

11:10 a.m.

After watching many episodes of The Dog Whisperer, we’ve concluded that we really need to meet with a dog trainer to discuss Alice’s “issues.” So of course the kids keep referring to the guy coming on Saturday as “The Dog Whisperer.” Wonder how disappointed they’ll be when Cesar Millan doesn’t show up on our doorstep…


July 21

7:30 p.m.

Am I the only one who finds the FB default to “top stories” sort annoying? Who is deciding what is a top story? Is this some kind of Netflix-like, “based on your recent selections” thing? Just show me the most recent status updates so I’m not commenting on things that happened two days ago, okay? Or at least default to most recent because I’m FB-challenged and never remember to manually select that.

Guess I should check settings or something to see if I can change this.

Listed under “things I have in common with your parents.”


July 22

4:35 p.m.

My neighbor and I had a twinsies moment today when we both walked out wearing the same Target tank top. Same style – same color – probably the same size. Ah – suburbia… I would say it was all very Stepford wife – but you know…Target. Cathy – in our next life, let’s reenact that scene in something a bit more upmarket.


July 25

11:55 a.m.

So, fun drive to the twins’ first day of camp. Since parking would be feet away from check in, I went ahead and brought the dog. Halfway there, she jumped up next to me and I said, “PEE-YEW Alice. You smell like dog food.” Then George yelled, “Gross! Alice puked!” I looked back and sure enough – two huge piles – one on the back seat next to George and one of the floor. And then – THEN – she leaned over and puked on my leg.

Seriously. HOW do people live without pets.


August 1

2:30 p.m.

I had no idea that black and white hides wrinkles so well. I’ll never go back to color!

BW


August 9

8:45 p.m.

I see Oliver taking chalk down to the basement. And I ask “what are you doing with the chalk.” He says “I’m going to draw a picture,” as he scampers out of sight. Then I frantically yell after him, “on the chalkboard? ON THE CHALKBOARD?!”

It’s a legitimate question…


August 16

5:50 p.m.

So Alice is a total money pit… I feel like I’m at the vet with her weekly. Today’s reason: tail biting. Seriously? Here is a pic of her cone head. A dog rite of passage she’s not enjoying one little bit.

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August 22

8:00 p.m.

Eleanor REALLY doesn’t like the movie Spy Kids. Her (dramatic) review: “It’s like a kid horror movie…it’s really scary…and pretty cruel.” I remember seeing previews…and that was not my take…but I guess we’re all entitled to our opinions.


August 24

5:50 p.m.

The twins had afternoon camp this week, so Oliver had me all to himself. Since this NEVER happens (he’s always getting pushed aside with all of their grabby neediness), I thought I’d do something fun with him every day. We went to the farm, the zoo…miniature golf…a WATER PARK. But here’s the problem: I’m intrinsically not very fun. And I would never choose to do any of those things without the incentive of making my son happy. It was taxing…but boy does he look happy, right?

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August 31

9:30 a.m.

Woods walk feather

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September 5

6:55 p.m.

George: The inside of my body is very hot, right?

Me: Yes, it’s warm inside our bodies.

George: But the outside of our bodies is very COLD!

Me: No…not cold. The outside of our bodies would be cooler than the inside though.

George: OH! so only when it’s WINDY.

Me: …

[five minutes later]

George: [holds up an arm] Mom – I’m not skinny anymore!

Me: Well…you’re still pretty slim…

George: So just a little skinny.

Me: Just a little.

George: But Eleanor isn’t as skinny.

Me: She’s just a little skinny too.

George: Mom – do you know what your boobs are for?

Me: WHAT?!

George: Do you know what your…

Me: Yes – I heard you the first time. And I’m dying to know – what do YOU think they are for?

George: For breathing!

Of course.

This is George’s idea of pleasant dinner conversation. What did you discuss this evening?


September 13

3:00 p.m.

Just remembered something I meant to tell you yesterday… I was driving home from the store with the windows down since it was GORGEOUS outside. And as I’m driving 50 MPH down a fairly busy street something fell through the window and into my lap. My first thought was that it was an acorn since the local squirrels like to throw them down at people (why not cars?) But I wasn’t near any trees. So I then assumed it must have been some kind of debris blowing back off a truck that had just passed me. Either way – it had fallen right between my legs and rolled down, almost under me. I then had to reach, well…you know where, to try to retrieve this mystery object while keeping my eyes on the road. And as I brought it up in my cupped hand to take a look, I discovered that it was a GIANT BUMBLEBEE. So I screamed, threw it out the window and indulged in a moment of silent gratitude for not getting into an accident.

So how about you? How was your day?


September 19

9:05 p.m.

My son, Oliver is so weird…

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September 26

7:25 a.m.

An important reminder for my little girl who likes lunch notes and has so little confidence sometimes…

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7:50 a.m.

Are ladybugs lucky? And if so, does the luck increase with the number of spots? Let me know, because a ladybug with 20 spots is sitting on a kid-made vase on my bedside table. And I could really use some luck…

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October 7

2:55 p.m.

Group Effort

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October 24

9:15 p.m.

It’s the World Series and my poor husband is stuck watching it with ME. My level of interest is reflected by insights such as “that guy looks like Luke Wilson.” [Justin Verlander] I’ve also spotted players who remind me of Justin Timberlake and Antonio Banderas. Epilogue: I brought a book.


November 11

6:00 p.m.

Hierarchy

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November 7

10:25 a.m.

Post election morning banter at my house:

Me: George – get dressed. You have to wear pants to Kindergarten.

George: [slamming his tiny body into my legs for the 10th time in 10 seconds] I put my penis on you!

Me: Don’t put your penis on people. It’s not polite.

George: AND it’s no use.

Me: Usually.


November 13

5:20 p.m.

George: Mom – your self can control yourself, right?

Me: One would hope.


November 14

7:50 a.m.

Sometimes when I find myself battling the dog for bed space, I have to wonder how it came to this…


November 19

6:50 p.m.

Listening to Kung Fu Fighting, Car Wash, Fire, Flashlight… I have to say, that Pure Funk CD may have been my very best purchase of the ’90s


November 22

8:35 p.m.

Hand turkeys waving goodbye. See you next Thanksgiving!

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November 28

2:35 p.m.

What was life like before chocolate chips…? Leaner I think – but perhaps a bit soulless…


December 1

2:00 p.m.

Started a shopping list and had to stop when I suspected that I may currently be possessed by Buddy the Elf.

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December 2

11:50 p.m.

Is it just me – or do other people say “Pierce Brosnan” when they really mean “Bronson Pinchot”? Maybe it’s just me…


December 6

9:30 a.m.

Exciting morning! We were running late for the school bus – so I decided to drive the kids to school. George was ready first, so I told him to just get in the car. When the rest of us left the house several minutes later – he was nowhere to be found. Eleanor ran up to the bus stop to check and see if he was there (it’s happened before). Not there. Not in front of the house – not behind the house – not IN the house. Now I’m worried and drive the others (and the dog) up to the bus stop to look around there. Not there. Leave all in the locked car while I run back toward our house and call the school. They put me on hold to look for George and I continue to call his name, wondering if a neighbor could have thought he was left behind and taken him to school. Then a neighbor hears me and tells me that he GOT ON THE BUS (which must have been running late). Ran back to car to console crying siblings and drive them to school, where I stayed for a while to have a talk with Mr. George. Side note: this is about the 10th time I’ve spent more than 5 minutes running around my neighborhood calling frantically for one of my lost little boys. Epilogue: I am at Starbucks ordering coffee.


December 8

1:00 p.m.

George: Mom, remember a long, long time ago…we were demons.

Me: What?

George: No, I mean we were those guys from a long, long time ago and then we turned into Pilgrims.

Me: We did?

George: Yeah and then we turned into animals and then we turned into this place.

Me: What’s that?

George: Well, first we were in a tummy and then we got bigger and then we were two years old and then older and older and nine years old…

Me: So wait, first we were demons?

George: And you know what’s even badder than the devil?

Me: What?

George: DEMONS! Because they are huge.

I’m totally lost.


December 10

12:40 p.m.

Working on a database. Forgot how entertaining long lists of names can be. “Sarah Fawcett.” Subtle – but still cracks me up.


December 11

7:05 p.m.

I have now clocked enough hours in proximity of children’s shows on the TV that I can hear a character’s voice in an unknown cartoon and say, “hey that sounds like Quincy [Little Einsteins].” This is not the first time I’ve identified cartoon voice overs. If there was a game show for this I’d win big.


December 15

10:35 a.m.

It’s hard to not feel sad today… But I try to remind myself that everything is fine until it’s not. And when everything in your own life is fine, you have to go with it. Because when it’s not, you never really get fine back.

As much as my heart breaks for everyone who has ever lost a child, today I’m going to put all of my energy into making sure my own children who are so very HERE right now, know just how much they are loved. I’ll feel sad on my time – not theirs.


December 16

3:55 p.m.

Decided to take the dog out for a long walk. But only just now, one mile out did I remember letting Eleanor put makeup on me. Like an hour ago. And I should note that she’s not a light touch with the eye shadow…


December 17

6:05 p.m.

After a visit to the dentist…

Eleanor: Mom – look at my new toothbrush!

Me: Very nice. Why don’t you put it in the bathroom – we can get rid of your old one.

Eleanor: [back from the bathroom and showing me her old toothbrush] What should we do with it?

Me: Throw it out.

Eleanor: Gasp! Throw it out?? Why don’t we just sell it or something?

I don’t know…what do you guys think? Ebay or Craig’s List?

9:25 p.m.

By the way – if you have an Elf on the Shelf and hear the cynical observation: “he can’t be real – he has a TAG…like toys in the toy store.” Give your kids a conspiratorial look and say, “he’s in disguise. The tag is part of the whole ‘toy by day’ thing.” Makes your kids think they’re in on the subterfuge.


December 19

4:40 p.m.

Now THAT’S an old recipe!

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7:00 p.m.

George: Mom! Overblah in French means “bye!” Always fermember it!

Not sure how much of that is misunderstanding French or how much is misunderstanding English….

7:40 p.m.

Chris was explaining Hanukah to George, who is now talking about the big battle between the Cereals and the Macabeans.


December 21

3:40 p.m.

Yesterday, I discovered that my kids were wrapping random objects from our house as presents for their grandparents. As much as I know my mother would love her roll of silver wire ribbon from Michael’s…I had to shut that down before they got into the good china.


December 27

4:40 p.m.

PSA for future parents: As you are considering the number of children you hope to have in your family, figure in the number of shoes and coats you would like to have strewn across your floor at any given time. (Note to the ladies: include your husband’s coat and shoes in your calculations.)

Before and Now

7 Replies

If you are a parent, do you even remember what life was like before children?

Well of course, we all remember! But it’s hard to imagine going back there – to have no knowledge of how it feels to live several lives simultaneously. Primarily, we’re living our own life. But at the same time we are experiencing the world through at least one other set of smaller, yet much wider eyes.

I have always loved decorating for Christmas. And the post-children Christmas tree is a source of much angst that I’ll discuss later. But while outside looking at our house today, I was struck by how much it reflects the integration of family.

This is what you would see before we had kids:

And this is most definitely after:

Together, it makes for a slightly confusing blend of just right and just a little too much. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Everyone who has children thinks about “before and after.” But some parents have a terrible before and after: before, when the family was together, and after, when one is missing.

On Friday, a new set of parents was initiated into the nightmare of before and after a child was lost. They are just a few among many, but they represent the reality of our uncertain future.

My heart breaks for EVERY parent who has ever lost a child. But instead of indulging in despair for all that is terrible in this world, I am reminded to appreciate the present. To revel in the ordinary. To delight in the day-to-day tedium and frustration of raising children. Today was okay. It was fine. And in that I see extraordinary joy.

This afternoon, I hung my simple wreaths with the pale blue satin ribbons. Then I stepped back to see the juxtaposition of restrained elegance next to garish holiday ornaments and a brown extension cord dangling from our newly exposed front light bulb.

I couldn’t be more grateful for the fact that my house looks a little crazy. I’m ecstatic that my perfectly decorated tree seems to be sprouting new ornaments made of paper cut by tiny, inexperienced hands. The screaming match going on in the basement playroom is music to my ears.

This is life as I know it now. For now, everything is fine.

It’s hard to not feel sad in the face of such terrible grief. Especially knowing that in a split second, I could be one of the grieving.

But I try to remind myself that everything is fine until it’s not. And when everything in your own life is fine, you just have to go with it. Because when it’s not, you never really get fine back.

My heart goes out to everyone missing a much-loved child today – both friends and strangers. And in honor of their treasured before, I’m going to appreciate every second of my now.

Whenever I feel overwhelmed by life or mired down in petty concerns, I will try to remember what is truly important. To appreciate the exquisite pleasure of a mostly good day with the people I love.

In the face of an uncertain future, I am putting all of my energy into cherishing my own children who are so very HERE right now. I’ll feel sad on my time – not theirs. And I’ll decorate my heart with their chaos and garish enthusiasm for everything that is good.

Gals, Elves, Kids and Mothers

3 Replies

I guess I’m posting monthly now? I’m sorry – but this new job thing is kind of overwhelming.

So of course, I decided to add a second job. What? That makes total sense.

I’ve already abused my Facebook and Twitter privileges with this – but nothing actually exists until you mention it on your blog right? I mean if I’m going to be all The Secret about this, then it’s all about declaring intentions and visualizing success. I could probably have just left it at the Facebook post… If The Universe is listening – It’s probably spending most of it’s time on Facebook (reminder to self: suck up to The Universe by liking Its fan page). But just to cover all of my bases…

Some friends and I have started a new business:

Drop by www.executivegalfriday.com (yes – we’re all fancy with a url and everything!) You can find more info there. And of course, we would LOVE it if you would like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter @ExecGalFriday (note to self: must start tweeting…)

But enough of the shameless self promotion. How about this holiday season just happening minutes after we left the pool? If I had any doubts about it though – heeeeee’s back! And creepier than ever:


Okay – that was ridiculous – but we do amuse ourselves…

And speaking of amusing people – sometimes I think my children are being couriered a script each morning. Is it just me, or do those hilarious things that kids say make their inability to flush the toilet and insistence that they are fed three times a day just a little less annoying? On second though – don’t answer that.

Here are a few of my current favorites:

From my little Balki Bartokomous (By the way – did you know that show was on for EIGHT SEASONS!?)

Scene: Oliver, George and Eleanor are telling each other knock knock jokes (or their version of knock knock jokes, which generally go KNOCK KNOCK! WHO’S THERE? [insert inappropriate word here] [insert gales of laughter here]).

Me: What are you guys doing?

Oliver: We’re knocking jokes!

That was short. So one more.

Scene: One day I was working with him on his reading. He read a sentence that was a question, but it sounded like a statement because he didn’t pay attention to the question mark.

Me: Good honey! But [pointing to the question mark] what is this?

Oliver: [eyes widening with intrigue] …a MYSTERY.

Oliver – 7

From The Informant:

Eleanor: Mom, does S plus H make the SH sound?

Me: Yes – S and H say SH.

Eleanor: WELL. Then Daddy? Said the S-H word.

Me: Oh really?

Eleanor: YES! He said [whispers] “shut up.”

Eleanor – 6

From The…I have no idea what to call him. George is just one of the strangest people I’ve ever met. And I like that about him.

Scene: George had a band aid on his ankle that kept falling off. So I used a little gauze wrap to keep in in place. And for some reason George kept calling it “the glauze.”

Eleanor: Mom – is it “gauze” or “glauze?”

Me: It’s gauze, but he’s calling it glauze and I’m not correcting him because I kind of LOVE THAT.

George: It’s “gauze?”

Me: Yes – that’s how you pronounce it, “gauze.”

George: OH! So it’s a silent X.

Yeah – I have no idea. But I think I’ve told that story approximately 5 million times.

George – 6

Jumping to another topic… We’re bringing Listen to Your Mother to DC again in 2013! You can read all about it on the LTYM DC site. I’m pretty excited about this. Having gone through the process already – it seems a lot less “holy S-H word! What did I get myself into!?” this year. So stay tuned for more about that.

Let’s see…have I covered everything? Self promotion…pictures of my kids…more self promotion… Check, check and CHECK!

Oh – also? I love The Mindy Project. Please watch it so it doesn’t get cancelled. Totally hilarious: imagine a scene where your boyfriend accidentally puts on your jeans and you have to see how loose they are around his hips and you scream for him to TAKE THEM OFF and he tries to say that it’s just like when you were wearing his shirt earlier and you scream that it’s NOT THE SAME – that you wearing the shirt was cute and THIS just looks like a lap band surgery “after” picture and for the love of God just TAKE THEM OFF…now THAT’S funny.

So to end this stream of consciousness with next to no substantial content… I will be posting more this month, as I have several things I need to get online: 1. a sponsored post (of course!); 2. a post about something that I’ve been thinking about for a year that might sound like it’s religious but it’s not; 3. my annual Christmas tree gloating; and 4. a video for the Seventh Annual Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert. I’ve always wanted to do #4…though I have very little vlogging experience. But I did have an idea (one that involves our Elf on the Shelf, of all things) – so I’m convinced that THIS is the year! I’ll just have to make sure the kids aren’t around because the boys scream when I sing. So I just sing louder – but that won’t work on video.

Happy Holidays!

Now We Are Six

13 Replies

When I was one,
I had just begun.
When I was two,
I was nearly new.
When I was three,
I was hardly me.
When I was four,
I was not much more.
When I was five,
I was just alive.
But now I am six,
I’m as clever as clever.
So I think I’ll be six
now and forever.

–A.A. Milne

On October 9, my babies, George and Eleanor turned six. I know! It’s been an entire month. I expect my mommy blogger license to be revoked any day now…

But day of, or one month later – they are SIX. And I’m looking at these amazing humans with complex ideas and gaps where baby teeth used to be and I still see babies…toddlers…not-yet-six-year-olds…

Birthday:

Babies:

One:

Two:

Three:

Four:

Five:

SIX!

Kind of a random Halloween shot – but it cracks me up.

And these two keep me laughing pretty much all day long. I don’t know what I’d do without them…

Happy (belated blog post) birthday George and Eleanor! I love you to pieces!

What’s New?

17 Replies

So a lot has happened in the past couple of weeks…

You already heard last week, that the Listen to Your Mother 2012 videos are all online. I’ve watched all of them (seriously – all ten shows) and highly recommend that you do too. But I’ll warn you…these shows are addictive and you may find yourself up very late at night watching “just one more.”

In other news – everyone went back to school and we’re settling into a new schedule. This is a major milestone for the twins since they started Kindergarten!

And as you can see, they hated it.

I don’t remember ever being that happy about going to school… But after watching their brother get on the school bus every day for the past couple of years, they were ready.

We had back to school night last Monday and it was my first time trying to juggle three classrooms. It was so rushed that I missed the projects on display until the very end. I didn’t get a picture of Oliver’s since that room was locked by the time I thought of taking any (how is it I’m still such a rookie after seven years of motherhood!) But George and Eleanor’s were out in the hallway. Here is Eleanor’s:

That says, “My name is Eleanor. I like ice cream.” I love how she chose to portray herself waving. She’s friendly like that.

And here is George’s contribution to a “Hopes and Dreams Class Quilt”:

At first we thought that was a yellow tree, but then I realized that it was probably his take on an easel (a picture of him “doing art”). Turns out I was reading far too much into the drawing though, as George explained that it’s a “golden rocket.” Of course!

Poor Oliver isn’t getting much attention in this update, but don’t worry – he’s very happy in his new class and his teachers are thrilled by the work he’s doing. I don’t have any good images since he wasn’t very enthusiastic about the idea of a back to school picture, but my neighbor took this one at the bus stop:

That is her two year old photo-bombing the shot. It may be one of my favorite pictures ever.

Now I have hours of the day all to myself – no bickering sidekicks. And I’ll admit, it’s weird. Eleanor asks, “Mommy do you miss us SO much while we’re gone?” Of course I say yes. And it’s kind of true. But in all honesty, the day goes by quickly and I’m back at the bus stop soon enough.

A year ago, I would have used those hours to really focus on the work I was doing for Style Key West. But that’s another big announcement: my parents are closing their shop! So that includes the website and the online store – otherwise known as “my job.”

By the way, if you are in the market for a beautiful house in Key West…

…they’re also moving to Oregon so they can spend more time here:

That’s The Rillerah, a family river house that my Dad and his brother inherited. I’ve only been there once when I was nine months old. But I guess I now have some incentive to make that loooong trip. So I’ll be trading in a southernmost second home (where your parents live is always “home” right?) for one in the far northwest.  New is fun – but I’m no good at goodbyes. It’s bittersweet.

And of course I’m out of a job.

But here’s some other big (for me) news: I got a new job! Literally, just this second. Okay – maybe a couple of hours ago, but close enough. I’ll write more about it later, but I can tell you that I’ll be working for CertifiKid, a popular “deals” website for families in the DC-Baltimore area (and now expanding to other regions). My focus will be on the special needs community, a recent addition to their site. This is particularly exciting for me since I know first hand how hard it is to research special needs resources and how valuable word of mouth recommendations can be. I love the idea of helping special needs families find out about vendors and services that could literally CHANGE THEIR LIVES – and get them a good deal at that (this stuff is expensive!) And I owe it all to my friend Lara who told me about the position and made the introduction. Yet another example of the opportunities that I’ve found through blogging…

So wish me luck (and send me contacts).

Hope your transition into fall is going well!

Good Omens

12 Replies

The other day, I burst into tears while apologizing to another mother at the pool.

This was as much of a surprise for me as it was for her. While I do cry on occasion, it’s generally the result of frustration or hurt feelings – and almost exclusively reserved for my husband in the privacy of our own home. And I’ve never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve, let alone bleed all over the floor of the ladies changing room.

But in that one moment, every shred of anger, sadness and anxiety that I’ve ever stuffed into my bursting closet of repressed feelings poured directly out of my eyes. It seems the act of summoning words and speaking them aloud redirected just enough attention away from my tightly guarded heart. This breach in security didn’t incite an actual riot of emotions, but a few of the sly ones slipped through the cracks and joined forces. They must have been watching – waiting patiently for an opportunity to break out. And it took only seconds to assemble their weapons of destruction – heat seeing missiles aimed at the frontal lobe of my brain.

Or at least that’s how it felt. Like a sneak attack. And a traitorous one at that.

I don’t cry in front of strangers. I just wanted to tell her that she didn’t do anything wrong. Because at the end of the day, she really didn’t.

No – she shouldn’t have gone out of her way to tell the lifeguard Oliver was swimming in front of the diving board. And yes – she should have talked to me about it since I was right there, actively instructing him to move over, make room for the other kids waiting to jump. Especially since the lifeguard was watching it all from a nearby chair, letting me handle it.

She overstepped. She called my parenting into question. She insinuated that my child was a problem. But none of that was her intention. She was concerned about safety. They were only there for a half hour and she wanted her own kids to have more time jumping off the diving board than waiting in line. And the minute I said, “excuse me, I’m talking to him about that and the lifeguard is watching – my son has special needs – it’s complicated – we’re doing the best we can,” she realized that regardless of her not-bad intentions, she was out of line.

It was the typical non-confrontational confrontation. She did what she did, I said what I said, and then we both tried to make nice by talking to each other through our children. I told Oliver that another mother asked if he could swim away from the diving board – we had to give her kids a turn – and if he couldn’t listen to the grownups, then he would have to take a break from the pool. She told her kids that the pool was crowded today – they couldn’t take over the diving area – they could all have one more jump, but it was just about time to go. We both informed our children that in a few minutes it would be “break” and that we would be going home.

I hadn’t thought to apologize at first. Our indirect communication was enough to let each other know there were no hard feelings. But I just had to say that thing about special needs… Way to make someone feel a bad person – implying that they were picking on your special needs child! How was she supposed to know? She may have felt terrible about what happened. And I would hate for that to be the case since I am queen of obsessing over my own bad behavior dating back to preschool. It’s not fun feeling like shit over transgressions long since forgotten by the other party.

So as we packed up our pool bag and made our way to the changing rooms, I decided to look for that family. To tell that woman I was sorry for snapping and that she didn’t do anything wrong. Technically, she did – but what did that matter in the face of intentions. Just like Oliver and I are doing the best we can at the pool – in life – she’s doing the best she can as a parent. We all are. And I thought she should know I understand that.

I caught up with her at the entrance of the changing area and before she could say anything to me, I cut her off with my own olive branch.

If only I could have stopped talking right after that. I could have swallowed back the lump rising in my throat. I could have taken a deep breath, squared my shoulders and moved forward…made it through that moment of vulnerability unscathed. I could have made it out the door without crying.

But she felt the need to apologize too. This is when she explained herself to me – how she was thinking about her own family’s tight schedule and regretted her complaint the minute she made it. She was sincere. Embarrassed. Sorry.

So I had to respond. I said I understood – that I overreacted, but sometimes it was just really hard. And while this statement explained nothing at all to her, to anyone in my position, those few words actually do say it all. Sometimes it’s really hard. It’s hard to have the “different child.” The son who looks “normal” and is even big for his age, but acts like he’s much younger. To have to explain him to others so they don’t judge him so harshly. To be so proud of how much he has accomplished but so frustrated by how far he has to go. To not know what the future holds.

It’s hard. Really hard. And like a key in a lock, that last word opened the floodgates.

So much for not making her feel bad.

But I did blubber through a new rendition of “you didn’t do anything wrong,” that better described this unusual and unexpected turn of events. “I really never cry about this kind of thing…it’s just been a long day…I’m fine…seriously, it’s not a big deal…nothing to do with you.” At least I pulled it together at the end and was able to clearly restate that I just wanted to apologize and make sure she understood that I didn’t think she did anything wrong. Because that was all I wanted to say. Hopefully she believed me.

And to be completely honest, this wasn’t the first time my words were swallowed by a sneak attack sob that day. Several hours earlier, I had a follow up call with Oliver’s auditory processing therapist. He had just finished one of his bi-annual two-week “loops,” so we were discussing how it went and what I was now observing at home. As usual, the conversation was very positive. Progress had been made and the time he spent with them was productive.

I asked my standard questions about what we should be doing at home – what we should be working on when school starts. Then we lapsed into telling “Oliver stories.” Because he really is a character, and his delays, emerging language and exposure to television make for some pretty fantastic ESL moments.

My recent favorite is an exchange we had regarding the movie, Cars 2. He was telling me an involved story about bad guy, Professor Z and his evil doings. But he lost me at one unintelligible word:

Oliver: …and then Professor Z told his fugs…

Me: Fugs?

Oliver: Yeah – fugs.

Me: What are fugs?

Oliver: [perplexed by my ignorance] They’re trouble making villains.

Thugs. I love that.

And it would have been so easy to just end our phone call right there. But I never can.

I have to ask the unanswerable question. I can’t help myself. The inconvenient lack of mass produced crystal balls can’t stop me from asking. It’s pathological. Or maybe just a little desperate.

After a perfunctory disclaimer about the impossibility of predicting the future when so much can change…I always ask what right now, this very minute, she sees as a possibility for my son. What does the future hold for him? Even if it’s just a guess. Have we hit any hard limits? Have once-distant maybe-somedays receded further into improbability? Or have they moved closer within reach – come into sharper focus? When can I actually touch them or should I just stop trying?

And of course, there aren’t any real answers. This is the curse of having a special needs child who doesn’t fit into an existing box. No trail has been blazed for him. So his potential is unknowable, and therefore unlimited until proven otherwise. Of course this is a good thing, but it leaves the parents in a constant state of anticipation. Waiting for something to happen. The best case scenario or the worst – and every day you get a little bit of both. Just to keep you on your toes.

I always default to hope. Even before becoming a mother, I’ve survived life on planet earth by assuming everything will work out. That it will all be okay. And I’m usually right.

So I do the same thing when it comes to my babies. I love who they are now, and I expect only good things for their future. I know the dark flip side of the coin but I’ll always go for two out of three…three out of five. Until you tell me the worst, I’ll hope for the best.

During each pregnancy, I would lie in bed dreaming of everything I wanted for these children. They would be artistic, interesting, charismatic…the list was far too long for me to remember. But later, as they grew and their personalities and challenges began to surface, I turned to the practical.

Of course I want EVERYTHING for all three of my children, but if I’m going to play the Magical Thinking game, I have to keep it simple. Be specific.

I want Oliver to be intelligent, kind and funny. I want people to like being around him, not just because they like him, but because they like how they feel about themselves when they’re with him.

I want George to be successful, but also compassionate. I have no worries about his ability to make people laugh – but I also want him to take the feelings of others into consideration. I hope that he can hold onto his lighthearted side and not take himself too seriously.

I want Eleanor to be strong and confident – to embrace her talents and believe in herself. I don’t want her to feel intimidated by the accomplishments of others, but to instead be happy for them as she focuses on her own goals and achievements.

There’s more. Of course. But these particular qualities are in the current rotation of my hopes and dreams because they’re based on what I see in each child today. And they seem realistic – attainable.

So as I discussed Oliver’s possible – unknowable – future with his therapist, I drifted to this line of thinking. And I wanted to be perfectly clear – explain that I’m asking for very little, here. I’m starting with the basics – things that every parent wants for their child. “In my hopes and dreams for his future? I want him to have friends…” And that’s as far as I got.

Apparently, this audacious act of speaking the words aloud put too much pressure on my egg shell composure. Magical Thinking is one thing, but verbal incantations will break me.

Then the tears came. Just as they would later in the ladies changing room. Two uncharacteristic moments of weakness in one day.

But this time I had invisibility on my side. I could squeeze my eyes shut and clasp a hand over my mouth…physically pull myself together in semi-privacy. And the irrational shame I felt was lessened by the knowledge that this was nothing new for the person waiting patiently on the other side of the phone line. I’ve seen the tissue box in her office.

A few seconds later, the power of speech returned and calendars were consulted for future appointments. The soothing act of scheduling conjured up a necessary illusion of control. I could manage my emotions as I decided when and where I would find help for my son. This is the one element of the future that is completely under my control.

Going to the pool seemed like a good idea after that episode. Get outside – let the kids entertain themselves for a while without any electronic aids. Little did I know…

But I’m still glad we went. Because you can’t live in a bubble. And nine times out of ten (two out of three…three out of five…) we have a fabulous time without any unpleasant incidents. The pool is our happy place. It’s never crowded – only residents of our neighborhood can use it. We always see friendly faces and most of the regulars know enough about us to cut us some slack.

We can walk there too. And when the kids were younger this was actually a highlight of the outing. My toddlers would sit up in their stroller and point chubby fingers, tree! bird! car! But their favorite stop (oh yes, we had to make stops) was the house with garden gnomes. Every neighborhood has one of those.

Four year old Oliver could walk over and pat them on the head, trace their smiling faces. Not much of a conversationalist at that age, he would speak to them in his own language of DVD dialogue and gibberish. The twins would ask, “whaddat?” And day after day I would tell them. But George could never get it right. He insisted on calling them “omens.”

This still makes us laugh – even though the kids don’t really remember those walks. And as we pass that house carrying our pool gear – eight feet on the pavement now that strollers are a thing of the past – I’ll point and say, “look omens!” I like to think of them that way too. Their impish grins hint at the fun to be had – happy times on the horizon.

I have good memories from those walks and summers at the pool. Even our last afternoon there with its tense moments and tearful exit has a place and a purpose. I’m pretty sure that the woman who didn’t do anything wrong will now be a smiling face to greet us. She’ll be another neighbor who understands and doesn’t judge too harshly.

This is the kind of thing that validates my hope that everything will be okay. That people mean well. That the odds will continue to be in our favor. That Oliver will always have friends.

I can’t predict the future, but I don’t think I need a crystal ball. I’ll always fight tears, but they have no power over my hopes and dreams. I know this now and I’ll hold that truth close to my heart when things get hard.

A hard day came and went, and I’m still here believing in possibility. That must count for something. In fact, I think I’ll take it as a sign. An omen.

And a good omen at that.


Linking up to Just Right today! I should really do this more often…

In the Spirit

7 Replies

The summer if literally flying by and I have not been much of a writer. Unless you consider posting pictures of stuff I wish I could buy for myself…which I don’t.

And this is largely due to the fact that I am NEVER alone. Seriously. We even have a dog now, and she follows me from room to room. Which is unfortunate for her since I’m incredibly inefficient and run upstairs to get something roughly every three minutes. Poor Alice.

But the dog doesn’t really require THAT much of my attention. I will give full credit for that to the twins. With Oliver at sensory motor camp, they are my constant companions and unlike my introverted first born, they like to chat. We don’t have many quiet moments.

But the conversations are priceless and I wish I could record all of them. Of course I don’t, and just end up posting the odd anecdote on Facebook instead. I really should save them for here though since the people who would appreciate them most (my husband, Mom and Dad, etc.) aren’t even on Facebook.

So here is one from the car this morning.

Eleanor: [giggling}

George: Mom! Eleanor is teasing me!

Me: Stop teasing…

Eleanor: I’m NOT!

George: She’s LAUGHING at me!

Me: Well then stop laughing at him Eleanor. It’s mean…It’s mean spirited.

George: Yeah! And it’s NOT the spirit of Christmas.

I love that. And apparently I can now start the “Santa’s watching” threats – which is great news.

So while I may not have much “me” time this summer, I do love spending time with these jokers!

He’s not so bad either.

This one is a huge pain in the ass…

…but she fits right in.

Summer isn’t so bad.

The Worst Fear (Alternatively Titled: “Oliver’s grandmothers probably shouldn’t read this…”)

10 Replies

Since I’m fairly certain said grandmothers have not heeded my advice, I’d just like to put it out there that everyone is OKAY.

With the exception of maybe me… Though my robotic ability to shut down emotions when they threaten to render me unable to cease crying for the rest of my life did kick in about five minutes into my nervous breakdown. So that’s good.

This talent of mine serves me well because at the core, I’m a very fearful person. I worry about everything. When I was little I would worry about tidal waves and twisters. I worried about nuclear war and my parents dying. I had night terrors and no matter how irrational, I couldn’t stand next to my bed after dark without imagining a hand reaching out from under to grab my ankle. The world was fraught with danger and I was keenly aware of every awful thing that could possibly happen to me. I saw shark infested waters – both literally and figuratively.

So now, I disconnect. I just don’t think about it anymore. I simply don’t have time. I have too much to juggle and it’s made me very practical. I’m a good person to have around in a crisis. I’m calm and analytical. I wait to hear all the facts before forming an opinion. And I don’t consider the worst until the truth grabs me by the neck and slams me against the wall. Even then I’ll hold it together. For me, it’s a matter of survival.

But we all have our breaking point. And I hit mine yesterday when for about five to ten minutes in the late morning, I lost Oliver. Meaning, I searched my immediate neighborhood and I couldn’t find him anywhere.

One minute I was walking in my front door to get Eleanor a cup of water and the next I was racing around our block, frantically calling his name.

When I left him, he was sitting about ten feet away from our house in (of course) a patch of dirt. He was drinking the first cup of water I brought out for Eleanor since he drained his own so quickly that I just gave him hers and ran back in to get more.

When I stepped back outside, I found George engrossed in turning on the water for the garden hose and the absence of Oliver. A yellow plastic cup lay on its side on the patch of dirt. No spills – no mud. He drank all of it.

Ignoring Eleanor’s constant chatter behind me, I asked George to turn OFF the water – he knows that he’s not allowed to play with the hose – and WHERE did Oliver go.

My younger son pointed vaguely down the block and said, “down the hill.” It was obvious that George had no idea where his brother went, but I started walking in that direction. It was as good as any other.

Oliver tends to wander off. Never far, and typically to predictable locations, but I always have that brief pang of “what if?” The one that we barely register since it borders on unnecessary drama and fully crosses the line of unlikely. And by the time it could possibly gather momentum, the child appears – blissfully ignorant of the big bad world and its predators lurking behind every theoretical corner. Then we yell or hug or get distracted by another child. But the resonance of that pang stays with us long enough for a glimpse of perspective. What truly matters in our lives. Those lost earrings become a welcome price to pay – the trade off for this moment of relief. So lucky…a charmed life I’m living, really.

But when I reached the end of our townhouse row and turned the corner, my child wasn’t there.

And when I turned the next corner, he still wasn’t there. Or the next corner. Or the next. And suddenly, I was back where I started.

I looked at the strange men doing landscaping and noticed for the first time that they all drive vans. Then I asked George again, “WHERE did Oliver go? Is he inside?” Before even hearing his answer, I crossed the street to look in the good climbing tree. Then I doubled back to try the path to the bridge where we throw rocks in the water. Our neighbor was walking his dog there and said he hadn’t seen Oliver. So I went up another set of steps that would lead me back to the area behind our house.

Then I quickly returned to the front and ran into the house, still calling for him. Eleanor said he wasn’t there but I kept calling. At the door to the basement, I heard how hoarse my voice sounded. I didn’t notice that I was still holding Eleanor’s second cup of water until I hurled it down the stairs.

Back outside. More searching.

Too much walking and running and calling “Oliver…Oliver…OLIVER…OLIVER…OLIVEROLIVEROLIVER!” The twins echoed my calls and I realized that they were now both on the front lawn, trying to aid me in my search. Within minutes they would be lost in the neighborhood too, so I pushed-dragged them to my friend’s house two doors down, and barked, “stay there I don’t know where Oliver is stay THERE!”

We had all been at this house earlier for a casual brunch, and several other mothers were still there. My friend asked if she should call the police and I think I said yes – but I may have just showed her the yellow cup in the patch of dirt. Because he was JUST there a minute ago.

But more than a minute had now passed. Many minutes. Too many. And with each one, the vapor of “unlikely” continued to gain substance. I ran back across the street and through another cul de sac, distantly aware of other voices calling my son’s name.

It was only when I was looking down a hill at the nearby creek that I heard my name. Someone (or everyone) was calling for me. And that meant they found him. It never occurred to me that it could have been anything else. Anything else would be unbearable.

As I rushed back up the street and my house came into view, I saw another neighbor helping Oliver step out of my car. MY CAR. He was in my car.

Me – the city girl who once never left her car unlocked for a single minute. Not even to run into the house for forgotten sunglasses. Because leaving a car unlocked meant that strangers could get in. Maybe steal it. At the very least, pilfer the meter change hidden away in the glove compartment. That city girl, now lulled by her quiet suburban neighborhood and distracted by multiple children let locked car doors fall off the radar. Constant vigilance was reserved for boiling pots of water on the stove and cleaning fluids locked under the sink. Not the car.

And my five year old son climbed into a black Ford Expedition with tinted windows and child safety locks in 90 degree weather.

If one of my friends hadn’t seen a flicker of movement, who knows how long it would have taken for me to find him there. And what that could have meant.

Let’s play hide and seek mommy! Where’s Oliver…

That is real fear. The vampires and sharks of my childhood look like Smurfs and Care Bears when pitted against the fear of losing my child.

I barely said thank you to the people who helped me search for Oliver as I silently led him into the house. And the minute the door closed, I burst into tears. I was SO scared. I couldn’t find you. You were LOST.

I could have yelled or spanked him. I could have sent him to his room for the rest of the day. I could have held him tight and asked if he was okay, told him everything would be alright. I’m here now. Mommy’s here.

Instead I sat and cried and said I was scared. So scared.

At first he laughed. The nervous laughter we’ve all experienced when faced by something impossible. It wasn’t just a crack in his mother’s composure. I dissolved before his eyes. I fell to pieces and I couldn’t help myself.

But I think this probably made more of an impact. If he was scared while locked in the car, he didn’t show it. He has his own walls – his own habits of disconnecting with reality. But he too has a breaking point, and apparently, it’s me. We both cried and said we were scared. And said we were sorry.

Then joined by the twins, we fell into a teary, sweaty heap in front of the TV and decided not to leave the house until it was time for Oliver’s therapy appointment.

I sat with all three of my children and basked the luxury of knowing that they were safe. Nothing bad could happen to them in that moment – I could protect them with four walls, air conditioning and the tedium of passive parenting. With my physical presence. As long as we could see each other, nothing could touch us.

Hours passed, therapy was received, and commuter traffic was endured. And when we returned to the slower speed limit of our neighborhood, the last traces of our anxiety dropped away. I opened the windows and turned up the radio. Warm air rushed in to remove the chill of fear.

In my side mirror I saw Oliver putting his hand out the window to feel the breeze. Part of me thought, “keep arms and legs in the vehicle at all times…” but I remember pushing my own palm against the wind when I was his age. No tree limbs or other cars ever came close enough to hurt me. I never worried about that. Earthquakes maybe…but not losing my hand to swerving motorcyclist.

So I decided not to worry about it now. I put my own hand out the window and felt the pressure of wind. My own flesh and bone, solid and invincible against the blast. With a little tension and concentration, I couldn’t be moved. I could even push back.

The what ifs will never go away. They linger on the edges of our every movement, decision, omission… And sometimes they catch up with us. There is always a terrible story to hear. To simultaneously feel sorrow for others and immense gratitude for our own luck, grace, karma.

I once read a brilliant line about what it means to become a parent. While the source left my memory long ago, the sentiment stayed with me – that someone’s child was born and “fate took a hostage.”

Every day I feel the truth of this. And it humbles me. I have to take responsibility for my power and accept my powerlessness and ultimately just hope that my luck will hold.

And I do that every day. I guess we all do.

It’s a charmed life I’m living. Really.

*I wrote this in June 2010. Christy posted Ava’s Rule on FaceBook and it reminded me again how important it is to LOCK YOUR CAR DOORS. Not to protect your GPS or meter change. To protect children. Any child can open a car door – but only if it’s unlocked. Forward this reminder to everyone you know. Not this link – this is just a cautionary tale that people may not get around to reading. The postcard for Ava’s Rule says it all, “Always lock your car and store your car keys out of kids’ reach. Verify your kids know to NEVER go to the car unsupervised. Actively seek out sheltered locations to park your car.“

Stay cool and stay safe this summer!

Scream of Consiousness

10 Replies

This may be a bit of a ramble since I’m killing time in a waiting room…so bear with me.

A couple of hours ago, I posted this picture to Twitter making a joke about how boring waiting for (well ANYTHING, but in this case) surgery can be; and how kids now have iPads, where my generation had to rely on paper entertainment like Mad Libs.

A couple of reactions I got from friends made me realize that I haven’t actually mentioned Oliver’s surgery today. Ooops! But there are two very good reasons for the omission. The first is that I’ve been kind of preoccupied with life (including this surgery thing) and haven’t had it in me to do any “real” writing. This would account for the heavier focus on my Wishing True page – if you were wondering about that. I’m sure Stephanie was confused when she rushed over to my blog from Twitter to find a post about…jewelry. Sorry Stephanie.

The second reason is that this “surgery” is nothing serious. Oliver has two teeth that need to come out for reasons that are too complicated/snore-inducing to get into here. Something about adult teeth coming in at an angle and crowding or something…honestly, I’m a little hazy on the details due to the complicated/snore-inducing situation. Anyway – since my first born insists on being a complicated boy in almost every way, he has to have this done in a hospital instead of the dentist office. I could tell you all about that part, but I’ll keep it brief: he MAY have a condition that would make certain types of anesthesia extremely dangerous (possibly lethal) – so the gas version of general anesthesia isn’t possible for him.

Enter the IV.

Which sounds like a super fun time for pretty much any kid. Right?

Knowing that he wouldn’t be into the idea of having a needle shoved into the top of his hand, the anesthesiologist and I had an elaborate plan that involved doping him up with some cherry flavored syrup first. As explained to me, this would make him kind of loopy and happy, and generally un-phased by things that would typically induce a grand mal seizure. So of course my response to this suggestion was, “can I have some too?”

Sadly – it was going to be a table for one as far as the drugs were concerned. But that’s probably for the best since I then had the herculean task of keeping him from trying to get up and walk around – or worse, trying to rip off the numbing patch that was placed on the top of his hand. Considering the fact that he shredded his hospital bracelet within minutes of having it snapped onto his wrist, I practially had to sit on him for the twenty minutes required for the numbing agent to take effect.

Here is what I discovered about Oliver. When he is doped up on cherry flavored happy syrup, he wants to wrestle! While his delays already make him seem a lot younger than his seven years, THIS version of Oliver brought me back to the toddler years when he needed to be physically restrained from whatever madness he had in mind. Now that he is a 75 lb (SEVENTY FIVE POUND!) boy, trying to keep him from his mission of getting up and removing that annoying patch was more like trying to getting a drunk friend to sit down while you call them a cab. It was a very “gimme my keys, man – I want my keys!” moment.

FINALLY the nurse arrived to insert the IV. But drugs aside, the iPad was the biggest help in distracting Oliver from his hand piercing. We got it from a really sweet twelve year old who told me her job was to help distract children who were waiting for surgery. Okay – so it was a more official title and job description than that…and she was at LEAST fourteen if she was a day…but either way, she was fab.

After that, I spent about 45 minutes making sure Oliver didn’t pick at the IV (because OF COURSE he had to do that) and wondering when exactly our 10:00 a.m. surgery would actually begin. By 11:00, I was starting to loose steam, and Oliver’s happy drugs were wearing off.

When our surgeon did appear with the expected apologies for her previous surgery running over time, I was happy to get off Oliver’s hospital bed to sign some forms. And like a dummy I decided that this would be the perfect time to take a break from my IV vigil and check e-mail/Twitter. Starting with Twitter, I noticed that a couple of people expressed concern for Oliver (see above). So I started to type a quick reply that all was well – nothing serious going on.

This would be the moment that Oliver chose to rip out his IV.

After I spent an hour of hanging off the side of his hosptial bed, watching his every movement, lest he do something to his IV, he actually removed the whole damn thing. I saw the spurt of blood and immediately felt like a little girl who just watched her ice cream scoop slide off the cone and onto the pavement.

No tears though. Just defeated, annoyance for the very nice staff who had no control over the fact that we waited SO LONG for this damn surgery because if they started even just 30 or 45 minutes late, he probably wouldn’t have had the opportunity to pull out his IV and I wouldn’t be feeling like I lost my ice cream cone to gravity…. SO frustrating. It made me want to scream. Instead I silently seethed. And visibly sulked.

I just wanted to make this as easy on Oliver as possible. And my efforts ended up being a big waste of time. I hate that. Even though this kind of describes life in general much of the time… It still makes me crazy.

So I watched them wheel IV-less Oliver and his iPad into the OR where they would just hold my terrified son down to re-insert the spike and try to pump anesthesia into him as quickly as possible. I could only hope that the twelve year old was able to distract him with puppets or something.

Seriously – I’m sure it was fine. Oliver is a trooper. But two hours later in the waiting room, I’m still a little pissed about it.

Also – the phone reception here is terrible! Thank god I was able to find a sketchy internet connection.

Still waiting, I decided to go get a coffee and find a restroom. The former being exceedingly less confusing than the latter. The restroom for this “family waiting area” is a one at a time kid of deal and the two people ahead of me both took approximately five hour-long turns. For the life of me, I can’t imagine what they were doing in there. Even the second guy who was holding a toddler, would have to change at least 5 diapers to justify the length of his stay. In the end, I had to go to another floor. This was a blessing in disguise since I discovered en route, that my texts to Chris finally went through.

I also got to stretch my legs and do some people watching. Hospitals provide great people watching opportunities, you know.

The noise in the cafeteria was overwhelming so I just strolled the hallways for a bit. I talked to a woman pushing a cart with not one, but two zithers. Now THAT is something you don’t see every day. Just to make sure, I asked her if they were in fact, zithers. She said yes and that was the longest conversation I’ve had with anyone who wasn’t in scrubs since 7:00 a.m.

*****

We are now in recovery!

Oliver is still out of it but his procedures went well. Teeth are extracted, spacers are inserted, and various small cavities (cringe) are filled. I’m just waiting for him to wake up.

In the meantime, I learned a few things.

First, it wasn’t two bottom molars they removed, but two top molars. I could have sworn she said bottom teeth…mother of the year!

Also – not eating anything in the morning before your child’s surgery out of solidarity (or fear that they’ll see you eating and demand food) and then not eating at the cafeteria because it’s crowded and smells funny will make you feel like a complete idiot when you are sitting in recovery at 3:00 p.m. thinking you might pass out from hunger.

Finally – the twelve year old who gave Oliver the iPad is a “Child Life Specialist.” And she’s not really twelve. But I already knew that. I’m just 40 and think anyone under the age of 25 looks like they should be selling girl scout cookies.

Oh – cookies… Hopefully we’ll get out of here soon. I’m starving.

More than anything I am grateful that my babies are all healthy. Seeing other children waiting for their own surgeries, hearing their cries as they come out of their anesthesia sleep… I don’t know how many of these kids are here for serious reasons or routine procedures like Oliver. But my heart goes out to the babies here who are suffering and the mothers and fathers who suffer with them. It’s a scary job, this parenting thing.

Oliver is waking up now. Much love to you and yours.

FINALLY – I participate in this. Typically I post something way to early or late in the week. And since I wrote this in one sitting without any interruptions (NEVER happens when I’m at home) it felt like a “Just Write” kind of post. Off to add myself to the list…