Part of a balanced diet
- Image via Wikipedia
(Henry sitting on the couch with me watching “The Mighty Ducks” since it’s hotter than Hades outside and we’re both huge wimps and anyway, we already spent three hours at the park this morning and got our exercise so GIVE ME A BREAK):
(oh, and by the way, this was completely out of the blue)
“TASTY BRAINS! MMMMM!! GIVE ME SOME OF YOUR TASTY BRAINS!!!!!!!!!!!! BRAINS!!!!!!!!!”
Pretty sure that Disney didn’t have eating brains in mind when they created the tour de force of cinema that is Mighty Ducks. OR DID THEY. Conspiracy theorists, take note.
Three things I love about my husband
I’ve never met a kid who didn’t think he was about the coolest thing on two legs. He can make ANY kid fall instantly in love with him, mostly because he’s a big kid himself.
He is a fantastic, wonderful, loving daddy. He is the kind of dad I wish I had had when I was growing up. Even after working 12+ hours a day at a job he hates, he still comes home and makes time for them and all their stuff.
He has an incredible sense of humor, and he makes me laugh ALL THE TIME. Not easy to do when you’ve been married to someone for almost 19 years, but he manages to do it. Every single day, he makes me feel loved: writes me sweet mushy notes and puts them up on the oven hood thingy so I’ll see them in the morning, makes me coffee, brings me flowers, brushes my hair, buys me coffee cups, cleans the kitchen, cooks ALL WEEKEND, every weekend, lets me take naps when I need them, gosh, lots of stuff. Oh! And when he’s snoring really loudly, he rolls over when I kick nudge him or he will voluntarily go to the couch. That’s how much he loves me.
I think I got a keeper.
Brave girl
Last year was a tough one, kind of, for Miss Emma. She was in fourth grade, and typically girls at that age start to be what I like to affectionately call PSYCHO HOSEBAGS. Basically, see, girls tend to eat their wounded, and unfortunately it starts young and really never stops.
Emma had two little friends who she thought were pretty much friends for life ditch her in third grade; we got over it with much weeping and gnashing of teeth, but still, got over it. THEN it started all over again in fourth grade, with girls who I thought for sure would know better.
Now, honestly, I know my kid isn’t squeaky clean in all of this, and there is definitely some blame that needs to be attached to her. That’s not my main bone to pick. No, my problem is this: why does this have to happen? Why do all these sweet, gentle, tender little girls who I’ve watched grow up since they were toddlers suddenly have to treat each other so unkindly?
Some of it is hormones, some of it is just plain old maturity (or lack thereof). It sucks, to be very direct. Sucks big time. And it’s difficult for me not to go charging in head first like an angry rhino and you know, COMPLETELY MAUL EVERYONE WHO HURTS MAH PWECIOUS WAMB.
However, that would probably not be the best course of action. So far, what I’ve done is listen. Listen, listen, and listen some more. Offer some advice, mostly along the lines of “keep your chin up” and “don’t let them get to you” and “here’s how you do a roundhouse kick to the kidneys”. I hug her when she cries, I let her get mad when she needs to get mad, and then I help her get over it rather than mulling over her injuries, both real and imagined.
She’s excited about her fifth grade year, mostly, because she’s a GIANT NERD who really loves school (just like her mom!). She’s also really excited about dealing with the whole friends thing head-on. Emma’s matured a lot this summer, some of it naturally, some of it forced upon her as she’s had to deal with her brother’s health issues. I’m pretty proud of her, especially since I know how much it costs her behind the scenes to put that brave face on in front of people.
One of the things that I totally love about Emma is that she comes up with creative ways to deal with things that bother her, rather than wallow in her misery. This week, she decided she would write what she was worried about on a small rock, and every time those issues popped up, she would touch the rock and pray about it. Simple, yet disarmingly effective.
I’m eagerly anticipating great things from her and for her this year. We’re in this together, which sounds so cliche, but what I mean to say is this: parenting is really just a blindfolded walk through a dark house. You never know what you’re going to bump into or step on, and no matter how many people have gone before you or how much confidence you might have, YOU’RE STILL WALKING BLIND. You just have to do your best and do your absolute darndest to get to your destination with as little harm as possible and as much grace and love and sheer blasted courage as you can possibly put into the effort. Together.
My odd little collection – shall I show you? OH YES, YES, I SHALL.
So I like to read this one gossip site called Oh No They Didn’t, which basically is a Live Journal community-driven site with many gossipy posts about pretty much anything, from the latest celebrity screwups right on to just General Wacky Fun. I love, no, I lurvvveee this site. But the best thing about it? The best thing? Well, honestly, it’s all the coo-coo-crazy images that members post as part of their comments on the gossip articles.
I collect these. Like stamps! Or coins! Or scabs!
Let’s see…..what do I have to show you…oh! Here we go:
Emilio Estevez does not approve of your antics.
Seriously I can’t look at this one with Voldemort without peeing my pants laughing.
O HAI.
Don't try to figure this one out. Just go with it.
No explanation is necessary. OR IS IT?
I could go on all night (NOT EVEN KIDDING) but I’ll just leave you with one more:
Dear Makers of Fallout 3: Why? Just, seriously….WHY?
- Image via Wikipedia
So I work from home, and I usually work at night for a couple hours after the kinder have toddled off to bed to lie their weary heads down and sleep peacefully dreaming dreams of puppies and lollipops and CRIPES WOULD YOU GO TO BED ALREADY, YA HOOLIGANS. Since my oldest received a completely inappropriate video game from his father for his birthday (hmph), I’ve been having to put up with watching post-apocalyptic zombies go after mah baby boy to try to hurt him.
STOP HURTING MAH BABY, ZOMBIES.
The game is Fallout 3, or Fallout Boy, or Fallout of the Fridge? Something? I don’t know. All I know is that there are many creatures wondering around with some seriously bad facial fungus, and they all want to harm, maul, or otherwise wound the guy holding the big machine gun. Which would be James.
Last night, I’m watching him play this game out of the corner of my eye, and to put out some background I’m super tired, it’s hot, and I’m getting a little punchy. James goes after some bad guys and after a brief firefight, they kill him.
TEH ZOMBIES, THEY DONE KILLED MAH BAYBEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!111!!!!! OH THE HUMANITIEZ!!!!!
I actually got upset about this. Like, started tearing up and getting all emotional. “Oh, my gosh,” I stuttered. “They just, did you, did you just get killed?”
(In my defense, the graphics in this game are like seriously good so when the camera panned to his character lying on the floor it was a bit disconcerting.)
(Actually, that explanation doesn’t really help me out at all and makes me look like even more of a wuss.)
James looks at me and realizes I’m getting all verklempt. “Um, Mom?”
“Yessssss……” >>>trying to pull it together because SERIOUSLY, WOMAN.<<<
“You know it’s just a game, right?”
“YES I know it’s just a game. I’m fine. I’M FINE.” >>types furiously and articulately in a completely non-emotional manner MAH BAYBEEEEEEEEEE<<<<
__________________________
Wow. Reading this several hours later I’m still shocked and embarrassed at the pure, unadulterated PAP and DRIVEL that is contained in this post, but I’m too busy watching Mommy’s Pwecious Wambie defeat soldiers dressed up in cute little yellow outfits to change it.
Even Antonio Banderas can’t save this one
So! For the Jamester’s 16th birthday this week, his sweet, darling, lovely girlfriend who we’re seriously going to adopt ourselves we love her that much, gave him a copy of a movie called “The 13th Warrior”, starring Antonio Banderas and a whole bunch of people dressed up like Norse folk. Basically, the whole premise of the movie is that there are some Predator-ish beings attacking all these villagers, and Antonio Banderas is leading the charge to SAVE THE WORLD.
Okay, so he’s pretty dang cute and all, but this movie? This movie is just bloody awful, and by “bloody” I mean seriously, how many severed arms and chopped-off heads can you see and keep your dinner from lurching onto your laptop? You already know that everyone but Antonio is a “red shirt” (obscure Star Trek reference there), and you already know that Antonio is going to save everyone with his mad fighting skillz, so why all the chopped off business? Not necessary.
I decided to just keep my head down and ignore the whole thing, since A)I’m a huge wuss and B)I don’t like it and I’M A HUGE WUSS. So I decided to distract myself with some PRETTY PRETTY PICTURES, such as this unicorn:
Ah, mah lovely unicorn friend. You shall save me, won’t you? With your horn and your rainbows and HOW I LOVE YOU. We shall ride away together into the sunset, nabbing my new boyfriend Antonio from this craptacular movie FIRST, and then we shall fly away and make a home together in the clouds and we will always be together BECAUSE I LOVE YOU.
Hunkering down
This week has probably been the most difficult of my entire life; gosh, it even blows past that one week when I was deathly ill with strep throat AND the flu, and let’s just say that my digestive system didn’t know whether it was coming or going, if you get my meaning (the couch will never, EVER, be the same). We’ve had a super-duper fun journey to Seizureland, we’ve visited multiple doctors, we’ve had awkward financial meetings with people I hope to never see again, and DAMMIT the cat peed on the dog’s bed this morning. Which was kind of just like the icing on the proverbial shit-cake, as it were.
So this weekend, we plan on circling the wagons. We’re going to spend time together as a family, loving on each other, laughing, listening, and oh, yes….there will be MUCH hugging, and kissing, and loads of inappropriate jokes that feel slightly naughty to laugh at. We’re going to make a lot of yummy food, and spend time watching some of our favorite movies and TV shows, and tickle, and chase, and pretend to be scary robots that only eat kids who don’t brush their teeth. There WILL be naps, oh yes, there will be, along with cuddles, and squidges, and oh, just about everything that that fills my soul with peace and happiness and just plain joy.
I can’t wait.
16 years ago
Well, hey now! Look who’s 16 today!
Good Lord, can I really be the parent of a 16 year old? Am I really that old DON’T ANSWER THAT QUESTION.
16 years ago, my water broke explosively all over our bed at 5:30 in the morning. Audibly. Like somebody had just popped a balloon. I yelled “I think my water just broke!” and Dean jumped out of bed ready for action. I was a woman in labor, and Dean? Well, he followed me around for three hours while I peacefully made sandwiches, took a shower, cleaned the house, you know, normal woman in labor stuff.
It was so CUTE how he was writing down all my contractions and timing me and shoving me in the car because he couldn’t take it anymore! CUTE!
Once we got to the hospital, things progressed quite nicely. I was on a bed listening to Phil Keaggy over and over and over again. Doing the whole labor thing for 17 and a half hours, which I like to bring up if he gets sassy. Once he finally appeared after an hour (!) of pushing, I remember thinking two things very vividly. First, holy HELL how did that thing come out of me I am a super woman and seriously, how did that get out of me? and second, I need to remember his face so I don’t bring home the wrong kid.
Gosh, I’m glad I brought home the right one. Love you to pieces, sweetheart.
You say seizures, I say scissors
One of the more…..interesting things to come out of this week’s journey to Seizureland was that Henry has decided to tell everyone – and I do mean EVERYONE – he runs into that he had a grand mal seizure on Sunday and had to ride in an ambulance and was in the ER and hey! LISTEN TO ME, I’M TALKING TO YOU ABOUT SEIZURES.
See, the thing about Henry, he’s about the most charming kid you’ll come across, especially since he really has no idea that he might be inappropriate or making people uncomfortable. In fact, the whole idea of “tactfulness” or “boundaries” or “public nudity” makes no sense to him, and no matter how many little talks we have, there is just going to be awkward conversations and inappropriate farting and ALL NEKKID ALL THE TIME and that’s just the way it’s going to be.
(See? Who said mentally disabled kids aren’t more fun than a barrel of monkeys!)
So we’re in the line at Safeway yesterday, which was our first public outing since Sunday. I was pretty nervous, to be honest, and just wanted to grab my stuff and get out of there. We get in line with our favorite check out lady, everything is going fine, I’m almost done, and then HERE WE GO.
Henry: “I had a seizure on Sunday.”
Nice Grocery Lady: “What did you say, honey?”
Me: >>>nudging Henry purposefully with the Mom Look<< "Uh, honey, let's not..."
Henry: "YES! I had a seizure, and I rode in the ambulance, and I was in the hospital, and now I can't play video games, and I had a seizure! I have seizures!"
Nice Grocery Lady: >>looking at me<< “Gosh, I’m sorry. Everything okay?”
Henry: “I HAD A SEIZURE!!”
So, yeah. That was super fun, in a horribly awkward, let’s relive the worst moment of our lives to date sort of way. On the way out, I revved up the ol’ Let’s Keep Things To Ourselves talk, and gently reminded my dear little man that there are some things, like super scary seizures, that are better kept discussed between just family and friends, since they are scary and not really that super and Good Lord, is there just like an input button or something for TACT on you, kid?
Henry’s response to this?
“But Mom,” he says with his big brown eyes and sweet little lisp, “but Mom, she IS my friend.”
Can’t argue with that.
