Okay, I'm very sorry I haven't written much here lately. We still don't have internet at the house, so it's kind of difficult for me to get around to writing these days.
I've applied for unemployment, so hopefully that will come through in the next couple of weeks. Hell, hopefully I'll get a job. But I try not to dream too big.
If I'm going to be totally honest, I have to tell you that life has been hell this past couple of weeks. Really, life has been hell for this last couple of years. But hey, tomato, tomahto.
I can't go into too much, but I fear that we won't be seeing Kane and Jude for a while. It's really sad, because regardless of how much I miss them, miss seeing them and hearing how their lives are going, Jason misses the hell out of them, and I can't even tell you how frequently Reed asks where they are, when they're coming back, when he'll see them again. Right now we haven't seen them in about a month, and they haven't stayed at our house in about six weeks. I've written here on more than one occasion how much Reed loves them, how I worry, how much I love them.
I guess I should say again how much I really, really love them, have always loved them, have always tried my best to be there for them, take care of them, and provide them with a safe and happy place to call home.
This coming Monday is the third birthday of this blog. HAPPY FREAKING BIRTHDAY, VELVETEEN INDIAN. Maybe one day I'll be real.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
On an early grave.
Last night Reed and I were riding along in the car and I said, "Hey, guess who's coming tomorrow? Kane and Jude!"
He said, "Ahhhhhhh, yay! That makes my life feel happy."
I honestly had to turn away and shed a little tear because it was just so sweet.
In other news, THAT CHILD MAKES ME WANT TO THROW MYSELF INTO A MEAT GRINDER SOME TIMES. For pete's sakes, I can't even relate to you how awful it can be trying to deal with a screaming, writhing, obstinate, raging MESS like he can be sometimes. I might as well be pinching him and stomping his toes, he has the same horrified reaction to my saying "Let's go to Whole Foods for dinner", and the best part is he loves Whole Foods, loves going there and eating there and hanging out there, but he wanted to hang out at Ma's for another FOR-FUCKING-EVER and then go to Whole Foods, while I wanted to go BEFORE THE END OF TIME AND EXISTENCE. So we proceeded to fight and slam and stomp and scream and cry, both of us, don't you for a second think I'm above acting like my almost-four-year-old son, because NO I am not.
I go through these (very short) periods in which I think THAT'S IT, I'm cured, the Prozac fixed everything, God bless it! But, people, there is not enough Prozac in the WORLD to make me capable of dealing with Reed "Bull In A Goddamned China Shop" Agan when he goes on a tear, starts throwing things and stomping and screaming and calling me a butthead.
Last night my mom tried to calm me by saying "Sometimes people just get too tired, and it makes them act like this." It occurs to me today that she might have been referring to me just as much as to Reed.
But at the time I just thought, "Yes, sometimes people get too tired, and sometimes people get locked in the trunk while people's moms try some of that new high-alcohol beer."
Hey, I said sometimes.
He said, "Ahhhhhhh, yay! That makes my life feel happy."
I honestly had to turn away and shed a little tear because it was just so sweet.
In other news, THAT CHILD MAKES ME WANT TO THROW MYSELF INTO A MEAT GRINDER SOME TIMES. For pete's sakes, I can't even relate to you how awful it can be trying to deal with a screaming, writhing, obstinate, raging MESS like he can be sometimes. I might as well be pinching him and stomping his toes, he has the same horrified reaction to my saying "Let's go to Whole Foods for dinner", and the best part is he loves Whole Foods, loves going there and eating there and hanging out there, but he wanted to hang out at Ma's for another FOR-FUCKING-EVER and then go to Whole Foods, while I wanted to go BEFORE THE END OF TIME AND EXISTENCE. So we proceeded to fight and slam and stomp and scream and cry, both of us, don't you for a second think I'm above acting like my almost-four-year-old son, because NO I am not.
I go through these (very short) periods in which I think THAT'S IT, I'm cured, the Prozac fixed everything, God bless it! But, people, there is not enough Prozac in the WORLD to make me capable of dealing with Reed "Bull In A Goddamned China Shop" Agan when he goes on a tear, starts throwing things and stomping and screaming and calling me a butthead.
Last night my mom tried to calm me by saying "Sometimes people just get too tired, and it makes them act like this." It occurs to me today that she might have been referring to me just as much as to Reed.
But at the time I just thought, "Yes, sometimes people get too tired, and sometimes people get locked in the trunk while people's moms try some of that new high-alcohol beer."
Hey, I said sometimes.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Okay, really? A slutty, ten-year-old witch?
The last several Halloweens have found my girlfriends and myself complaining that all of the prepackaged Halloween costumes for women are always slutty- slutty cheerleader, slutty nurse, slutty Snow White, slutty post woman, slutty police woman, slutty Goldilocks (FOR GOD'S SAKES, GOLDILOCKS WAS A CHILD). News flash: not all of us want to be slutty on Halloween. Some of us don't want to wear a tiny swath of spandex with our Cinderella-cleavage bursting out for all to see. But, you know, that's how it goes sometimes.
Then I happened across this on a website called Back To Basics Toys. I like the website, I like a lot of the stuff they sell, I've never ordered anything from them but I was considering a few things for Reed's next birthday. But THIS! No no no no NO, I tell you!
I seriously cannot deal with this shit, this idea that our daughters (okay, YOUR daughters) are supposed to be wearing fifteen pounds of make-up and a skirt with a sexy slit and a low-cut neck by the age of twelve (the largest size is for a 12-year-old girl), much less by the age of EIGHT (the smallest size listed), you sick, twisted motherfuckers! Lord help us all, I think we are veering madly into some sick, crazy, regrettable territory.
In a world where all our television programming is infested with "Let's Catch a Scary Pedophile!" shows, where lists of people who are convicted sex offenders are available on the internet, are we really also saying "Let's dress our young girls, very young girls, girls that are certainly too young to be viewed sexually, in some sexy, sexy stuff! It's just so darned cute!" And then that poor girl who modeled the outfit. Good Lord! What was her mother thinking? And the website or manufacturer or whomever is responsible for this? "Let's put this picture on the internet, where it's safe and sound and certainly no sexual deviants abound!" Listen, I get that anyone who puts pictures of their kid on the internet risks someone looking at them in different ways and for different purposes than they intend. I get that I put tons of pictures on my kids on the internet. But for fuck's sakes, it's a little different when you're TARTING UP YOUR KIDS AND STICKING THEM ON HERE FOR ALL TO SEE. There's something intentional about it, see? There is a huge difference between me saying, "Look, here's my kid cutting his birthday cake in his bike helmet and Batman shirt!" and someone else saying, "Look, here's my kid, my young daughter, wearing enough make-up to play understudy to Tammy Faye Bakker and a low-cut dress with a high slit! Maybe one day she'll have some boobs to fill it out!" I don't know if you see a difference, but I see a difference.
Point is, it's grotesque, and I think we're asking too much from these young girls when we allow them to dress like grown-ups, like slutty grown-ups, and then telling them to be chaste and save it for marriage, expressing concern about std's and teen pregnancy, espousing these ideals about kids should be kids and they are all growing up too fast. It seems to me that we should be teaching these girls that they have power and ownership over their own bodies and the way that they present those bodies has a lot to do with the way that they are perceived by others. I think that when we take these girls and say, "Aw, look, it's so cute when they dress like grown-ups!" that some part of their childhood is lost, something slips away when they start to think "Hey, I get a lot of attention when I dress this way". And plenty of girls realize that at some point, but I think that they're realizing it a lot earlier these days, using it a lot earlier these days, and I think stuff like this has a lot to do with it.
Then I happened across this on a website called Back To Basics Toys. I like the website, I like a lot of the stuff they sell, I've never ordered anything from them but I was considering a few things for Reed's next birthday. But THIS! No no no no NO, I tell you!
I seriously cannot deal with this shit, this idea that our daughters (okay, YOUR daughters) are supposed to be wearing fifteen pounds of make-up and a skirt with a sexy slit and a low-cut neck by the age of twelve (the largest size is for a 12-year-old girl), much less by the age of EIGHT (the smallest size listed), you sick, twisted motherfuckers! Lord help us all, I think we are veering madly into some sick, crazy, regrettable territory.
In a world where all our television programming is infested with "Let's Catch a Scary Pedophile!" shows, where lists of people who are convicted sex offenders are available on the internet, are we really also saying "Let's dress our young girls, very young girls, girls that are certainly too young to be viewed sexually, in some sexy, sexy stuff! It's just so darned cute!" And then that poor girl who modeled the outfit. Good Lord! What was her mother thinking? And the website or manufacturer or whomever is responsible for this? "Let's put this picture on the internet, where it's safe and sound and certainly no sexual deviants abound!" Listen, I get that anyone who puts pictures of their kid on the internet risks someone looking at them in different ways and for different purposes than they intend. I get that I put tons of pictures on my kids on the internet. But for fuck's sakes, it's a little different when you're TARTING UP YOUR KIDS AND STICKING THEM ON HERE FOR ALL TO SEE. There's something intentional about it, see? There is a huge difference between me saying, "Look, here's my kid cutting his birthday cake in his bike helmet and Batman shirt!" and someone else saying, "Look, here's my kid, my young daughter, wearing enough make-up to play understudy to Tammy Faye Bakker and a low-cut dress with a high slit! Maybe one day she'll have some boobs to fill it out!" I don't know if you see a difference, but I see a difference.
Point is, it's grotesque, and I think we're asking too much from these young girls when we allow them to dress like grown-ups, like slutty grown-ups, and then telling them to be chaste and save it for marriage, expressing concern about std's and teen pregnancy, espousing these ideals about kids should be kids and they are all growing up too fast. It seems to me that we should be teaching these girls that they have power and ownership over their own bodies and the way that they present those bodies has a lot to do with the way that they are perceived by others. I think that when we take these girls and say, "Aw, look, it's so cute when they dress like grown-ups!" that some part of their childhood is lost, something slips away when they start to think "Hey, I get a lot of attention when I dress this way". And plenty of girls realize that at some point, but I think that they're realizing it a lot earlier these days, using it a lot earlier these days, and I think stuff like this has a lot to do with it.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Some things Reed says.
The kid is hilarious, by the way.
For one thing, he randomly adds the letter d to ends of words. "I'm Batmand!" or "What about Kaned?"... come to think of it, perhaps it's only words that end with n? Because he'll also say "oned" and "wond" and "rund". What's really odd about it is that it's not all the time; in other words, sometimes he'll say simply "Batman", but other times it's "Batmand". WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY KID IS IT AUTISM DOES HE NEED RITALIN WHAT THE FUCK?
I should add that perhaps it's me with the problem; I had to type "KID" about fifteen times because every time I did it, it came out "DIS". Hm.
We're also smack-dab in the middle of a begging phase, a phase that, if I take into account my own mannerisms throughout childhood, should last approximately 26 years, I think. The other night he was begging for us to let him have another popsicle, and he actually implored to Jason, "Please, man. Man, please." Jason and I both cracked up and gave him the damn popsicle, for the love.
Also lovable and odd is "yaw". Reed says "y'all" frequently, but it comes out "yaw". "I want to come widj yaw!" "Do yaw want a popsicle?" "Can I ride widj yaw?"
OH MY GOD IS HE A HICK WHAT THE FUCK?
For one thing, he randomly adds the letter d to ends of words. "I'm Batmand!" or "What about Kaned?"... come to think of it, perhaps it's only words that end with n? Because he'll also say "oned" and "wond" and "rund". What's really odd about it is that it's not all the time; in other words, sometimes he'll say simply "Batman", but other times it's "Batmand". WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY KID IS IT AUTISM DOES HE NEED RITALIN WHAT THE FUCK?
I should add that perhaps it's me with the problem; I had to type "KID" about fifteen times because every time I did it, it came out "DIS". Hm.
We're also smack-dab in the middle of a begging phase, a phase that, if I take into account my own mannerisms throughout childhood, should last approximately 26 years, I think. The other night he was begging for us to let him have another popsicle, and he actually implored to Jason, "Please, man. Man, please." Jason and I both cracked up and gave him the damn popsicle, for the love.
Also lovable and odd is "yaw". Reed says "y'all" frequently, but it comes out "yaw". "I want to come widj yaw!" "Do yaw want a popsicle?" "Can I ride widj yaw?"
OH MY GOD IS HE A HICK WHAT THE FUCK?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Karaoke and appendectomies.
Holy cow, this past weekend was pretty nutty. Kane had an emergency appendectomy, I karaoked Shania Twain's Any Man of Mine, and Lindsey got hit on by a 23 year old. I AM SO TIRED.
Lindsey and I went out Saturday night and bar-hopped a bit and ended up at an all-night karaoke joint we have been known to frequent in the past. Of course we stayed out too late and arrived home to Kane power-puking in the bathroom with the door open. Jason got up and was like, "Oh, yeah, he's been puking."
The next morning as I was just about to expire from the hangover, Jason informed me that he was taking Kane to the emergency room because he was having some cramps that could indicate appendicitis. He called a couple of hours later and said it wasn't his appendix, it was just a stomach virus, and they were giving him nausea medicine and fluids. He called a couple of hours after that and said Kane was still cramping so they were taking blood and running tests and giving him an iv because he was so dehydrated. They eventually did an x-ray and discovered that Kane's appendix isn't situated in the normal place and woops! it WAS his appendix, he DID in fact have appendicitis and oh yeah, they needed to remove his appendix.
I would also like to point out, because it is just so predictable, that while Kane and Jason and Jude arrived at the hospital around 10:00 am, and Kane was finally wheeled into surgery around 5:30 pm, Kane's wonder-mom didn't show up at the hospital until 6 pm. The only reason I want to point this out is that it is just indicative of the kind of shit she pulls that makes me go WHAT THE FUCK, PEOPLE?
But all is well; Kane was in and out of surgery very quickly and everything went fine and he's recovering. I would also like to say that after the surgery, still high on the anesthesia, Kane was quietly resting in his bed and then would randomly spout lines from the Office ("What kind of bear is best?"). So funny.
It was just nutty, a nutty day and a nutty chain of events, and I'm glad everything is okay.
Lindsey and I went out Saturday night and bar-hopped a bit and ended up at an all-night karaoke joint we have been known to frequent in the past. Of course we stayed out too late and arrived home to Kane power-puking in the bathroom with the door open. Jason got up and was like, "Oh, yeah, he's been puking."
The next morning as I was just about to expire from the hangover, Jason informed me that he was taking Kane to the emergency room because he was having some cramps that could indicate appendicitis. He called a couple of hours later and said it wasn't his appendix, it was just a stomach virus, and they were giving him nausea medicine and fluids. He called a couple of hours after that and said Kane was still cramping so they were taking blood and running tests and giving him an iv because he was so dehydrated. They eventually did an x-ray and discovered that Kane's appendix isn't situated in the normal place and woops! it WAS his appendix, he DID in fact have appendicitis and oh yeah, they needed to remove his appendix.
I would also like to point out, because it is just so predictable, that while Kane and Jason and Jude arrived at the hospital around 10:00 am, and Kane was finally wheeled into surgery around 5:30 pm, Kane's wonder-mom didn't show up at the hospital until 6 pm. The only reason I want to point this out is that it is just indicative of the kind of shit she pulls that makes me go WHAT THE FUCK, PEOPLE?
But all is well; Kane was in and out of surgery very quickly and everything went fine and he's recovering. I would also like to say that after the surgery, still high on the anesthesia, Kane was quietly resting in his bed and then would randomly spout lines from the Office ("What kind of bear is best?"). So funny.
It was just nutty, a nutty day and a nutty chain of events, and I'm glad everything is okay.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Jude,
Today you are ten.
This means that you have spent six and one-half years WORKING ON MY NERVES. I would like to say that I'm kidding, but I think we both know that I'm not.
My first memory of you is you hiding behind Jason's legs because you were too embarrassed to meet me. My next memories of you are of how willing you were to hold my hand and sit in my lap, how close we became so quickly. I never could figure out if you were just that starved for female attention or if you just liked the idea of pissing off your mom. And what I'm saying here is that you have always been a person who liked to piss people off, but originally you chose to use me to piss others off instead of just going right for pissing me off. That's what kind of smart little bugger you are.
Jude, you are one of the most difficult, stubborn boys I have ever known, and that is saying a lot because I've known drug-users and alcoholics, womanizers and habitual liars, narcissistic pricks and fellows who were totally out of touch with reality, and you are more difficult than any of them. In some ways this is a compliment, but mostly this is just me saying OH WOULD YOU JUST GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK ALREADY. We have butted heads on more than once occasion, from the subject of sticking your hands down into the Brita pitcher (WHY do you need to put your hands INSIDE of it, anyways?) to licking the knife before putting it BACK IN the jar of peanut butter to whether or not to pick up your socks and whether it's okay to wear the same shirt seven days in a row when you have used that shirt to wipe jelly off the counter. IF I LIVE TO SEE YOU GRADUATE HIGH SCHOOL IT WILL BE A GODDAMNED MIRACLE, last night your actions took me to the point in which I hit myself in the head with a gallon of milk, who's to say that next time it won't be a rubber mallet instead of a large dairy product.
When you were little you would lie in bed until midnight or one in the morning making car noises and monster noises and explosion noises and sticking your feet and hands in the air, ANYTHING to PLEASE GOD STAY AWAKE JUST FIVE MORE MINUTES.
You would also drink icees until you threw up blue. We've moved on from that to a constant "Can I have an apple? Can I have some chips? Can I have a banana? Can I have a popsicle? Can I have a fried egg? Can I have some Coke? Can I have a sandwich? What's for dinner?"
Dude, I don't have a clue what you're going to do when you grow up- BMX biking? Professional skateboarding? The newest member of the wonderful team that stars in Jackass? And when I say that, I'm not calling you a jackass; the stuff they do on that show is the kind of shit that you declare is the awesomest, the sickest, the most insanely crazy cool shit you've ever seen. You begged for the poster out of my Misfits cd and lately you've been asking questions about the Ramones and listening to Green Day on the iPod: your future is fuck-all, I cannot begin to divine what kind of person you will be as you get older, smarter, and more daring. You are the PUNK ROCKINEST, sneering little ne'erdowell that I've ever known, except for that little foray into chick flicks and Britney Spears, but we'll just forget about that.
I know that we haven't always gotten along, and I know that you've been disappointed by my lack of cool-stepmomness and my overabundance of YOU'LL DO WHAT I TELL YOU. I have sometimes worried that when you're a grown-up you will look back on all of this and hate me for being so tough on you. I am hoping that instead what Lindsey has said is true: that you will look back on this and love me for caring, for trying to teach you about manners and morality and sympathy and empathy, that you will realize that, while I could have been cooler and more laid-back and more worried about pleasing you, I chose the tougher route which was to give a shit about what kind of person you would end up being. I have high expectations of you and I am not afraid to let you know about it because, otherwise, how will you ever have high expectations of yourself? You cannot fool me into thinking that it is too hard for you to clean your room or pick up your socks or put your dishes into the dishwasher, just like you cannot fool me into thinking it's unfair for you to have to share with your brothers or give your dad a chance to do something other than kissing your butt 24 hours a day.
That sucks, right? THAT IS THE ONLY WAY I KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH YOU WITHOUT GIVING YOU A KNUCKLE SANDWICH AND HAVING YOU FITTED FOR A MUZZLE. You just sit down and be thankful that you haven't quite pushed me that far yet. And also don't forget to change your shorts. GAH.
Today you are ten.
This means that you have spent six and one-half years WORKING ON MY NERVES. I would like to say that I'm kidding, but I think we both know that I'm not.
My first memory of you is you hiding behind Jason's legs because you were too embarrassed to meet me. My next memories of you are of how willing you were to hold my hand and sit in my lap, how close we became so quickly. I never could figure out if you were just that starved for female attention or if you just liked the idea of pissing off your mom. And what I'm saying here is that you have always been a person who liked to piss people off, but originally you chose to use me to piss others off instead of just going right for pissing me off. That's what kind of smart little bugger you are.
Jude, you are one of the most difficult, stubborn boys I have ever known, and that is saying a lot because I've known drug-users and alcoholics, womanizers and habitual liars, narcissistic pricks and fellows who were totally out of touch with reality, and you are more difficult than any of them. In some ways this is a compliment, but mostly this is just me saying OH WOULD YOU JUST GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK ALREADY. We have butted heads on more than once occasion, from the subject of sticking your hands down into the Brita pitcher (WHY do you need to put your hands INSIDE of it, anyways?) to licking the knife before putting it BACK IN the jar of peanut butter to whether or not to pick up your socks and whether it's okay to wear the same shirt seven days in a row when you have used that shirt to wipe jelly off the counter. IF I LIVE TO SEE YOU GRADUATE HIGH SCHOOL IT WILL BE A GODDAMNED MIRACLE, last night your actions took me to the point in which I hit myself in the head with a gallon of milk, who's to say that next time it won't be a rubber mallet instead of a large dairy product.
When you were little you would lie in bed until midnight or one in the morning making car noises and monster noises and explosion noises and sticking your feet and hands in the air, ANYTHING to PLEASE GOD STAY AWAKE JUST FIVE MORE MINUTES.
You would also drink icees until you threw up blue. We've moved on from that to a constant "Can I have an apple? Can I have some chips? Can I have a banana? Can I have a popsicle? Can I have a fried egg? Can I have some Coke? Can I have a sandwich? What's for dinner?"
Dude, I don't have a clue what you're going to do when you grow up- BMX biking? Professional skateboarding? The newest member of the wonderful team that stars in Jackass? And when I say that, I'm not calling you a jackass; the stuff they do on that show is the kind of shit that you declare is the awesomest, the sickest, the most insanely crazy cool shit you've ever seen. You begged for the poster out of my Misfits cd and lately you've been asking questions about the Ramones and listening to Green Day on the iPod: your future is fuck-all, I cannot begin to divine what kind of person you will be as you get older, smarter, and more daring. You are the PUNK ROCKINEST, sneering little ne'erdowell that I've ever known, except for that little foray into chick flicks and Britney Spears, but we'll just forget about that.
I know that we haven't always gotten along, and I know that you've been disappointed by my lack of cool-stepmomness and my overabundance of YOU'LL DO WHAT I TELL YOU. I have sometimes worried that when you're a grown-up you will look back on all of this and hate me for being so tough on you. I am hoping that instead what Lindsey has said is true: that you will look back on this and love me for caring, for trying to teach you about manners and morality and sympathy and empathy, that you will realize that, while I could have been cooler and more laid-back and more worried about pleasing you, I chose the tougher route which was to give a shit about what kind of person you would end up being. I have high expectations of you and I am not afraid to let you know about it because, otherwise, how will you ever have high expectations of yourself? You cannot fool me into thinking that it is too hard for you to clean your room or pick up your socks or put your dishes into the dishwasher, just like you cannot fool me into thinking it's unfair for you to have to share with your brothers or give your dad a chance to do something other than kissing your butt 24 hours a day.
That sucks, right? THAT IS THE ONLY WAY I KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH YOU WITHOUT GIVING YOU A KNUCKLE SANDWICH AND HAVING YOU FITTED FOR A MUZZLE. You just sit down and be thankful that you haven't quite pushed me that far yet. And also don't forget to change your shorts. GAH.
Friday, June 05, 2009
We should have moved into a neighborhood for the blind.
Interesting story: my kid took a shit in the back yard yesterday.
I know, right?
He has recently really gotten a kick out of peeing in the back yard, and we occasionally let him, because what harm is it going to do? Besides him dropping trow in front of the neighbors in the FRONT yard, I see nothing bad that could happen. That DID happen, though, and it was pretty embarrassing, so we had to have this really fun talk about how you can't be showing your boy parts to random other people.
Anyways, yesterday when we got home from school he said he had to go use it and he wanted to use it outside. Jason kindly escorted him into the back yard, and after a few minutes wandered back into the kitchen- our back yard is completely enclosed by a high privacy fence, so Reed can be trusted alone back there for a few minutes at a time. After a couple of minutes I walked back there to find Reed, pants around his ankles and knees slightly bent, looking at me sheepishly. I asked him what he was doing, and he didn't reply. I asked again, and he smiled and said gleefully, "I'm POOPING!"
He then proceeded to squat. And poop.
I walked into the kitchen and told Jason, "Yeah, okay, your kid is taking a shit in the back yard."
He smiled and shook his head and said, "At least it's not in the front yard."
I know, right?
He has recently really gotten a kick out of peeing in the back yard, and we occasionally let him, because what harm is it going to do? Besides him dropping trow in front of the neighbors in the FRONT yard, I see nothing bad that could happen. That DID happen, though, and it was pretty embarrassing, so we had to have this really fun talk about how you can't be showing your boy parts to random other people.
Anyways, yesterday when we got home from school he said he had to go use it and he wanted to use it outside. Jason kindly escorted him into the back yard, and after a few minutes wandered back into the kitchen- our back yard is completely enclosed by a high privacy fence, so Reed can be trusted alone back there for a few minutes at a time. After a couple of minutes I walked back there to find Reed, pants around his ankles and knees slightly bent, looking at me sheepishly. I asked him what he was doing, and he didn't reply. I asked again, and he smiled and said gleefully, "I'm POOPING!"
He then proceeded to squat. And poop.
I walked into the kitchen and told Jason, "Yeah, okay, your kid is taking a shit in the back yard."
He smiled and shook his head and said, "At least it's not in the front yard."
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Had I mentioned that Marianna Jones is what he calls Indiana Jones?
So a few weeks ago Reed suddenly dropped what he was doing and said, "I gotta go use it!" which means he had to go to the potty. He then specified, "I gotta go POOP."
So he went and sat on the toilet for a while. Suddenly he yelled, "Mommy! Daddy! Come here and look at this!"
It's always fun to get called into the bathroom to "look" at something.
So we go and he is standing in front of the potty, pointing into it, vibrating with excitement.
"Mommy, daddy, loooook! I made a Marianna Jones snake!"
So he went and sat on the toilet for a while. Suddenly he yelled, "Mommy! Daddy! Come here and look at this!"
It's always fun to get called into the bathroom to "look" at something.
So we go and he is standing in front of the potty, pointing into it, vibrating with excitement.
"Mommy, daddy, loooook! I made a Marianna Jones snake!"
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Reedy.
So much has been happening lately that I haven't gotten to write much about Reed. Here is a list of Reedy thingies:
1. He is SO IN to Spiderman and Batman right now. We haven't had cable/satellite for some time, but we still have our DVR box. We still get some gems like the Home Shopping Network and the Hallmark Channel, and whenever Dish Network is doing free previews of channels, we get those. We got a free preview of one of the fifty bajillion Disney channels a few weeks ago and managed to record about 75 THOUSAND episodes of Batman and Spiderman cartoons. I have seen all of them a lot of times. I am now intimately schooled in the stories of the Black Cat and Two Face and Venom and the Green Goblin and the Hobgoblin and King Pin. I realize that these are Disney cartoons but Jason- a.k.a. Comic Book Blowhard- says that most of the plot lines follow the comic books surpringly closely.
2. Reed has both a Spiderman costume and a Batman costume. They are both pretty cool, and we have a lot of trouble getting him to wear anything else. We can't exactly send him to school in a superhero costume so once or twice he has worn just the Spiderman mask to school, walked into his classroom with it on, then taken it off and kept it in his pocket all day long.
3. As a result of the combination #1 and #2, Reed is constantly wobbling and flipping and trotting through the house in his costumes saying "I'm Spiderman!" or "I'm Batman!" and falling into things and slipping and spilling stuff and just generally keeping me on my toes. He climbs up onto things and dangles about. He carried a shoelace around with him which he'll fling at you at any moment and then start hissing "Pssssss! Pssssss!" while holding his hand, wrist upturned, at you like Spiderman. Last night he spent some time wriggling along the top/back of the futon in his Spiderman costume. The minds of children: who the fuck knows.
4. We're still working on potty training, and we've almost got it. He goes to school every day in big boy underwear with no pull-up and makes it through the whole day without having any accidents. Then he comes home and I say, "Do you need to potty? Do you need to peepee? Tell me if you need to potty. If you feel like you need to use the bathroom, go to the bathroom. Let's just go for fun. Let's go to the bathroom and give it a try. Don't you need to pee? Don't you want to potty? Go to the potty if you need to pee." He inevitably resists and tells me over and over again that he does NOT need to go. Five minutes later he wets his pants, and the futon along with them. So, you know. Shit.
5. He goes to bed like a champ most nights. We start warning him at about 8:30 that it's almost time for bed, you have to go to bed in a minute, just so he'll be prepared. Then at 9:00 I carry him to bed and I sit in a tiny chair by his bed for about a minute-and-a-half. Then I kiss his hand, then he kisses my hand, and we say night-night. If Jason and I try and have a conversation in the living room Reed says, "Mommeh! Can y'all stop talking, please? I'm trying to sleep." So we talk quietly.
6. He is still sleeping in a crib. I think I'm just lazy on this point; plus I don't think that it's ever occurred to Reed that he might one day sleep in a big boy bed, so he doesn't complain, so I'm like, shmeh. His bed converts into a toddler bed and the prospect of his being able to just get up out of bed and wander about the house SCARES THE DOODOO OUT OF ME. See also #7.
7. A few months ago Reed reached the point in his growth and development when he figured out how to unlock and open the front door. FUCK. So we bought chains to put on all our doors (we have a bunch, our house is weird). Reed has figured out how to use his light sabre, or "white saver", to slide the chain out. MOTHERFUCKER, I said. He is agile and accurate as hell when he does this; there's no "he can do it sometimes". He can do it EVERY time with one hand tied behind his back, wearing a blindfold and a straightjacket. HE CAN, WE'VE TRIED IT.
8. When we went to Costa Rica he stayed mostly with my mom, and a little with my dad. He stayed with her from Tuesday, March 10th, through Friday, March 20th. It was a very long, crazy trip and a very long time to go without seeing my baby. On our last full day in Costa Rica I called my mom to check in and she told me that Reed had not only said the night before, "I want to go home and sleep in my own bed" but that he also asked if we were coming back. My child had to ask if I was coming back. Jason and I clutched each other in the questionable bed in our hostel room and cried together. I will never take another trip away from my child for that long as long as I live.
1. He is SO IN to Spiderman and Batman right now. We haven't had cable/satellite for some time, but we still have our DVR box. We still get some gems like the Home Shopping Network and the Hallmark Channel, and whenever Dish Network is doing free previews of channels, we get those. We got a free preview of one of the fifty bajillion Disney channels a few weeks ago and managed to record about 75 THOUSAND episodes of Batman and Spiderman cartoons. I have seen all of them a lot of times. I am now intimately schooled in the stories of the Black Cat and Two Face and Venom and the Green Goblin and the Hobgoblin and King Pin. I realize that these are Disney cartoons but Jason- a.k.a. Comic Book Blowhard- says that most of the plot lines follow the comic books surpringly closely.
2. Reed has both a Spiderman costume and a Batman costume. They are both pretty cool, and we have a lot of trouble getting him to wear anything else. We can't exactly send him to school in a superhero costume so once or twice he has worn just the Spiderman mask to school, walked into his classroom with it on, then taken it off and kept it in his pocket all day long.
3. As a result of the combination #1 and #2, Reed is constantly wobbling and flipping and trotting through the house in his costumes saying "I'm Spiderman!" or "I'm Batman!" and falling into things and slipping and spilling stuff and just generally keeping me on my toes. He climbs up onto things and dangles about. He carried a shoelace around with him which he'll fling at you at any moment and then start hissing "Pssssss! Pssssss!" while holding his hand, wrist upturned, at you like Spiderman. Last night he spent some time wriggling along the top/back of the futon in his Spiderman costume. The minds of children: who the fuck knows.
4. We're still working on potty training, and we've almost got it. He goes to school every day in big boy underwear with no pull-up and makes it through the whole day without having any accidents. Then he comes home and I say, "Do you need to potty? Do you need to peepee? Tell me if you need to potty. If you feel like you need to use the bathroom, go to the bathroom. Let's just go for fun. Let's go to the bathroom and give it a try. Don't you need to pee? Don't you want to potty? Go to the potty if you need to pee." He inevitably resists and tells me over and over again that he does NOT need to go. Five minutes later he wets his pants, and the futon along with them. So, you know. Shit.
5. He goes to bed like a champ most nights. We start warning him at about 8:30 that it's almost time for bed, you have to go to bed in a minute, just so he'll be prepared. Then at 9:00 I carry him to bed and I sit in a tiny chair by his bed for about a minute-and-a-half. Then I kiss his hand, then he kisses my hand, and we say night-night. If Jason and I try and have a conversation in the living room Reed says, "Mommeh! Can y'all stop talking, please? I'm trying to sleep." So we talk quietly.
6. He is still sleeping in a crib. I think I'm just lazy on this point; plus I don't think that it's ever occurred to Reed that he might one day sleep in a big boy bed, so he doesn't complain, so I'm like, shmeh. His bed converts into a toddler bed and the prospect of his being able to just get up out of bed and wander about the house SCARES THE DOODOO OUT OF ME. See also #7.
7. A few months ago Reed reached the point in his growth and development when he figured out how to unlock and open the front door. FUCK. So we bought chains to put on all our doors (we have a bunch, our house is weird). Reed has figured out how to use his light sabre, or "white saver", to slide the chain out. MOTHERFUCKER, I said. He is agile and accurate as hell when he does this; there's no "he can do it sometimes". He can do it EVERY time with one hand tied behind his back, wearing a blindfold and a straightjacket. HE CAN, WE'VE TRIED IT.
8. When we went to Costa Rica he stayed mostly with my mom, and a little with my dad. He stayed with her from Tuesday, March 10th, through Friday, March 20th. It was a very long, crazy trip and a very long time to go without seeing my baby. On our last full day in Costa Rica I called my mom to check in and she told me that Reed had not only said the night before, "I want to go home and sleep in my own bed" but that he also asked if we were coming back. My child had to ask if I was coming back. Jason and I clutched each other in the questionable bed in our hostel room and cried together. I will never take another trip away from my child for that long as long as I live.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
YES.
From this post on this blog:
I love the heft of your warm body
your outflung hands
your curious glances
but seriously, kid.
Could you do me a solid
and hang on when I carry you?
Consider the
koala
or perhaps the
tree frog.
Both fine examples
of the methodology I would prefer
that you employ
instead of this business
that involves my left arm
falling
the
fuck
OFF.
It's like she lives inside my head, the head that resides somewhere above the stiff neck and sore shoulders of a person who is still carrying a three-and-a-half-year-old who likes to dangle like a potato sack.
I love the heft of your warm body
your outflung hands
your curious glances
but seriously, kid.
Could you do me a solid
and hang on when I carry you?
Consider the
koala
or perhaps the
tree frog.
Both fine examples
of the methodology I would prefer
that you employ
instead of this business
that involves my left arm
falling
the
fuck
OFF.
It's like she lives inside my head, the head that resides somewhere above the stiff neck and sore shoulders of a person who is still carrying a three-and-a-half-year-old who likes to dangle like a potato sack.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
AHA.
I want to talk for a moment about something that's on all our minds: vaccinations.
Okay, so it's not on anybody's minds. It hasn't been on my mind for some time as Reed has been caught up on his shots for some time; I think he was probably around 2 or 2 1/2 the last time he had to get any immunations. But it's on my mind now, and I have a few things that I'd like to say.
When I was pregnant I read a LOT of pregnancy and child-rearing books. I think by the time Reed was born I had read eight or ten of them. Any time I ran across an article or website on the subject I'd read that, too. I was pretty much terrified, and the more knowledge I soaked up about the process of pregnancy, labor, and raising a kid, the calmer I felt about all of it. You can never know everything, but in my opinion you can never know too much, either.
One of the issues that started to stick out for me was childhood immunizations and their pros and cons. This has been a hot-button issue for several years, not least because some people claim that there is a link between these immunizations and the occurance of autism. The link seems to revolve around the use of thiomersal as a preservative in vaccines. Besides autism a lot of parents find that their kids have pretty severe adverse reactions to some immunizations like rashes and bad fevers and whatnot.
Listen, I am no expert, but I have read up on both sides of this debate and I have to tell you by the time Reed was born I was really worried about these vaccinations and what effect they were going to have on my tiny baby. Pregnancy is not a condition that is known for shoving one chock full o' logic and reason which is partly why I did so much reading: I wanted to be aware of what was realistic to be worried about and what wasn't.
My opinion by the time Reed got here was that it was realistic to be worried about it. Once he was here, once I knew him, the idea of something changing him (Jerkface get off my wording here, I know that "something" will eventually change my kid, but I think you get my point here) or of my making a choice that might alter his abilities horrified and terrified and paralyzed me. A lot of this was a result of some severe postpartum depression that I have only recently gotten a handle on. I mean, driving with Reed in the car I would think "What if I get in a wreck and he gets hurt?" and when he slept I would think "What if he chokes or stops breathing and I don't hear him?" OF COURSE after all that reading I was going to think "What if I get Reed all those immunizations and he stops making eye contact with me or stops saying a word that he says now?" PARALYZING.
After talking to Reed's pediatrician about it we decided- the doctor, Jason, and I- that Reed would get his immunizations but on a slower schedule than the schedule recommended by most pediatricians. The norm is to shoot your kid up with a LOT of vaccines in a short amount of time, sometimes four or five in one doctor's visit, and I didn't like that. Reed's doctor was understanding and kind and cooperative, and helped us work out a schedule that made me feel a lot better.
At some point a person who I was very close to judged me, openly ridiculed me for my concerns, and it hurt and embarrassed me and ultimately played a part in my total alienation from that person. That person had no children of her own and was very open about never wanting to have kids. She was also in the medical field which I'm sure is part of what made her so sure of herself in her judgements.
Again, I haven't really thought about it much in past year or so, but then I read this post on Dooce and reading what Heather has to say about it really made me feel good about all of it. I appreciate what she's saying about the real and extreme dangers involved in not immunizing your children. But what I really like in this post is her interest in other people's thoughts and her ability to welcome differences of opinion while still expressing her own.
Basically I am meandering around this point: Please, please, whether you have kids or don't have kids, want kids or don't want kids, know kids or don't know kids, allow your friends to grow and learn and work towards their own decisions without the added pressure of your impending gauntlet-throwing. It is always helpful to engage in discussion and debate on these kinds of topics, and if you're lucky everyone involved will learn something from them. But let's all take the time to either sympathise or empathise with how difficult, how mind-blowing, how crippling parenting can feel for some of us. Please know that when someone you love is trying to make any of the myriad important decisions associated with being a mom or a dad that that someone is probably trying really very hard to make the right decision when there is no right decision there. BE SUPPORTIVE, for fuck's sakes, and if you feel differently about something than your parent friend then talk to them about it. Make it a discussion, not a ruling.
Incidentally, Reed had what I'm pretty sure was an adverse reaction to one of his rounds of immunizations once. It scared the shit out of me. Of course the doctors at the emergency room didn't want to discuss whether or not it was related to the vaccine- they literally wouldn't say whether or not they thought the two things were related. But it made all of my fears and concerns and paranoia feel real, logical, tangible. I am a crazy bitch, but that doesn't mean that every thought I have is crazy.
It's kind of like how Taco Bell is really kind of a shithole, but not everything that they make there sucks. You know?
Okay, so it's not on anybody's minds. It hasn't been on my mind for some time as Reed has been caught up on his shots for some time; I think he was probably around 2 or 2 1/2 the last time he had to get any immunations. But it's on my mind now, and I have a few things that I'd like to say.
When I was pregnant I read a LOT of pregnancy and child-rearing books. I think by the time Reed was born I had read eight or ten of them. Any time I ran across an article or website on the subject I'd read that, too. I was pretty much terrified, and the more knowledge I soaked up about the process of pregnancy, labor, and raising a kid, the calmer I felt about all of it. You can never know everything, but in my opinion you can never know too much, either.
One of the issues that started to stick out for me was childhood immunizations and their pros and cons. This has been a hot-button issue for several years, not least because some people claim that there is a link between these immunizations and the occurance of autism. The link seems to revolve around the use of thiomersal as a preservative in vaccines. Besides autism a lot of parents find that their kids have pretty severe adverse reactions to some immunizations like rashes and bad fevers and whatnot.
Listen, I am no expert, but I have read up on both sides of this debate and I have to tell you by the time Reed was born I was really worried about these vaccinations and what effect they were going to have on my tiny baby. Pregnancy is not a condition that is known for shoving one chock full o' logic and reason which is partly why I did so much reading: I wanted to be aware of what was realistic to be worried about and what wasn't.
My opinion by the time Reed got here was that it was realistic to be worried about it. Once he was here, once I knew him, the idea of something changing him (Jerkface get off my wording here, I know that "something" will eventually change my kid, but I think you get my point here) or of my making a choice that might alter his abilities horrified and terrified and paralyzed me. A lot of this was a result of some severe postpartum depression that I have only recently gotten a handle on. I mean, driving with Reed in the car I would think "What if I get in a wreck and he gets hurt?" and when he slept I would think "What if he chokes or stops breathing and I don't hear him?" OF COURSE after all that reading I was going to think "What if I get Reed all those immunizations and he stops making eye contact with me or stops saying a word that he says now?" PARALYZING.
After talking to Reed's pediatrician about it we decided- the doctor, Jason, and I- that Reed would get his immunizations but on a slower schedule than the schedule recommended by most pediatricians. The norm is to shoot your kid up with a LOT of vaccines in a short amount of time, sometimes four or five in one doctor's visit, and I didn't like that. Reed's doctor was understanding and kind and cooperative, and helped us work out a schedule that made me feel a lot better.
At some point a person who I was very close to judged me, openly ridiculed me for my concerns, and it hurt and embarrassed me and ultimately played a part in my total alienation from that person. That person had no children of her own and was very open about never wanting to have kids. She was also in the medical field which I'm sure is part of what made her so sure of herself in her judgements.
Again, I haven't really thought about it much in past year or so, but then I read this post on Dooce and reading what Heather has to say about it really made me feel good about all of it. I appreciate what she's saying about the real and extreme dangers involved in not immunizing your children. But what I really like in this post is her interest in other people's thoughts and her ability to welcome differences of opinion while still expressing her own.
Basically I am meandering around this point: Please, please, whether you have kids or don't have kids, want kids or don't want kids, know kids or don't know kids, allow your friends to grow and learn and work towards their own decisions without the added pressure of your impending gauntlet-throwing. It is always helpful to engage in discussion and debate on these kinds of topics, and if you're lucky everyone involved will learn something from them. But let's all take the time to either sympathise or empathise with how difficult, how mind-blowing, how crippling parenting can feel for some of us. Please know that when someone you love is trying to make any of the myriad important decisions associated with being a mom or a dad that that someone is probably trying really very hard to make the right decision when there is no right decision there. BE SUPPORTIVE, for fuck's sakes, and if you feel differently about something than your parent friend then talk to them about it. Make it a discussion, not a ruling.
Incidentally, Reed had what I'm pretty sure was an adverse reaction to one of his rounds of immunizations once. It scared the shit out of me. Of course the doctors at the emergency room didn't want to discuss whether or not it was related to the vaccine- they literally wouldn't say whether or not they thought the two things were related. But it made all of my fears and concerns and paranoia feel real, logical, tangible. I am a crazy bitch, but that doesn't mean that every thought I have is crazy.
It's kind of like how Taco Bell is really kind of a shithole, but not everything that they make there sucks. You know?
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Sunny day, chasin' the clouds away.
BOOM, February is more than half-gone.
San Antonio was pretty fun. It was my first-ever business trip, so that was a little weird- being out of town without Jason or any of my friends there- and it was my first flying experience, which was okay. All except for getting stuck in the bathroom on the Express Jet.
Yes, that's what I said: I got stuck in the bathroom. It was awesome, because I was doing really well, staying calm and all that, and I just really had to use the bathroom, so I forced myself to get up and go even though it was scary. So I went, and I was feeling all proud of myself for not feeling freaked out. Then we hit turbulence and I thought, "I'm fine. See how I'm fine? It's fine." And then I couldn't get the door open. I could get it unlocked, but the door wouldn't budge. Finally I knocked on the door and said, "Hello?" The guy sitting closest to the door opened it for me, and threw in a good eye-roll to all of the other passengers like, "God, get a load of this dumbass." It's okay; I didn't even mind because I was just so excited to be getting out of the bathroom.
Other than that it was all pretty uneventful. I was somewhat ill the whole time, nasty bathroom experiences and headache and all that good stuff. I was happy to come home; that hotel room was lonely at night all by myself. I watched a lot of tv in bed. It was nice, but I would much rather either have someone with me or be at home.
Reed was really sick while I was gone, and Jason had to stay home from work from Monday to Thursday, then I stayed home on Friday. This stomach bug stuff is really rough, I tell you; the doctor said it has been lasting about five days, and Reed's lasted six. Jason talked to the kids on Sunday and Kane has it now. Someone at our facility in San Antonio had it, someone at my mom's work had it, and now my dad has it. It's going around, folks.
So now things will calm down for a bit until Costa Rica, which is just barely over three weeks away. I got my passport and I'm ready to go. Jason and I still need bathing suits: anyone know where to get a Superman Speedo with a fanny cape?
San Antonio was pretty fun. It was my first-ever business trip, so that was a little weird- being out of town without Jason or any of my friends there- and it was my first flying experience, which was okay. All except for getting stuck in the bathroom on the Express Jet.
Yes, that's what I said: I got stuck in the bathroom. It was awesome, because I was doing really well, staying calm and all that, and I just really had to use the bathroom, so I forced myself to get up and go even though it was scary. So I went, and I was feeling all proud of myself for not feeling freaked out. Then we hit turbulence and I thought, "I'm fine. See how I'm fine? It's fine." And then I couldn't get the door open. I could get it unlocked, but the door wouldn't budge. Finally I knocked on the door and said, "Hello?" The guy sitting closest to the door opened it for me, and threw in a good eye-roll to all of the other passengers like, "God, get a load of this dumbass." It's okay; I didn't even mind because I was just so excited to be getting out of the bathroom.
Other than that it was all pretty uneventful. I was somewhat ill the whole time, nasty bathroom experiences and headache and all that good stuff. I was happy to come home; that hotel room was lonely at night all by myself. I watched a lot of tv in bed. It was nice, but I would much rather either have someone with me or be at home.
Reed was really sick while I was gone, and Jason had to stay home from work from Monday to Thursday, then I stayed home on Friday. This stomach bug stuff is really rough, I tell you; the doctor said it has been lasting about five days, and Reed's lasted six. Jason talked to the kids on Sunday and Kane has it now. Someone at our facility in San Antonio had it, someone at my mom's work had it, and now my dad has it. It's going around, folks.
So now things will calm down for a bit until Costa Rica, which is just barely over three weeks away. I got my passport and I'm ready to go. Jason and I still need bathing suits: anyone know where to get a Superman Speedo with a fanny cape?
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
You Americans, you're all the same. Always overdressing for the wrong occasions.
5 weeks until Costa Rica, and 5 days until San Antonio. I can't believe all this traveling that I'm doing. Since Jason and I have been married (five years ago), we had a nice honeymoon, a five-day trip to New Orleans, and a five-day trip to Gatlinburg. Besides that, it's just been a couple of weekend trips to friends' houses a few hours away. Not that those aren't nice, but it's very different from getting on a plane and staying in a hotel (or a house in the jungle) and all that. I'm terribly excited, which is why y'all keep having to read about it.
I'm also a little sick. My chest is hurting and I'm feeling pretty low; I think I'm calling the doctor today.
Reed has a really nasty sinus infection. We've been watching a lot of Indiana Jones, or Marianna Jones, as he's determined to call it, and last night he kept saying "I want to watch the one with all the steaks!" He said this over and over, and was totally frustrated that I was like, "I don't think there IS an Indiana Jones with steaks..." Finally I figured out that he was talking about SNAKES, the one with all the SNAKES. Actually there are snakes in pretty much all of the Indiana Jones movies, but I figured out he was referring to the Raiders of the Lost Ark. We happily snuggled under a blanket and watched it for bedtime last night.
When I really think about it, get myself down to the bottom line, this life is the life I've always wanted, with just a few snags here and there (crazy ex-wife, her crazy husband, no-money-having, etc.). We're working on the snags, and it feels good to be able to say that.
I'm also a little sick. My chest is hurting and I'm feeling pretty low; I think I'm calling the doctor today.
Reed has a really nasty sinus infection. We've been watching a lot of Indiana Jones, or Marianna Jones, as he's determined to call it, and last night he kept saying "I want to watch the one with all the steaks!" He said this over and over, and was totally frustrated that I was like, "I don't think there IS an Indiana Jones with steaks..." Finally I figured out that he was talking about SNAKES, the one with all the SNAKES. Actually there are snakes in pretty much all of the Indiana Jones movies, but I figured out he was referring to the Raiders of the Lost Ark. We happily snuggled under a blanket and watched it for bedtime last night.
When I really think about it, get myself down to the bottom line, this life is the life I've always wanted, with just a few snags here and there (crazy ex-wife, her crazy husband, no-money-having, etc.). We're working on the snags, and it feels good to be able to say that.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Fun with a capital FECKIT.
I have extended my Etsy buy one, get one sale through today, so check it out.
Jason has been driving all over the world, driving his head off, since his car broke down yesterday. He has to take me to work and take Reed to school AND pick me up and pick Reed up, besides the forty errands I already had listed for him to accomplish, besides the forty new errands that have now come up on account of his car breaking down.
This morning he bought an 18-pound fresh NOT FROZEN turkey that tomorrow I will prepare with my mom whilst entertaining a three-year-old, THE three-year-old, the person who talks the most in my life and who needs contstant reassurance that YES WE WILL DO THAT, YES WE WILL BUY ONE, YES YOU WILL GO THERE, NO IT'S NOT BEDTIME.
This week has been FUN with a capital FUCKALL, and I am looking forward to eating 18 pounds of turkey and drinking one beer for each pound tomorrow night.
Jason has been driving all over the world, driving his head off, since his car broke down yesterday. He has to take me to work and take Reed to school AND pick me up and pick Reed up, besides the forty errands I already had listed for him to accomplish, besides the forty new errands that have now come up on account of his car breaking down.
This morning he bought an 18-pound fresh NOT FROZEN turkey that tomorrow I will prepare with my mom whilst entertaining a three-year-old, THE three-year-old, the person who talks the most in my life and who needs contstant reassurance that YES WE WILL DO THAT, YES WE WILL BUY ONE, YES YOU WILL GO THERE, NO IT'S NOT BEDTIME.
This week has been FUN with a capital FUCKALL, and I am looking forward to eating 18 pounds of turkey and drinking one beer for each pound tomorrow night.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Rearin'.
This Saturday is Reed's third birthday. We bought him a tiny skateboard and some knee- and elbow-pads, and I can't wait to give them to him. I am not looking forward to all the injuries, but watching him learn will be fun.
I can't believe what a little dude he is now. He watches Batman and plays with (toy) swords and guns. Then, out of no where, he'll ask, "Can my baby have these? My baby wants to play with this. Can we go get me a baby?"
Kids are WEIRD, and the more you think you know them the less predictable they become.
Occasionally, just every now and then, he'll snuggle up with me and, without warning, turn to me and say, "I love you, mommy." And it makes me feel so overwhelmed, so happy, so imperfect and incapable of doing everything that I want to do for him, all at the same time. He told me the other night, "I'm yo friend and I'm daddy's friend. Yaw my friends."
My hope is that one day I'll be able to look back on all of this through the eyes of a woman who has raised her child, a woman who looks at her grown, happy, healthy child and knows she did the best she could and knows "the best she could" did enough to make him sane and normal and competent. I want so much for him to be joyous and unafraid and caring and kind. I hope that I have the stamina and humility to instill all of that in him.
And I hope that the crazy in my family runs only in the girls. I would truly love it, would be content with my life, if Reed lives a life devoid of the desire/instinct to stab himself in the eye, hit himself in the face with a shovel, or throw himself into the floor and writhe around for a while.
I can't believe what a little dude he is now. He watches Batman and plays with (toy) swords and guns. Then, out of no where, he'll ask, "Can my baby have these? My baby wants to play with this. Can we go get me a baby?"
Kids are WEIRD, and the more you think you know them the less predictable they become.
Occasionally, just every now and then, he'll snuggle up with me and, without warning, turn to me and say, "I love you, mommy." And it makes me feel so overwhelmed, so happy, so imperfect and incapable of doing everything that I want to do for him, all at the same time. He told me the other night, "I'm yo friend and I'm daddy's friend. Yaw my friends."
My hope is that one day I'll be able to look back on all of this through the eyes of a woman who has raised her child, a woman who looks at her grown, happy, healthy child and knows she did the best she could and knows "the best she could" did enough to make him sane and normal and competent. I want so much for him to be joyous and unafraid and caring and kind. I hope that I have the stamina and humility to instill all of that in him.
And I hope that the crazy in my family runs only in the girls. I would truly love it, would be content with my life, if Reed lives a life devoid of the desire/instinct to stab himself in the eye, hit himself in the face with a shovel, or throw himself into the floor and writhe around for a while.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
And here is where I empty the contents of my brain onto the page:
I have been reflecting lately on my life, especially the past year or so, on mistakes and opportunities and luck and misfortune. These past eighteen or twenty months have been so hard, so excrutiating. So many bad things have happened over the past little while, both things that are my fault and things that are beyond my control. I am absolutely exhausted, tired of all of this, tired of life, and the only thing that keeps me going is the feeling like maybe we are over the proverbial hump, maybe things are about to get better.
I worry about Kane and Jude quite a bit, about their well-being, their grades, their ability to grow into functioning human beings. I went to drop off the child support check yesterday, and their step-dad kept narrowing his eyes at me and then looking at the check, narrowing his eyes and then looking at the check. Then light dawned on marble head and he laughed and said, "I didn't recognize you. Okay."
Their step-dad, who has been around for about five years and has been married to Kane and Jude's mom for a year-and-a-half and who has seen and spoken to me countless times, DIDN'T RECOGNIZE ME. I suppose maybe he was off his meds yesterday.
Kane and Jude are telling us that they might move to Montevallo, which is great because it's even further away, and we've already been assigned the task of doing all the driving, all the picking up and dropping off, and I am not feeling happy about it. Besides the driving, Kane and Jude are both doing well in school, making friends and good grades and enjoying themselves, and I'm wondering why they feel the need to jerk them up and send them yet another school. Those people move roughly once a year, and I'm not sure that that's healthy for the kids. I realize that plenty of people move around and the kids will survive, but I'm thinking if they're not moving for a job or the military or to be closer to their families, is it really necessary?
Jason and I have just celebrated our fifth anniversary, and I'm proud and grateful that we've made it. Marriage is hard when times are good; when times are tough it can be really very difficult to remember to work as a team, to think like a team. I'm sorry that I haven't always been a team player, Jason; I'm working on it. Happy anniversary. Thank you for being on my team.
Reed's godmother just got engaged to one of the sweetest boys I've ever known. The only advice that I would presume to offer you is to pray to God for patience and perseverence, both of you, because there are moments when those are the only things that will keep you from smacking each other in the head with a hammer. Also, hide the hammer from each other. That helps, too.
My job has really turned things around for me in at least a few ways. I mean, I suddenly find myself a salaried employee with a stable company that builds software. Here's to you, universe: you really know how to confuse the shit out of me. I was voted most tech-savvy on Facebook; I put that on my resume, and I'm sure that's why I got this job.
I worry about Kane and Jude quite a bit, about their well-being, their grades, their ability to grow into functioning human beings. I went to drop off the child support check yesterday, and their step-dad kept narrowing his eyes at me and then looking at the check, narrowing his eyes and then looking at the check. Then light dawned on marble head and he laughed and said, "I didn't recognize you. Okay."
Their step-dad, who has been around for about five years and has been married to Kane and Jude's mom for a year-and-a-half and who has seen and spoken to me countless times, DIDN'T RECOGNIZE ME. I suppose maybe he was off his meds yesterday.
Kane and Jude are telling us that they might move to Montevallo, which is great because it's even further away, and we've already been assigned the task of doing all the driving, all the picking up and dropping off, and I am not feeling happy about it. Besides the driving, Kane and Jude are both doing well in school, making friends and good grades and enjoying themselves, and I'm wondering why they feel the need to jerk them up and send them yet another school. Those people move roughly once a year, and I'm not sure that that's healthy for the kids. I realize that plenty of people move around and the kids will survive, but I'm thinking if they're not moving for a job or the military or to be closer to their families, is it really necessary?
Jason and I have just celebrated our fifth anniversary, and I'm proud and grateful that we've made it. Marriage is hard when times are good; when times are tough it can be really very difficult to remember to work as a team, to think like a team. I'm sorry that I haven't always been a team player, Jason; I'm working on it. Happy anniversary. Thank you for being on my team.
Reed's godmother just got engaged to one of the sweetest boys I've ever known. The only advice that I would presume to offer you is to pray to God for patience and perseverence, both of you, because there are moments when those are the only things that will keep you from smacking each other in the head with a hammer. Also, hide the hammer from each other. That helps, too.
My job has really turned things around for me in at least a few ways. I mean, I suddenly find myself a salaried employee with a stable company that builds software. Here's to you, universe: you really know how to confuse the shit out of me. I was voted most tech-savvy on Facebook; I put that on my resume, and I'm sure that's why I got this job.
Friday, November 07, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
My darling.
I managed to upload some more photos today, including some of the other wedding we photographed a few weekends ago.
Still waiting to hear about my background check at my possible new job. Keep crossing fingers.
Still waiting to hear about my background check at my possible new job. Keep crossing fingers.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
I am consumed again with worry about the same thing I was worried about for most of the spring and summer: Kane and Jude.
A couple of experiences that were relayed to Jason by a family member have him panicking about sending them back to their mom's house; he's worried that he made the wrong decision, that Kane and Jude will be harmed somehow by that decision.
I feel sad that Jason is so worried, because I know exactly how he feels: I have often wondered and feared if it was a bad idea to send them back with their mom. She and her husband have a lot of problems, and I am only referring to the obvious, clear problems that we can see that they have. There is no telling what all is going on under the surface that we don't even have a clue about.
Now our lawyer is getting messages from their lawyer asking when we are going to "make arrangements" to pay child support. It isn't clear if he is referring to current child support or backed child support. If it's current, we've been paying it, and either their lawyer doesn't know what he's doing or they are lying to him and telling him we haven't been paying. If it's backed child support, I can't believe anyone is still discussing it. While I am begging for a job, any job, and praying for unemployment, they are driving to Texas to buy SUPER-FANCY ULTRA-LIGHTWEIGHT JEEP DOORS, for Pete's sakes. DRIVING TO TEXAS IN A GAS-GUZZLING JEEP for new doors, for fuck's sakes. I can't get over it, so just don't expect it.
Anyway, this life just keeps getting scarier and more bizarre every day, and I don't see any signs of it returning to normalcy. Lindsey and I often joke that this, this right here, this is just our lives now, and we should just get used to it.
I just don't know. I am still seeking employment to absolutely no end whatsoever, while the kids' mom and step-dad don't have to work, will never have to work, on account of they're too crazy to. Yet they feel like this makes them better candidates to raise the kids because they can "devote 24 hours a day to the children".
It's all a mess, and it's making me feel ill. Maybe I need to seek lessons on making the government think I'm too crazy to work. At least I know where to look for them.
A couple of experiences that were relayed to Jason by a family member have him panicking about sending them back to their mom's house; he's worried that he made the wrong decision, that Kane and Jude will be harmed somehow by that decision.
I feel sad that Jason is so worried, because I know exactly how he feels: I have often wondered and feared if it was a bad idea to send them back with their mom. She and her husband have a lot of problems, and I am only referring to the obvious, clear problems that we can see that they have. There is no telling what all is going on under the surface that we don't even have a clue about.
Now our lawyer is getting messages from their lawyer asking when we are going to "make arrangements" to pay child support. It isn't clear if he is referring to current child support or backed child support. If it's current, we've been paying it, and either their lawyer doesn't know what he's doing or they are lying to him and telling him we haven't been paying. If it's backed child support, I can't believe anyone is still discussing it. While I am begging for a job, any job, and praying for unemployment, they are driving to Texas to buy SUPER-FANCY ULTRA-LIGHTWEIGHT JEEP DOORS, for Pete's sakes. DRIVING TO TEXAS IN A GAS-GUZZLING JEEP for new doors, for fuck's sakes. I can't get over it, so just don't expect it.
Anyway, this life just keeps getting scarier and more bizarre every day, and I don't see any signs of it returning to normalcy. Lindsey and I often joke that this, this right here, this is just our lives now, and we should just get used to it.
I just don't know. I am still seeking employment to absolutely no end whatsoever, while the kids' mom and step-dad don't have to work, will never have to work, on account of they're too crazy to. Yet they feel like this makes them better candidates to raise the kids because they can "devote 24 hours a day to the children".
It's all a mess, and it's making me feel ill. Maybe I need to seek lessons on making the government think I'm too crazy to work. At least I know where to look for them.
Monday, September 29, 2008
We took Reed to the zoo for the very first time yesterday. He REALLY loved it. We only got around to about half of the zoo; he is a little person with short legs, plus it was hot we were sweaty, so after about two hours he asked if we could go home.
I have come down with the plague, complete with sinus headaches, chest pain, and mouth-breathing.
These past few days I've spent a lot of time with a couple of girls who I don't see very often. I'm sorry for the circumstances, but thankful for the closeness. It has been really nice.
I watched the presidential debate last Friday with friends, and we all raised our eyebrows or chuckled or pishawed at the same parts. I particularly enjoyed how McCain's eyes bug out when he gets pissed off. This Thursday we're watching the V.P. debate with the same folks, and I'm excited about it.
Still no job-offers. FOR THE LOVE OF SHIT. I did, however, get to visit wonderful Bug Tussel, Alabama today. I want to move there.
I have come down with the plague, complete with sinus headaches, chest pain, and mouth-breathing.
These past few days I've spent a lot of time with a couple of girls who I don't see very often. I'm sorry for the circumstances, but thankful for the closeness. It has been really nice.
I watched the presidential debate last Friday with friends, and we all raised our eyebrows or chuckled or pishawed at the same parts. I particularly enjoyed how McCain's eyes bug out when he gets pissed off. This Thursday we're watching the V.P. debate with the same folks, and I'm excited about it.
Still no job-offers. FOR THE LOVE OF SHIT. I did, however, get to visit wonderful Bug Tussel, Alabama today. I want to move there.
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