Archive for April, 2008

Ever have that feeling that no matter how right you are, no matter how the facts lean in your favor, no matter how eloquent your argument is, you’re just screaming into the wind? You know how frustrating that is?

This is when I wish I had an entirely anonymous blog, where I could completely let loose. But as much as I try to keep personal details out of here, there’s enough known about me that if I start to scream to the skies about what’s going on to make me so crazy, it would be easy peasy to figure out exactly what I was talking about.

So instead I scream to the skies that it isn’t right, we’re being screwed, and thankyousomuch for bringing so much unfuckingnecessary stress into my life. That it involves my son makes it even worse.

Some very very difficult decisions are going to need to be made. I don’t know if they will be made in the near or distant future, but unfortunately they will need to be made. And I’m not happy about it; I thought we were past this.

The facts lean in our favor and we have an eloquent argument, but we’re still screaming into the wind.

Dear Body,

We’ve been together 34, almost 35, years now. Well, if you don’t count that 10 month swimming party. Woooo! That was a party, wasn’t it? Didn’t have to do a single thing other than float and kick. Nice, warm water…no responsibilities…didn’t even have to use the legs to move around.

It’s been a heck of a ride. Broken bones, sprained wrists, oh…remember that time I snapped all the ligaments in my left foot? Dang, that hurt. I learned to not walk on a “sleeping” leg that day, that’s for sure. We hung together through two childhood bladder surgeries and idiopathic thrombocytopenia and repeating strep throat and the tonsillectomy from hell. Remember that? Ooooohhhhh…that wasn’t fun. That was nasty. That was bad. Yeah, we fought the tonsils and actually won that battle. They’d won every other battle the previous 18 years. That was right after the first bout of mono, my first year in college.

That’s when things really started going south, wasn’t it? I mean, we were pretty close, you and I, until that point. Still have no idea how I picked that up, I sure wasn’t dating, that’s for damned sure. But, Body, you changed then. Copped an attitude. Became a bit bitchier. You pretty much hijacked me in a dark alley and took me for all I had. I didn’t appreciate that in the slightest, but I forgave you and we moved on. The problems with stress started about then too. I guess a rift in my closest relationship (uh, you) brought on my inability to appropriately deal with stress. Then, dammit, the second bout of mono hit the first year of marriage. Now that, you bitch, was flat-out mean. Come on, mono my first married Valentine’s Day? You and I both know it was stress that brought it on again; I was a first year teacher living in a rural area, newly married, and no friends. But mono, again!? Not fair. You play dirty.

We moved on from that bout (and the corresponding gastritis…bitch) and moved to beeeeyoutiful Colorado. And things were good. Very good. For a year. Then that Evil Villain Stress hit the second year…right about the time I burned out on grad school and flute playing. No mono, thankfully, just TMJ and the tough decision of what to name my ulcer, once it was diagnosed.

And you and I got along, for the most part, until the miscarriage. We forgave each other, once again, and moved on. The pregnancy with A….yeah…you and I took it on the chin with that one. Remember how he’d never stop kicking, how we felt him move at 10 weeks? Poor doctor couldn’t get a steady heartbeat because he was doing laps. Over seven years later and he’s still moving. And ooooohhh…squeezing him out really did a number to you, didn’t it? I’m sorry about that, really I am. But hey, you and I worked like a team! with J’s pregnancy. Piece.Of.Cake. Sorry about the no-drugs thing with him. He was in a hurry. But hey, we made it and felt like a million bucks afterward. Oh, and nice of you to actually provide the breast milk to feed him; you must have been pissy about A’s birth and just didn’t feel like playing dairy.

Those pregnancies hit you hard, didn’t they? Stretch marks (I promise you, Body, if one of the boys compares you to a tiger one more time, there’s gonna be words), the promise of bodacious ta-tas…only to disappear after the dairy shut down, feet FUBARed because of the weight.

And then Evil Villain Stress moved in. Two rambunctious boys invited him in to stay, gave him dinner, rubbed his feet.

You retaliated by putting the thyroid to sleep. Thanks so much, you bitch. I wasn’t tired enough having two sons, but then you body-slammed the energy.

You retaliated by wigging out over my coffee consumption. Well, dimwit, if you hadn’t bitch-slapped the thyroid, I wouldn’t have had to chug half a pot of coffee to try to claw my way out of it. I really do appreciate the deteriorating stomach lining.

You retaliated by packing on the pounds, just for giggles. Ho.

Well. I’m getting the last laugh. I’ve met with a nutritionist to see what the problem is with my stomach, because you, Body, managed to hoodwink the doctors into believing there was nothing wrong. Noooo…Body is always perfect. And tomorrow I’m having a fitness assessment at the New!And!Improved! rec center. I’m going to find out just how psycho you are and I’m going to do something about it. I’m going to have someone at the rec center hold me accountable, and Body, I’m taking charge. You’re going to hate me for awhile, but tough titties, I’ve had enough crap from you thankyouverymuch.

If we’re going to be around for as long as possible, we’re going to have to get along. And right now we’re an old fart married couple who can barely stand each other. Not a prescription for a long relationship, that. So think of this as relationship counseling. And at the end, if we’re still speaking to one another, we’ll be even more compatible and loving and friendly towards one another.

Or I’ll let the boys draw mazes on the stretch marks.

Love and kisses,

jen

There aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything I need to do, especially since I seem to hit uber-slow speed when super stressed. Like today. This week has become the perfect storm of stress and there’s no end in sight right now. Usually I respond to all comments by email, and it is killing me that I just can’t. So many of you commented on my last post. The well-wishes and offers of wine and support is welcome and I just thank you so much. We’re still in the thick of things and because this is such a public forum, I just can’t say anything about anything. But I’m still greatly pissed off, there are no answers forthcoming from the powers that be, and it’ll be a miracle if my stomach lining survives this whole ordeal. I can’t believe there’s anything left at this point.

I’ll be back to the regularly scheduled amusements in the near future.

I have had a craptastic 6 hours. I cannot and will not go into any details here, but I’m going to rant and rave a wee bit so I can actually sleep tonight.

I am a very loyal person. Once you are in my heart, you are there for good. I am a loyal and dedicated friend, member of an organization, you name it. But…

If you screw with me, or mislead me, or lie to me…don’t. You don’t want to do that. You just don’t.

And if it deals with one of my sons, you’d better fracking change your address, ’cause Momma Bear just might come a’visiting.

I must now go to bed. I fear Momma Bear is going to need her energy for what is shaping up to be one hell of a week.

Mornings are tough around here. I’m trying to get myself cleaned up, trying to get A focused enough for school (including his listening therapy), and trying to keep J from antagonizing his brother. All without coffee.

So today I opened up my email to distract myself from the chaos and found the most eye-opening, jaw-dropping (really, I gotta knock off the jaw-dropping…I have enough things going on without having to gum all my food for the next month), day-making news:

I’m a MOST Honorable Mention at Scribbit’s April Write-Away Contest. To say I am honored, thrilled, stunned…you get the idea…is the understatement of the year. The post I submitted is here, about my love of my library.

I sat, stunned, reading that I was chosen as an Honorable Mention…and was quickly brought back down to earth by a full cup of orange/pomegranate juice flying onto the floor, followed very closely by the tumbling and spilling of the Rice Krispies box, and the vocal stylings of two little boys singing along to XM Kids. Ahh…mornings.

So if you’re here from Scribbit’s site, welcome. Curl up and stay awhile. Have some coffee (I’ll only stand over your shoulder and sniff the aromatic deliciousness). Leave a comment. Welcome.

Remember summer vacation as a kid? Long, warm, lazy summer days. They were full of trips to the pool and to the library. We had no air conditioning in my house growing up; it was a Chicago Bungalow built in (I think) 1907. (Quick aside…I just went to that site and I think I dislocated my jaw when it bounced off the floor looking at the rehabs of the old houses. I guarandamntee my house didn’t look that good; makes me want to go back, buy one, and rehab the heck out of it. Wow.) Because it was an old house with no a/c in the Chicago humidity, I played in the cool basement, hiding in the little storage rooms, listening to Star Wars on my little Fisher-Price record player. The only way to get my room cool at night was to open both windows (my bedroom was on a corner), stick a full-sized window fan in one blowing out, and get the cool night breeze through the room. My brother and I played with the neighborhood kids; kickball in the street, races up and down the block, hide and seek. No, I’m not making this up, it really was that idyllic. If we wanted a drink, well, there was the bathroom faucet and a cup. We went to a few summer camps (they must have been cheaper then…dang…talk about sticker shock these last couple of weeks), and visited relatives downstate. (Oh, if you’re not from Illinois…downstate refers to anything south of I-80. Just sayin’…)

I don’t remember my mom going out of her way to entertain us every day, or being worried about what we were going to do. We didn’t watch that much tv; these were the days before cable and there wasn’t anything on anyway. We played, we read, we entertained ourselves. I’m sure we did drive her batsnot crazy, but I don’t remember that.

So what the frack is wrong with me?

I am going slowly insane trying to come up with activities for the boys for the summer. They are both out of school in about six weeks and I’m freaking out. Summer camps are outrageously expensive, and many of them have wait lists already. Swim lessons are filling up. I can’t get answers from the music school, my subdivision’s community center, or the library about their summer programs. And a family trip is out of the question this summer; when it’s $50 to fill my minivan’s tank and it barely lasts a week…well, it’s a staycation for us this year.

As much as I’d like the revisit the halcyon days of my youth, times have changed. I can’t throw the boys outside at 9am and tell them to come back for lunch…or to be home when the streetlights come on (seriously, that was my alarm to head home until I had my drivers license). On my little side street, cars and trucks roar up and down the block too fast for comfort. There are few kids on this block, and the ones that are here are too young for my boys to play with. And, because times have changed, many of my sons’ friends are in structured activities all summer.

*****We interrupt this post for an important message*****

I cannot STAND the PBSkids show Dragon Tales. Hate.It. The boys love it. If I have to hear the girl-side of that two headed dragon squeal out “Looooooooooooove It!”one.more.fracking.time, I’m going to lose my everlovin’ mind.

*****We now rejoin the post already in progress*****

So my plan for the summer is to just wrap up the summer plans already. I’ll sign the boys up for swim lessons at our subdivision’s pool (at least that way we can get in before the hordes and can stake out a spot in the shade). We’ll hit the library. A lot. J can take a little music class. And that will be that. On my side for the summer is the delightful fact that the school behind our house will be done, completed, finis. It appears the playground will be directly over our back fence and next to that is the blacktop play area, complete with kid-sized basketball hoops, hopscotch, and what appears to be tetherball. It’s safe, it’s away from traffic, and it’s going to be totally available this summer. Bicycle riding, scooter riding, basketball playing…all in my backyard. We’ll go to the zoo, the museum, the park. I’ll get a grip and let things slide so I can enjoy my sons. It’s only two and a half months (remind me of this come mid-June, when I want to sell them on eBay).

What are your plans for the summer? Anything good? Anything I’d be totally envious of? What do you have planned for your kiddos? Surely I’m not the only one in this boat! C’mon, share the love, end my planning panic…share!

Tootsie Farklepants (dang, I love that name) blinged me with the oh-so-excellent:

Dude! How cool! Love.It. I’m all about bling. And I’m passing this along to a few excellent blogs as well (unfortunately, can’t send it back to Vintage Thirty, though I’d love to!). So…

• EatPlayLove
• Days to Come (she’s living in London for seven weeks and I’m loving reading about life there from American eyes)
• June Cleaver Nirvana
• the travels of stacey (she’s a musician on a cruise ship…love it!)

Share the love and go visit these ladies, if they’re not already on your Must Read List.

I love books. I love to read. Always have, and though it’s more difficult for me to squeeze time in to read now, always will. One of my favorite pictures of me as a kid is one where I’m passed out on my bed, surrounded by books.

Strangely enough, J looks just like this when he sleeps, down to the arms above his head and books piled all around him. He adds his entire Hot Wheels collection to the books, though.

I was fortunate to have parents who passed along their love of reading to me, and even more fortunate to have access to a fantastic library.

The library…sigh…my library.

I practically lived at the library. When we first moved to town, we lived in an apartment across street from the library and we went there often. Even when we lived further away I was there all the time. I would check out piles of books so high you could barely see my head over the stack as I proudly carried them home. I always earned a Gold Medal in our school’s Reading Olympics. It was the first place my parents allowed me to ride to on my bike.

But that library…

I remember the smell of new books and old paper as I walked in. I remember searching through the card catalog to find what I needed…no computers or search terms here. You had to know how to search. Oh, how I would love to have a card catalog cabinet here at home. I have no clue what I’d do with it, but I’d love to have one.

The entire second floor of the library was the children’s section. An entire floor dedicated to books for kids…for me. I remember just picking an aisle and strolling down it, picking out books that caught my eye, until I had a stack so heavy I could barely carry it; I found so many treasures that way. I remember looking at picture books for little kids…the ones with just pictures…and wondering why the author even bothered. Where were the words? I remember the squishy red and green square cushions for sitting on during story time with the librarian…and how they were used for building creations when the librarian wasn’t looking. They were square simply courtesy of the fabric; they had lost all butt support long ago.

In middle school I went to the library every Monday night. My mom would pick up my friends about 7 or so and we would study or read old comics on the microfiche readers (good grief, do those things even exist anymore?) or find new books to read. At 9, when the library closed, we walked over to my friend’s parents’ Chinese restaurant and ate egg rolls and pork noodle soup until they closed the restaurant and drove us home.

The library was someplace I went for fun, for recreation, for books, for a feeling of “wow!” and I’ve never really found a place similar. I know it’s impossible for things to live up to childhood memories. I was absent from libraries for a long time because of college and working and grad school. Libraries became a place of study, of research, of long hours in pain, not of discovery and joy. When I had kids, I took them to the libraries nearby but it wasn’t the same. There wasn’t the feeling of belonging I knew as a child.

Then our little community christened its first public library in January. I took J the first week it was open, for something to do and to get a card. And…

When I walked in the door for the very first time that day in January, I was home. It may have been a brand new building, but somehow there was that welcoming scent of new books and old paper. Instead of card catalogs, computers lined the walls. Instead of squishy square cushions, child sized chairs were there for kids to sit and read (I guess the librarians figured out what was going on with the cushions when they weren’t looking). And instead of a second floor dedicated to the kids, the entire library was built around the children’s section.

I felt welcomed. I was home. I thought I couldn’t go home again, but here, in this library a thousand miles from the one I grew up in, I was home again. I’ve been to that library weekly since that day, almost always with a son in tow. I may not get books, but I go for that feeling of possibility, of “wow!” The boys beg to go, just as I did to my parents. And I am more than happy to take them. Because it’s my little piece of home.

******************************************

This was submitted to Scribbit’s Write-Away contest for April.

My little baby is 7 today. Seven. I blinked and that scrawny little chicken-legged boy grew into a gangly elementary school student. He went from the infant who screamed for hours at a time to the boy who calls the Pancake Puffs Pan number in the middle of the night.

Speaking of which, guess what Grandma got our little mail order dude for his birthday? Yup, he’s now the proud owner of his very own cast iron Pancake Puffs Pan. We will be making these this weekend and I will be posting a review once we survive the experience.

So A is now 7 and I have surprisingly few gray hairs. Highlighting does wonders. Having him has changed me in so many ways. Like a meat mallet, he has tenderized my heart and soul (yeah, quite the analogy, I know). Hammering away, incessantly pounding away, he has changed me. I’m more resilient now, and more tender. I have more patience, and put up with less crap. I’m stronger, and more vulnerable.

A is the most amazing kid. He is so bright. He is so creative. He draws people to him in a way I truly envy. This kid makes friends like no one I’ve ever known. He wants to be a Mythbuster. Legos are the be-all, end-all for him. He somehow knows some kids need friends more than others and instinctively seeks them out. He loves babies and will go out of his way to go up and say hi or make silly faces or give them kisses.

A is also the most exasperating child I have ever known. He knows my buttons and knows just how hard to push them and how often and just how to twist them at the same time for maximum effect. He also has a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde thing going on sometimes and doesn’t warn me which one is making his appearance. All in a days work for his mom, I suppose.

I love this boy, this young man-to-be. He amazes me daily. And he is going to change the world.

Our neighbors are building a deck. They’ve wanted to do it for a long time. They have a very small yard, so to have a deck of any size, they have to remove the concrete slab that the builders slapped down there.

Hooboy. Jackhammers all day. Any idea how honkin’ big a 4 foot by 4 foot by 3 foot deep slab is? And if you give me a smart ass math answer, I’m comin’ over and not leaving until the jackhammers are done. ; ) The contractors began on Friday and are back today and very little progress has been made. That’s how big a 4×4x3 concrete slab is.

Tom’s take? If it were our house, he would have drilled a hole in the slab big enough for a stick of dynamite. Riiight…’cause our homeowners insurance wasn’t high enough.

But our neighbors, whom I love, have made the patio decision for us. We briefly considered jackhammering out our slab (which is bigger and has a roof over it) to have a full deck. No thanks…and please, no smart ass “full deck” comments either…unless they’re really funny. Cost of a Trex deck (holy crap! I suppose I could get along with only one kidney…) sealed the decision that we won’t be going that route. So a pressed concrete patio is the leading contender…and extending the porch roof across the western side of the house so we don’t bake every afternoon May-September. You know…’cause the money tree I planted last spring is now producing fruit.