Science facts

"Hey, mom - did you know that most birth defects are caused by something the mom ate or did during pregnancy?"

I am helping him get his compression stocking on, something we do every day.  It's too tight for him to be able to do it himself, even though this week he will be twelve years old, and he is nearly as tall as I am, and weighs almost as much, too.  I have just pulled it up past his knee, and I'm looking at him as he is talking, smiling.  But I was caught off guard, and for the split second it took for me to register what he'd said, he saw my secret, the thing I've battled every day since he was born and we discovered that he had Klippel-Trenaunay Syndrome.  The fear that it was my fault, that I had done something wrong, even though I've had specialists tell me it's just something that happens sometimes, just a quirk of nature brought about by a wrong turn on a strand of genetic material.

I recover as quickly as it registers, but I'm caught and he...he is mortified, horrified that he has hurt me.

"But I'm not blaming you, I just have K-T, and I was born that way and I wouldn't want to be any different!  I love you and I know you didn't do anything wrong, and I only think it's sometimes that it happens, maybe most of the time, but it doesn't MATTER because I LOVE who I am and I love YOU, and if I didn't have K-T I wouldn't be me..."  He is in danger of running out of air, and I stop him.

"Sweetheart - it's okay.  I know you were just telling me something interesting that you learned, and it's just science.  Sometimes even in science there are variables.  I know you aren't blaming me.  I love you just as you are, and I know you love me too.  Please don't worry, I'm okay."

We have a ritual after his stocking is on - we have a big hug.  Today's hug is tighter than normal, and lasts twice as long.

"Thanks for helping me with my stocking, mom.  I love you."

"You bet.  I love you too."

Catching Up, Growing Up

Joe-Henry turned ten in November.  He is ten going on forty.  In fact, I took him to the walk-in clinic one Sunday for strep throat and we had a doctor we had used before and he said "Hey!  I remember you!  You're that kid that talks like he's forty years old!"

In many ways, like many boys, he is still not as mature as the girls in his class.  One particular girl comes to mind.  She is smart and bossy and pretty and he will do whatever it takes to make her laugh.  She shhh's him in class (which cracks me up, because he's been known to do some shhh-shing of his own) and rolls her eyes at him alot.  But when they come out of Marimba band practice together he makes her laugh so hard and blush so much, he is on the moon for the rest of the night.  He told me recently he has dreams about her.  But he also told me they're "just good friends".  And I'm glad, because she's a good friend to have.  His fourth grade class recently had their "growth and development" unit for science, which grossed him out, but "explained a LOT!"  This unit also covered hygiene, so he now showers every morning (in addition to the bath every night - WATERWASTERS is the word you are looking for), and has begged me to get him some deodorant.  I've said no for now, but I did cave and get him some Axe bodywash.  He tells me his "balls hurt", and I ask him kindly to please use the word testicles because his mother is a delicate flower (and I tuck that little bit of information in my worry bag), but it's sporadic and I asked C who said that there is a lot going on down there right now, and not to worry too much.  So I worry just the proper amount.  I worry that it has something to do with the kt, because I know he has some involvement there.  We need to go in for our yearly exam, so we'll bring it all up then.  Unless of course it gets worse.  Then I'll put my BIG worry hat on.

In addition to girls and testicles and Axe bodywash, he is all over the map emotionally.  When I told him the other day that he needed to do a better job of washing his hair because it looked greasy, and explained that increased hormones meant his hair and skin would change, he wailed "I'm turning into a BEAST!"  He gets really moody and upsets easily, and sometimes it seems like he's in hyperdrive.  He had a friend over all afternoon yesterday and they called each other "Dude" 1,367 times.  I'm kidding.  I didn't actually count.  Had I done that, I'm sure the number would have been higher.  He has developed specialized hearing.  Meaning, he completely ignores me when I tell him to do something.  It drives me 100% crazy. He wants a skateboard.  His dad says this summer, and I find myself tempted to go along, but also terrified.  So, if I cave, he'll be the kid at the skatepark wrapped head to toe in bubblewrap.  But because I'm crafty, I'll stencil some skulls on it, so it'll be cool.  He picks out his own clothes, and, thanks to family who totally came through on his birthday and Christmas, he is ready to kick Justin Bieber's ass.  (NOTE:  I like Justin Bieber.  I think he's adorable.  I worry that he's being exploited and pushed around.  But the only thing that makes it okay that he has a bio-pic documentary coming out is that it's in 3D).  Volcom, DC, Quicksilver.  Friendship bracelets, sillybandz, and a sterling silver guitar pick he wears around his neck.  Duuuuude.

Still.  He loves his stuffed animals.  He is still polite to his elders (unless it's his dad or I).  In fact, his kindergarten teacher just told me that he still speaks to her every afternoon, and I wanted to cry because he was just IN kindergarten, using those adorable little tiny scissors, and now we have to worry about his aching testicles.  But he still wants a snuggle from me at night.  I decided at Christmas that I would turn that time into something a little more age appropriate, so I got him To Kill A Mockingbird, which is my favorite book of all time.  Every night I read a chapter, using all my rusty acting skills to pull off my best Southern accents, which seems to be working because he is all eyes and ears.  He asks incredibly smart questions, and makes some very astute observations about the characters.  We both wince at the liberal use of the "N" word, and I'm pretty sure Harper Lee would want it that way.  (She's still alive, by the way.  Joe-Henry looked it up on Wikipedia.  When we're done with the book he plans to write her and tell her she "rocks".)  I feel so lucky every night that we get to share this.  I know he could read it himself, but I wanted to be able to answer questions that pop up and stop along the way to discuss the context of the book.

Last night when we were reading, he was mesmerized, taking it all in, then I noticed he was staring at me.  I thought he might be mooning over my double chin again ("mom, it's sooooo soft!"), but it was my ear.  "Mom, your ear is SO PRETTY.  It's so round and clean and flawless!  Like mine.  Except for the clean part."

How on earth am I ever going to be able to say good-bye to this time?  

Growing Pains

When JH was little, he had nightmares about "the bad ladies". They were dressed in black, you couldn't see their faces, and they didn't talk. They came for him silently, and when he was awake, he was always afraid to go certain places, because in his dreams, this was where he'd see the bad ladies.

He sort of laughs about them now, although I know that while it might not be the bad ladies that make him scared to go downstairs in his own house, they started it. His deepest fears. The fears of the unknown, of change. And I've always felt in some mother's intuition way that the bad ladies have something to do with me. This is never anything he's said, but I fear the bad ladies too, and have told him a million times that I would move entire buildings to save him from them. We haven't heard from them in quite a while, but I know they aren't gone completely.

We had a very lazy day here yesterday. Charley's back went out at work the day before, so he's been taking some heavy duty motrin that puts him out like a light. Normally, we'd be out and about, but I think just the stuff emanating from his sleeping form made JH and I really sleepy too, and we didn't fight it.

He took a bath before bedtime, and was taking FOREVER to get out, so I jokingly told him if he didn't get out I was going to get a tattoo. Looking at me, so seriously, said "No you won't." He once told me that he was so grateful that I didn't have any tattoos, and I don't smoke, and I don't pick him up at the bus stop in my pj's and slippers, smoking a cigarette.

"I think maybe a BIG tattoo, of a flower with your name in the middle! Right here on my arm!"

"No you wouldn't! You're not serious..."

"Well, stay there in the tub and you can find out!"

He doesn't move, just looks at me with a strange smile on his face.

"Well, I guess I better go get my cigarettes!". This is the biggest joke of all, so I figure he's on to me for sure...

He burst into redfaced wailing tears, then choking sobs, while I tried to undo the damage. I was CLEARLY joking. I had been laughing when I said it, and we joke about this stuff all the time.

After I had him calm, and wrapped in a towel, his giant, heavy, gangly wet self on my lap, I asked him if he knew I was joking. He said yes, he did, but "I was afraid you wouldn't be you. And I love YOU".

I know just how he feels.

Courageous

This week has been an emotional rollercoaster. On Tuesday I took the boy to the doctor because he was having a lot of pain in his left leg. I had taken him in the week before due to a sinus condition and cough, but now I'm worried that somehow it's all tied together.

Mind you, I'm operating on less sleep than I'm used to having - I have been waking with JH in the middle of the night, helping him through bouts of coughing, administering medicine, reading poetry aloud to help ease him back to sleep, and then laying there wide awake trying to untie the worry knot in my brain.

Monday afternoon I got a note from his teacher saying that he was getting a leadership award, and that's when he also mentioned that his left leg was hurting. So Tuesday, after I managed to get out of work for an hour for the awards assembly, I brought him home, went back to work, and took him to the doctor when I got off work. They did an ultrasound on his leg, did blood tests, which he was very, very brave about. He was SO scared to have the blood test. His eyes welled up when they told him, and he was embarrassed. When the ultrasound tech had finished (after an hour and half, due to the fact that he has more than the normal amount of veins in his leg (something he thought was pretty cool!), she left the room to find the radiologist. The whole building was quiet - it was after hours by then - Joe-Henry told me he was ashamed that he cried and wasn't brave.

I told him that courage had nothing to do with tears. The bravest, strongest people cry. Tears are cleansing, healing things, and that there is nothing shameful about them. Putting on a brave face doesn't mean not feeling things. It means facing things through tears sometimes.

I had to leave work early today to pick him up at school again. His leg is hurting, a bit higher today, which scares me. We see the doctor at 1:30 and the ultrasound tech at 3:00.

I am doing my best to keep MY brave face on. To be his support and to keep my emotions in check. But if the tears flow, I'll try to remember the words I spoke to the bravest kid I know.

Verklempt

Who would have guessed, ten years ago when I had a bebeh in mah belleh, that I would be a proud, benchsittin' loudyellin' baseball mom?! So much of this parenting journey has been a surprise. The dreams you have for your children before they are born are YOUR dreams. But when THEIR dreams come into sight, and they can work toward what THEIR passion is, there is not one thing in life like it.

Oh sure, you can guide them toward things, model behavior you want to see from them, expose them to things you think will make them the kind of people the world needs. But when they hit a certain age, and you need to start loosening your grip, finger by finger, if you're lucky you get to see who THEY are. It's a nailbiter at times, you watch them interact on the playground when they're little and wonder just how the hell they are going to get through this unscathed.

Watching Joe-Henry run when he was little, watching him chase his friends from far afield, trying with all his might to catch up, hearing him recount the gym classes when he came in "last, again", those are moments I have been bracing myself for since his birth. Knowing they were coming did nothing to stop the lump in my throat. It just helped me to hide it from him a little bit.

We've been pretty honest with him about his kt. There is so much we DON'T know. We've been good about not making false promises, or giving false hope, but we haven't ever said "you can't do this".

And he hasn't either.

Yesterday after the last game of spring baseball, when all the parents had packed up the kids and the trophies and JH and his Dad were headed to the car, his coach took me aside. I had thanked him for all his dedication to the kids, to helping them really learn, really try their best. He didn't sugarcoat anything for the kids, he got on them, with humor, when they messed up, and the kids all responded with their best efforts. The last game was a hoot, and the kids all made some pretty impressive plays. Anyway, he wanted to know about Joe-Henry's leg. He had heard me ask if it was tired earlier. I told him a bit about Joe-Henry's kt, that it was vascular, and his leg tired easily, and he had a hard time running and standing sometimes, and he just looked at me and took it all in. He said "Joe-Henry is one of the best players I had on this team. He has so much heart and desire, he always gets in front of the ball, he always know where it's supposed to go. I wish I had ten of him. Heart, desire and intelligence can go a long way towards making dreams come true.

I'll never forget those words.

The Parent Trap

Joe-Henry is playing with a friend. They are playing baseball, like they do every time. This friend, who is three years older, is goading Joe-Henry, quietly, like he always does, because he loves it when Joe-Henry screams and yells and I tell him to stop.

It's going to get ugly, because my boy is tired, and has had some candy at the movies. He's bored. And this kid knows EXACTLY which buttons to push.

I am mowing the lawn. The mower stops and I hear Joe-Henry yelling to me from inside the house, "Mom, V just tried to hurt me!". I had seen the boy heading next door moments before, so I head in to check on Joe-Henry. He's crying and yelling at me to go next door and take care of things.

Calm down, I say, tell me what happened. He's yelling, I DID tell you, he tried to hurt me, he said "Oh, you want to get me? I'm not afraid of you!", and he pushed me down and hit me on the head with the ball.

Why, I ask, did he say "you want to get me?", because, he says I accidently threw the batting helmet and it almost hit him. But it was AN ACCIDENT, he screams, knowing he just told me the important part of the story that I need to know.

I know full well the scope and range of my son's anger, and this, I say is where the tantrums stop. He is nine and a half years old. It's time to find a new, better way to deal with being really, really mad.

I told him that I wasn't going next door, that tomorrow HE could talk to his friend. If he wanted, I could talk to him if he comes over again and tell him they can play something other than baseball, and be nice or go home. But this issue was his to resolve, and he'd better wait a day to do it, so that he's calm. He cried and yelled and told me I wasn't doing my job as his mom.

But I am, see? And that's the part that sucks.

What I don't tell him is this: As much as I want to go next door and tell the little shit to stop baiting Joe-Henry until he explodes because he thinks it's funny, and stop coming over here just because you're bored and want to play with my son's stuff, and just because you're big brother picks on you, you don't get to come over here and pass that crap down the line, stay away, you little weasel and quit picking on my son, I don't do that.

I took the Wii away for a day, because he was screaming at me. Someday he'll know that I'm not betraying him, or taking someone else's side, I'm just being HIS mom. Because that IS my job.

Simple Gifts

Sunday morning. Music, NY Times, good coffee.

My camera, the garden the rain.

But mostly this. I'm just so grateful for this.

Transformer

The rain beats the roof
announcing another wet day.
What's new?
I sit lotus in the big chair
making my lists
when my growing boy
in soft plaid pajamas
tiptoes out, eyes half-closed,
and folds himself
like an origami baby into my lap.
How is it possible?
Standing, I can rest my chin on his mop of
curly brown hair.
While I ponder the engineering marvel
of the human body to fold, transformer-like,
into the toddler he once was (a minute ago?!),
he rests his soft cheek against mine,
a gangly arm around my neck.
This moment ("you're soaking in it!")
is broken when he pulls back,
gazing up at me with his huge brown eyes
and croaks in his sleepy voice,
"You smell like tuna."

A Heck Of My Own Making

This weekend I had wonderful experiences.

I got to take pictures of a gorgeous family.

I went with my boys and an added friend to a beautiful park.

The sun was shining and the air smelled fresh and sweet.

I ate ice cream. Twice, for goodness' sake!

So why is it that the comments of someone I don't even like got under my skin? So much so that I actually spent time with a frown on my face, heaving sighs loud enough that my son finally said "Mom, you are the best mom ever. You do so many nice things for people. He's just a grump, don't let him get to you!". I mean, honestly, I'm more angry with myself that I spent two minute even THINKING about what this guy thought of me.

And angrier still that I modeled that behavior for my boy, who I am always telling "don't worry about what people think, ESPECIALLY people you don't like."

Parenting Fail.

the important stuff

Joe-Henry has been hitting so many milestones lately.

Blowing his first bubble with bubble gum.

Driving me crazy by telling me to look at all the bubbles that have followed. And their greatness.

You know, the important stuff!

So it's only natural that he would tell me, upon first rising this sunny morning:
"I think it's time I learned how to make fart noises with my armpit."

To which I replied: Let's concentrate on tying your shoes, using a napkin instead of your sleeve/pants/furniture, and advanced butt wiping first.

Then I'll teach you how to make fart noises with your armpit.

Nyuk Nyuk Nyuk

Do you know what I love about being the mother of a nine year old boy? Besides nagging him to do every little thing? Because yes, I complain, but also, I love doing it. I must. (sshhhhhh.... I'm "acting as if", because then maybe if I actually DID love nagging, I'd become more effective at it. or something.).

I love the quality conversations we have. The state of the world is discussed, along with the state of, well, everything else. All topics are covered. The kids in his class, the best vs. worst brands of bubblegum, how to build the most perfect interactive video game, and of course my favorite topic, Ways In Which I Can Be A Better Mom.

Way #1: stop being so grouchy

There is no Way #2, because if I stopped being grouchy I would be perfect.

A typical example of our discussions is as follows. This is the first conversation I had in the New Year, and I think it bodes well for my intellectual growth in 2010.

JH: Mom, who's your favorite Stooge?

Me: My favorite Stooge?

JH: Yeah! Larry, Curly or Moe?

Me: I think Larry does lovely, understated work, and has always been under appreciated. I'll go with Larry.

JH: But Moe is the leader, and he's so funny! And Curly makes those hysterical noises!

Me: Yes, but without Larry, Moe and Curly would probably kill each other. Also, I like Larry because he's pretty quiet.

JH: But he's not the funniest.

Me: Nope. Not everyone is funny. And that's okay.

JH: No it isn't.

and.... scene.

Do you see why my brain is in danger of melting and running out both my ears?

So this is why I vow to get out more in 2010. To seek the stimulation of grownups and talk about important things. Like politics and melting ice caps and OMG The Bachelor...

on the other hand, we haven't gotten to Shemp yet. And what about the Marx Brothers? I can't wait to find out what he thinks about Harpo!

A Nook of One's Own

With Christmas behind us, I continued to Feng our Shui. We moved the tree out of the corner of the room, but I didn't want to put back all the mismatched boxes, and DEAR GOD THE TOYS, so I decided to try to make a cozy space for the boy. Of course, since the advent of the Wii, I despaired of ever getting him to play with anything else, but over the past couple days something miraculous has happened: while helping me clean his room, he's discovered some old toys. He thought it was okay for me to move his Thomas Trains (really? Nine is too old for Thomas?! Okay.... sniff...) into a less accessible spot, but he was having a blast playing with his airplanes, busses and cars. We had this ugly white shelf downstairs, so I moved it up, put a runner and a lamp on it, and threw some old pillows I found at goodwill in the corner. I got some cool recycled magazine baskets at TJ Maxx, filled them with some legos, some paper and art supplies, some cars and planes, and the boy was so excited to have a cozy little nook all to himself. There's a little empty spot there for a few more books, so who knows - maybe he'll even READ!

Bonus: The cats love it!

I Am A Mom

There is an iconic picture of me that Charley took the night we went to the hospital to give birth to Joe-Henry. It's taken by him, and in the picture I'm in the bathroom, drying my hair, and getting ready to become a mom. We both looked high and low for it today, and couldn't find it anywhere. But in the midst of trying to find it, we found all kinds of old photos and were washed with a whole parenting lifetime of memories, as well as dim reminders of lives we had before Joe-Henry. I know. Unfathomable.

Why, you might ask, were we so determined to find this one particular photo? Because we took a very similar photo today.

I'm not pregnant, but it's a side view, in the bathroom, and I've got my hands in my hair. But for very different reasons. This time, there is no mistaking: I am DEFINITELY a mom.




For those of you perhaps unfamiliar with Star Wars toys, this is the Republic Gunship that flies by remote control. That we got him. For his birthday. That landed in my hair and had to be cut out.

The end.

Full Circle

Last night I was "helping" Joe-Henry with his piano lessons. I put it in quotation marks because it's only my perspective. From his perspective, it's more like torture. I make him go back and try things again when he doesn't get the timing right. My note reading abilities are rusty (lucky for him), but DAMN I'm good with a beat.

We were about ten minutes in when we got to the part where he had to write a four measure song, so I was going to help him by getting the notes down in the book. I asked him a question about what the first note was, and this is what he did:

He turned very slowly to look at me, sighed, and said in a very patronizing tone"Mom that's not it, why don't you just let me do my work?"

Then he sadly shook his head. AND ROLLED HIS EYES.

Being the grown up that I am, I took it well. I raised my voice a couple octaves and curtly squeaked out "fine. I have lots of other things I can be doing. you can just finish this by yourself." Then I quickly walked off IN A HUFF and got the laundry.

He came to find me slamming wet clothes in the dryer and apologized for hurting my feelings, and I hugged him tight and said it was okay.

But somewhere my parents are nodding and smiling at the sweet feeling of payback.

I wonder if revenge is allowed in heaven?

Hope For The Best, Prepare For The Worst....

.....or pack for a trip abroad with an eight year old. We are heading out on a trip to Scotland to celebrate my fantastic, sexy, amazing husband's "significant" birthday, and I spent the whole day packing. And while I was packing, Joe-Henry seemed to sound more miserable, more stuffed up, and then, oh no, he actually took a nap.

Which is shorthand for "he's sick".

So - hubby stays home from work with him tomorrow to take him to the doctor - his throat is so swollen and bright red, and he's running a slight fever, and feels "heavy". The hope is that he gets it out of his system before we go.

In the meantime, I have packed all the "remedies". I've followed my list to the letter, and I'm drinking Emergen-C until it's coming out my ears.

"No cold approach, no altered mien,
Just what would make suspicion start;
No pause the dire extremes between,
He made me blest-and broke my heart.?

Robert Burns

An Enigma Wrapped In A Riddle

Joe-Henry has been asking us to download music he hears onto his iPhone (my old phone minus the phone part, lest you think we're spoiling him rotten.) We have a deal with him: for every song he downloads, he must play 30 minutes of music on piano, drums, guitar.... so yeah, we're bribing him, basically.

So far the music he's chosen has been stuff he's heard on Madden 09 (heading banging rock, with some rap thrown in for good measure). We listen to it first to make sure there are no bad words, which is really his rule as much as ours. But the other day, he asked for two songs. I loved how different they were, and I loved that I discovered some new music through my boy. I'd heard of Joe Satriani before, but hadn't ever listened to his music. This was his choice, which I dub to be "awesome" (and he rolls his eyes at me every time I say it):



The other song he wanted was this:



Oh, and a ps: remember his "girlfriend"? Last night at dinner, after really hearing nothing about her for a long time, he said "Oh, and Jordan broke up with me at recess today. She said if I didn't play with her for at least 10 minutes every recess, 'we were through'*. It's okay though, because I always had to be the "daddy". Ugh. Girls play weird."

*he actually used air quotes here.

I love that I never know what's coming next.

O Captain, My Captain.

Yesterday, JH was trying his best to entertain himself while I attempted to file away months worth of crap on my desk. He decided to put on his nice jacket, shirt and tie (which he's nearly outgrown!) and his captains hat, and walk sentry in front of the house with his nerfgun. After he did this for a while, he went to his computer downstairs and just did some typing while he "took orders" from an imaginary leader.

I used a sepia treatment on this one because it was sort of blown out, exposure-wise, but I loved how serious he was. It looks like he's my great-great grandfather who was in the Russian Army.


Eight years old is really, really fun.

Taking It Literally

The title of my blog, that is. Man, I've been lazy about posting. Probably because I'm too addicted busy playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. But it's been down since yesterday, so, hey, why not catch you up on the insanity fun here at our house.

Joe-Henry is growing like a weed. A sassy, lazy, back-talking, mood-swinging weed. With gas. I could set my clock by the tantrums he's having. Every day at 5. Whether he's had a day chock full of playdates and fun or he's bored out of his mind. I'm finally catching on that I need to give him a really good snack at 3:30. So his stomach isn't empty for the knock out drops.
He has trouble falling asleep at night, and it's the only time of the day he really wants to talk to me. "mom, wasn't that funny when...." Needless to say, I've been falling asleep on my feet. I miss the newborn days when he cried every hour on the hour, because then I could just pop him on the boob and he'd quiet down and go back to sleep.

Yesterday, I finally met his elusive "girlfriend". I call her elusive because we've been trying to set up playdates that she doesn't show up for. We managed to bring her over to our house yesterday, where she immediately wanted to take him into his room and shut the door. She's six. AND adorable. So, I told them they needed to keep the door open, and while they played in his room, I found it a convenient time to scrape all the caulk from the adjacent bathroom tub. A job I'd been meaning to do, and it's easy to listen in and make sure there's no funny business. But apparently I wasn't hawk-like enough, because JH informed me that there was a kiss, "but just on the cheek". He cannot lie to me, though, because as the words came out of his mouth, his eyes fell to his shoes and he melted into a puddle of goo. "OKAY. It was the lips, but really quick. Not a long kiss. I hardly felt it."

I was really hoping this wouldn't happen until his teenage years.

Anyway, I took a picture and would post it here if he hadn't been explicit in his instructions "OKAY. You can take our picture, but DON'T POST IT ON YOUR BLOG." I will leave you with this visual description: she's a full head shorter than him, she's beaming like a blushing bride, she has her arms around his waist, and he looks like he's about to burst from happiness. Oh, and he also looks about 30.

What else: Charley is continuing to plan like a demon for our Scotland trip in the fall. I have been looking up primary schools in Edindburgh in order to have a class project exchange for JH's third grade class. It should be the trip of a lifetime.

Swimming lessons go along with JH thrashing like he's mad at the water, baseball is a blast (the one shiny bright spot right now for all of us!), and the weather has blessedly cooled down. For about a week it felt like someone left the door to hell wide open. It was in the 90's at night, and we have no airconditioning. You aren't supposed to need it in the Pacific Northwest.

So,that's about all she wrote for now. If you're still reading, I imagine you're yawning from boredom, and I'm starting to twitch, so I'm gonna head over to Facebook and see if Bejeweled Blitz is up and running yet.

Nope. Still down.

Well, I guess I could always do laundry or dishes. MWAH to you all! I'm off to make more scintillating memories!

Hello, I Must Be Growing Now

Well, it finally feels like summer here. The temperature is heating up after a lovely, cool, breezy June & early July; swimming lessons & baseball practice have begun; the berries are ripe. And my son is either a) exhausted, b) sobbing, c) screaming, d) hungry, e) bored, f) growing like crazy so all of the above. He is also incredibly sweet and snuggly at times, like this morning. This morning at 3:00. Until 4:20.

Seriously, sometimes I think there must be something wrong with the way I'm parenting. Surely other parents don't have to deal with such an argumentative child when telling them to turn off the tvcomputerWii? Surely other children are eager to help around the house and takeouttherecyclingmaketheirbedpickuptheirtoyscleanoutthecatlitter? Surely these children would be thrilled to playa game or go to a movie and not just want to layhereandwatchtv? (Yes, I'm being facetious. I know other parents go through this.) I feel like if I look closely, I can see everything he's learned melting out through his ears.

But oh, when I step back! I can take in how HUGE he is. His legs are SO long. Which makes me laugh, because my husband and I are not known for our supermodel gams. He has our short-ish torso on top of these STILTS. He doesn't have any growing pains, but his KT leg is giving him more fits than usual, getting tired and heavy. I know that it drags him down at times, but I also know he will use it as an excuse if he doesn't want to do something. Going to the grocery store?! "Mom, my leg gets too tired! I can't!" But he can manage to stand in the outfield playing baseball for an hour and a half just fine.

It doesn't help that he has developed a crazy sweet tooth. Not that I let him have all the sugar he wants - I'm no fool. I know that pouring sugar down his throat when he is going through these growth spurts is the equivalent of pouring a tanker of gasoline on a campfire.

Yesterday, I think I saw the worst of it. It started in the usual way: time to get off the Wii. It's a lesson you'd think he'd have learned - he had to go 5 days without Wii, computer and tv because he was disrespectful and not listening when I told him to stop. He'd been on for over an hour, he was turning into a robot. When I gave him 5 minutes to finish his game and told him to come outside with me and read a book, he went sort of nuts. "MOM - there are BEES out there. WASPS!!! I'm NOT going out there". When he made it outside, he cried like crazy. When we came inside, he cried even more - screaming, yelling, SOBBING. I walked away to the dining room, where I tried to gather myself, stacking the mail, trying to breathe. Charley called, and when I tried to tell him what was going on, he said he'd let me go so I could deal with it. I misunderstood - I thought he was giving me the brushoff instead of actually letting me go so I could deal with it. It was my last straw. As I stood there stacking mail, and JH continued to yell at me from his chair in the living room, I said "I quit". As I turned to head downstairs for some peace and quiety, JH turned up the volume, and the sobbing started in earnest. "MOM!!! I LOVE YOU - YOU CAN'T QUIT! YOU'RE THE BEST MOM EVER!"

You know, that shitty parenting sundae just isn't complete until you top it off with a nice, juicy guilt cherry.

But lest you think I'm wallowing, don't worry. I think we're through the worst of it. We actually had a great afternoon after all the sturm and drang. I think maybe he just needed to let it out. He hasn't really cried like that in a long time. And I've noticed since our friend Annie's memorial service, he's been extra clingy, so I think, in addition to all the crazy growing he's doing, he's processing some pretty huge emotions as well. We all are.

Daddy's off today, so JH will get some quality time with him while I go to work this morning. And hopefully, he'll sleep in. So far, so good.

Family Gatherings & Falling On My Head

Two things that don't have anything to do with one another. Luckily. Because had I fallen on my head at a family gathering, as much as they love me, I'm sure it would be hard to live down!

Actually, the family that gathered on Saturday was not even my own family! I was honored by my friend Shannon to take pictures of her family gathering. She and her siblings threw a surprise birthday party for her fabulous mom, and it was one of those events that you just pinch yourself because you can't believe you get to hang with these people. So much talent, so much love and in such a gorgeous location. The birthday guest of honor was feted in song and poetry, toasted and only slightly roasted, because she is completely beloved. Family came from all over the country to surprise her, and I got the feeling that she was more than just a bit surprised. There was fantastic food and a live marimba band and a view of the lake. Sigh. Perfection. Here are just a few of the bazillion photos that I took.





On Sunday, I had some of my own lovely family over for a barbecue, and there was much playing of hoops. A couple days before, Charley had picked up a full-sized hoop that we'd gotten on Craigslist. Many games of horse, and just shooting and dribbling seemed to keep the party hopping. I was too busy running the grill, because Charley had to work, so I just got to hear the happy shouts from the driveway whilst I turned the chicken. It was so lovely to just hang in the back yard. The weather was gorgeously perfect, with enough breeze to keep it cool.

On Tuesday evening, after piano lessons, after dinner, we were hanging out in the back yard, and Charley & I were entertaining JH with our hoops prowess, when I tripped over the base of the hoop and fell with such force it's a wonder I'm able to write this. I have NEVER fallen like that, and I never want to again. I braced myself by putting my hands out, landing on my left knee, my hands sending a shock up my arms and cracking my neck so loudly in my head I saw stars, with my head following through and planting itself fully on our cedar fence. I didn't move, or rather I couldn't move for a good 20 seconds. I could see JH's ashen face from my spot on the ground, and for a moment I thought: I'm paralyzed. This is it. But then my hands started to tingle and I could move my legs, so with Charley's help, I twisted my body back into alignment and slowly got up. My hands were the only thing to hurt for two days. They tingled, like tiny needles were sticking into the tops of my hands and under my fingernails. I've been icing and dosing up on ibuprofen for a couple days, and I'm happy to report that I finally hurt in the places I'm supposed to. My knee aches, my neck is tender, my head is sore (and sporting a really cool scab on my forehead) and the only thing hurting on my hands are my thumbs. Oh, and my dignity is a little ouchie as well. But my nerves are sort of back to normal. For at least a day I was worried that if I turned my head the wrong way I would fall down.

I didn't make it to the doctors office, but I did call a good friend who is a nurse. She's been checking up on my the last day or two, and I think honestly that I'm fine now.

But that row along the fence where I was going to plant tomatoes? I'm planting pillows instead.

OH! And I completely forgot to tell you: I'm meeting the first grade floozy that has been trying to talk my son into kissing. Tomorrow at 3:30 at the park. Both Charley and I are going. All I can say is she better not try any funny business with me around!