I Wanna…

My Boy came home taller.  He seemed so grown.  He told me he had a great time, but I wasn’t listening as much as I was holding on to him and reconnecting after the longest time he’s ever been away from me. 

I asked if many kids had seizures (it was a camp for kids with epilepsy, afterall).  He said a few did.  There was one girl who had to wear a helmet because she had the kind called Drop Seizures which can lead to injuries from…well…dropping.  She had the most (but there was no prize–I have expected this camp to have prizes for most, longest, creativity).  The way he talked about them was so "matter-of-fact" and he explained how the counselors reacted by just being near the person and maybe rubbing their back.  I wonder if that helped him feel better about the times he’s had them. 

Unfortunately with me as his mom he would come out of seizures with a panic stricken lunatic hovering or crying rather than some calm person just lightly rubbing his back like friends did for me back in the day when I’d be hunched over gravel puking up my guts on Mill Ave.  I am going to try to take a lesson from this and if (God, I hope it doesn’t really happen) My Boy has a seizure around me I’m going to just sit by him and rub his back and leave the panic stuff in the past.  He deserves to come out of seizures without the panic of others making them worse.  But I will always hold on to the hope that there will be no other one. 

My Boy is looking forward to going back next year.  And I am looking forward to it also.  Maybe next year I can convince my husband that we can take a trip during that time.  He will be ok.  We will be ok.  We could be ok in Nappa Valley.

It has been nearly a week since we dropped The Boy off at Camp Candlelight.  That’s the camp that the Arizona Epilepsy Foundation puts on for kids with epilepsy.  So, that means that first of all I have to admit that The Boy has epilepsy and then I have to drive him about 2 hours away to Heber, Arizona (Ok, I didn’t do the driving…I did the sleeping while The Husband did the driving).

The Boy was very excited about this week long "camping" experience.  I was only a little nervous.  Not about how he would do, but about the way my mind would be cruel during the week of his absence.  I have managed to stay busy and have only had a few minutes.  Mostly to feel guilty that it can be very relaxing not to have to worry about a child.  I could still worry long distance, but it’s a different kind of worry when you are the only adult at home all day that is supposed to be in charge.  I spend my days trying to give enough space and also not forget to check on him at least periodically.  I mean, what if he had a seizure and I didn’t hear it and he fell and I didn’t go check on him and I don’t know what would be next.  It would probably be okay unless he played that "I don’t think I’ll breath" trick that he used to do.  He has only had two seizures in 2 1/2 years, but still I worry and still I feel guilty because I’m relieved to not be the adult in charge for a full week. 

Then there’s that other place I was afraid my mind would take me.  The place where I thought about how this is what life might be like all the time if the worst had happened when he was sick–the life of only having two kids.  I was afraid that I would be reminded of all the times I thought about how I would survive if I lost a child.  How I thought (non-stop at times) of how to keep my son’s memory alive to his sisters–one who was only 3 when her big brother was sick. 

But that’s silly, right?  My son did live.  And he rarely has seizures.  And the last two weren’t so severe that he stopped breathing.  And he comes home tomorrow!  I’m hoping to hear all about the activities, but more importantly what he felt meeting other kids with epilepsy (this was his first time meeting other kids with the same diagnosis).  I won’t be making the drive (even as a passenger) to pick him up.  I will see him at 6pm when he will be coming to see me graduate from a class I have been taking.  It will be a bigger graduation in my mind having given my son his first week of freedom from my crazy thoughts and overprotective nature.  (I will not be telling him of my crazy thoughts, so that’s just like they never happened, right?)

I can’t say no.  I think it will be good for the kids.  I want to be helpful.  I know others would do the same for me (and they have). 

Those are some of the reasons that might ramble around my mind if I wonder how I ended up with extra kids a few days a week during the month of June.  But do you think the parents of the kids that I’m watching know just how much I don’t pay attention to the kids I am responsible for?  I try to do my best to just stay out of their way and hope for the best.  My philosophy is kind of "I won’t bother you and you don’t bother me." 

Should I have told this to the parents of these extra kids so they could make an informed choice? 

I really want my kids to have fun and I don’t think that means having me plan every minute of their day for them.  I want them to invent their own games.  I want them to make up their own rules.  I want them to solve problems they might get themselves into.  I was about 11 when I had to figure out that I should probably eat something to get the cigarette smoke off my breath before going home to tell my mom that I had a broken arm.  I just want my kids to have some of those kind of problem solving skills. 

Would I be happy to know that my kids’ friend’s parents are just as relaxed (or lazy depending on your perspective) when my precious babies are visiting others?  I hope so.  I know the only feeling I remember having is one of complete failure when my kids come home from other people’s houses with a batch of homemade cookies that the mom helped them make.  But that’s ridiculous because I have helped some kids bake cookies.  And one time I let The Boy and another boy in his class create something called Dangerous Pie in my kitchen with very little guidance.  The boys destroyed my kitchen that day.  I guess what I hope is that some of my kid’s friend’s parents are willing to let my kids help destroy their kitchen a little.  And that I remember that what those other parents don’t know what hurt them and what I don’t know won’t hurt me.  Right? 

I’m back.  It took less than an hour.  I can’t feel the right side of my mouth or most of my tongue.  I think I might be drooling on myself.  Or maybe that’s blood from biting my tongue that I can’t feel.  I was such a weenie.  I had to stop myself from making them stop and running out about 3 times (once while I was still in the waiting room). 

I shoulda taken my friend the former birth doula and tooth pulling doula up on her offer to go with me as my dental doula.  I went with her when she got her tattoo and she did offer.  But I was thinking I might be brave and that the rooms at this office are really really small.  Not enough room for dental doula, dentist, dental assistant, me, and all of my anxiety in one little dental office.  Plus there were all the devices of torture to make room for. 

Aside from the horrors of having all kinds of crap in my mouth and the amount of time he felt like it was taking the overall experience had it’s good parts.  The dental office is all women.  And it kind of has a comfy vibe.  The dental assistant offered to hold my hand during the Novocaine shot.  And I accepted.  I squeezed a few times, but tried not to hurt her so that she wouldn’t be afraid to offer her hand to another whiny person in the future. 

I’m going to go with my youngest child now to go get her ears pierced.  We will both be getting ice cream when it’s done.  If I can feel my tongue by then. 

D as in Dentist.

D as in Don’t wanna go!

I have a dentist appointment in less than 1 hour.  I haven’t gotten in the shower yet.  I am dreading (oh, another D word!) this little appointment. 

This little reminder that I am not perfect.  I used to have a mouth that I bragged about (oh, get your mind out of the gutter!).  I had no cavities in my adult teeth and only 1 cavity in my entire life in a tooth that fell out decades ago. 

This little reminder that I’m getting older.  And things fall apart as we get older. 

This little reminder that I am afraid of so many things.  Needles.  Heights. Falling.  Flying.  Pulblic speaking.  Death.  Adult acne (which I also have today). 

This little reminder that I should be taking better care of myself.  I found out about this cavity last week at my first dental appointment in about 8 years. 

Crap.  Now it’s in less than 50 minutes.

Message to my friends with 6 year olds (or nearly 6):

Just over 6 years ago I had my last baby.  And right around that time I started meeting a lot of new people.  Many of those people had their first kid right around when I was having my last.  What I want you, my friends I met about 6 years ago, to think about is how fast the time goes.  Not by thinking about our 6 and nearly-6 year olds.  But think about this:  Remember when you met me and my wee one was actually a wee one?  Remember how she had a slightly older sister and a gargantuan-by-comparison big brother?  Well, that slightly older sister is getting ready to go into the 3rd grade!  And (I hope you are sitting) the gargantuan-by comparison big brother and he was around 6 when you met him…he is going into (really, sit) 7th grade!  Middle school! 

Now think about your own 6 (or nearly 6) year old.  Someday he or she (or they) will one day be going into middle school or be at that age of middle school (for you home/un-schoolers).  Someday you will start thinking about how few years it suddenly seems before your offspring will be springing off.  I’m over half way until legal moving (kicking) out age. 

I think a lot about the age 6 thing because that was hold on my friend V’s kid was when I met him.  And now he’s something like a junior in college (and V also has a 7 year old).  I think a lot about how this person I met was a little kid and now he’s this tall man who lives nearly on his own, with a girl friend, and some responsibilities, and was a little kid when I first met him.  And someday my own kids will be grown, with significant others (having s-e-x!), and responsibilities (especially if they are having s-e-x!). 

 So, parents of 6 and nearly 6 year olds, be scared and excited with me.  Our once wee-ones will one day be middle school age too.  And then college age.  I have proof. 

Thanks for everything you did for me.  You gave me stories to tell.  Most of them are sweet or funny, but some are twisted or tragic.

You gave me pretty good advice about how to pick up "gentleman callers."  You even helped me pick up a few.  Remember the time we went to Houlihan’s and you interviewed potential dance partners while I was dancing with others?  Or the time you taught me how to say, "I want your body," in Spanish because of that really good looking Venezuelan catcher? 

You became my best friend even after years of telling me that you loved me because you had to, but you didn’t always like me.  It’s amazing how close we became even after those high school years.  I guess for that you taught me how to forgive.  Or maybe just forget. 

I still carry the weight of you always worrying about my weight.  You tried to save me from your eating issues, but the way you did it gave me my own.  But you also showed me that self-acceptance was a goal worth working for.  You might have looked like a nana, but you were one hot nana who had your share of gentleman callers.

You gave me some of your crazy.  For that I’m not sure if I should thank you, but maybe someday my kids will.  Because my children will have stories.  Some sweet, some funny, and most definitely some twisted and tragic. 

Thank you, Mom, for everything you did for me.

My kitchen curtains!

I’m not quite done yet.  I still need to do the top panel part, but so far they are totally cute.  I even put fringe on the bottom.

Lately I have been having a harder time listening to the old man next to me snore.  He snores so frickin loud.  And he aims his so frickin loud snore in my direction.  Like he wants to keep me up with whatever the hell is in his nose, down his throat or whatever to keep me the fuck up. 

Do I seem angry?  I’m not.  And I do love him.  This loud frickin snoring machine next to me.  The one that, when awake and not snoring so frickin loud, asks me stupid questions like, "Why don’t you go to sleep?" or "Why do you always stay up so late?" or "Why are you standing over me with a pillow?" 

And I know he doesn’t mean anything by it.  He’s not really snoring on purpose to keep me up and not let me sleep.  He’s not trying to rub it in that he can sleep through my quiet and lovely purr sound and even easily fall back asleep after his many alarms go off (when he’s not cute snoring up a frickin storm he likes to believe he can wake up at 4am to go to work early and he sets his blackberry alarm or our radio alarm to go off then he changes his mind and goes back to sleep while I am sometimes up for the rest of the night/morning/whatever–usually until about 15 minutes before I actually have to wake up. 

Crap, I sound angry.  I don’t mean it.  I’m not angry really.  I love my wonderful snoring husband.  I love being married to him.  I love being married.  How funny is that?  I was never the Marrying Kind–or so I thought.  And now I am married.  Happily married with only one big complaint right now and that’s the log sawing noises coming from the left side of the bed. 

I love being married so much and thought a lot about it yesterday because last night I was going out with my log sawing husband to celebrate a wedding.  It was a second marriage wedding which is a lot less pressure than a first marriage wedding (I think).  It’s more about the marriage and less about the wedding I think.  Must have been for them because I think only a few people were actually invited to the actual wedding.  It was a family thing.  That’s nice.  Why do a bunch of non-family members really need to "see" the vows and stuff?  What’s it to them anyway?  And I’m saying that as someone who loves weddings and thinks they are silly and is ordained to perform them all rolled into one ball. 

I wanted to give some advice to the newly married (again) couple:  let yourselves go!  (Hey, it worked for me and my lovely snorer.)  I don’t actually mean to do that, "I got a mate so now I can be a slob, get fat, and stop waxing things I used to wax" kind of let yourself go.  (It might seem that way if you know me, but I was always a slob…)  I mean let yourself be loved for all of your imperfect ways.  If you really love each other I think it’s ok to allow yourself to age not so gracefully, accept that things now jiggle, and let your imperfections be accepted and even caressed.  And don’t forget to do the same for the other person.  And if that means to accept that the other person snores louder than you thought humanly possible, just go find your earplugs if you need to or read a good book until you are so sleepy that even their snoring can’t keep you up any more.

We have been finding the oddest things in our front yard. 

First we found a box of keys on the bench under a tree.  Kid 3 found them and she’s a collector so she has them somewhere.  We waited for someone to come looking for them, but no one ever did. 

Second (and this was the oddest) was food.  Left on part of the short block wall between us and the neighbors with the pomegranate tree (bush?) was a store brand box of macaroni and cheese, a can of pinto beans, and a package of ramen noodles. 

Third was a sippy cup.  That was found this morning on the bench under the tree in the front yard. 

I keep telling my husband that they are offerings left to us because someone has erroneously mistaken us for Gods that like keys, powdered cheese and other processed foods, and small children.  Not saying we aren’t Gods.  That is if Gods are irrational, temperamental, messy, and enjoy gross-out genre movies more than say movies about cultural homogenization and cultural imperialism.

So, what do you think this means?  And what do you think we’ll find next?  

I can’t help it…I found this on my friend’s blog and it looked like fun.  And I’m a total sucker for handmade stuff! 

The Rules…

1. Be one of the first three bloggers to leave a comment on this post, which entitles you to a handmade item from me.

2. Winners, you must post this challenge on your blog, meaning that you will Pay It Forward, creating a handmade gift for the first THREE bloggers who leave a comment on YOUR post about this giveaway.

3. The gift that you send to your friends can be from any price range and you have 365 days to make/ship your item. This means you should be willing to maintain your blog at least until you receive your gift and have shipped your gifts. And, remember: It’s the Spirit and the thought that counts!

4. When you receive your gift, please feel free to blog about it, sharing appropriate Linky Love!

If you are not one of the Top Three Commenters on this post, you can still play along. Please take the button and post it on your blog; start your own Pay It Forward chain, and encourage your blogging friends to do the same!

1. My favorite picture of me: 
2. I thought turning 40 was going to be difficult, but it wasn’t too bad…especially after one of my kid’s friends didn’t believe me last week when I told her I was that old (Kristy, you are raising Chloe right!).
3. 41 is harder than 40.  40 is 40, but 41 is "being in my 40s."
4. My husband’s mom died when she was 41, so that also makes it weird because it’s a number we’ve talked a lot about.
5. I would get botox or something done on my #11 wrinkles (the two lines between my eyebrows).
6. I am having a lunch date with my husband today as a birthday treat. 
7. I love singing really loudly to John Denver songs…but I never sing out loud in public places.  Including singing the Happy Birthday song at birthday parties.
8. I used to hitchhike in high school and I sometimes I tried techniques I learned from the movie It Happened One Night.
9. If I could go back and whisper something into my own 11 year-old-self’s ear it would be, "Don’t worry that you have to miss Happy Days on Tuesday nights because you have to go to ball room dance class…someday you will get to meet Potsie and Ralph Malph!"
10. My mother couldn’t remember what we did for my 1st Birthday. 
11. When I turned 12 my mom gave me a bike for my birthday.  It was stolen.  I kinda wanted a bike this year for my birthday.
12. One of my favorite birthdays was spent eating lunch with my dad at the counter of the cafe in The Bon Marché in Tacoma when I turned 14.  I ate a hot dog for lunch.  That place had the best hot dog buns.
13. Some years my birthday was like Mardi Gras and I spent several days celebrating.  Especially the year I turned 21! 
14. One year I made it a point to do something I never had done before on my birthday.  It ended up not being a good idea after all.
15. I loved celebrating my birthday with my mom.  My mom always made my birthday feel special.  One year she wrote me a long letter inside of a book all about the year I was born.  That was the last birthday she was alive for.
16. I haven’t been out of bed yet today except once to pee and it’s going on 10:30am.  I’ve been laying with a blanket my mom made for me.  Seems like a nice way to spend the day (until the lunch date).
17. I refuse to do laundry on my birthday, so I may have to stop at the store for new clothes before I go to lunch.
18. I used to throw my own birthday parties regularly because I love birthday parties with themes and I always wanted a Princess Party.  I had one when I was 34 and my dad was living with us.  In order to keep my dad from crashing the party I told him that if he came into the room he would have to tell my friends the story of my conception.  He stayed out.
19. My husband threw me a surprise party when I turned 35 that was amazing!  It may have been more expensive than our wedding. 
20. I stayed up until after midnight last night to turn 41 awake.
21. I’m pretty sure I should stop getting acne now.
22. I am grateful every single day for the friends that have helped me out when I have had difficult times, but in particular when I was beaten up by a boyfriend and when my boy was sick.  Those were two huge defining events in my life and I didn’t have to go through either alone.
23. I hate phrases that are supposed to make me feel better even if they are true (things that didn’t kill me did make me stronger, but I still don’t want it stitched to a fricken pillow).
24. I love Wikipedia.
25. I love the idea of running, but don’t actually like to run and always feel like I’m going in sloooooooow motion when I try even if I’m being chased.
26. I really wanted to be 5′8′’ or at least 5′7′ instead of 5′6&3/4".  Especially if you figure people shrink and someday I won’t even be the 3/4 part.
27. I’m going to make a cherry pie today.  Nearly from scratch (the bing cherries are in can, but I will make the sauce).
28. I’m going to help finish two science fair projects today and try not to have my kids hate me by the end of it.
29. I need external praise. 
30. I have very little self control.
31. I can blame my parents for everything wrong with me, but they are also behind everything good about me.  
32. I love pretty things that sparkle and told everyone that would listen (and a few who tried not to) that I wanted things that sparkled for my birthday.  My family wrapped my presents in shiny/sparkly wrapping paper.  Good listeners.
33. I think my husband is trying really hard to keep me happy.  It’s been working.
34. I will be a wonderful grandmother someday, but only one of my kids say they want kids someday (coincidentally it is the one that would not have to push a baby out of any part of his body).
35. I think too much about how I’m going to die and hope like crazy it’s not most of the ways I’ve imagined it happening.
36. I like my kids most of the time, but I do really worry about getting through the teen years without major scars.
37. I think I’m going to let my bangs grow out, and my hair.  Until summer.  Then I might cut it.  Or not.  I like my hair, but wish I hadn’t gone gray so early, but I’m not willing to spend the time or money to change it. 
38. I think in long run on sentences.
39. I have lots of good ideas, but I suck at implementation.
40. I believe.  In what exactly, I don’t know. 
41. I am 41.  Hear Me Roar!

Opening Day of Phoenix Light Rail

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Brand Spanking New Camera Entrusted to a 7 year old

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One Bad Night of Chanukah

I should have known better.  At the very least I should not have just said, "We should put a label on your camera with your name and phone number in case you ever lose it."  Who in their right mind would give a 7 year old a camera in the first place?  Who would give a 7 year old a camera and then let her leave the house with it?  Who would give a 7 year old a camera and let her leave the house with it and take it on a light rail with about 90,000 other people? 

Me.  The same me with the history of losing purses, wallets, brand spanking new watches that were anniversary presents, and her mind.  And I am a big fan of the bumper sticker that says, "Of all of the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most."   

Have fun coloring! 

I found this at a website called abcteach but there’s other fun ones to color online at apples4theteacher. 

‘Twas the fourth night of Chanukah and all through the house not a creature was stirring except for the class pet, Harry, a seven-legged tarantula who was finally given some crickets from the pet store that set us back about 28 cents. 

It is Christmas Eve.  I’m excited.  The kids are excited.  Tomorrow is bonus present day.  I love the wake up and get presents and then hang out all day with no place to go and then open more presents.  And I was at a bookstore today and pursuing holiday themed books that told me that Christmas and Chanukah are NOT about presents.  What?!?!  I know that.  Down deep.  Somewhere.  I do know that.  I just can’t help it (can you hear me whining?).  Oh, well.  I’m not going to dwell on it tonight.  Tonight I have no time for Chanukah Guilt. 

Here’s my gift to you tonight:

I Still Can’t Figure Out How To Put Videos On My Blog So Click HERE

There’s Chanukah Gelt and then there’s Chanukah Guilt.  I got the gelt the first night (as a present…and dark chocolate…my favorite).  Tonight is the third night of Chanukah and the guilt is setting in.  No, I’m not finished with presents yet!  I do not work outside of the home.  My youngest is now in school full time.  I have known for awhile what I wanted to buy or make for everyone.  But did I start early?  No.  Head hanging low.  No.  No.  No!  I could be enjoying the time with my kids.  And I do sneak some fun in (I bought Mentos and Diet Coke for the kids to explode tomorrow).  But for the most part I am living off the high of way too many butterball cookies and trying to get everything done before the last night of Chanukah.

My gift to you tonight is my recipe for butterball cookies (I don’t want to hear any complaining from anyone that already has the recipe from me.  I have been giving out the wrong amounts for the water & vanilla for years, so check your recipe it may not be right).

Butterball Cookies

• 1 Cup Butter
• 1/3 Cup Sugar
• 2 Tsp. Water
• 2 Tsp. Vanilla
• 2 Cups Sifted, All-Purpose Flour
• 1 Cup Chopped Walnuts or Pecans*

Cream butter & sugar;  add water and vanilla;  mix well.  Add flour & nuts;  chill 3-4 hours.  Shape into balls.  Bake on ungreased cookie sheet at 325 degrees about 20 minutes.  Roll in powdered sugar**. 

*I use pecans, but I’m lucky and have a pecan tree.

**Roll the balls when they are still hot (hey, that seems like good advice in general) and then let them sit and roll them a second time through the powdered sugar.  They like to be rolled twice.

My gift to you on the 2nd night of Chanukah is The LeeVees.  Watch the video for the song "How Do You Spell Channukkahh*" and maybe go to their MySpace page to listen to a few other songs.  I love their songs.  Listening to this CD over and over again is one of my favorite parts of Chanukah.

Enjoy.

*I would have posted the video here, but I couldn’t figure out how.  And I tried tons!  Your gift to me is to help me figure out how!

On the first night of Chanukah, my true love gave to me…a Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Chanukiah (that’s the "real" name for a Chanukah Menorah–just learned that this week).

Actually, my true love didn’t give it to me.  We made it together.  There was a Menorah Making Contest at our synagogue.  The idea was to make one out of some of our no-longer-needed Christmas Tree ornaments.  It just so happened that we had the right amount of the of the same kind so it ended up with a second theme….Elvis!

So, Happy Chanukah and enjoy my gift to the world…The first ever (that I know of) Elvis Chanukiah….

I don’t like

• Most vegetables
• Most fruits
• Not liking most vegetables and fruits