The Girl With The Campfire Hair

This past weekend, we went on a family camping trip. Which means, our little family met up with Rav's family (his parents, their dogs, two of his brothers, and our nieces and nephew).

To be perfectly honest, I was not looking forward to a 5 hour car ride and camping with our two kids. I was not looking forward to this trip. But it was the only time we could get away & I thought the break might be nice.

I packed and baked goodies and made chicken salad with a heavy, heavy mind.
In fact, there was a breakdown thrown in for good measure.
A fit of crying, and questioning, and the throwing of hands up in the air.
All the while, Rav let me do it. He watched, he sat quietly, he let me air my crazies out.
And as always, he remained cool. Perfectly calm.
He knows how to ride out storms like a pro.

Once I purged my mental toxins, I felt a little better.
And upon piling in the car, I was even feeling happy.

The set-up of our Ravioli tent city went pretty smoothly considering there were 2 dogs, 4 kids under the age of 6 and one 8 month old.

The evening met with much throwing back of bottled adult beverages, a tidy campfire, and Rav & his brother playing guitar and singing.
And I just sat quietly.
Willing myself to shoo away anxious thoughts.
I talked to all of the kids as much as I could.
I sang to some of the songs as much as I could.
Because with stillness comes the dread, the fear, the questions, the doubt.

Saturday met us with plans to hit a place in town called The Gorge.
Connor headed to Corning Glass with my one brother-in-law and his daughter (my niece).
That left Rav, Gracie & I to head to The Gorge with my other brother-in-law, my sister-in-law, and my other niece and my little baby nephew.
The Gorge was breathtaking.
And the place where I felt life melt away - just a little.
For there were views like this:

Gracie on the left. Cousin royal T. Ravioli on the right.

And this:

This one (above) is one of my favorite pictures that we took at The Gorge. The views were mind blowing.

The girls did such a great job at The Gorge. I was so proud. They did a 2 mile hike with rarely a peep or complaint. Cousin royal T. liked to be carried and Gracie just wanted to stop and look at the water. That was the only time you heard them complain. They took it all in and just had a blast. You could see between them a bond begin to form. A sisterly companionship that was truly spectacular to watch. And you can see it bloom in that first picture I posted of the two of them at The Gorge.

At one point during the hike, I had picked Gracie up and was carrying her. I leaned in and made the most of the moment - being there in this beautiful place with her - and I kissed her sun-kissed head. And as I did, I inhaled. And her hair smelled like campfire. She smelled like home. She smelled so beautiful. I know that I will never forget that moment with her as long as I live. The moment was quick. It was undetectable, really. No one knew. It wasn't marked by fireworks, squeals of delight, or monumental applause. It was for me and her. Though she doesn't even know it happened. I felt renewed there. My daughter who gives me so much - and she doesn't even know she does it.

It may sound cliche and hokey. But it was then that I felt peaceful. It was then that I felt back at center and back to myself. Surrounded by beautiful, natural cliffs, running spring water, and my girl.

My sweet girl with the campfire hair.

There's just one thing missing in this picture. I wish Connor had been there.

Feels Like Forever

Some of you might have noticed that between last night and today, I've been peeking in on your blogs.

We were away this weekend for a mini vacation.
I'm exhausted, but feel a bit better.

I will share details later. But we have a busy day of cleaning up and unpacking ahead.

I just wanted to say Hi and that I'm back.

I can't wait to catch up with everyone.

For Me, For You

Peeking Out

I've been hiding out. And it's not good.
This is what I do when the contents of my mind are spilling out all over the place in an invisible puddle.
I'm trying desperately to wipe it up before anyone sees these thoughts.
But I'm afraid I'm getting caught.

My anxiety level is at a new, all-time high.
I'm not sleeping well.
And when I do fall asleep, I wake up in a fit of anxiousness and a swirling in my stomach.
My mind is poisoning my body right now.
It's just not good.

When I get like this, I retreat. From everything.
I'm here. But it's not me.

My role is changing. The role that I've been in for 4 years now. And I'm not handling the anticipation of this change well. The effects this change will have - the impact of it - I feel is falling completely on my shoulders.

I'm in a pit of unhappiness about my plans for attending Blogher falling through.
It's leaving me feeling like a cry-baby.
But I have been making these plans for months, and to have them fall through is crushing.

I'm not whining.
I swear.
I just need to air this out.
I need to acknowledge why I've been absent here and out there, with the rest of you.

Not only that, those two mega posts from last week, drained me. Mentally and physically. It's as if typing it deflated me somehow. Rather than leave me feeling lighter and relieved, it has left me dry for right now.

For now, I'm taking my leave.
It may be for a mere 2 hours.
It may be for 2 days.
It may be for 2 weeks.
But for right now. I just can't do this.

Ravioli's Day

That picture of Rav over there, to the left, is one of my favorite pictures of him. It's not a great picture. And I'm not even sure why I like it.

This was taken before we even had met. But I think it just reminds me of that time. I love the fact that he bleached his hair - just as he did the summer we met. And I even had him bleach his hair for our wedding.

Today is Rav's birthday.

As always, there are a million things I want to say. But I can't quite find the words.

There are so many things that I would love to do for him today. But circumstances just don't allow for it.

I want him to know just how much he is appreciated and loved. That he is deserving of a celebration. He is an amazing friend, partner, father. He has such a calm, loving soul. And in the demands of daily life, Rav often gets looked over. He is the kind of person that demands little and requires even less. He is always happy. He is always in a calm, balanced state. So it is easy to forget that he needs tending to. And he never complains. He just keeps plugging along.

I want him to know how happy I am to mark this day with him. To recognize this day for what it is. The day that brought him here. The day that would ensure his presence in our lives. And we are all the better for him.

I love you, Rav. Happy Birthday!!

Sunday Morning Song of the Moment

So many days, I come here to bloggy-bloggy land. And so many days I get so many wonderful comments.

Comments from so many lovely, lovely people. Comments and personalities that lift me up, carry me through, make me laugh, make me think in new ways.
Not only that, so many of these lovely people who comment offer up fascinating stories, mindsets, thougts, introspective, personal, and pee-in-your-pants-and snort-at-the-same-time funny posts.
The giving that I have found here is endless.
And beautiful.

Last night, I found The Color Purple on TV. I haven't seen the movie in years and it's been just as long since I've read the book.
And in watching the movie, I found a song that I had forgotten about, but want to send out to all of you who are my sisters out here.
I don't feel I have adequately acknowledged just how much your support of me, my family, my thoughts has meant to me.
And today, I'm trying to do just that.

Here is my song. From me to all of you.
And you all know who you are.

And I take you all with me during the day. You pop up in little tidbits of real life. And I love it.
Enjoy your song. And go shake your shimmy, sistas!
Miss Celie's Blues sung by Tata Vega for The Color Purple

At Your Service

The other morning, while most of the East Coast was adrift in peaceful slumber, I made my way downstairs to try to take care of some much important and overdue blogging (lurking, commenting, reading - you know, that stuff).

A few minutes later, Connor comes down the stairs.
His hair standing up in all kinds of wild angles.
And I chuckle to myself as I watch him stumble over to the couch. His eyes are barely open.
He wraps himself in blankets.
And he says Mom? Will you turn on Cartoon Network?
I think maybe it might help lull him back to sleep. So I say Yeah, I'll put on Cartoon Network.
And he says You're good at service.
I laugh and ask him Why do you say that? What does service mean?
He says Well, you do some of the things that I like and some of the things that I ask you to do. And that is service. And you're good at service.

I was completely amused by all of this. The fact that he's trying on new vocabulary & working out the definitions.
Part of me though, is worried that I'm raising a club-weilding caveman.

Navigating Through The Knowing

-He's a boy.
-Boys are just very active.
-He needs to be disciplined.
-I don't see these things you are talking about.

The kickers:

-You're crazy
-It sounds like you want him to have something wrong with him.
-Why are you saying there is something wrong with him?

The above list would be filed under the category friendly fire. You'll need to know this for later on in the post.
***********************************************************************

It's the first day of preschool.
You're so proud of your son.
You walk him to his classroom. And the hallway is filled with this, almost, pageanty/competitiony air. Proud momma peacocks and little peacock babies, walking under wing.
As you stand in the hall, waiting for the day to begin, you look ahead to what a wonderful year it will be.
Friends to be made.
Activities to participate in.
The endless painted, glued, glittered, pipe cleanered art projects.
New songs to sing.
You delude yourself for awhile that all will be well.

But then comes the day where you get a negative report at pick-up time.
Then days and weeks meld themselves together into this unstoppable train of bad news.
Negative reports and gut wrenching, hands-in-the-air exasperation.
You leave in tears.
Day after day.
As you walk out the door to head for home, with pitying eyes bearing into the back of your neck and skull, you look down at your boy, the chubby still toddler face, the fat fingers pressed in your hand.
And he looks crestfallen.
His chubby, little hand tenses in yours. It's even sweaty.
His eyes are sad.
He simply is not happy.

See, he wants to be good.
He tries to be good.
He is good.
He just operates a little differently.
And he - at 3 - has no idea how to
handle this
or the fact that his mommy cries for him everyday.
And he sees it.
But if you stopped and read his eyes
and really listened
that is what he would say.
If he could.

He's the most caring, heartfelt boy.
But affectionate, he is not.
He's wickedly funny and smart.
But intensely serious and pensive.
When he laughs, you think he hasn't a care in the world.
But he is full of anxiety and worry. He worries about it all.
You talk to him and think he hasn't heard a word.
But he hears it all. He remembers everything he hears and sees. And he notices the smallest changes.
He lives in the moment and lives with wild abandon.
But he cannot transition from one thing to another easily.
He loves input and action.
But he becomes so overwhelmed by it all.
He loves to build intricate contraptions with Legos.
But he has no attention span.
He is so easy to understand.
And so complicated.
*************************************************************

You just want everyone - teachers, his friends, your friends, family members, his daddy, even yourself - to understand this Rubicks Cube of a boy.
And to accept him.
Without shame.
Without guilt.
Without their "friendly fire" opinions.

All you want is for them to put aside their misconceptions, pigheaded opinions, and learn about this fascinating boy, his wide-open mind, his immense heart.

You just want him to sit still at circle time.
Three minutes. That's it. Sit still for three minutes.
Like if he accomplishes that, it makes all the difference
between
what and what, really?

You just don't want to feel completely alone in the accepting, the grieving, the crying, the rejoicing, the understanding, the being thankful.

You feel that your only friends, at times, are the developmental specialists, the psychologists, the speech language pathologist, the occupational therapist.
Because they corroborate what you already know
and all of the other stuff, the good stuff too.
Yes, he's got a diagnosis.
But he's also got an above-average IQ, his cognitive ability is great, his speech is stellar.
They've got your back.
You can count on them.
You just wish that you had that security from people you
have actual relationships with.
Not strangers.

There comes a point where you feel you are fighting everyone (except for your stranger, specialist friends).
And you're exhausted from it.

All that you want to do is scream at everyone:
All I'm doing is what is best for him. I'm only thinking of him and what will help him!!!

Again, with the looking back.
And the realization that of all things
the diagnosis was the easy part.

Screeching Hault - Updated

The past few days have been a little nutty.

And I won't be posting much here in the next few days.

Rav & I have been sans sleep for the past 3 days.

He is in excruciating pain due to some pesky wisdom teeth.

And I haven't been sleeping due to the fact that my mind just.won't.shut.up.
or just.slow.the.hell.down.
Oh, and because of anxiety.

This afternoon, Rav has an emergency consultation at an oral surgeon and tomorrow will bring surgery on his wisdom teeth.

So, until I'm rested up and Rav is feeling better........

I'll be seeing you then.


*******Update********

Rav is hanging in. Thanks to some prescribed drugs.
Hopefully that means he will be able to get some sleep.

Turns out, that the problem isn't his wisdom teeth at all, but rather a molar that has some nerve issues.
Oh, the nerve! (sorry, bad joke alert. I'm punchy. I've been running on no sleep myself)
So, tomorrow I drive him in for a root canal.
And hopefully he'll be on a road to recovery.
Thanks for all of your comments and thoughts!

The Process Of Knowing and Accepting

Upon giving birth to your children, there are certain thoughts that you can't easily wrap your mind around. Dizzying thoughts, frightening thoughts. And you push them away. And you don't dare speak of them. For you fear that the very utterance of such things will actually bring them on.

When you hold your children in your arms for the first time, you finally get to look at actual features. Rather than the ones that you painted on a tiny face in your mind - features of your own design. The canvas that allows you to paint on it the perfect, button nose. The biggest, widest, inquisitive eyes. Perfect baby curls. Baby pink skin. You never stop to think about the underneath.

The Code. The perfect fusion of separate genetics that have to come together.

That's a painting class you skip over when painting features on your baby.

Making sure you add perfect strokes and fusions of color to certain pieces of code.

You can't. You contribute what you have and hope it's for the best.

So you hold your baby and look at a face that is brand new to you, but you can't even imagine a time that it didn't exist in your life. Despite the difference it clearly has in regards to what you had imagined.

It is all foreign.

And familiar.

For nine long months you imagine what this new life will bring. At the very least, endless possibilities.

And in your mind's eye they all lead to extraordinary things.
All that you can think about and do is how to harness all of this potential. This potential for greatness that we are all born with, but is exceptional when you hold it in your own hands.

Tabula Rasa.
Their slate is perfectly clean.
You can read to them in languages - any language - and their little minds are wired to accept it all.
You can sing and talk and they know your voice.
A voice they've heard in their water cocoon.
You can touch and be touched.
And these sensations trigger chemical and physical reactions that begin the bonding process.
And they are an integral part of the development of their greatness.

They are so perfect in that no harm has touched them.
The world is a sensory smorgasboard.
And you are just trying to provide every perfect opportunity and experience of all the things the world has to offer.
And they are so perfectly willing to take it all in.

As a parent, you dream for them all of the dreams that have slipped through your fingers.
You want them to know no bounds to the wonders that they can accomplish.

Time moves on for a bit and there is a shift.
A brick in your gut.
You are beginning to slowly become aware of one of the thoughts that you initially couldn't wrap your mind around. And again, you don't speak it for fear that it will surely come true.

You feel in your gut that, at 8 months old, your child is just
different.
You can't put your finger on it. And when you say it in your head, it sounds quite silly.
And in fact, you feel like such a fool, that you keep the insanely green, new mom thought to yourself.

You keep that thought to yourself for 2 years.

However, it begins to creep its way to that space in your brow where the lines begin to deeply crease. When the pediatrician offers you her wisdom in the form of:
Don't be surprised if....
Don't worry though. There's still time. He's still very young. He could just be immature.

You shake this off, like any good mom would do.
You leave the office and shove that statement to the bottom of the diaper bag. Right next to the bag of smashed crackers and Zweiback toast that has probably been there since he was teething at 5 months old.

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

A year or so later, the summer is winding down.

The sun is beginning to set a little earlier. The air has a new crispness to it. Change is making its way through the air, down to the plants in the gardens, the water, even the grass. And you have no idea that it is extending to you, too.

You hold a camera up to your face.

You want to capture a moment in time. A moment you'd love to hold on to for a rainy day.

Your finger presses down and you can't begin to imagine the striking change you've just captured. You have no way of knowing yet. And you won't see the picture for a few days.

In hurried anticipation, you tear open the envelope. You pull out the photos.

And in that instant there can be no more denying.
The little boy in the photos is a shell of the boy you know and love.

For all of the life you know he possesses, there isn't a sign of it in his eyes.

They are vacant.

A dead brown.

In a rush you tally changes up in your mind:

-the absence of good eye contact

-the aversion to certain textures of foods

-the explosive tantrums

-the anxiety

-the sensitivity and overreaction to sunlight

-the impulsivity

-the hyperactivity

All of these things, singled out, are not really that big of a deal.

But when you weigh them together, you are deeply entrenched in the knowing.

You yell at yourself for not listening to your gut.

And then rational, reasonable thoughts whisper in your ear that it probably wouldn't have made much difference.

Really.

You have conversations with yourself about how it could be so much worse.

And you know that.

But the reality you face now is a bit more muddled and foggy when placed next to its predecessor.

The reality you had before.

Back then.

Despite all your knowing the good things, the positive things, the it-could-be-so-much-worse things, you know that you have a road to travel that will be different from the easy, meandering country road you had envisioned.

You know that it will, hopefully, get better.

But for now, you have to prepare yourself for a war-torn road.

Not to mention

frequent run-ins with friendly fire.

I Am A Mutant

First let me say that I had spent all of this time posting pictures of my flowers and my garden into a semi-interesting post to just have it go to hell.
This post, when I published it, was too much for the rest of my blog to handle it sent the whole thing to go all haywire.
I deleted it & decided to come back to it another time.

So for now, this is all I've got:

Am I the only person on the whole of the Earth that cannot stand the movie Grease?

I understand it has legions of devoted fans.

But I remember seeing it for the very first time at age 10 or 11 and found myself rolling my eyes, plugging my ears with my fingers, and generally relieved when it was over.

And I still feel that way today.

I don't get the big deal about this movie.

I don't know why it irks me so.
It just does.

Sorry to any of you out there that love this movie.
I apologize. We can still be friends just because I don't like it and you do...
I won't hold it against you ;)
I just don't get it is all. What it is about that movie?

And I feel like I'm the only one who feels that way.
Especially considering my gender.

Sunday Morning Song of the Moment

I don't know about all of you, but the next month to month and a half are going to be insane.

Let me amend that.
Every weekend from here on out is going to be insane.

My dad & I caught up with each other via a phone conversation. And I know at the end of it, I felt like we were deeply immersed in the Cat's In The Cradle song.
That's just not a good feeling.

I find that I tell my kids about 9,000,000 times a day
One more minute.
Hold on a second.
Maybe another time.
Not right now.
We'll see.
I'm not sure.
In a hot second!!
Wait.
You get the picture.

Sometimes, I long for rainy days where staying in PJ's until dinnertime is mandatory.

Those days where you don't feel bad about being packed on the couch like sardines.

Days where you eat your weight in snacks.

Days where you wake up, look outside and say

Today is a day made for coffee mugs, homemade pancakes, and tickle fest after tickle fest.


This is what I wish for you all too.

The summer obligations are exciting. I enjoy celebrating new beginnings for friends. Family "vacations", graduation/anniversary parties.

But it's nice to have a weekend all of our own.

Especially in the summertime.

For now though, we'll have to pretend.

So, here's my song. For all of you out there.
Busy or not so busy.
But those that just want to take the day one minute at a time.
Those who want to stop time,
take the time to walk slowly,
and those who want to smell the flowers.

It's got a good vibe. And a little lighter from my normal picks. I don't want to depress anyone, for I know that I lean toward heavier things.

Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson

Final Say

Today, during a drool fest, or what I'd like to call a late afternoon nap, Rav woke me up to take a phone call.

A phone call from the People who interviewed me for that position at a state-run detention center.

Remember?

I quickly wiped the drool off of the side of my face and my chin.

I mentally slapped myself in the face.

I cleared my throat so there would be no hint of grogginess when I answered the phone.

Blah-de-blah-blah.



I got the job.
Yes. Oh, yes.

I got the fucking job.

I say it like that because I resigned myself to the fact that I didn't get it.

And truth-be-told, I was a wee bit relieved.

See.

The job is 2nd shift.

And with Connor starting all day Kindergarten next year, that means I will see him all of 2 days a week and for a few minutes in the morning before he goes to school.

That also means that during the day, I will have to attend my classes to finish up that degree I've been working on.

As a family, the salary will benefit us tremendously.

But my big hang-up is the absence of seeing Connor.


Oh, and this big kicker.
My return flight from Blogher is Monday, July 30th. I arrive in Philly at noon to one-ish.
And the first day of my two week training?
Yep. Monday, July 30th.
Got to love non-refundable plane tickets.

When I interviewed for the position, the Asst. Superintendent told me that they are "cleaning house" in regards to staff. And that there are a lot of staff which are getting ready to retire. I'm holding out hope that maybe after putting in a few months time, a day shift position will open up. And that perhaps I'll be eligible.

Because like I said, not seeing my boy is going to really be a doozie.

For him.
And for me.

I'm sure by now you've been able to pick up the questions in my voice in regards to my ability to juggle this.
I know moms do this all day. Everyday.
Jobs, kids, home, school.
And they do it well.

I just question my ability.
Will the kids feel neglected/abandon by me?
Connor, being so sensitive, I know will be OK. But. But. He does not acclimate well to change.
How will I be able to complete my school work?
And feel like I'm being the mom that the kids need me to be?
How will I sustain the energy needed to accomplish all of this and not get burnt out?

Seriously, the questions are endless.

Welcome to Stanley's World - a Guest Post by Rav

I knew when Grace was born, that someday, I would have to worry about boys coming around. I knew that there are boys out there, that I would rather she not meet. I knew that I would have my hands full in keeping these boys away from her. I also knew that Connor, being so close in age to her, would certainly help me. Finally, I knew that since she was so young, I had many years until I had to worry about it. But last night, I received the shock of a lifetime. As I walked up the stairs, and passed my children's room, I saw something out of the corner of my eye....

That's right, it's my man Stanley! That rat bastard. The dirty Cad. And then I looked closer...

Are you smirking at me? You son of a bitch. But where is Connor? He was supposed to be helping me out........

Sleeping on the job!

Hoagies and Grinders, Hoagies and Grinders....

This past weekend, our family celebrated my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary. That's them over there to the left... Mem and Pap.

(sound like a total redneck, don't I?? heh)

I have mentioned on here that my mom's family is Pennsylvania Dutch.

I'm pretty sure that, at one time, our family was Amish and broke away.
And I'm not joking. I'm dead serious.

Anyway......whenever there is a big, family function you can always count on good, country home-cooked food. Which, truth-be-told is good. But not necessarily good for you.
For example, homemade Whoopie Pies.
Yum.
But not so good, as far as healthful food is concerned.

Because the celebration was a more "formal" affair, we had some food catered.
And everyone pitched in and brought something.
Even my grandmother, who we were celebrating.
She brought her homemade sloppy joe.
Which, is so delicious, it can make absolutely no comparison to that Man-wich stuff.
There is no substitute for Mem's sloppy joe.
We were fortunate enough to be sent home with some of the homemade sloppy joe.

Monday, the kids & I were sitting on the sofa. And Rav walks into the room.
I ask him what he's heating up for lunch.
He replies Sloppy joe.
And, without warning, and at the same time, we both being to sing from Adam Sandler's Lunch Lady Land song:

Sloppppyy joe. Slop-slopppy joe!!!!
Sloppppyy joe. Slop-slopppy joe!!!!

As we sing this, the kids are both delighted and scared. For they have no idea what has come over their parents.
We begin to play some weird tickling game with the kids while singing:

Sloppppyy joe. Slop-slopppy joe!!!
Sloppppyy joe. Slop-slopppy joe!!

And they laughed like they've never laughed before.
We laughed like we never have laughed before.

In the middle of the sloppy joe tickle fest, I was able to break away.
And I hopped over to the computer to search out Youtube for the video.
And I found it!
Upon the first viewing, the kids were hooked.
We've been singing:

Sloppppyy joe. Slop-sloppppy joe!!!
Aaaalllllll week.
And watching that video over and over and over again.

Here's the video in case you've never seen it or heard it. Although, I'm sure many of you have.
But go. Enjoy.
Act your shoe size. Not your age.
It does us all some good to be juvenile once-in-awhile.
Go! Watch! Sing! Nobody's watching. I swear.

The Toot-Toot Of Me Own Horn

Nothing big to report. Nothing that a million other, way more talented bloggers out there couldn't accomplish....

But.

Mike had approached me about submitting one of my posts to IndieBloggers.
And I listened to him.
After agonizing about the fear of rejection, I happened to check over at IndieBloggers and saw that they accepted my post.

Pretty cool.

Not only that, SlackerMommy has awarded me with the Rocking' Girl Blogger Award.



She's always been so good to me. Thank you, Kristie. You're such a sweetheart.
And now I have to work on my nominations. for the Rockin' Award.

How Can You Bear To Read This Drivel?

This always happens.
When I get rolling on an idea, the rest of my life catches up with me.

Ya know, like I need to shower today. (people often wonder about the smell as they pass through Northern Delaware and into New Jersey. Yeah, well. That would be me.)
I have these two little people running wild in my house.
They definitely need tending to.
And my eyes.
I have neglected my eyes for two and a half years. So, it's time to get them taken care of. In fact, I do that today at 2:00.
I have to go get invitations to send out for the kids' birthday party after I go and get my eyes checked.
And my mom is watching the kids today while I get that stuff done.
So, we're rolling out of here early to go swimming (god help me, because I've been having flashbacks just thinking about it.)
Which means I will not be playing the hermit and blogging for most of the day.

I am now officially behind on reading/commenting.
This sets me into a panic.
And I don't know why.
I'm just neurotic.

So, I haven't forgotten about my little project over here.
Life is just sneaking up on me.

While I Get My Thoughts In Order

I've touched on a subject that I feel, for others and myself, is relevant. It's a subject that I feel needs to be brought to the forefront for many reasons. And while I organize my thoughts for further posts this week, I just want to share a sampling of Connor's musings.




A few weeks ago:
{Connor} Mom?

{Me} Yes.

{Connor} Who is Al Capone?

{Me} (thinking) WTF?!?!


Some weeks ago:
{Connor} Mom?

{Me} Yes?

{Connor} Who were the Vikings?

{Me} (thinking) GAH!!!

Sunday:
*as we're getting out of the car in the grocery store parking lot*
{Connor} Mom! I saw another green car just like our car. That car was a clone. Sometimes cars are clones.

{Me} Yes, Connor. Did you see a car that looked like ours? How do you know what a clone is?

{Connor} Because I'm smart.

{Me} Oh, yes you are. How do you know you're smart?

{Connor} Because I'm smart.

Last night:
{Connor} Mom? What keeps my brains stuck on the inside?

{Me}(touching my skull) Feel that hard part of your head Connor. Do you feel it? Do you feel how hard that is?

{Connor} Yes. I feel it.

{Me} Well, that is your skull. That is what keeps your brain inside of your head.

{Connor} Oh. Yeah! And my brain is BIG!


Today. About 30 minutes ago.
{Connor} Mom! I cast a spell on the sink and the dishes are being washed.

{Rav} Connor, please go downstairs and turn off the sink.

{Me} Connor, what spell was that?

{Connor} I don't know. I can't remember.

(he comes back up the stairs from turning off the sink)

{Connor} Mom! I cast a spell and it turned on the TV!

{Me} Oh yeah? What spell was it?

{Connor} Turnonmagora.

Staggering Numbers

I belong to a circle of friends.
A sort of strange, motley crew of friends.
But a group of friends, nonetheless.
There are six of us.
And what originally brought us together were our kids.
Despite the fact that we "hooked up" for playgroups on a regular basis and that disbanded,
we still remain friends.
Some of us see each other more than others, but in our hearts we're still tightly woven.
Of course, as has always been my deal, I'm the youngest in the group.
In fact, my parents are just a few years older than a couple of my friends.
But hey, that's just how I roll.

We all met the year our kids were in preschool together.
We started a playgroup the following summer to get each other through the summer.
And found that there were just too many kids and our nerves couldn't take it.

Since the time when we all first met and ended our "playgroup", we have had several diagnosis.
Here's the breakdown.

*D (7) had been diagnosed with PDD and was in a special needs preschool. D has now been diagnosed with Asperger's.

*Connor (4) has been diagnosed with sensory processing issues (which fall on the Autism spectrum) and ADHD.

*W (3) has been seen for services for speech and will most likely be diagnosed - for he is similar to D and Connor.

*Kristen (almost 2) has not been formally diagnosed, but she is severely MR. She is most likely blind, cannot support any part of her body, cannot speak, and the list goes on.

*O ( 3 1/2) just diagnosed last week with PDD and PICA.

Let me backtrack by saying all of us in our group hail from different parts of the country. We're of different ages, similar family backgrounds, though. Each of the kids have been born in different parts of the country except for Connor & O. They were both born here in Delaware.

We all met at a mainstream/typical preschool.
When reading this, doesn't something just stink?
Isn't it, almost, unbelievable that out of a group of 14 kids and 6 moms...
Five of them, five
have a diagnosis?

I don't have the answers to as whether it is because of pollution in our state.
Whether it is, infact, immunizations,
or whether it is hormones in our food.

But something, in my mind, just is not right.

Sunday Morning Song of the Moment

This week's song is a wee song. And one that I sang
over and over
and over and over
to Gracie.
And, I believe, this was the first song that she sang on her own.

First let me apologize for the quality of the video that I chose today. But I searched high and low for an album version of this song. There were none to be found. So, this is the best video I could find.

I hope you enjoy one of Gracie's favorites...... Anthony by Nickel Creek.

Today...Four Years Ago

Today, is the day that, 4 years ago, Rav & I wed.

I know that at times, I jam my feelings for Rav down your throat.

So, I won't this time. You all know where we stand with each other.

All I'll do today is share a little slideshow of pictures and a song that we chose during the cake-cutting/smashing portion of our wedding.

All I want to say is Happy Anniversary, Rav. It's been a great ride so far. And thank you for the message that you left for me on here.

Happy Anniversary!!!

4 years ago today, Tabba did me the indescribable pleasure of becoming my wife. Every day that has passed since, has increased the love that I have for her. Not one day goes by that I don't give thanks for the fact that I was finally able to wear her down enough to go out with me. Seriously though, I could not have asked for a better wife, a better partner, than Tabitha.
One of her favorite things that I do is speak in my terrible Scottish accent and quote her a line from Braveheart. Well, it's more like a paraphrase...

(In thick, terrible Scottish) Tabitha, I love you. Always have. I want to marry you.

I love you Tabba!

The Story Behind Killer

Remember a bit back, I was reminiscing about the summer camp where Rav & I met?
And I discussed that I was given the name of Dodgeball Ninja?
Which was a name used only on the Dodgeball court or in reference to the game itself.


Some of you who commented yesterday were curious about where Killer came from.
And again, that started at camp.....
Let's see....where to begin.

Let's start with my stats. Remember, I'm only 5'1". Really, 5' 1 1/2"....but that 1/2" really just makes me sound juvenile. Although, when you grow up always being the shortest one, you'll do anything for that 1/2". Anyway.....

I can't stand to be underestimated. Yes, I suppose I must have a Napoleon complex to some degree.
Also, at that time, I was probably 110 lbs., soaking wet. I was a wee thing.
Many people think they have to handle me with care simply because I am(was) little.


Working at the YMCA, we had every kind of kid you could imagine. From every kind of home.
Now, I am of the mindset that, when working with kids (of any kind) you have to start off sort of "tough" (i.e. be firm up front, set immediate boundaries, give respect and expect respect, that sort of thing....), and then ease up once roles have been clearly defined.
Not to mention when working with the number of kids that we did at that summer camp, it is essential that there be firm expectations - for safety reasons.
Look, bottom-line, I took my job seriously.


The second week of camp, I was assigned to work with the oldest group (who were about 12-14). And leading that group? Rav.
Rav who was a "senior" counselor.
Rav who was about the cockiest, arrogant person I had ever met at that point.
Rav who helped to develop G.A.T. (the Get-Away-Theory).
Which means that you try to ditch your group as much as possible.
And he surely did.

Which totally pissed me off.

He left me, a newbie, to try to handle this group of kids who were hell-bent on doing everything they could to make my life a living hell.
I was busting my butt in the summer heat, while he was laying on picnic tables in the shade with his finger up his nose.
When he finally returned to group, I let him have what-for. I was nice. I was firm.
But he got my point.


So, between my LOUD, commanding voice (for being so small), my often hard demeanor, my take-no-crap attitude, and my handling of Rav when shirking his duties, I was crowned


Killer.

A rose by any other name...

I haven't had the great fortune of actually meeting a fellow blogger in real life yet.

I have yet to connect with one who is from my immediate area.

Well, I know there is one who lives in a neighboring state, but this pocket of the country seems not to possess a lot of bloggers.

Either that, or I'm just not looking hard enough.

Which is probably more likely.



Anyway, in an attempt to be playful when starting up my blog, I decided to use one of my nicknames - Tabba.

I have a couple nicknames. Some I know about, some I'm sure that have been given to me that I'm not aware of. And believe me. What I don't know, won't hurt me.



A few months or weeks - I'm not sure how long ago, as time is this crazy thing I have no concept of anymore when staying home with the kids - I got a chance to actually speak to a fellow blogger on the phone. She called, and she asked for Tabba.

I wasn't expecting the call from her, necessarily, though I was pleasantly surprised. So when I heard someone ask for Tabba, I stopped in my tracks....see, that is a name that only a certain handful of people call me.

For instance, my BFF and her daughter.

Certain members of my family - like my closest cousins and their kids - call me that.

Sometimes my uncle.



Most people call me Tab.

Usually someone who calls me Tabitha is not very close to me.

And my Dad, Mom, Stepmom, & brothers call me Jess.

As a little girl, my Dad used to call me Catfish.

My one sister-in-law calls me Tabby.

I've even been known to answer to Mommy a few million times a day.

Rav used to call me Killer - and still does from time to time.



I guess what I'm really trying to get at here, is that the few of you out here that read me regularly are calling me Tabba.

A name that, for me, denotes a rather intimate relationship. And the funniest part is that I have never met any of you, but it feels so comfortable.

And in my picking that name here for my blog, I never realized what exactly, that would mean.



And now I do.

Witty Banter With A Side Of Air Head

This morning, for a few brief moments, found Rav & I on our bellies on our bed. With two little munchkins walking on or sitting on our backs. Sounds a little mundane and/or weird. But really, it was great. They were entertained. We were "relaxing". It was a marriage of perfection. Rav looks over at me and says, This is horizontal parenting to the extreme. Although, it's not as good as stacked horizontal parenting.
All men are pretty much the same, right? I have to give him credit. For it was pretty funny. And once again, I know that Jess would be so proud of our skillz.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unrelated to horizontal parenting.......I mentioned in the comments to my last post that I stunk up the interview. I felt that, I was pretty comfortable exchanging small-talk and witty banter with the three guys on the interview panel. They were impressed that I could operate heavy machinery and build patios/stone walls. They were impressed with my apparent patience in working with preschool kids for so long. One of the guys on the interview panel said, Really, I bet it's not all that different working with preschoolers and working with our population.
To which I replied, I think you're right. The only difference is that this population is locked up. The preschoolers are just roaming free. For right now, anyway.
He seemed to appreciate my sense of humor.
That was great. Not many people get it.

One of the other men on the panel was the Assistant Superintendent of the facility. During our getting to know each other chit chat, he mentioned he was originally from the Department of Corrections. I mentioned that Rav is a Probation Officer. We began discussing how the juvenile sector and the corrections sector are like two different worlds. I began to discuss with him that juveniles still have the factor of time and mold-ability on their side ( I hate using the word mold-ability, change, etc. It sounds as if they are programmed. But some of these kids are save-able). Whereas with the adults.......the instances of rehabilitation are fewer and far between.

Again, the banter portion of the interview, I felt, went well. I think if they based the interview completely on that alone, I'd have the job in the bag.

The interview consisted of about 5 scenario-type questions. And I was required to tell a story of an instance that answers the question. The first question started out great.
And then from there on out, I fell apart. I felt like I was fumbling over my words. Drawing blanks.....I know that I have ample experience and knowledge. But my mind left me after the first question...or so I feel anyway.
Of course, when I got in the car, I could think of a million different shining examples of my abilities. But I'll be damned if I could recall them sitting on that panel.

The Assistant Superintendent told me that I'd hear something by the end of the week.
Quite frankly, I was expecting a call yesterday saying You're a really cool cat and all. But no thanks. We do not need any more time to think this one over.

Rav has a co-worker/friend who has a friend who works at the facility where I interviewed. He asked me to make sure I got at least one name of the interviewers. Which, in my air-headed filled moment, I managed to do. I think he's going to try to find out how it went. I don't think this guy has any pull, but he may be able to give me some fair warning.

I'm still keeping my fingers crossed....

I'm A Doubting Tabba

Today I have an interview for a full-time job as a youth rehab. counselor at our state's juvenile detention center.
I'm nervous as all get out.
I haven't done this in years.

I know that, in a few short hours, I'll be picking apart my "look", my lack of skills (imagined or not), my lack of knowledge (imagined or not), and my lack of ability (imagined or not).

If they ask me about how many loads of laundry can be done in a day, I will dazzle them with my knowledge.
If they ask me how to make homemade soups or pasta sauce, I'd be offered a position of great import.
If they were to ask me how many times a day Dora is aired on Nick, Nickjr., or Noggin, I'll ace it. I can dazzle them with my knowledge of spanish learned from watching said Dora episodes.
If they were to ask me to sing jingles from LazyTown, Dora, Diego, WonderPets, Backyardigans, or Ben10.....I'm the girl for the job!
If they were to ask me what kind of ointment to use on diaper rash, I'd go on and on about not using any. To clean with water and apply Vaseline. Surely, their eyes would swim at my confidence and knowledge in all things related to the areas where bodily fluids are expelled.

As you can see, I'm doubting myself.
In my knowledge of things outside of the home.

Please wish me luck.
I think I'm going to need it.

oh, me of little faith...

Sunday Morning Song of the Moment - father's day edition

This was taken about 50 minutes after Connor was born. Rav was so young. Well, I was young too. But Rav was even younger. It seems like a lifetime ago that this picture was taken. And it seems like just a mere 5 minutes ago it was taken. If that makes any sense.

Rav & I were elated to become parents. It wasn't planned. But this picture marks an amazing time in our lives. We were becoming a family. We were still figuring it all out (well, to some extent, we still are).

At this time, Rav was working full-time and attending college full-time to complete his degree. There were days that I woke up wondering how I did what I did. But more often, I often wondered how Rav did what he did. Everyday. With no complaints.





This picture was taken a month or so after Gracie was born. She was a snuggle-bunny. She always wanted to be close. This picture is a rather amazing artifact, because for the first 7 months of her life, she wanted no one but Momma. And in all the excitement of her birth, we managed to not get a picture of Rav holding her. Which makes me rather sad.

Rav has been amazing to watch as a father - a Dad. Countless hours spent rocking and singing to Connor. Playing silly boy games.
He's always here. He works so hard. And he is 150% devoted to the kids. To me. To our family.
I know. I know just how lucky the kids are to have Rav as a Dad. I know just how lucky I am to have Rav as my husband, my love. And anyone who knows Rav is lucky to know him. For he is probably the most loyal person I've ever met.
He is kind, generous, heartfelt, funny, and gentle. Even a bit cheesy sometimes. But he's just an all around great guy.
I know that I could search the Earth and find many a good guy. But, in my searches, I could never find a guy who is strong enough to be a man for me or a Dad for my kids

like Rav.

Happy Father's Day, baby.

I struggled with a song today. Rav knows that I have struggled with a song for today. I had a couple that would be so fitting, but they were not to be found on Youtube.
So, here is my pick..... Loving Wings by Dave Matthews Band.
For my Rav. And for all of the other Dads out there today.
From me.
To YOU.

A word to the wise, from Rav...( I think that's an oxymoron)

In light of all that has been going on around here I just wanted to put some information out there. Some of you may know that I am a Law Enforcement Officer. As such, I am sometimes placed in high stress situations. Nothing I have ever dealt with prepared me for seeing my son choking. Through my current job, and jobs I held in the past, I have been trained in CPR and First-Aid for almost 10 years. Standing there, witnessing what was happening, I remember thinking, "What do I do?". All of a sudden, even though I couldn't put two coherent thoughts together, I reacted. Fortunatley, this situation had a good outcome. All of the training had prepared me, and I acted almost unconciously. The point of this is that if you do not know CPR, please learn it. Below is a link to the American Red Cross Website. There is a blue box on the right side of the screen, click on the find a local chapter to search by zip code. It doesn't have to be Red Cross, but please, particularly if you are often by yourself with your children, or the children of others, find the time to attend a CPR course. It could be the difference between life and death.

http://www.redcross.org/services/hss/courses/

Put A Fork In Me

Somehow. And don't ask me how. I've missed the articles and news regarding Magnetix being recalled.
And Connor just loves playing with his Magnetix.
In fact, last night as I was preparing Miso soup for dinner for Rav & I (I was desperately craving comfort food after the events of last Friday and cramps rolling in), as I'm stirring the bean paste into the boiling water I hear a sound.

A choking sound.

I drop my wooden spoon and run in the direction of the choking sound.
And Connor is running toward me.
Grabbing at his throat.
Red as a beet.
Choking.
That horrible choking sound.


Of course, I panic.
Rav tells me to call 911.
My hands are shaking so bad it takes me what feels like 10 minutes to dial those three numbers.
As I'm doing that, Rav is working on Connor who is still choking away. Not breathing.
After what feels like minutes, Rav gets the culprit dislodged from Connor's airway.
And there on the carpet is a shiny ball from a Magnetix set.


My five year old, all of a sudden feeling the need to put things in his mouth, sets his sights on a magnetic, metal ball.



The ambulance comes and checks Connor's breathing and says he sounds great.

After they left, I think Rav & I finally took a breath.
We both weren't sure if we could eat after that.
Our stomachs were in knots.
My hands were still shaking...again.
And I'm left wondering
What in the hell is going on?


Last week, Connor felt the impulse to try and swim on his own.
And we had a near drowning incident.
This week, Connor felt the impulse to pop a metal magnet ball in his mouth.
And he damn near choked on it.


All I have to say is that I just cannot take anymore.
My nerves are shot.
I feel like I am failing. Horribly.
I've also noticed that his ADHD is off the charts. He is literally bouncing off of the walls.
Thus his impulse control is out the window.


My boy. I don't know what to do with him.

The only thing I do know is that I threw away the whole bucket of Magnetix.
And I warn you...if you have any in your home
Throw them in the trash!!

Gracie Sings

I'm out of things to post about today. I'm mentally and physically exhausted. So, to lighten things up a bit, I'm posting a video of Gracie singing to Amy Winehouse's Back To Black. It can be a bit hard to hear and she stops half way through and starts up again. But this makes me laugh and giggle. I so desperately need to do that right now.
Oh, and excuse my bedhead.

Little Boy Lost - John Vincent

This little guy has a sad story. He was left abandonded under a shade tree in the parking lot of our local hospital.....Christiana Hospital. Luckily, a nurse walking into the hospital heard him crying and picked him up. She carried him into the marternity ward. Taking her time and scanning the waiting room/lobby for a sign that someone was looking for him.

This story has been the talk of our state. And I'm not sure if it has made national news or not. But I felt that I had to post his story.

Next to his picture is a note that was allegedly placed inside his diaper bag. It's hard to make out, so I'll retype what it says:

"Please help my baby John Vincent I can no longer take care of him. Lost job, lost medical. God have mercy on me"

There is so much to say in regards to this story.
Obviously, I feel for this sweet boy.
I also feel for the mother (or father) who felt so desperate, who felt that this was the absolute best that they could do for him.

Let me start off by saying that he was found well-fed, properly bathed, and in excellent health. It was quite obvious from observations by doctors at the hospital that he has been well cared for.
I'm posting a link to the articles regarding little John Vincent.
All I'm asking you to do is read the story and take a look at his picture.
Because no one in our state has come forward with any information.
Maybe someone out there has seen him before.

Mind Games

Looking back, I should have known.
Because I've said before that there are times that I just "know" things.
And just about all week, I had this pit of doom in my stomach.
I knew something wasn't right.
I thought it was a million different things: the stress of that hamster-on-a-wheel feeling and being so damned sick of it.
I even went so far as to assign that feeling to what I detected as "problems" between Rav & I.

Looking back, I had deja vu about three times last week.
Surely that is a sign of something.
For, it's one thing to have deja vu once.
But three times in a week is excessive.

Looking back, there was an instance when they were standing next to the pool that I thought, This isn't a good idea today.
But then I just chalked it up to me just being a stick-in-the-mud.

All I can seem to do is look back. And then look forward.
Because the in-between is too scary to look at.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke up at 5:00 a.m. Saturday morning. An hour that is not fit for man or beast.
Instead, it's an hour that found me waking up from a most horrible dream.
A dream that every mother fears to dream.
A dream that consists of me standing on the edge of a pool.
I look down to see Connor completely submerged in the deep end of the pool.
And upon further inspection, Connor is looking up at me from the abyss of the deep end, pleading with me from beneath the surface, with eyes the size of saucers. There is a wild in his eyes I've never seen.
As I take in the look on his face and try to make sense of what I'm seeing, I see Connor's mouth open wide like a whale feeding on krill.
I try to move and I can't.
Something is keeping me from saving my child.
And in this dream everything is dark.
It's almost like looking through a peep hole.
All I can see is my child in the pool. Trying desperately to breathe.
And I am standing next to the pool unable to move.
I wake up, thankfully. Feeling sea sick from such a hellish dream. Relieved from the knowing. The knowing that he is upstairs in his bed. Dreaming of Star Wars characters, Legos, and the Solar System.

And while I realize that it was a dream and I exhale with relief.

Then I remember.
I remember that part of that dream actually happened.

And the more I digest it. The more I see the image in my mind, the bigger it all seems.
And the harder it becomes to wrap my mind around it.

Mind Trap

I don't know how to share what happened.
Because the outcome could have been so much worse.

I don't know how to share what happened because
I feel like I'm exploiting my son, my feelings.

I don't know how to share what happened when
it so desperately needs to be put out there. When something takes up every corner of my mind, the feelings, thoughts, and emotions so raw, it makes it even more difficult for me to put into words. You think it would be the exact opposite.
My mind becomes such a trap sometimes.

I don't know how to share what happened because
I feel like it would have to be broken down into at least three posts.
The before.
The during.
The after.
And again, with feeling like I'm exploiting something - namely my son.

I don't know how to share what happened because
I don't want to disturb anyone with my words, my description of events.

But then.
Something inside says that I need to acknowledge each and every emotion that I'm having.
Avoidance is not the answer here.

Maybe this post is just Step 1.

Sunday Morning Song of the Moment

I wish I knew how to adequately start this post.
Quite frankly, I'm a wreck.
I'm smiling.
I'm joking.
On the outside.
On the inside, I'm trying to make pieces fit.
And the fact that Connor is with us and is OK, should be enough.
But there are things that come back to me in my mind's eye that I can't shake off.
There's the knowledge of the fact that your son tip-toed on a razor's edge.
And seconds, which seem so insignificant in the course of days, years, and lives could have made all of the difference in my world.
And they have.
We were lucky.
We are lucky.

If you've been reading here for any length of time, you know just how important music is to me. Upon the birth of both of the kids, I have made several, several CD's for them.
And the song that always brings me back to being a first time Momma, huddled in the soft cocoon of Connor's nursery, rocking and holding for what seemed years on end was and is Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy) by John Lennon. I wanted to save this song and share it on his birthday. But I think it is most fitting to share today.

Again, thank you all for your thoughts, prayers, and well-wishes. It means so much. You'll all never know just how comforting it has been.

Enjoy the song :)

The Day I Nearly Lost My Boy...

Was today. You can see the diagnosis on the discharge sheet from the ER. In black and white.

I will relay the story.
But not today.
I can't today.
I'm still shaking.
And I'm going to hold him and Gracie so close.

Gurgle....Gurgle....Gasp

That's me.
Gasping for air.

My nerves are shot.
I feel shaky.
I'm not eating.

And the part where I lay down at night and close my eyes can hardly be called sleep.

I'm trudging through the day-to-day.

Instead of playing Hide-and-seek, Ring-Around-The-Rosie, and Tag, we are
Playing games like how to rob Peter to pay Paul.
And games like, it's only two days past the expiration date......this is still good isn't it?.....What's for dinner? Well, how do you feel about pasta, pasta, or pasta?

When The Man knocks on my door, demanding payments, trying desperately to squeeze blood from a stone and my hands shake as I write the check and I ask The Man, desperately, not to cash the check until Friday. Money spent before it's even had, I think to myself: How much longer can we live like this? Life shouldn't be this way. It's not what life is about. Is this my idea of the "American Dream"?

I've noticed how much I've been saying to Connor lately
"We don't have money for that."
"It's too much money."
"We can do that another time when we have more money."
I need to find a new way to say no.
Because while it's the truth, I don't want everything to be about money.
And yet, it is.

I've become cynical.
American Dream my ass. All it is is a puff of smoke. The carrot on the end of the stick for the pack mule. The thing we desperately hold on to. Visions of something better. Until we are six feet under.

I get pissed off at the governor of our state when I think about the whopping $750 dollar a year raise for all state employees.
And how the fact that the same month that we get that BIG raise, we have to pay a considerable increase in our health benefits.
Doesn't she think anyone will be smart enough to notice how much of a slap in the face that is?

I don't want to be filthy rich.
I don't want a house that costs a sinful amount of money to heat.
Our cars are ten years old each. And that's fine with me.
All I want is not to have to look over my shoulder anymore.

I just want to breathe again.

Not Yet Time To Fly

Weighty things have been on my mind.

I find myself worrying about William on particularly steamy evenings.

I find myself wondering if my new girlfriend will show up on my doorstep again. Though I know she must be telling her coworkers that this is a friendly neighborhood, because I've seen quite a few in here lately, bumming rides, work, money, telephone calls.

I find myself worrying about funds and the stress of that worrying making it's mark on my face. To the extent where I don't even recognize it anymore. The lines, the deep crease in my brow from furrowing.

The growing number of people murdered in the city of Philadelphia.

The list grows.

It's the other things, though, that hit you right between the eyeballs like a lawn dart you did not see coming.

The things that sneak up on you while you're trying to pick up the pieces of your broken blog - that you inadvertantly dismembered. Hours spent huddling around the glowing box putting the pieces back in place. The amount of time that you realize you've spent making this thing what it is. What it was.

Rav comes downstairs and stands next to me. He recalls what transpired between himself and Connor just a mere seconds before. Because I ask him why Connor was crying like that. That being unusually sincere crying. Rav tells me that Connor asked him what would happen when I'm older - when I'm a grown up?

Rav tells him When you're a grown up, you'll go and live in your own house, doing grown up things.

At this, Connor becomes distraught. And he begins to sob. But then I won't remember you!!

Rav assures him that he will remember us. That we'll still see him.

At this, Connor calms down a bit.

And Rav tells me that Connor wanted to talk to me for a minute.

But I didn't hear that.

Because I was so engrossed in getting my blog put back together.

From upstairs, I hear my son wail. More than just a few minutes have passed since this conversation between my first-born and my husband. I look over at Rav and say in an irked tone What is he crying for???

Rav says He wanted to talk to you for a minute. I told you that.

And as I bound up the stairs, I feel oh-so small.

I sit on Connor's bed. I take him in my arms. He is now getting sweaty from crying so hard. I ask him to please tell me what's wrong.

He says as he sobs I don't want to be a grown up. I don't want to move away from you and Daddy. I want to stay here.

I tell him that You'll be with us for a looong time. You won't be a grown up for a very long time. That you'll stay with us until you're a grown up.

This does not soothe. And thinking about it after I said it, it's really not comforting news at all.

It's quite lame, actually.

He looks at me with those dark chocolate eyes and says, still sobbing But I don't want to leave. I want to stay here with you and Daddy.

Then the best I can come up with is Connor, you can stay with us as long as you want. Until you are ready to leave. You don't have to go anywhere. No one is leaving. Gracie isn't leaving, you're not leaving, I'm not leaving, Daddy's not leaving. We will all be together. And you don't have to go anywhere until you are ready to.

In this, I have flashes of my 40 year-old son taking that piece of information to heart and thinking of it warmly as he settles in bed under Rav's & my roof.

Purely for amusement purposes on my part - in my head....to ease the tension.

The tension of having realized just why you are here right now. What your purpose is right now.

The tension of knowing you are the whole world to someone right now. The noose that we try to avoid for much of our late teen to early adult lives. Then becomes something we couldn't bear to live without.

The tension of being taken down a notch. Of wanting to do anything to help my son not feel any sense of being left to his own devices for survival, well-being, and security.

The tension of knowing that my son, at 4 and 1/2, is just as anxiety-ridden as I am.

He worries of weighty things.

The tension of wondering if I'll ever get this right. At times, I feel so good at it. Being a mom. And other times...

like when I'm so engrossed in my blog....

that I don't hear my husband....

telling me my son needs me....

That heady feeling of being a good mom bursts like a balloon. The loud pop!

It hurdles you back into reality so suddenly.

He is mine for a reason. And I am his for a reason.

And I do the best I can with this fragile boy that we have to mold into a man.

A man who I know will carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

A man who I know will probably be insanely loyal.

A man that can be proud of his mom.

Even when she can't always hear him.

But feels his every move, his every breath, his every tear, his every smile

With every fiber of her being.

Change Will Do You Good

Well, as you can see, I've totally changed the look over here.

Slackermommy did the last design and she did an awesome job. She put a lot of hard work into it. But Mrs. Incredible needed to change her look a bit.

Let me start off by saying that I'm a complete moron when it comes to code and design, etc.....I have NO freaking clue what I'm doing. Last night, when I installed the new design, I didn't save the old template. So, I lost ALL of my sidebar items. If you were on my blogroll on my last blog and you're not on this one, it's not intentional. I'm working on adding everyone back on.

I hope all of my regulars enjoy the new look. And I'll be back to my regularly scheduled blogging....probably by tomorrow.

Sunday Morning Song of the Moment

I wanted to pick this song a few months ago. And I'm not sure which song bumped it off.

My old boss at the University of Delaware was a music collector. She loves music. She appreciates the art of being a musician and the art of a song. Her knowledge of music blew me away. She introduced me to some things, I introduced her to some things.
It was a common language she & I shared. And language that not many people I know personally, speak.
She always had an eclectic mix of CD's in her bag that she carried or in her car. And I would love to pick through some of her CD's to see what new goody I could find.

I remember one evening we were discussing Nawlins (New Orleans) and different stories about different artists from that area. She handed me a CD to pop in and she mentioned the name of the artist. When she said his name, it rang a bell. Somewhere in the far recesses of my mind. When I played the CD, I knew the voice. But barely.
It was a voice I could not decide if I liked or not.
I kept listening though.
And I became more and more certain that I had heard it before. But just not sure where I had.
The unusual voice and the crafty way in which he played the piano was hitting a nerve. In a good way.

A few days later, I went out and bought the only CD that I could find of his.
And thus began my love affair with Fess.

Today, I'm sharing Whole Lotta Love by Professor Longhair.
This song makes me want to get my white girl dancing groove on.
I hope you enjoy. Grab your man, grab your woman, grab your kids, grab your dog and stand him back on his back legs, hold his front paws in yours - grab whatever.....crank up the music and dance like nobody's watching.
It does a soul good.

Well, Slap My Ass And Call Me Generous

I have never nominated anyone for a Perfect Post Award or a ROFL Award. Nor have I participated in Jen and Mad's Just Post Awards.
It's not that I don't want to.
It's not that I don't read amazing things that fall into any of these categories.
It's simply because I read so much that fits into those categories
AND
mainly because
I'm a slacker.

Somehow though, this month I managed to do a wee bit of nominating.
I've popped my nominating cherry so-to-speak.
And there is no one else I'd rather do that with than Kevin Charnas.
The guy is grab-your-oxygen-mask-and-put-on-your-depends funny.
I nominated his 'Afraid To Move' post. Because well, it was funny. And it stuck with me so that I had an inexplicable dream about Kevin, me, and something to do with that post.

Go on over and visit Chicky Chicky Baby and Metro Mama and check out all of the funny stuff. If you feel anything like me today, you could use a good chuckle.

Are you still here?
GO, sillies! Get your laugh on.