Let's play a little word-association game. When I say "January", what comes to your mind? 'Cause for me, it's this:
Longest. Month. Evvvvvvvver.
January has always seemed extra long to me. Even when I was a kid I remember January seeming to drag. I think back then it was because I'd start the month while still on Winter Break. Christmas and all my new toys were fresh in mind. By the time the month was over though, I'd been back in school for weeks and weeks, my new toys had lost their sparkly appeal, and Christmas was a distant memory. At that point for me it was all about the long haul to summer.
This year, (for reasons you already know about if you're a regular reader), January has been especially... rough? Hard? Emotionally exhausting? None of those is exactly the right word, but the three of them together gives you a good sense of how I feel about the past 4 weeks. Without harping on things (because lately I've felt like the Grim Reaper of mommy blogs), I do want to say thank you to those of you reading who've been a great ear and a wonderful support. Ann, I used your advice about breathing yesterday on my way to Michelle's Life Celebration. I had to go on my own since Mr. C took 9 over early and I was feeling a tad apprehensive. To be honest, I almost hyperventilated in my car. No matter how polite and respectful Michelle and I were to each other, it's never fun to be the ex-husband's new(ish) wife walking into a home full of the family and friends of the first wife. So anyway, I remembered your advice about breathing and was fine. I had nothing to worry about anyway. Everyone was very gracious and nice, and as Mr. C reminded me, "It's not about you, Tacy." Bluntly put, yes, but I needed the reminder.
I should tell you that our household has gotten bigger in the last 24 hours. There are now 2 adults, 1 teenager, 3 small children, 2 dogs, 1 cat, 1 fish, and 1 gecko, all living under this roof. The cat and the gecko are 9's pets from over at his mom's house. They've come to live with us now. I'm not thrilled about George the gecko, but 9 has assured me that he stays in his aquarium and I will not be required to touch him. Squiggy is a 14 year old cat that 9 has had his whole life. Have I mentioned that I'm allergic to cats? It's here on a trial basis. I've had cats my whole life, and it's usually just the first two weeks that they're around that I feel sick. Then my body gets over it. So we're giving it a try since it became really clear in the past couple of days that having Squiggy around was important to 9. Princess G and J are in 7th heaven. It's possible that the cat may die of over-stimulation before I even have a chance to work up immunity.
Anyway, just for fun here's some things to look forward to in February:
International Boost Self-Esteem Month (so let's all look into the mirror and tell ourselves how great we are)
National Bird Feeding Month
National Caffeine Addiction Awareness Month (I, personally, am very aware of how addicted I am to my coffee. I just don't care to do anything about it.)
National Children's Dental Health Month (in FEBRUARY? The month of chocolate? Who decides these things?)
National Hot Breakfast Month (Whaaaaaaaa?)
National Single and Searching Month (As if February didn't suck for the singles enough)
Potato Lover's Month (KETTLE CHIPS!!! Can I get a WHOOP WHOOP?)
Return Shopping Carts to the Supermarket Month (and March is National Homeless Awareness Month. Not really. But wouldn't that be ironic?)
So that's it for tonight. So long, January! In the words of the Von Trapp Children, "adieu, adieu, to you, and you, and you."
Good night!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Poop! There it is.
Okay, I have to confess right away that I didn't come up with that title. That's from amy b. She's very creative when it comes to potty talk.
As I mentioned in my last post, Princess G has a new chore to do around here. She is officially on what we like to call "Poop Patrol" for our 2 (incredibly slimy and drooly) boxers. Up to now it's been 9's job, but he's more than happy to pass the poop torch. He doesn't know yet that this really means he's going to have a few new chores to do himself in the area of yard work. We'll be breaking that news to him sometime in the upcoming weeks.
So, partly because I love this blog so much that I'm always thinking of ideas for it (and dog poop struck me as a good one?) and partly because no one in this family can pass on the teasing and torturing of another family member, we all traipsed outside to follow Princess G around while she performed her first round of Poop Patrol.
She was totally gracious about it:
And we, as her parents, were totally mature about the whole thing:
Also, why have I never noticed that my daughter has a tongue to rival Gene Simmons?:
I should also tell you that our dogs don't normally poop on the pool deck. Our side yard was flooded with all the rain, so they had no choice.
Why I feel the need to defend our dogs' choice of pooping places is beyond me.
Although, come to think of it, I have been judged for much less.
ANYWAY, in case this post isn't scintillating enough, I have also included video. Before viewing, please know that:
A) I apologize for the rude screeching you are about to witness my daughter performing. I don't like to make her obnoxious side public knowledge, but for the sake of the blog, anything goes.
B) Mr. C's "are you ready to have 8 kids and pick up their poop" comment is referring to the fact that PG has informed us that she would like no less than 8 children when she's grown up. Let's all hope that she didn't inherit my famous lack of patience.
C) Please note how everyone in the video more or less ignores me, as if I'm some kind of obnoxious oof or something. Oh wait....
Did you catch it at the end when I asked "How do I turn this thing off?" Ya, I was on a Flip. Are you familiar with the Flip? It has a grand total of 3 buttons. And yet, I was at a loss for how to turn it off. My ignorance of all things technological is astounding. However, that doesn't stop me from wanting the new Mac iPad that I learned about today. Despite it's stupid name (PAD? Really?) and the fact that all the nerdy Mac guys (like my husband) are dissing it, I think it's perfect. All I want is my music, my blog, my books, and my internet in one place and that's exactly what this is. And it starts at $500. Ring a ding, ding! I'm going to start hinting now in time for my b-day next year. Are you listening Mr. C? Hinting. Me. iPad. Birthday. Yes?
You all have a good night!
As I mentioned in my last post, Princess G has a new chore to do around here. She is officially on what we like to call "Poop Patrol" for our 2 (incredibly slimy and drooly) boxers. Up to now it's been 9's job, but he's more than happy to pass the poop torch. He doesn't know yet that this really means he's going to have a few new chores to do himself in the area of yard work. We'll be breaking that news to him sometime in the upcoming weeks.
So, partly because I love this blog so much that I'm always thinking of ideas for it (and dog poop struck me as a good one?) and partly because no one in this family can pass on the teasing and torturing of another family member, we all traipsed outside to follow Princess G around while she performed her first round of Poop Patrol.
She was totally gracious about it:
And we, as her parents, were totally mature about the whole thing:
Also, why have I never noticed that my daughter has a tongue to rival Gene Simmons?:
I should also tell you that our dogs don't normally poop on the pool deck. Our side yard was flooded with all the rain, so they had no choice.
Why I feel the need to defend our dogs' choice of pooping places is beyond me.
Although, come to think of it, I have been judged for much less.
ANYWAY, in case this post isn't scintillating enough, I have also included video. Before viewing, please know that:
A) I apologize for the rude screeching you are about to witness my daughter performing. I don't like to make her obnoxious side public knowledge, but for the sake of the blog, anything goes.
B) Mr. C's "are you ready to have 8 kids and pick up their poop" comment is referring to the fact that PG has informed us that she would like no less than 8 children when she's grown up. Let's all hope that she didn't inherit my famous lack of patience.
C) Please note how everyone in the video more or less ignores me, as if I'm some kind of obnoxious oof or something. Oh wait....
Did you catch it at the end when I asked "How do I turn this thing off?" Ya, I was on a Flip. Are you familiar with the Flip? It has a grand total of 3 buttons. And yet, I was at a loss for how to turn it off. My ignorance of all things technological is astounding. However, that doesn't stop me from wanting the new Mac iPad that I learned about today. Despite it's stupid name (PAD? Really?) and the fact that all the nerdy Mac guys (like my husband) are dissing it, I think it's perfect. All I want is my music, my blog, my books, and my internet in one place and that's exactly what this is. And it starts at $500. Ring a ding, ding! I'm going to start hinting now in time for my b-day next year. Are you listening Mr. C? Hinting. Me. iPad. Birthday. Yes?
You all have a good night!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Last One, I Promise
Hi everyone.
It happened. Saturday night at 1:30 in the a.m. our phone rang-one time, then it stopped. I woke up right away, probably because I've been half listening for a middle of the night phone call for almost two weeks. I shook Mr. C awake and was telling him to go check his cell when it rang again. He picked it up and it was 9's uncle, letting us know that Michelle had passed. He was on his way over to come get 9.
So this is how he told Mr. C it happened: In the last couple of days, he and Michelle's parents were staying with her all night. Her mom would sleep on the bed with her, and he and his dad would sleep on either side on the floor. Saturday night he got up to check on his mom and she told him that "it was happening." His father, himself, and her mom surrounded Michelle as she took 3 deep breaths in, exhaled once, and then was gone. He called us immediately after.
9 is doing okay. Please continue to keep him in your thoughts and prayers. He really needs them.
I'm glad that the four of them were there together as a family at the end. When Mr. C relayed to me what Chris said, I thought of that scene in Steel Magnolias when they're in the cemetery and Sally Field's character is giving this heart wrenching speech. She's half out of her mind with grief, but she speaks of how lucky she felt to be a woman who was there when her daughter came into the world and how precious it was that she got to be there when her daughter left it. That part always gets me.
Anyway, writing this feels slightly exploitative because it's such private stuff about another family. And I would never want them to read the above paragraph because I'd hate it if they thought that I would blithely compare their real-life sadness to a scene in a Hollywood Chick-Flick. I'm writing about it because I started it with my Stepmom post a couple of weeks ago, and I feel like I need to finish it here. And it feels too big to keep in my head.
So there it is. That's the very last depressing post I'll write for a while ( I hope). We got a ways to go before we can even begin to start working towards a new normal, but I know we'll bumble along. I'm hoping the new normal (once we get there) will be a good place to be and that Mr. C and I don't make too many mistakes for our family along the way.
Okay, moving on- next post will probably be about dog poop. Now that Princess G is six, she got a new chore that she's none too happy about. I did what all kind, loving, mothers do when their child is unhappy and followed her around with a camera and Flip to document every grossed-out minute. In the words of my girl Amy B., poop is always good for a laugh.
Have a good night!
It happened. Saturday night at 1:30 in the a.m. our phone rang-one time, then it stopped. I woke up right away, probably because I've been half listening for a middle of the night phone call for almost two weeks. I shook Mr. C awake and was telling him to go check his cell when it rang again. He picked it up and it was 9's uncle, letting us know that Michelle had passed. He was on his way over to come get 9.
So this is how he told Mr. C it happened: In the last couple of days, he and Michelle's parents were staying with her all night. Her mom would sleep on the bed with her, and he and his dad would sleep on either side on the floor. Saturday night he got up to check on his mom and she told him that "it was happening." His father, himself, and her mom surrounded Michelle as she took 3 deep breaths in, exhaled once, and then was gone. He called us immediately after.
9 is doing okay. Please continue to keep him in your thoughts and prayers. He really needs them.
I'm glad that the four of them were there together as a family at the end. When Mr. C relayed to me what Chris said, I thought of that scene in Steel Magnolias when they're in the cemetery and Sally Field's character is giving this heart wrenching speech. She's half out of her mind with grief, but she speaks of how lucky she felt to be a woman who was there when her daughter came into the world and how precious it was that she got to be there when her daughter left it. That part always gets me.
Anyway, writing this feels slightly exploitative because it's such private stuff about another family. And I would never want them to read the above paragraph because I'd hate it if they thought that I would blithely compare their real-life sadness to a scene in a Hollywood Chick-Flick. I'm writing about it because I started it with my Stepmom post a couple of weeks ago, and I feel like I need to finish it here. And it feels too big to keep in my head.
So there it is. That's the very last depressing post I'll write for a while ( I hope). We got a ways to go before we can even begin to start working towards a new normal, but I know we'll bumble along. I'm hoping the new normal (once we get there) will be a good place to be and that Mr. C and I don't make too many mistakes for our family along the way.
Okay, moving on- next post will probably be about dog poop. Now that Princess G is six, she got a new chore that she's none too happy about. I did what all kind, loving, mothers do when their child is unhappy and followed her around with a camera and Flip to document every grossed-out minute. In the words of my girl Amy B., poop is always good for a laugh.
Have a good night!
Friday, January 22, 2010
Comfort Food
Hey everyone.
It's the end of another long week. 9's mom is still hanging in there. 9 was taken out of school last Wednesday because hospice was certain she was at the end, but she pulled through. Since then, he and her family have been hanging out there with her and keeping her company. She has no detectable pulse, her heartbeat is down to 4 beats per minute, and she hasn't ingested any food or liquids for 12 days now. I'm not sure what is keeping her hanging on. One friend told me about how her grandma, not wanting to die in front of her loved ones, waited until she was alone. Someone else suggested that perhaps Michelle needs to hear from one of her loved ones that it's okay for her to go. Of course there's no way of knowing what she wants/needs right now. I'm just hoping that she finds peace and that it ends soon. This has been rough on her family.
Anyway, I didn't sit down to write a depressing post. I wanted to write about comfort food.
The mood of this household has been sad, and the cold, rainy weather has only served to provide an appropriate backdrop. It occurred to me this week why people use the word "heavy" in relation to sadness. This really does feel literally, heavy. And while thinking about this, I started to understand the nature of comfort food. The ingredients you find in many comfort foods are usually heavy themselves: eggs, creams, butter, flour, etc. Maybe to us humans, it just feels good when we're feeling the weight of sadness to just take it and eat it- to turn it into something good and enjoyable for a short while. I don't know. Maybe I'm getting a tad too philosophical about cream and butter. At any rate, that's my deep philosophical revelation of the week. Take from it what you will.
So for those takers out there, I thought that today I'd post a recipe for 9's favorite dessert that I make. It would fall into the category of comfort food for sure: Chocolate Bread Pudding. I made it in the first year of Mr. C and I being married and 9 LOVED it. With all the ups and downs of becoming a stepfamily, his being so enthusiastic about it gave me hope that I was, in fact, capable of doing something right after all. Back then it was all about the little things.
Since then, he's asked for this dessert on most of his birthdays and anytime I'm taking requests. It only has 6 ingredients and it's very easy. So with 9 in mind (and in my heart), I give this to you, my 10 wonderful readers:
Chocolate Bread Pudding #9
1 Box of Vanilla Cook n Serve Pudding
2 cups of heavy cream
1 cup of water
3 large eggs
7 slices cinnamon raisin bread, toasted and cut into cubes
*9 doesn't like raisins, so I use plain cinnamon bread
3/4 cup mini chocolate chips
*I actually use way more than 3/4. The first time I made it I used almost the whole bag on accident. 9's never as happy with the outcome if I follow the recipe exactly, so I usually repeat my "mistake" when I make this. You, however, can just eyeball it and use your own discretion.
Preheat oven to 375 and coat a 1.5 quart baking dish.
In a med. saucepan, combine the cream, pudding mix, and water. Bring to a simmer over medium heat.
In a separate bowl, lightly whisk the eggs. Take 1/2 cup of pudding mixture from the sauce pan and pour it into the eggs. Stir, and then dump the egg mixture back into the saucepan. Stir continuously for one minute.
**When I first did this, I didn't understand that I was "tempering" the eggs. It's very important to stir the 1/2 cup of pudding mixture into the eggs b/c if you don't, the eggs will kind of congeal together. You won't be able to tell anything is wrong until you're eating the bread pudding and you suddenly get a bite that tastes strongly of scrambled eggs. Gross. Heed my warning and stir well, my friends.
Arrange half of the breadcubes in a layer in the dish, and pour 1/2 of the mixture over it. Sprinkle heavily with the mini chips. Repeat layering, and top with more chips. (The recipe says 1/4 cup of chips should go on top. I say you can never have to much chocolate.)
Bake for 45 minutes, or until liquid is absorbed.
Eat with whipped cream. Or with ice cream. Or cold, for breakfast the next morning. Above all, eat with a light heart.
Have a good night!
It's the end of another long week. 9's mom is still hanging in there. 9 was taken out of school last Wednesday because hospice was certain she was at the end, but she pulled through. Since then, he and her family have been hanging out there with her and keeping her company. She has no detectable pulse, her heartbeat is down to 4 beats per minute, and she hasn't ingested any food or liquids for 12 days now. I'm not sure what is keeping her hanging on. One friend told me about how her grandma, not wanting to die in front of her loved ones, waited until she was alone. Someone else suggested that perhaps Michelle needs to hear from one of her loved ones that it's okay for her to go. Of course there's no way of knowing what she wants/needs right now. I'm just hoping that she finds peace and that it ends soon. This has been rough on her family.
Anyway, I didn't sit down to write a depressing post. I wanted to write about comfort food.
The mood of this household has been sad, and the cold, rainy weather has only served to provide an appropriate backdrop. It occurred to me this week why people use the word "heavy" in relation to sadness. This really does feel literally, heavy. And while thinking about this, I started to understand the nature of comfort food. The ingredients you find in many comfort foods are usually heavy themselves: eggs, creams, butter, flour, etc. Maybe to us humans, it just feels good when we're feeling the weight of sadness to just take it and eat it- to turn it into something good and enjoyable for a short while. I don't know. Maybe I'm getting a tad too philosophical about cream and butter. At any rate, that's my deep philosophical revelation of the week. Take from it what you will.
So for those takers out there, I thought that today I'd post a recipe for 9's favorite dessert that I make. It would fall into the category of comfort food for sure: Chocolate Bread Pudding. I made it in the first year of Mr. C and I being married and 9 LOVED it. With all the ups and downs of becoming a stepfamily, his being so enthusiastic about it gave me hope that I was, in fact, capable of doing something right after all. Back then it was all about the little things.
Since then, he's asked for this dessert on most of his birthdays and anytime I'm taking requests. It only has 6 ingredients and it's very easy. So with 9 in mind (and in my heart), I give this to you, my 10 wonderful readers:
Chocolate Bread Pudding #9
1 Box of Vanilla Cook n Serve Pudding
2 cups of heavy cream
1 cup of water
3 large eggs
7 slices cinnamon raisin bread, toasted and cut into cubes
*9 doesn't like raisins, so I use plain cinnamon bread
3/4 cup mini chocolate chips
*I actually use way more than 3/4. The first time I made it I used almost the whole bag on accident. 9's never as happy with the outcome if I follow the recipe exactly, so I usually repeat my "mistake" when I make this. You, however, can just eyeball it and use your own discretion.
Preheat oven to 375 and coat a 1.5 quart baking dish.
In a med. saucepan, combine the cream, pudding mix, and water. Bring to a simmer over medium heat.
In a separate bowl, lightly whisk the eggs. Take 1/2 cup of pudding mixture from the sauce pan and pour it into the eggs. Stir, and then dump the egg mixture back into the saucepan. Stir continuously for one minute.
**When I first did this, I didn't understand that I was "tempering" the eggs. It's very important to stir the 1/2 cup of pudding mixture into the eggs b/c if you don't, the eggs will kind of congeal together. You won't be able to tell anything is wrong until you're eating the bread pudding and you suddenly get a bite that tastes strongly of scrambled eggs. Gross. Heed my warning and stir well, my friends.
Arrange half of the breadcubes in a layer in the dish, and pour 1/2 of the mixture over it. Sprinkle heavily with the mini chips. Repeat layering, and top with more chips. (The recipe says 1/4 cup of chips should go on top. I say you can never have to much chocolate.)
Bake for 45 minutes, or until liquid is absorbed.
Eat with whipped cream. Or with ice cream. Or cold, for breakfast the next morning. Above all, eat with a light heart.
Have a good night!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Now We Are Six
From the poem by Winnie the Pooh author A.A. Milne:
When I was one,
I had just begun.
When I was two,
I was nearly new.
When I was three,
I was hardly me.
When I was four,
I was not much more.
When I was five,
I was just alive.
But now I am six,
I am clever as clever.
So I think I'll be six
now and forever.
Happy Birthday, Princess G! You are a beautiful ball of sunshine in my heart. The moment they put you in my arms, I got to start learning what this mommy stuff is all about. Thank you, my beautiful girl, for that! Your daddy and I love you as much as you love noodles with butter sauce, times infiniti! XOXOXOXOXXO
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Random Thoughts From a Tired Brain
I'm ready for this week to be over. 9's mom is still hanging in there and 9 is over there everyday after school until evening hours. Thank you, by the way, Ann, Amy, and Karen for your sweet messages on that last blog. I'm always humbled by the fact that anyone even reads what I put out there, and to know that people were touched by it blows my mind completely. I've already passed along your well wishes to 9.
Because my mind is too tired to actually write a post, and because I'm feeling totally blah anyway, I thought that tonight I'd just write down a list of quotes from some of my favorite people about some of my favorite things.
Here you go:
Anne Lamott (my favorite author):
"It's good to do uncomfortable things. It's like weight training for life."
This is something I hope my kids learn someday, because playing it safe is not going to take them as far as I know they're capable of going.
and also this:
"You can practice being right, or you can practice being kind." Easier said than done. Believe me. I would know.
and this is my fav from her:
" 'Please Please Please' and 'Thank You Thank You Thank You' are two of the best prayers I've prayed as a parent." me too.
Louis Armstrong (because he's just a cool cat)
"If you have to ask what jazz is, you'll never know."
Logan Pearsall Smith (don't know who he is, but I like what he says about reading):
"This nice and subtle happiness of reading, this joy not chilled by age, this polite and unpunished vice, this selfish, serene life-long intoxication."
Albert Einstein (this quote makes me want to find a time machine so I can go back in time and date him)
"Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is not giving the kiss the attention it deserves." I like that in a man.
Erma Bombeck on mothering:
"Do you know what you call those who use towels and never wash them, eat meals and never do the dishes, sit in rooms they never clean, and are entertained till they drop? If you've just answered 'a house guest' you're wrong because I have just described my children."
I love that she called 'em, like she saw 'em in an era when many housewives were popping valium to deal with their stress.
And the final 3 quotes:
"You're going to get an education because it's the best way for you to keep your options open."- my dad.
"There are three things in the world that are magic: God, Disneyland, and Santa Claus."- Princess G at age 3.
"You live at the top, you drop."-my son J, trying to say "shop till you drop". This is what came out though, and I think it's much more profound. Don't you?
Good night all! I have PG's 6th birthday coming up in a few days and need to get busy learning how to make a flower garden cake. I'll post pictures if I'm anywhere near successful. (Heck, you know me. Pics will be posted regardless.)
Have a good one!
Because my mind is too tired to actually write a post, and because I'm feeling totally blah anyway, I thought that tonight I'd just write down a list of quotes from some of my favorite people about some of my favorite things.
Here you go:
Anne Lamott (my favorite author):
"It's good to do uncomfortable things. It's like weight training for life."
This is something I hope my kids learn someday, because playing it safe is not going to take them as far as I know they're capable of going.
and also this:
"You can practice being right, or you can practice being kind." Easier said than done. Believe me. I would know.
and this is my fav from her:
" 'Please Please Please' and 'Thank You Thank You Thank You' are two of the best prayers I've prayed as a parent." me too.
Louis Armstrong (because he's just a cool cat)
"If you have to ask what jazz is, you'll never know."
Logan Pearsall Smith (don't know who he is, but I like what he says about reading):
"This nice and subtle happiness of reading, this joy not chilled by age, this polite and unpunished vice, this selfish, serene life-long intoxication."
Albert Einstein (this quote makes me want to find a time machine so I can go back in time and date him)
"Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is not giving the kiss the attention it deserves." I like that in a man.
Erma Bombeck on mothering:
"Do you know what you call those who use towels and never wash them, eat meals and never do the dishes, sit in rooms they never clean, and are entertained till they drop? If you've just answered 'a house guest' you're wrong because I have just described my children."
I love that she called 'em, like she saw 'em in an era when many housewives were popping valium to deal with their stress.
And the final 3 quotes:
"You're going to get an education because it's the best way for you to keep your options open."- my dad.
"There are three things in the world that are magic: God, Disneyland, and Santa Claus."- Princess G at age 3.
"You live at the top, you drop."-my son J, trying to say "shop till you drop". This is what came out though, and I think it's much more profound. Don't you?
Good night all! I have PG's 6th birthday coming up in a few days and need to get busy learning how to make a flower garden cake. I'll post pictures if I'm anywhere near successful. (Heck, you know me. Pics will be posted regardless.)
Have a good one!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Stepmom
That's a movie I won't be watching anytime soon. It's nothing against Julia Roberts and Susan Sarandon, it's just that right now there's a few too many parallels between that movie and our life around here lately.
My stepson's mom is dying from a brain tumor. She's been dealing with these tumors since she was 23. She is now 36. Back when she was originally diagnosed, they told her 5 years tops. She was in remission by year 3. The tumor came back about 4 years later, they did another surgery and some more rounds of chemo, and again, she was better. Repeatedly, she has beat the odds with a lot of stubborn determination, and as she has said, all for 9.
I'm not talking her up because she's dying. I freely admit that I have not always liked Michelle. Mr. C could not have married two women who were on more opposite ends of the mothering spectrum (and general way of life) than me and her. I am all about schedules and routines, she is always on Maui time. My kids started having small chores once they were capable; 9 had no chores or responsibilities at his mom's house beyond doing his homework. The problem wasn't so much that one way was better or worse than the other, it was just that trying to raise a child with 2 sets of opposite expectations presented a lot of problems. I used to be insanely jealous of my friends who had husbands who weren't married before, who didn't have to take an ex-wife into consideration when making vacation plans, or any plans for that matter. I didn't have a lot of patience to teach 9 how to make his own breakfast and put his own laundry away, because I felt like it was stuff he should already know and at the time I felt that it wasn't my job to teach him this! In hindsight, there was a lot of resentment that I had for his mom that was misdirected onto him.
But that's all stuff from the past. We've grown as a family and I've worked through a lot of these issues. People told me when I married Mr. C that it wasn't going to be easy being a stepmom. I knew this. But knowing and doing are two different things and it took a lot of years. Things are still far from perfect, but they're better.
Right in time for things not to be better at his mom's.
She had a big seizure last spring. She has no memory of this, but she called Mr. C and spent a good half hour on the phone with him telling him everything that she wanted 9 to know and do. She knew that things were going to be different this time going into the hospital. And even with this, she still defied the doctor's diagnosis'. She learned to walk again in a few weeks. She even walked all the way up to our door to pick up 9 on her way home from the hospital. That was the last time I talked to her in person. She was very proud of herself and positive. That's the thing about Michelle. She is a positive person. As different as we are, as much as we had issues with each other, we have always been able to be friendly and polite. We have only gotten into one confrontation, and it wasn't too ugly. We were able to act for the most part, like adults through it. The biggest thing I owe to her, the absolute biggest, is that when Mr. C and I got married she hand delivered a card to me with a sweet message inside telling me how happy she was that I was going to be in 9's life. That's huge, for a mom to welcome another woman into her son's life. That takes a big person. If I was going to go say goodbye to her, that would be the one thing that I would let her know; how much that was appreciated.
She's got days, maybe only hours left. I'm probably not going to go say goodbye to her. Life is not like in the movies. As her ex-husband's wife, I don't know how welcome I'd be in her home among her grieving family. But 9 told his dad last night that it's his wish for Mr.C to go and say goodbye. I'm glad he asked for that. So I just asked Mr. C to pass along that message for me.
As for 9, he's inherited his mom's positive attitude and he's not quite sure what to do with her not get better. He's hanging in there though. I feel very proud of him right now. Also, I'm not sure how prayers work but I know that they are, because after years of being closed lipped about her cancer, he sat down last night and opened up to Mr. C. They talked for hours.
For Michelle, I would just like to say she's a mother. As different as we are, that's something that binds us all and gives us a sense of comraderie. When we hear of a mom who's died and had to leave a child behind, we all feel it in our hearts. So I ask you to keep 9 in your thoughts and prayers. I appreciate it, and I know Michelle would too.
Good night!
My stepson's mom is dying from a brain tumor. She's been dealing with these tumors since she was 23. She is now 36. Back when she was originally diagnosed, they told her 5 years tops. She was in remission by year 3. The tumor came back about 4 years later, they did another surgery and some more rounds of chemo, and again, she was better. Repeatedly, she has beat the odds with a lot of stubborn determination, and as she has said, all for 9.
I'm not talking her up because she's dying. I freely admit that I have not always liked Michelle. Mr. C could not have married two women who were on more opposite ends of the mothering spectrum (and general way of life) than me and her. I am all about schedules and routines, she is always on Maui time. My kids started having small chores once they were capable; 9 had no chores or responsibilities at his mom's house beyond doing his homework. The problem wasn't so much that one way was better or worse than the other, it was just that trying to raise a child with 2 sets of opposite expectations presented a lot of problems. I used to be insanely jealous of my friends who had husbands who weren't married before, who didn't have to take an ex-wife into consideration when making vacation plans, or any plans for that matter. I didn't have a lot of patience to teach 9 how to make his own breakfast and put his own laundry away, because I felt like it was stuff he should already know and at the time I felt that it wasn't my job to teach him this! In hindsight, there was a lot of resentment that I had for his mom that was misdirected onto him.
But that's all stuff from the past. We've grown as a family and I've worked through a lot of these issues. People told me when I married Mr. C that it wasn't going to be easy being a stepmom. I knew this. But knowing and doing are two different things and it took a lot of years. Things are still far from perfect, but they're better.
Right in time for things not to be better at his mom's.
She had a big seizure last spring. She has no memory of this, but she called Mr. C and spent a good half hour on the phone with him telling him everything that she wanted 9 to know and do. She knew that things were going to be different this time going into the hospital. And even with this, she still defied the doctor's diagnosis'. She learned to walk again in a few weeks. She even walked all the way up to our door to pick up 9 on her way home from the hospital. That was the last time I talked to her in person. She was very proud of herself and positive. That's the thing about Michelle. She is a positive person. As different as we are, as much as we had issues with each other, we have always been able to be friendly and polite. We have only gotten into one confrontation, and it wasn't too ugly. We were able to act for the most part, like adults through it. The biggest thing I owe to her, the absolute biggest, is that when Mr. C and I got married she hand delivered a card to me with a sweet message inside telling me how happy she was that I was going to be in 9's life. That's huge, for a mom to welcome another woman into her son's life. That takes a big person. If I was going to go say goodbye to her, that would be the one thing that I would let her know; how much that was appreciated.
She's got days, maybe only hours left. I'm probably not going to go say goodbye to her. Life is not like in the movies. As her ex-husband's wife, I don't know how welcome I'd be in her home among her grieving family. But 9 told his dad last night that it's his wish for Mr.C to go and say goodbye. I'm glad he asked for that. So I just asked Mr. C to pass along that message for me.
As for 9, he's inherited his mom's positive attitude and he's not quite sure what to do with her not get better. He's hanging in there though. I feel very proud of him right now. Also, I'm not sure how prayers work but I know that they are, because after years of being closed lipped about her cancer, he sat down last night and opened up to Mr. C. They talked for hours.
For Michelle, I would just like to say she's a mother. As different as we are, that's something that binds us all and gives us a sense of comraderie. When we hear of a mom who's died and had to leave a child behind, we all feel it in our hearts. So I ask you to keep 9 in your thoughts and prayers. I appreciate it, and I know Michelle would too.
Good night!
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Syrup Bottles Have Feelings Too
A while ago I was at my parents' house for some kind of holiday gathering. I was talking to one of my sisters when Princess G came up with a play teacup. She handed me the empty vessel full of pretend tea, and said "Here mommy. Have some tea." I graciously accepted the cup and watched Princess G as she walked away. I then proceeded to carry on a serious conversation with my sister while lifting the empty teacup to my lips again and again, obliviously acting out an unnecessary charade. I'd say that a good 3 minutes had passed before I first noticed the wry smile on my sister's face. As she and I proceeded to laugh hard enough to make us pee (cuz who else but a sister is going to laugh like that with you after such a dumb moment?) I realized that there are behaviors and acts that us mothers do everyday that, if done by otherwise "normal" people, would be cause to commit one to an insane asylum.
I'll tell you some of mine if you tell me some of yours.
Here's my top 5:
1) I make Mrs. Butterworth "talk" to my kids. They love it. She sounds a lot like Mrs. Doubtfire and calls them things like "Dearie" and "Sweetums". The other day they used up the last of her syrup and she begged and pleaded with them not to throw her in the garbage can. This, of course, made them overly excited to do just that, and I spent the rest of the day squeaking out little pleas of "Oh, please you naughty naughty child! Help me!" whenever someone opened the cupboard door to where we keep our kitchen trash. The 3 year old especially loved this.
2) Once, after catching my kids with their fingers up their noses one too many times, I tried to gross them out by telling them that boogers were leaky brain juice that got mixed with dirt. That's not the bad part. The bad part is that later, after they went to bed, I actually got on the internet and researched how boogers were made just because I started thinking that my theory kinda sounded good and I wanted to see if there was any truth to my lie. (fyi- I wasn't that off the mark.)
3) I squirted breastmilk in my baby's eye to get rid of her pinkeye. On purpose.
4) Several times a year, under the guise of talking to Santa, the Easter Bunny, or an occasional grandparent, I will pick up a phone and tattle on my kids' behavior to a dial tone. I have very long, in depth conversations with the dial tone about how I'm just very sad at the bad choice my child has made, and I'm so confused because I know they know better. Alas, my guilt trip is usually cut short by operator asking me if I'd like to make a call.
5) I confess to actually spending time thinking about what each of the Imagination Movers would be like in bed. I'm thinking it'd be wise to steer clear of Scott (Too much of a goofball= insecure and overly anxious to please. Plus, I'm scared of what he'd see with the Wobble Goggles). Personally, I'd go with either Dave (he's the jack-of-all-trades on the show- hard to go wrong with that) or Smitty (def the less attractive of the bunch, but maybe full of surprises?).
Anyway. That last one is real embarrassing. If you see me in public, please don't ever bring it up.
I'm hoping this is the kind of post people can relate to. Do you guys do crazy things for or because of your children? Please say yes, because if not, it just may be that the next post I write will be coming to you straight from the looney bin.
You all have a good night!
I'll tell you some of mine if you tell me some of yours.
Here's my top 5:
1) I make Mrs. Butterworth "talk" to my kids. They love it. She sounds a lot like Mrs. Doubtfire and calls them things like "Dearie" and "Sweetums". The other day they used up the last of her syrup and she begged and pleaded with them not to throw her in the garbage can. This, of course, made them overly excited to do just that, and I spent the rest of the day squeaking out little pleas of "Oh, please you naughty naughty child! Help me!" whenever someone opened the cupboard door to where we keep our kitchen trash. The 3 year old especially loved this.
2) Once, after catching my kids with their fingers up their noses one too many times, I tried to gross them out by telling them that boogers were leaky brain juice that got mixed with dirt. That's not the bad part. The bad part is that later, after they went to bed, I actually got on the internet and researched how boogers were made just because I started thinking that my theory kinda sounded good and I wanted to see if there was any truth to my lie. (fyi- I wasn't that off the mark.)
3) I squirted breastmilk in my baby's eye to get rid of her pinkeye. On purpose.
4) Several times a year, under the guise of talking to Santa, the Easter Bunny, or an occasional grandparent, I will pick up a phone and tattle on my kids' behavior to a dial tone. I have very long, in depth conversations with the dial tone about how I'm just very sad at the bad choice my child has made, and I'm so confused because I know they know better. Alas, my guilt trip is usually cut short by operator asking me if I'd like to make a call.
5) I confess to actually spending time thinking about what each of the Imagination Movers would be like in bed. I'm thinking it'd be wise to steer clear of Scott (Too much of a goofball= insecure and overly anxious to please. Plus, I'm scared of what he'd see with the Wobble Goggles). Personally, I'd go with either Dave (he's the jack-of-all-trades on the show- hard to go wrong with that) or Smitty (def the less attractive of the bunch, but maybe full of surprises?).
Anyway. That last one is real embarrassing. If you see me in public, please don't ever bring it up.
I'm hoping this is the kind of post people can relate to. Do you guys do crazy things for or because of your children? Please say yes, because if not, it just may be that the next post I write will be coming to you straight from the looney bin.
You all have a good night!
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Saved By A Cherry Tomato
This is the dumbest "How I Came to Jesus" story ever. Really. It's so dumb that I'm afraid that Jesus himself rolls his eyes and shakes his head whenever I tell it-which is not often. I am not someone who's really comfortable talking about my faith- mostly because I am such a poor example of a Christian. I don't read the bible. I've tried, but my mind wanders. I don't like the judgmental thing that a lot of Christians do- I'm more in the Rodney King "Can't we all just get along" camp. However, I do like going to church, especially lately. It's probably because it's the only time during the week where other adults watch my children while I have a cup of coffee and listen to a sermon that requires me to think deep, intellectual thoughts about faith, love, right, wrong, and spirituality. The music is good too.
So, I have church and I have my dumb little coming-to-jesus-story, and that's what I'm going to share with you here and now. I hope this post is worth your time.
When I was six, I was helping my mom make a salad. She left me alone in the kitchen with a pint of cherry tomatoes and instructions to halve the tomatoes with a knife and then put them into the salad. Now I, as a mother, would never let my almost 6-year-old handle a knife by herself, so there was a point in my adult life when I wondered what my mother was thinking. And then I remembered- every tomato I tried to slice would just end up smooshed under the weight of what must have been a very dull knife. It's little seeds would puke out through it's skin, and I'd end up throwing a raggy, saggy mashed up tomato into the lettuce. Not at all the culinary vision my six year old self had for the salad.
So while I was making this salad, I was talking to God in my head. I don't remember what I was saying. If I was anything like my own daughter, it was probably just a lot of "why" questions. The Holy Spirit could've been very annoyed with me, but they do say that God's love is long suffering so I'm sure he was used to it.
Anyway, around this time in my life someone, ( I don't know who) had been talking to me about asking Jesus into my heart. I didn't know what that meant except for the fact that I was told it would guarantee me entry into Heaven. Since being a good girl was so important to me (and because what 6 year old girl wouldn't want to ensure a postmortem pair of beautiful white wings and a cool gold halo?), I decided to pop the question to Jesus. But the thing is, I didn't just ask him into my heart. I told him he could come into my heart if he was real. Even back then I was a suspicious little thing. I told him if he was real, then he'd help me cut the next tomato perfectly, and if that happened, I would let him into my heart.
Well, you can guess what happened. The knife slid right through the very next tomato like it was butter. It stopped me right in my tracks. I stared for a second at the perfect half sphere's laying there on top of the bed of lettuce thinking, "Whoa!". Then I said a prayer, asked Jesus into my heart, and finished making the salad.
See? Silliest story ever. But there's a reason I'm sharing it with you. Jesus and I did not have a happily ever after. There have been many times since then, and many times even now, when I question the existence of God. Adolescence was hard and uncomfortable. I talked to God a lot, but I didn't feel like he was listening. Moving out of my home town and waitressing in a resort area started out very lonely. I stopped thinking about God and focused on fun and friends. I completely lost my head after breaking up with my first love and had to escape to college. And in college, I learned of a lot of ideas and philosophies that had me all but convinced that God was as real as Santa Claus. Even today, when I have everything I've ever wanted- a wonderful husband, beautiful children, a home- I sometimes doubt God. But every time, at every doubtful point in my life since I was six years old, I think about that knife sliding through that tomato perfectly and I believe again.
I can't tell you how grateful I feel for my dumb little tomato story. There's this great quote by Albert Einstein that says "There are only two ways to live... one is as though nothing is a miracle... the other is as if everything is." If not for my little tomato, I would've slipped into a non-believing world, where there's a scientific answer for everything, where black is black, and white is white. But because of a dull knife and my 6 year old skepticism, I can believe in a world that has divine order in chaos, where anything and everything can be wondrous and miraculous- even if it is just a dumb little cherry tomato.
You all have a good night!
So, I have church and I have my dumb little coming-to-jesus-story, and that's what I'm going to share with you here and now. I hope this post is worth your time.
When I was six, I was helping my mom make a salad. She left me alone in the kitchen with a pint of cherry tomatoes and instructions to halve the tomatoes with a knife and then put them into the salad. Now I, as a mother, would never let my almost 6-year-old handle a knife by herself, so there was a point in my adult life when I wondered what my mother was thinking. And then I remembered- every tomato I tried to slice would just end up smooshed under the weight of what must have been a very dull knife. It's little seeds would puke out through it's skin, and I'd end up throwing a raggy, saggy mashed up tomato into the lettuce. Not at all the culinary vision my six year old self had for the salad.
So while I was making this salad, I was talking to God in my head. I don't remember what I was saying. If I was anything like my own daughter, it was probably just a lot of "why" questions. The Holy Spirit could've been very annoyed with me, but they do say that God's love is long suffering so I'm sure he was used to it.
Anyway, around this time in my life someone, ( I don't know who) had been talking to me about asking Jesus into my heart. I didn't know what that meant except for the fact that I was told it would guarantee me entry into Heaven. Since being a good girl was so important to me (and because what 6 year old girl wouldn't want to ensure a postmortem pair of beautiful white wings and a cool gold halo?), I decided to pop the question to Jesus. But the thing is, I didn't just ask him into my heart. I told him he could come into my heart if he was real. Even back then I was a suspicious little thing. I told him if he was real, then he'd help me cut the next tomato perfectly, and if that happened, I would let him into my heart.
Well, you can guess what happened. The knife slid right through the very next tomato like it was butter. It stopped me right in my tracks. I stared for a second at the perfect half sphere's laying there on top of the bed of lettuce thinking, "Whoa!". Then I said a prayer, asked Jesus into my heart, and finished making the salad.
See? Silliest story ever. But there's a reason I'm sharing it with you. Jesus and I did not have a happily ever after. There have been many times since then, and many times even now, when I question the existence of God. Adolescence was hard and uncomfortable. I talked to God a lot, but I didn't feel like he was listening. Moving out of my home town and waitressing in a resort area started out very lonely. I stopped thinking about God and focused on fun and friends. I completely lost my head after breaking up with my first love and had to escape to college. And in college, I learned of a lot of ideas and philosophies that had me all but convinced that God was as real as Santa Claus. Even today, when I have everything I've ever wanted- a wonderful husband, beautiful children, a home- I sometimes doubt God. But every time, at every doubtful point in my life since I was six years old, I think about that knife sliding through that tomato perfectly and I believe again.
I can't tell you how grateful I feel for my dumb little tomato story. There's this great quote by Albert Einstein that says "There are only two ways to live... one is as though nothing is a miracle... the other is as if everything is." If not for my little tomato, I would've slipped into a non-believing world, where there's a scientific answer for everything, where black is black, and white is white. But because of a dull knife and my 6 year old skepticism, I can believe in a world that has divine order in chaos, where anything and everything can be wondrous and miraculous- even if it is just a dumb little cherry tomato.
You all have a good night!
Friday, January 1, 2010
Menage A Trois
Mothers of young sons get ready, cuz you will be living this post in precious few years.
I was cleaning the kids' shower this a.m. and happened to look at the back of the bottle of Axe Shampoo that "Santa" put in 9's stocking. (By the way, I'm pretty sure the little Santa believers in this household are convinced that once you reach a certain age, Santa REALLY starts caring about your hygiene. Mr. C and I couldn't think of anything other than shampoo, an electric toothbrush, some deodorants, and dark chocolate for the teenager. We feel terrible, but what are you supposed to fill a 13 year old boys' stocking with? Oh, and we may as well just have put a box of Stridex Pads in there too. Chocolate? What were we thinking?)
Anyway.
As I was saying, I was cleaning the shower when I happened to look at the back of the Axe Shampoo bottle. Now, I'm going to venture a guess and say that 9 has been using Axe products for around 2 years now. At least that's how long my hallway has been reeking on school mornings of thick, cloying, "teenage boy trying to smell like a man" smell. This smell sticks for a good two hours after he's left for school, and it's not just him who uses it. As far as I can tell, it's the entire population of Middle School boys. When he has friends over, it's like someone has fumigated our house with the stuff.
Disgusting, but kind of cute (in a sad, hopeless, middle school boy kind of way).
So for the first time in at least a couple of years, I happened to look at the back of the Axe bottle. And this is what I saw:
And here's how my train of thought went:
"What the...? Is that a dude in a shower with 2 chicks? Yes! That's a dude showering with 2 chicks! What are these advertisers thinking? Don't they know their market? Twelve and thirteen year old boys are showering with this! EW! 9 has been showering with this! Oh god, I am SO putting on rubber gloves to finish cleaning this shower. What kind of pressure is that to be putting on teenage boys? 9 and his friends wouldn't think that's okay, right? No. I'm pretty sure 9 would be terrified if he found himself in that situation at this point in his life. Gross. Okay, NOT thinking about that. I'm going to write the advertisers a letter and give them a piece of my mind. But first, I'm going to show Mr. C cuz it is kinda funny too."
I showed it to Mr. C, half laughing and saying "You're not going to believe this." He took a good look at it, smiled, shrugged, and said, "What? Typical advertising. They know their market."
There I stood, mouth agape and totally aghast at the many moral miles that separated my husband and I. How were we even going to raise children together?
"So you think this is okay?" I squeaked.
He looked at me for a moment. " It's just saying that if you shower with this stuff girls will be all over you. What's so wrong with that?"
I looked again at the bottle. Oh. Darn it. He was right. I totally read the picture wrong. Now this, this made more sense. Middle school boys are not emotionally mature enough to handle a shower menage-a-trois, but they are exactly emotionally mature enough to believe that if they use this product, ladies would line up down the block for them. They'd swim laps in the stuff if they thought it would help.
So I replaced the bottle of Axe, happy in my knowing that the silhouette of the man and two ladies on the back of the bottle were supposed to be fully clothed in public and not naked juveniles in some steamy shower scene. Whew.
He's only 13 and I'm already exhausted.
Happy New Year to you all! Have a good night!
I was cleaning the kids' shower this a.m. and happened to look at the back of the bottle of Axe Shampoo that "Santa" put in 9's stocking. (By the way, I'm pretty sure the little Santa believers in this household are convinced that once you reach a certain age, Santa REALLY starts caring about your hygiene. Mr. C and I couldn't think of anything other than shampoo, an electric toothbrush, some deodorants, and dark chocolate for the teenager. We feel terrible, but what are you supposed to fill a 13 year old boys' stocking with? Oh, and we may as well just have put a box of Stridex Pads in there too. Chocolate? What were we thinking?)
Anyway.
As I was saying, I was cleaning the shower when I happened to look at the back of the Axe Shampoo bottle. Now, I'm going to venture a guess and say that 9 has been using Axe products for around 2 years now. At least that's how long my hallway has been reeking on school mornings of thick, cloying, "teenage boy trying to smell like a man" smell. This smell sticks for a good two hours after he's left for school, and it's not just him who uses it. As far as I can tell, it's the entire population of Middle School boys. When he has friends over, it's like someone has fumigated our house with the stuff.
Disgusting, but kind of cute (in a sad, hopeless, middle school boy kind of way).
So for the first time in at least a couple of years, I happened to look at the back of the Axe bottle. And this is what I saw:
And here's how my train of thought went:
"What the...? Is that a dude in a shower with 2 chicks? Yes! That's a dude showering with 2 chicks! What are these advertisers thinking? Don't they know their market? Twelve and thirteen year old boys are showering with this! EW! 9 has been showering with this! Oh god, I am SO putting on rubber gloves to finish cleaning this shower. What kind of pressure is that to be putting on teenage boys? 9 and his friends wouldn't think that's okay, right? No. I'm pretty sure 9 would be terrified if he found himself in that situation at this point in his life. Gross. Okay, NOT thinking about that. I'm going to write the advertisers a letter and give them a piece of my mind. But first, I'm going to show Mr. C cuz it is kinda funny too."
I showed it to Mr. C, half laughing and saying "You're not going to believe this." He took a good look at it, smiled, shrugged, and said, "What? Typical advertising. They know their market."
There I stood, mouth agape and totally aghast at the many moral miles that separated my husband and I. How were we even going to raise children together?
"So you think this is okay?" I squeaked.
He looked at me for a moment. " It's just saying that if you shower with this stuff girls will be all over you. What's so wrong with that?"
I looked again at the bottle. Oh. Darn it. He was right. I totally read the picture wrong. Now this, this made more sense. Middle school boys are not emotionally mature enough to handle a shower menage-a-trois, but they are exactly emotionally mature enough to believe that if they use this product, ladies would line up down the block for them. They'd swim laps in the stuff if they thought it would help.
So I replaced the bottle of Axe, happy in my knowing that the silhouette of the man and two ladies on the back of the bottle were supposed to be fully clothed in public and not naked juveniles in some steamy shower scene. Whew.
He's only 13 and I'm already exhausted.
Happy New Year to you all! Have a good night!
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