The smile's worth a thousand memorie

Over hot chocolate this crisp morning, already well past nine, and well beyond when he's usually up and at school, we made the executive decision that he could stay home, but, we had some things to discuss, and then do.

I added marshmellows to the mugs, and blundered on.

It was time, I said, to loan out the toddler bed - our beloved fire truck bed. Cooper had outgrown his crib, and Liz was playing havoc keeping him in it, and away from the window treatments he so dearly loves to pull down...so I naturally offered up the fire truck bed.

To my astonishment, he agreed. Only caviot? Keep the sheets, his special sheets, with the doggies on them. I agreed readily.

And then, I went into the attic, off my closet, and pulled out the pieces, one by one, carrying them, noting the dust, and the missed spots of dried on whatever that accumulates in the attic, only to meet H at the top of the stairs: him pulling his crib mattress behind him.

The eyes widened. The mouth dropped.

My Inner Mom swore.

Evidently, I was not clear enough. Which I stated, once we got cozy on my bed, against the pillows, so we could discuss this whole idea all over again.

"N. O. Spells NO mommy. I choosed NO."

I asked him to take a deep breath, stop screaming at me, (though I'm impressed with his spelling abilities, should you be interested to note) and use his words. We could talk about this. But I couldn't possibly understand him, if he's crying like a bereaved widow.

He said, "I'm not ready to give up the smile."

"What smile?"

"The Truck Smile". (add in that You Total Moron Voice)

And it all came tumbling after: how that truck smiled at him, everynight at bedtime; how he recalls Mommy and him going to buy it, at the baby store, when he was leaping out of his crib, and daddy came home early to build it with me. He remembers being 14 months old, even the color of the fleece he had on, as it was chilly that day, and how he cried thinking it was broken, because it came in a box, and not like it was shown on the floor. And how even now, when he goes to bed (read: IF he goes to bed) he thinks about that smile, on the outside of the truck.

How that was when we lived in the Ugly House, that had all the work done to it, but when we all lived together. It's a very special truck bed.

Can we say gobsmacked?

Thought we could.

I embarked on what I thought was an amazing line of conversation: how memories live in our hearts, not in our belongings, and that nothing will take away how he felt laying in that bed, how loved, and cherished, and chosen that bed was. And he was. How he still is loved like that, just in two places, instead of one. That letting Cooper sleep in that bed to feel that way too, about the smile, was the bestest gift ever, cuz he's just little still, and scared of being by himself, and Jack (the bed's name) would keep him safe, and company, just like it did him, when he was little.

We talked about how growing up can be very scary, and adults are scared too - of bugs that are really big, and the wind noise on stormy nights; how sometimes, we want to be little too, and live with our mommies, to care for us. We sat there, for a good while, til he matched up our toes, to see how much longer he had to grow before he "outgrew" me - only to find, he thinks, that his feet may be bigger, but he'll want me around for a long time.

I make great pancakes.

Sitting there, amid pillows and dog fur, unmatched socks and his tissues, I realized two things - he big enough to tell me how he feels, and, he's still big enough to cry when he's sad. He still thinks I'm his bestest bestest friend.

We decided that growing up can be wicked tough; but new movies sure took some of the sting out of it.

We bought Shrek2 in memory of Jack, and watched it tonight. Stayed up late in fact to finish it.

Big Boys get to do that, you know.

Waxing Poetic

What a sad sad sad sorry state of affairs today is: I have two trees that I should've planted by now, and a whole host of indoor chores, and so far? What have I accomplished?

I've waxed the old bikini line, in preperation for.............nothing.

I got my brows done professionally, yesterday, but honestly, if I take off a bit much, is anyone really going to notice? Since it's only me visiting down there, with the regularity most of us save for experiences like...diong our taxes, or getting wisdom teeth removed....I think it's safe to say, no.

So. I pulled out the baby summer skirt, only to find that my thighs are still touching each other and not in the fun ways, finally had to turn on the ac, and am contemplating a trip to the bank, just so I can make a deposit.

Figured, I should at least take the newly waxed legs out for a spin.

In Living Color.

Unforntunately for me, I recall all of last night. In horrendous living color.

I think I should be flogged, for outrageously inappropriate behavoir, even while completely shattered - not, mind you, that I think I shouldn't be held completely accountable. I should. And am. And doing an excellent job of punishing myself - not really, that I need to: my text message this morning did it all for me. Gah.

Am going to go plant some trees. Dig in the ground. And hope the hole is big enough to fall into. Head first.

I've done the work to get over losing the marriage - or, as much as one can do, really, as it's a work in constant progress - but, like I said. I did the work.

Now. I need to do the harder work, and get over the only other person with whom my heart resides, as he's Not. Mine. He's. Hers. And I need to accept that. Honestly? When I'm rationally sober, always a toughie there, boy, I tell ya, I get it that we'd most likely kill each other - he's self-centered, and spoiled, has terrible taste in shoes -he wears mandals, for heaven's sake! and ripped up shirts - and he hogs the closet space, and is a total neat freak. He likes other people's children, mine included, but isn't sure he wants any of his own. Or, should I say, no sure he did. Maybe he does with Her. When I'm plastered, seven sheets to the wind, on tequila, and sitting with every other Smug Affectionate Couple, I want to pull my teeth and what's left of my hair out.

Naturally, I'm too vain to do either of those.

However. It does inspire a great deal of absurd texting - in which he FULLY participated, mind you - but I started it. Wrong. On SOOOOOOO many levels. But now, this morning, to find one that says to not text at all this weekend, he's unavailable - I think maybe, the humiliation of last night, coupled with this morning harsh light of day is going to cure me once and for fucking all for wanting him.

Keep your fingers crossed. I need all the help on this one, I can get.

And maybe, when I'm loaded? someone should take away my phone for a while, til I prove I'm enough of a grownup to use it responsibly

Miracle of miracles....

My child is five.

We've made it. Another year, another set of milestones: learning the alphabet (yes, I am indeed aware we're a little late on this front, but well. we all progress at our own pace, yes? this is why some men are still unfamiliar with foreplay...hopefully, they too will catch on... I digress) writing the alphabet, learning to spell, read, count, and obvserve our feelings.

If that last one seems new to you on the pre-K curriculum, you're not alone.

I was completely caught off-gaurd when I was informed that I "made him sad by yelling at him, and, being inconsiderate hurt his feelings". Now, on the one hand? I'm totally impressed that here he is, a budding man for crying out loud, who knows and can express his own feelings. One the other hand? I hate it. This is why we never gave men the permission to feel in the first place! (okay, so a little overboard, but, well. I've had a lot of cake tonight). Since when is dicipline followed up with the boisterious lament "You're So Mean!"?

We had the requisite parties, and cakes, Spongebob was in attendance, in all his plastic cake topping glory, and there were presents and presents...and, dare I say it? More presents. There was greediness, and grubbiness, sweat and tears, baseball and chalk drawing. I had my ex's family up to MY house (do see both the irony, and the sarcasm in that last statement - it was INTENDED) and fed them, entertained them, and when the hellacious thunderstorm hit, I even got out the matches and lit candles, instead of my x-MIL's hair on fire.

It was a close call, but her hair would've burned way too fast for me to get anything accomplished.

And while I sat there, with my step-daughter up, for the first time in a long time, and she's reading, really reading , and Hunter is astonishing us all with his athletic prowess, I slowly took stock of where we came from, and where we've come. He's five, and she's seven, and we're okay. No. Actually? We're great.

The kids are thriving. Growing. Learning. And still not sleeping. Certainly not in their own beds. And while I drove everyone back home, Riley to her mom, and B to his house, with three huge dogs, two suitcases, three cupcakes, one extra goodie bag, and two rain jackets all smashed into a very small car, I peered at these two huge beings in the backseat. Just as they both drifted off to the lull of the blades on the windshield, I saw, for maybe the last time, a fleeting glimpse of my babies.

I never knew that the greatest loves of my life would be so permanent and yet, so transient.

Happy Birthday H

FREAK

So, I’m sitting there, doing a little Frantic Knitting, as the baby shower is in less than two weeks, and I’ve only done half the blanket, while this woman whose son in his H’s class ponies up to the chair next to me. I’m fine with that - I’m nothing if not chatty. And she starts.

He son, the oldest, is 18. (she has, I kid you not, at least a dozen children that I’ve personally seen, not to mention the ones hiding out in the cult at home) He’s evidently addicted to crack cocaine. He got diagnosed Bi-Polar II. Refuses meds. He’s also an alcoholic.

But, he’s shown remarkable improvement, now that he’s been baptised, and regiven himself over to Our Lord Jesus Christ. He’s even given up his addictions, overnight! Oh, she’s read about this kind of healing, but never seen it. I assume, she assures me, that this what The Great Book meant about miracles just arriving on ones doorstep, when ones faith is strong, and one prays morning til night for peaceful intervention. The police, she continued, are having a tough time believing in his Re-Birth, but she’s behind him one hundred and fifty percent. If only he’d stop stealing from her wallet.

Were this a movie, the camera guy would cut to me, the Slack Jawed Wide Eyed Staring Wonder, Just Barely Hanging Onto Her Composure.

I cannot decide if I’m going to laugh, or slap her.

I’m skipping the majority of her diatribe on how Bi-Polar disorder is wildly over-used, and really, there is no medical basis for it - it’s not in the Bible. How it’s all about a persons insecurity, stemming from lack of Unity With Christ, and an inherent fault on the parts of the parents, as they didn’t train him in the art of daily prayer. I camly interject here - that the behavoiral issues stem from a chemical imbalance in the brain, that medication is necessary in all but the most benign cases, and that she’s doing both her son, and society at large a grave diservice, not getting her son the help he needs.

I get it, that she’s not paying any attention, and that’s fine. She’s welcome to believe whatever she chooses - but here’s the thing: she’s setting her child up for yet another failure. She denied him the opportunity to go to a rehab facility, as it’s run by the Devil, and His Cohorts in Big Business; as are all the drug companies, and doctors. They’re taught by the Devil, as He’s the one who came up with Public Schooling, and the desire to not have God present there.

Yep, she home-schools. Which works for lots of people. Not me, really, but lots of folks swear by it, their children thrive, and all around they seem well-adjusted, if a little shy. These kids? Take a close look into their eyes, and you’ll see Budding Fanatic written all over them. I’m guessing here, that more of her brood are afflicted than just one, and home-schooling came about when (gee, shock me) her son got expelled from more than one institution. Guess why.

yep. The Devil had gotten hold of the teachers and demanded that he be removed for “behavoir only they see”.

It’s the most surreal half hour I’ve ever spent, and even his intructor commented upon it - I’d uttered one sentece, and nothing further. My mouth hung open. Gaping. I might have been drooling, I was so stunned.

It only snapped shut, slamming my teeth together when she said to me, that B and I were really good for each other, I’d just not gotten him and myself on the proper prayer schedule, and if I did that, we’d still be married today.

Mrs. P, the instuctor, heard that last part, pulled me aside and told me that her family was what they meant when the statement “it takes all kinds” came about. Clearly,she’s the All Kinds.

She sent us home, after wiping my chin. Told me Nathanial’s mother had that effect on a lot of people - at least this time she didn’t try to baptise me when I wasn’t looking with water from a concealed water bottle she keeps in her blessed hand bag.

She tries that trick, and she’ll meet baptism by Stinging Eye Fire from bear spray….that I keep in MY blessed handbag.

Nature is LOUD

I thought living in the country was supposed to be peaceful - aside, of course, from the noisy neighbors, rowdy dogs, and fleeting harley roaring by.

I forgot about Nature. You know. Bugs. And frogs. And cicadas, which are too big in my book to be classified as bugs, but just shy of say, edible lobster size. They stick to the screens on the windows, and man, they are loud. L. O. U. D. Loud. All night long. Not just when the lights are on.

All.

Night.

Long.

I just made the executive decision to turn off the heat (it IS May, for Pete's sake) but I'm not quite ready to ramp up the electric bill again with the ac...although, with the chorus going on, I may have to bite the bullet, because this is nuts. Whoever said if a tree falls in the forest, does it make any noise is a moron. EVERYTHING in the forest makes noise. Leaves. Grass. Little small animals with scratchy feet. Bugs. Lots of bugs.

And, the weather was beautiful today, til it hit 90. For those of you wondering, there is a little phenomenon that we miss out here in good ol' New England: Spring. We go from heat to ac, with very little in between. Yesterday, was a balmy mid-60s, with a mild breeze. (Heavy on the bug noise). Today was a blistering I nearly melted wearing navy blue summer day - no less lovely mind you, but quite a shock to the old system.

Some of us just don't downshift that fast.

Which leads me back to the symphony playing behind me - and I use the wordsymphony loosely - evidently, we went from dormant to downright irritatingly blooming with life in a nanosecond.

I'm all for nature. Planting trees, giving back to the Earth.

I just wish it would thank me.....

quietly

The odor of the Mom That's Been Gone Too Long has pervaded the house - the fridge smells weird - not bad, really, just weird, and the laundry that I started and promptly forgot about has that colying aroma of mildew, that if I hurry (and I did) I can get out just using detergent, and not getting out the Ulitmate Odor Elimator: White Vingear. The chinese landry hanging in the bathroom upstairs, with the open window, remained wonderfully fresh, but the interior of the car? Whole other story, in itself.

Which leads me to tonight, when I'd finally soaked him in a lovely, frothing bubble tubby, laughing and going over our Favorite Part Of The Day, getting the mud and grass stains, dirt and sweat from beneath his nails, and that Camp Neck he had going, and he says to me, clear as a bell: remember when we were at Helen's? and you were laughing, and I started laughing, and I didn't know why? remember that mama?

I sure do.

Talk about being blissed out on parenting; when you child wanders through your freshiest memories, and culls the best ones, only to recite them at bathtime, while you sit, transfixed at this amazing person who blooms right in front of you.

And while part of me is flogging myself for the turning clothing, and the fridge with The Funny Smell, as H calls it, the only partially washed floors, and the toys, still littering the front room, the car that needs to be detailed in a way so desperate I think it might drive away from me on it's own - it occurs to me. All those items littering the To Do List are just that - so much litter.

I did the important stuff today: we went to Brant's bday party. We took a well chosen, thoughtfully wrapped gift, we ate pizza, and cake, cried when we got the green handled water weapon instead of the blue one, til Mommy chatted with the ogre holding a whole slew of blue ones....we went grocery shopping, at Walmart, the new Super one, and checked out the toy aisle, and whether we had everything we needed for the SpongeBob b-day party of his coming up in two weeks. We got ice cream cones on the way home, as our sugar levels had too much blood in them, and we ran like maniacs through the yard, barefoot, playing baseball.

We capped off a whole weekend of too late nights and great parties with some Just Us time, and I think, I met the greatest little boy of Earth.

Mine.