November 26, 2009 @ 07:03

Here are ten things in my life that have been such constants.  You might be surprised at a few of them, or for my listing them here.  But I am thankful for all of these things.  I can count on them.  Good and Bad.  Certainty is a rare commodity in this world.  And I am thankful for it. 

1.  My Daddy.  And yes, I’m forty years old and still call him Daddy. 

2.  Bear.  Someday he’s gonna get married and I’m gonna get kharma points for eons for having given away one of the best gifts ever in the history of gift giving. 

3.  The very first card of the holiday season, every year, is from the ever enchanting Janet.  She is a perfect comfort on days when I am a wreck of stupidity or uncertianty or even ambivalence. 

4.  Broken hearts.  But like Charlie Brown, I never see Lucy’s evil plan and I keep trying to kick that football.  I’d like to think that eventually I’d see the ball getting tee’d up and be able to just walk away . . .  but I don’t know.  Somehow, my willingness to believe in happy endings says more about me than it does about the breaks.  And I like that. 

5.  Puppy to stop me in my tracks.  With joy and fear and some strange emotion that must be a combination of the two because I don’t really have a name for it. 

6.  Friends to surprise me with love I wasn’t expecting but am so grateful to have recieved. 

7.  Nonnie and Trixie to not scold me, even when I deserve it. 

8.  My ability to get over it and move on. 

9.  My inability to make a Christmas of all homemade presents happen. 

10.  My belief in me.  Someday each and every one of you will be getting hand sewn footie pajamas and bath salts and cookies from me. 

11.  Are 9, 10 and 11 contradictions?  Well you can always count on that from me . . . 

Happy Thanksgiving all.  I hope you find yourself surrounded by people you can count on.  Today I have. 

November 24, 2009 @ 18:59

For a 50th Anniversary.  Can you imagine fifty years?  So cool . . . 

Ubercake with fresh flower garnish . . . 

November 24, 2009 @ 17:03

For Taylor, who has had the same chocolate silhouette cake for three years running now, just with different colors and themes.  Olympic rings this year, I think she may be serious about this gynmastics stuff.  Half ubercake, half vanilla . . . really doesn’t translate well in the picture.  The silhouettes are standing above the cake about five to six inches . . .  was okay/cute in person . . .  No.  Really. 

November 24, 2009 @ 17:02

Are the baby Looney Toons still on television even?  Baby Taz requested for baby shower.  Vanilla quarter sheet cake . . . 

November 16, 2009 @ 17:15

On Friday afternoon, Puppy visited his doctor.  First of all, he’s gained two pounds!  Yay for the boy who only eats about fifteen different foods!  And we talked about the troubles he’s been having at school.  The tension, the racing, what is apparently his medicine wearing off a few hours too soon.  After discussing all the options, we decided to go forward with changing the way in which he takes his medicine.  Same actual medicine, just a different delivery method and hopefully it will have a more gradual and long lasting release into his little system.  Less of a valley for him to be slipping into in the morning and less of a ski jump to be flying off of in the afternoons.  The options were a patch or a pill.  As I’ve seen his previous interactions with band aids, we said no to the patch pretty quickly.  It is a little early for it, but swallowing pills is a life skill, that really, everybody has to learn.  So we opted for the pill form.  Saturday and Sunday he didn’t do too well with it.  God love his daddy, but I suspect he wasn’t as hard line with him as I sometimes am.  Or maybe I just have my bluff in better right now.  Because despite his not managing it over the weekend, this morning he did it.  On the second take no less.  The chocolate milk was a good call.  And when he got a little look of surprise on his face after he swallowed it down and then grinned, I thought great!  This is going to be great!  I gave him a little high five and was telling him what a good job he’d done when his little face froze and giant tears welled up in his eyes and began to spill over.  It took me a minute to get him to calm down and tell me what had upset him so suddenly.  As it turns out, the schools anti-drug program had convinced him that pills are bad.  All pills.  Well, yes, frequently pills are bad, but not all the time.  When it dawned on him what he had just done, he was terrified that he was going to die.  He began rubbing and tugging at his little tummy frantically.  He had taken a pill.  He asked me what it was going to do inside him.  I quickly explained to him that he was going to be okay.  That the pill was just a way for him to take his medicine.  We talked back and forth about the fear and what pills actually do and what was going on in his tummy.  He calmed down quickly.  Because he’s rational and capable of understanding.  Which is where my frustration comes from.  Was there really no discussion of the difference between medicine and illegal drugs in all of the anti-drug speeches they gave at the school?  And was he sitting there all weekend at his daddy’s house thinking that his daddy was trying to kill him?  I mean really, how hard is it to have whole conversations with kids instead of giving them partial truths.  I suppose that depends on your idea about the truth.  I remember when Bear’s school was teaching them that alcohol was evil and having to explain to him that neither I nor his daddy was going to hell for having a beer with a bowl of chili.  That level of puritanical narrow-mindedness actually scares me.  And is it really so hard to talk to children and give them the whole story?  I don’t mean more than they are able to understand or more than is appropriate, but at least respect the fact that they are reasoning beings.  They take what you give them and draw conclusions.  And if you don’t give them enough, they will draw wrong ones.  We just need to remember that. 

November 12, 2009 @ 05:30

While listening to NPR, as Saturn’s rings were being discussed, this past week . . . 

Puppy:  Mommy, what is the radio talking about? 

Me:  They’re talking about the stars and the planets. 

Puppy:  Do you mean the solar system? 

Me:  Yes, the solar system!  (why do I keep being surprised at the things he knows?)

Puppy:  I love the solar system, Mommy.  Don’t you love living in this solar system? 

Me:  Yes, Puppy, I do. 

I am constantly surprised by what he knows.  In the way that Bear continually surprises me with his wisdom and maturity.  For a long time now, I’ve not had any real expectations for Puppy.  I have put all of those things away, like Mom’s silver and spectacular Jackie O-ish dress that was the center of all my most perfect playing dress up days.  Eventually, the day came that pretend would no longer do and I put it away.  Just like the things I imagined for Puppy’s future.  You know the things you dream when you look down at them wrinkled and red in the hospital bundle?  President, Rock Star, Olympian . . .  There are no limits.  But then they grow and they become seperate people.  Not just the tiny little personifications of your daydreams.  They have dreams of their own.  And limitations. 

The last few weeks we’ve been beaten over the head with Puppy’s limitations.  I haven’t posted much lately because it’s really hard.  Hard to put into words how tired I am.  How scared I am.  How much I feel like a battered ship at sea.  And still, even after that, how I feel okay.  Not over the moon.  But okay.  Perhaps it’s a kind of numbness.  This week I’ve dealt with a boy who is afraid to go to sleep every night because he says all of his dreams are bad, a pediatrician’s office (who manages his medications) who’s front desk Barbie dolls could not care less, and all the regular things that life throws at you on a regular day, the bills, the work, the everyday stress.  There’s something going on with Puppy and we can’t figure out what it is.  He’s wound tight.  He’s on some sort of edge.  He’s been exhibiting Autistic traits that he’s never shown before like flapping his hands and traits that have been predictable but now are less so, like melting down into screams when stressed.  And I am at a loss.  I don’t really know what to do.  But then we’ll be driving down the road and we’ll have a conversation like the one about the solar system and I’ll feel okay, for just a minute.  Just for that minute I can see inside his world and understand him a little better.  And know that it’s going to be okay.  Like getting a glimpse of the light house on the horizon, even though I’ve got no way of knowing if our ship is gonna make it.  And I can’t catch my breath.  I keep listening to this Old 97s song and singing along . . . 

Pluck me from this driftwood Lord I’ll be a better man
Raise me from the deep sea in the palm of your great hand
Let me see tomorrow and I’ll try to understand
How the sinking of my little vessel fits into your plan