RIP Michael Jackson

I am not really a big Michael fan. I love the Jackson Five, and 80's Michael was pretty good. "We are the World" still rocks and I did an interpretive dance in 8th grade to "Black and White." I don't know if he molested kids, and I do think he was a kook. But, he was an icon. An icon of my childhood and my adulthood. Other people have had icons die. Farrah wasn't my generation. Neither was Paul Newman. But Michael was mine. I didn't understand you, but the talent hidden under the oxygen masks and behind plastic surgery gone wrong... to lose that is tragic. Only 50 years old.

Goodbye, Michael. I hope you find the peace in death that you certainly didn't get in life.

I am a mother...

Mark takes the kids to the park almost every evening after dinner. It gives me time to clean up, and if I am really lucky, time to sit on the couch for half a second and just breathe. Today, they went marching out the door while I stood at the sink rinsing our marinara spotted plates, and I heard a shriek. Seconds later in walks Mark carrying both boys because Will wiped out in our garage. He bellowed "mmmmaaaammmmaaa" while choking back sobs and gasping for breath. Rest assured, he is fine. He didn't even break the skin, which makes today a good day, because no skinned knees is a rarity in this house. But, it did take me aback for a moment because I realized... I am a mother.

That thought did occur to me twice before. Once when they pulled Will from my womb and a second time when it was Jack's turn to be yanked out. But, after that... not really. I know I have kids (don't call the men in white coats just yet), but on a daily basis I feel more babysitter-esque. Just feed, clothe, rinse, repeat. Three times daily. Keep them alive in between. Check. But, when Will's shrill "mama" echoed through the house, I realized it was directed at me. I was mama. I could heal him.

I don't walk on water, but man... its pretty close. To be the mother of a young child is the closest thing to God on this planet. Luckily there are lots of us, so it doesn't go to our heads. But, we are magical. He is hurt and my lips heal him. He wants a cuddle and time stands still in mama's arms. Someone is mad at him and my words repair the damage. And, when he is wrong... my arms absolve him of his sins. He cried tonight until I kissed his wounds and hallelujah, he is cured. I am a mother. Weird.

The thunder rolls....

In the immortal words of Garth Brooks... the thunder rolls... and the lightening strikes... another love goes dark on a sleepless niiiiiiight. In this case, the love going cold is that for my computer, and the dark would be the monitor that no longer glows with lovely cyber colors. That's right. Computer down. I tried 911 and they were no help. Will got inside it with his plastic drill and nothing. Mark the IT professional pronounced it, "time of death 9:43PM." Apparently he did everything he could, but it was just too far gone at that point. Single tear. By tomorrow, it will be lots of tears. One strike of lightening and BAM... my world is over. So, this is to let my readers (or reader depending on the day) know that I am gone now. My computer has been silenced. Some day, I will type again. Buh bye.

Shoo Fly - Obama Style

Shoo Fly

Lyrics

by President Obama

Shoo fly, don't bother me.

Shoo fly, don't bother me.

Shoo fly, don't bother me,

for I'll kill you then pardon me.

Watch me, watch me

Reflexes of a jungle cat

Watch me, watch me

tiny fly, you just went splat!

Please note that lyrics were not intended to offend the fly community or endorse the ruthless murder of insects throughout the world and apparently inside the White House, so please don't come after me, you idiots (ahem.... I mean Peta).

Striking Fear into the Hearts of Many...

Do you ever put the kids down for a nap, miraculously... both at the same time...and then sit down with a soda and your Tivoed Real World/Road Rules Challenge (hypothetically, of course... cuz who watches that stuff) only to hear the worst sound ever made. WAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

I find myself in a constant state of "what was that? Did you hear that? Which kid was that?" And, I don't mind saying, I am a little bit sick of it. I come downstairs with Will this morning and get him to the potty, get his breakfast, nuke my leftover pizza (the breakfast of champions), all the while listening. Thinking about turning on the monitor, but that just makes the WAAAAHHHH that much louder. I prefer the semi-muted WAHHHH of the natural cry as opposed to the magnified WAHHH of a speaker. As soon as my microwave signals me with the triple beep... I hear it. WAAAHHHHHH. Pizza abandoned. I am a trained Jack retriever. Just brush me occasionally and leave me a bowl of water and I am good to go.

Later, I will shower. (Yes, its 10:29am and I am still in my pjs... and truth be told, I have been in them since 4:30pm yesterday. Ha. Stay home moms rule). I will put Jack down for his morning nap soon and I will shower... all the while holding my shoulders up to my ears with the tension of knowing that any minute.... while shampooing.... while brushing teeth.... if I am lucky, I will make it all the way to make up and hair before the dreaded WAAAAAHHHHHHH starts again.

Even later, I will put them down for a nap (God willing, at the same time). And I will attempt to get things done. I will make phone calls, I will fold laundry, I will bake banana bread (no kidding... its really on my "to do" list today). But, I will do the whole list creeping around, afraid to speak above a whisper for fear that they will hear me. That I will get a premature WAAHHHHH or MAAAAMMMMMAAAA depending on the kid.

Latest, I will be in bed tonight. I will have the Jack TV on and I will sleep the restless sleep of a parent that knows the second she falls asleep the child will awaken. Times two, since there are two kids. I know that if I hit that blessed REM that others speak of but I don't quite recall, I will be ripped from it with a WAAAHHHH of epic proportion.

I remember a time when I lived alone and I would hear the windows creak with wind and be frightened at the noise. I would hear scratchings of bushes on my bedroom window and the house settling like footsteps and would jump wondering "what is that sound?" Only now do I realize what a terrifying sound really is. It doesn't make you wonder if there's someone in your house. You know there is someone in your house... and you know that the peace and quiet that you may experience at that moment is going to be short lived.... you just don't know when it will strike. WAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Pee pee in the potty.... A Diary

7:30a - Trying to put Will on the potty. Apparently someone has equated sitting on the potty with water boarding, because Will has decided that he is not going to do it. In fact, Will has decided that he would rather be tar and feathered than do it. Will would rather cover his body in honey and roll on a bee hive. Will has decided he would rather swim in a sea of sharks with a paper cut (Will would have the cut, not the sharks) than do it. You get the point. He protested. A. Lot. Evil Mommy "The Potty Training Torturer" forced him to sit on potty bare butted while she read a story. Gitmo has nothing on her! Will continued his protest in the form of a screaming, crying tantrum. Mommy's negotiating style (ex. DO YOU WANT A SPANKING?!?!?!?) was victorious as Will sat on potty through entire story. Upon completion of story, Will decides that maybe he will go pee pee to earn 30 minutes with his "potty buddy," a reeree super cool shooter truck. Will succeeds in going potty and is currently playing with shooter truck while wearing Lightning McQueen grunders. Score 1 for Evil Mommy.

8:40am - Grunders report - dry! Torture session number two began at 8:30am. Forced unsuspecting victim (aka Will) onto potty. Evil Mommy read "A Was Once an Apple Pie" which was actually much more painful for her than for Will. Will sat through story. No pee pee. Will tried after the story... much grunting and effort was put in. No pee pee. Finally, Will determined that he needed to use the big potty. More grunting ensued. SO DID PEE PEE! YAY WILL. Score - Evil Mommy 2... Diapers - 0!!!!

9:51 am - Grunder status - dry again!!! Torture session number 3 began at 9:40am. It was interrupted by TruGreen dude at 9:42am. I apologize, Mr. TruGreen for coming to the door in pjs, glasses and braless. Of course, Will had no pants or grunders, so my lack of bra might not have been quite as odd as Will's lack of anything south of the border. This potty session was a win/win because Will picked a different book (Clifford book called "Teacher's Pet") and Will went pee pee right away. Not So Evil Mommy - 3.... Diapers - 0!!!!

11:09am - Its almost too easy! Mediocre Mommy - 4... Diapers 0! Like taking candy from a baby... or actually, like giving bribes to a toddler... but who cares!!!

12:23pm - Changing name from Mediocre Mommy to Failure Mommy. With 4 minutes to go on the "potty timer" Will informed me that he went potty on the chair. Failing At Training Mommy - 4... Diapers 1. Uh oh.

12:48pm - Making a comeback! Will starting to pee and yelled "MOMMY, ME POOPING!" We ran to the potty and while the poop is still alluding us... he pee peed!!! Can I get a woo woo!?!?! Mommy Rules - 5.... Diapers 1.

12:59pm - I've created a monster. Will yelled "MOMMY, GO PEE" and we went to the potty and he peed. Then he asked for trucks. As a prize. I am making him a sign that says "Will pee for trucks" and putting him at a highway off ramp next to the homeless guys. Super Mommy - 6... Diapers 1... Will realizing he can get oodles of toys in trade for urine... 1.

1:09pm - I've. Created. A. Monster. A monster who likes to pee. Tired of Potty Training Mommy - 7. Diapers 1. Times Will has peed in last half hour - 3.

1:51pm - How is it possible that he wet himself after peeing every 30 seconds?!?!?! Will went out to play and promptly wet his pants... THE FIRST PANTS I HAVE BOTHERED TO PUT ON HIM TODAY! Luckily, my grouchy neighbors have company and all are sitting on the deck outside so that they could hear him yell that he was peeing himself. White Trash Mom - 7. Diapers - 2. Monster who loves to pee in the potty... Gone.

2:32pm - Will goes pee pee upon my request prior to nap time. Mother Earth Incarnate - 8. Diapers -2. Nap time. Thank God.

4:56pm - Nap time's over. Peace and quiet is over. My sanity is over. Oh wait... I haven't had that for years. Somehow Will remembered that potty = death, so it was a fight to get him back on. Once on, that craptastic "A Was Once An Apple Pie" reared its ugly head. No pee pee, but a valiant effort at least. Considering going to the store to buy books that don't make me want to stap my eyes out with the soap dispenser. But, slightly afraid to take the spontaneous pee machine to the store. Hmmm.....

5:43pm - Suggested that Will go pee pee. He agreed without incident and is happily playing with his "potty buddy" truck after a successful urination. Seriously, is this my life? It currently revolves around someone else's bladder. God help me.

6:36pm - Asked Will to go pee pee before dinner. HE DID IT. Picture me singing the "We Did It" Dora song and swinging my arms and knees side to side. He did it!!! Me - 10. Diapers 2. Eat it, diapers!

7:39pm - Will wants to go to the park. Told him that he has to go pee pee first. Will pee peed like a pro. A PRO! Mother of Professional Pottier - 11. Diapers - sad, pathetic score of 2.

8:22pm - Will returned from the park after about 30 seconds so that he could spend time with his "potty buddy." Who knew all he needed to pee pee is a friend. Or really, a truck. Duh.

9:07pm - Will was diapered for bedtime at 9:00pm. He then asked to go pee pee in the potty one more time. He said he didn't want a diaper, he wanted grunders. Well, he got diapers because we all know he's not going potty during the night. So, he is now off to bed. In a diaper. His first diaper of the day. Only two accidents. I think that is pretty good and don't worry, I'll keep you posted. Not as posted as today... but posted nonetheless.

The end.

Just Jack. 2009.

Jack has lots of numbers. Jack has one tooth. He has taken zero steps. He says zero words. He stands on his own for two seconds at a time. He has slept through the night three times. These numbers that define him are pretty low. Except in doctors and doctor appointments. Jack has five doctors. Jack has a pediatrician, a chiropractor, a neurologist, a neurosurgeon and a physical therapist. Jack had four appointments this week alone. But as of now, Jack is down to one.


I blogged awhile back about how we had to take Jack to the ER one night because he had a seizure. That was back in March. Finally, after doctors and tests and tests and doctors, we have a definitive answer of... he's fine. HE. IS. FINE. Those are short words. They make up a short sentence... but the weight of that sentence is ginormous. I would like to say that I always knew he would be fine. That deep in my soul I knew that this would be the outcome. But, I didn't. I didn't panic either. I didn't freak out or lose it, and I stuck by my mantra of not panicking until there is something to panic about. That being said, I would gaze at his head and wonder. What is in there? His blood work was normal and we learned that awhile ago. His EEG was normal. We learned that not long ago. His neurologist felt that things were fine. We learned that a few weeks ago. But, there was that dreaded word that kept hanging around. Tumor. Nothing excluded a tumor. So, tumors lingered in my mind. The what ifs hung out there with the tumor. What if he had one? What if it was inoperable? What if it was a choice of whether or not to operate but he may not survive? What if its not all ok? But, now I can say a hearty "piss off" to you what ifs because I don't have to keep you in my head anymore. Because there ain't nothing in Jack's head that isn't supposed to be there. Take that, what ifs!!!

Starting at about 2:30pm today, when the neurologist called and told me what I was 95% sure of, I can look at Jack's head and not wonder if something is in there. I can stroke his hair and not fear what lies beneath. I can look in his eyes and know that those eyes don't hide anything painful behind them. Jack is fine. The best three little words I have ever heard.