Faith Restored

I was having a bit of a breakdown last night.

You knew this was coming. I nursed Caleb for the last time. {sigh} I thought I was going to be sane, planned to be objective and strong, but when it was all said and done I was a mess. Melancholy, morose me.

Then my husband made popcorn and gave me a beer and sat me down in front of the television.

And you know what was on?

"Talladega Nights."

It saved me.

Please do not ask me how I ended up with the sense of humor of a teenage boy. Let's just chalk it up to me being complex and intriguing.

All I know is that there must be a God, and last night God sent Will Farrell to pull me back from an abyss of self-pity.

The end.

Next stop: Nice List

The Christmas anticipation has been a little hard on Evan. I'm not sure he knows what exactly he's anticipating, but he knows he's supposed to be excited and is behaving accordingly. His emotional thermostat is set somewhere between Irrationally Exuberant and Total Friggin' Meltdown.

If we all live until the 25th it might be considered a Christmas Miracle.

This is probably why I was so receptive the other day when he was in a quiet, cuddly mood. And he said, in his best Eddie Haskell impersonation, "Mommy, how is your body getting so thin? Look at you-- you're so skinny! I love you!"

Mind you, I am at least emotionally intact enough (most days, anyway) that neither my body image nor my self-worth are vulnerable to a four-year-old's perception of me. Still, he made me smile.

He's not wrong. Those of you who know me in real life (you lucky dogs!) know that, at about five feet 10 inches and a size four, or even a two, I am relatively thin. And perhaps he's remembering last Christmas season, when I was terminally pregnant and approximately the size of our minivan. So, objectively, he's right.

And I do not want to make too big a deal out of his comment.

But still, this has not been sitting entirely well with me. Why did he choose to comment on this? Where did he learn that this is a compliment? Why does he think that my thinness makes me worthy of his love, or at least the statement of his love?

Again, those of you who know me IRL (oh, your good fortune never ends!) know about my physical difference, my anomaly. (Those of you who don't know me: I should probably get around to explaining this sometime soon.) I grew up looking different than most people, and far different than any social construct of beauty. I'm really not terribly sensitive about it anymore, but I've learned a lot. For instance: value statements about physical traits are absolutely insubstantial. Criticisms or compliments, such comments miss the point. Ultimately they are empty. And I want my kids, eventually, to understand this.

(I also learned that adolescence absolutely sucks. But that's another post. Or maybe a novel.)

Evan was just happy the other day, conversing and practicing a social skill. No big deal. But still. He's already learning. Despite what Jeff and I attempt to model, he's absorbing these socially-enforced ideals of beauty and goodness and desirability. And it bothers me. Just a little. Just enough to let me know, as a parent, what I'm up against as I try to define the values I want my children to inherit.

However. He also called my dishwater-blonde hair "golden" the other day. "Mommy, your hair is beautiful and golden," he said. And it made me happy. I'm not immune. I just hope he's not doing this to get on Santa's Nice List....

A momentary lapse

I shouldn't want this.

But I do. I want it. I want to freeze this moment, this beautiful moment that defies adjectives. I want my baby to be a baby forever. I want him to nuzzle his face into the crook of my neck. I want his angel curls to smell of sweet baby shampoo. I want to share his whispered baby conversations. I want him to suck his fingers and stroke my hair when he is tired. I want his buttery skin to stay this soft, I want his legs to stay chubby and his pot-belly cute, and I want him to remain the happiest person I've ever known.

I want him to need me. To love me without question. I want his world to remain safe and bright and warm.

I want. Forever.

Most days I resist this. Most days I am more than happy to let time pass. I am content to let our future itself be testament to our past. Knowing that there is no sense in wishing for the impossible. Knowing that there are unforeseen and better moments to come. Knowing that even as I forget the details, this magical and challenging year that we have lived together will shape the people both of us will grow into. Most days I have faith.

But today I cannot resist. Today I remember that I've forgotten so much already. Today I remember that there will be no more babies to remind me. I struggle to impress this moment on my mind and soul indelibly. I do not want to forget a single heartbreaking detail. How can I remember? How can I make sure this moment never fades? I hold him closer, I close my eyes, I grasp. And I fail.

Today I want to hold him here forever.

The Day I Turned One. By Caleb.

First my grandmas and grandpas came over because they love me.


Then I opened my presents.

Then I ate the bows.

Then I was cute.

Then we ate cake. (I was the only one who was naked.)

Then I was cute again. And fell asleep.

And then I was one.

Friday Purge

Oh, the writer's block. I do not know why. I swear, just a week ago I had about 8362694 good ideas for posts. This week? Zilch. So I'm making a list. A brain-purging list.

1. My son's first birthday is in less than 48 hours. Mind you, we still don't have a gift for him. Furthermore, we have no idea what to get him. Further furthermore, Christmas is in three weeks, and we have no idea what to get the poor kid for that obligatory gift-giving day either. This, Caleb, is the burden of being the third boy-child. Get used to it....

2. This morning on my way to the gym I heard a song by Journey. (I am a child of the 70's and 80's. I adore Journey. Don't judge me.) Anyway, hearing this song brought about the jolting and disturbing realization that I had some kind of a lurid dream involving Steve Perry last night. I'm ashamed. And intrigued.

3. I have been in bed by 9pm every night this week. (While visions of Steve Perry dance in my head, evidently....) So perhaps I'm not having writer's block. Maybe I'm just hibernating.

4. Caleb is almost weaned-- it's gone off without a hitch. Which would be great except for the fact that it's making me insurmountably sad. This seems like it deserves its own post, perhaps. Because I know you're all dying to hear about my maternal instability.

5. John McCain strikes again: this one needs a little explanation. Maybe you remember that when Evan gets "dressed up" he thinks he looks like the Senator from Arizona. Today he decided to get dressed up. But he only made it half-way there before he got a little distracted. So when I left this morning he was dressed in a blue oxford shirt, a red sweater vest, and not a stitch of clothing from the waist down. And he was doing some kind of kung fu-inspired dance and singing, "I look like John McCain!" The potential analyses of this are disturbing. And hilarious.

This seems like a good place to stop. Hopefully next week I'll be inspired again....

Taking stock

I have no idea why I even bothered to get up yesterday. It pretty much seemed like I failed at every single thing I touched. Here's a list. Read it: you'll feel better about yourself.

1. I was being all efficient and got to Lowe's bright and early-- did you know all their Christmas stuff is 50% off?! You know what else? It really sucks when you lock your keys in your car. I had to call my in-laws and totally admit what an idiot I am and they drove to my house and got my spare keys and came to bail me out, while I strolled around Lowe's with a whining four-year-old and a screaming baby. The guys in Lumber looked at me like I had an arm growing out of my head. This episode should have served as warning that the rest of my day would be best spent drinking Bailey's on the rocks, rather than trying to be productive.
2. Turns out that at least half of what I bought was wrong and has to be returned.
3. I left one of my bags in the store.
4. I tried to get gas but couldn't make the pump work.
5. I couldn't write a blog post to save my life.
6. Hell, I couldn't even write a coherent grocery list.
7. As a direct result of Failure #5, we had no usable food in the house. Unless you count whole wheat flour, two eggs, apple cider, an overripe banana, moldy sour cream, and Velveeta. Oh, and Bailey's. And plenty of beer. For some reason I was having trouble whipping that up into a meal.
8. I ate ice cream. Twice.
9. When I finally managed to scavenge some food it took 45 minutes longer to cook than I had anticipated, making my son and husband late for The Meeting of the Venerable Cub Scouts.
10. Somewhere in the haze, Evan had a monster temper tantrum. Enormous.

Perhaps for the sake of comparison I should make a list of everything that went well yesterday:

1. No one got arrested.
2. No one got food poisoning.
3. I got to watch "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" with Evan. (The Burger Meister Meister Burger rocks.)
4. I went to bed at 8:30. Such mediocre ineptitude (or is it inept mediocrity? a question for the ages) is exhausting.

Told ya.

I can't wait to get old

Here was my Thanksgiving: I had to travel 220 miles by myself. And when I say "by myself" I mean with three children. And no husband. (Having an awesome schedule is not a benefit of working in the healthcare industry.)

We stopped at McDonald's for lunch in Nowheresville, Iowa. At the same exact time as a van full of folks from the local retirement home. Fortunately I made it into line in front of them. (I was not in the mood to listen to six elderly ladies try to decide whether they wanted a chicken sandwich or a hamburger to go with their decaf.)

But as I got my tray, I noticed an Old Guy (really. old.) looking pointedly at Evan, who was holding onto my pant leg. He looked for a minute and said to me, "His shoe's untied."

I had one armful of squiggly baby and my other hand was precariously balancing a tray loaded with Happy Meals and life-sustaining Diet Coke (for me, not the kids, because pumping them full of caffeine and sticking them back in the van for the remainder of the trip would be suicide). Oh, and I'm a nurse. I've worked in a lot (lot!) of nursing homes in my time. Just so you know.

I smiled and said, "Yes! It is!" Evan's shoes are untied approximately 107% of the time. I really don't care. But Old Guy was not okay with this situation.

"Well, aren't you gonna tie it?" he said accusingly.

This struck me as ridiculous.

We exchanged blank stares for a minute, Old Guy waiting for me to tie the shoe and me considering the possibility that he was experiencing some degree of synaptic failure.

"Right, then!" I chirped and turned away.

Turns out Old Guy was seated at the table next to us. He was the only gentleman present, surrounded by a bevy of glowing, bewigged female admirers. Over his coffee and fish sandwich, he was holding forth about all sorts of stuff. I was kind of caught up in making sure the baby wasn't trying to steal my fries and listening to the big kids argue about important plot devices in "Madagascar 2," so I certainly wasn't paying attention to Old Guy's diatribe.

But then. Then I overheard him say, "And that will definitely get you laid."

I swear that's what he said. His adoring audience smiled benignly. They didn't really react as I would have. But I swear to God he was telling them how to get laid in The Home.

I think Evan spilled his milk right about then so I had to tear my attention away from his geriatric wisdom. But this half-unglued-alpha-male-octagenarian totally made my day.