pushing 2

Today marks 19 months of absolute bliss. Okay, not all the hours within those 19 months were bliss, but for the most part, yes, bliss. Because of her, my sweet Lovie.

ha, please excuse my mom's super creepy looking demeanor in this shot!

So we're officially closer to 2 now! When did all that take place?!

Yesterday when I got to Lovie's school to pick her up and was signing her out, I could hear a Kidz Bop version (why?!) of Adele's Rolling in the Deep coming from her classroom. I looked over (through the glass windows) to see about 10 little tots gathered together in one area getting their groove on. A smile invaded my face from ear to ear. I have never seen something so insanely cute. And there, in the middle, was my big brown eyed beauty with a big smile on her face, arms up in the air, knees bouncing, giggles erupting from her belly.

If only I had a video camera! It was priceless. PRICELESS. I stood there and watched all these littles dancing and jumping up and down and laughing and... THIS IS WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT, PEOPLE!! THIS IS LIFE. THIS IS LIVING LIFE!

When we got home, an hour later, I discovered that the land line phone, internet, and cable were all out. What now? I started to panic.

I called the H to freak the fuck out on him to let him know and hung up on him as Lovie started fussing.

An hour before, I was watching her dance and smile and having the time of her life; certainly we could survive one night without TV (why last night when I'm in the throws of big time needing the gates to open and Aunt Flo to finally come already, I don't know!!!!).

We went in her play room and she instantly got some books. "Read?" she said, climbing on top of me as I sat in the hugest bean bag chair ever known to (this wo)man.

Then I emptied her shape sorter and she filled it back up (not through the shapes), emptied it, filled it back up for about 10 minutes. Then she wanted to color so off we went to her room and we colored for about 20 minutes. (Is it normal for kids this little to purposely color over whatever someone else colors?! She does this all the time and it's kinda mean!)

"Eat?" she finally said, pulling my fingers to get me to stand and follow her into the kitchen where she devoured 7 meatballs (SEVEN MEATBALLS?!!!), frozen peas, frozen grapes, and water.

We went back to coloring and then she lost her marbles because she wanted her binky and she's only allowed her binky at nap and bedtime and we still had an hour to go. So I tried distracting her but she wasn't having any of it. So away went he crayons and I walked out of her room to get her away from the crib and the sight of the damn binky. She still was binkyless and pissed.

I sat down and tried playing with her duplos with her and she didn't want any part of it, she wanted her binky damnit!

Finally after about 10 minutes of crying, I just got up and walked away from her because I didn't want to lose MY shit, you know?  Still binkyless, still crying, she followed me (which kills me because aside from wanting her binky, she also just wants to be around her Mama). We ended in my bedroom and read some books that were in there.

It was really nice. We laid on the bed like we would if we were watching TV on a Saturday morning, but instead we looked at her books and pointed out different things and she repeated everything and giggled like a little fool at the noises I made for some of the animals.

Finally, Dada came home with three DVD's: Yo Gabba Gabba, Wonder Pets, and ... TEAM UMIZOOMI!!

Lovie was in heaven!

She sat there for a good 10 minutes looking at the covers and giggling and talking to the characters and singing the songs (What's gonna work? Team - Work!). Really! 10 minutes. Finally she started saying, "Read? Read? Pity pees, read?" as she tried "opening" her new "books."

Hehe.

I told her they weren't books and told her to follow me and we ended up in the living room. I popped in the Team Umi video and we watched an episode. The whole time Lovie was on her feet, dancing to the songs, and just smiling.

Then it was bath time, followed by bedtime.

One small binky meltdown and a near-panic attack (me) aside, it was a great end to a great 18 months!

And tomorrow... we're off to see THE WIGGLES live!

(BTW, I'll have to do a whole other post on why and how we've become Wiggles fans, but, in a nutshell, it's because of this video my husband happened upon a couple years before Lovie ever existed.)

Happy Friday, Happy Weekend to you!

jackasses

This week, Nancy and Erin have the following Red Writing Hood prompt for you and we think that this one is going to be fun!

Revision is about looking at a piece with a new-vision. Sometimes, it's about sprucing up the trim, but sometimes it's about knocking down walls. That's today's challenge. Go back in the archives and pick a fiction or nonfiction piece. Perhaps something you posted on your blog, or an old Red Dress Club prompt? Find something that you're proud of, but something you haven't read for awhile. Do a complete overhaul. Change the point of view. Write it from a different perspective. Try dialogue. Make it a narrative. Play with tense or organizational structure. You know, kill those babies.

Oh, and by the way? Trim it down to 400 words or less.

The world is full of a bunch of ignorant jackasses. Some may even be family members. You can try to fight their ignorance and try to get them to open their eyes a bit-  or you can choose the harder path... the one in which you sit back and watch them be... jackasses, but do so in a manner in which there is no hate. (Because once you hate, once you expel that negative energy to the Universe, you're just as big of a jackass as the ignorant ones. And yes, I've been a jackass before as have most of us, I think.)

It's not always easy to choose to go down the harder path, hence it being the harder path, but sometimes it can be a fun one. Sometimes, you get to watch from the sidelines as people who think they know it all stumble in their own shit (which stinks just as much as the next persons, by the way).  But, here's the thing: if you sit back and watch the ignorant jackasses with hatred brewing inside of you, it really won't be so entertaining- so there's another reason to save that energy that would be wasted on negativity.

It's taken me a really long time to grasp all this, to understand that there are things - lots and lots of things - out of my control that I just need to let be. If they aren't in my control, what's the use in getting all worked up over it? Why put myself in a bad mood because of someone else's ignorant behavior and/or actions? I'm better than that.

That's why I choose not to fight the ignorant jackasses. That's why I choose the harder path whenever I can. And I'll do my best to teach my daughter to do the same: Know that she is a good person, know that there are good people in the world, but that there are also a buttload of jackasses, too. Some might even be in her very own family. And just because these jackasses exist and may be everywhere, doesn't mean she has to join them.

**********************************

This revision stems from an entry I posted a month after starting this blog. Back when I had no readers. It's a long one so I'd rather link to it, than copy and paste. While it was kind of fun to go back in time and read something I haven't even thought of much in a long time, I definitely think the original entry is better as it truly captures the raw emotions I carried with me at that time.

Keep breathing

2.) Amy Winehouse died. Another name amidst a growing list of talented celebrities lost to addiction. Your reaction.

Dear Lovie,

I’m writing this to you in the hopes that one day in the future, you can have something to look back onto that will let you see how incredibly wonderful you are and how you are my absolute everything.  I’m not sure how I breathed before you came along, but I can now say with confidence that I’m so incredibly grateful that I’ve continued breathing for as long as I have. And I pray every single day that I get to continue breathing for as long as possible so that I continue to be here right by your side with every new milestone you reach, every adventure you take.

I also pray every single day that you will not end up like Amy Winehouse or the swarm of others who stop breathing early in life.

By the time you read this, the name Amy Winehouse probably won’t mean much (not like Elvis or Jim Morrison or Kurt Cobain do today- years and years after their passing).  See Amy Winehouse passed away several days ago at the very young age of 27. And while lots and lots of people die each and every day, the reason her name is mentioned and newsworthy is because Amy Winehouse was known for some pretty awesome songs and singing, as well as for her incredible submersion into drugs and alcohol. She was so immersed in drugs and alcohol that I’m guessing some people were surprised that she was still alive when they heard of her passing!  I’m not making fun of her death, my sweet girl; I’m just trying to explain to a much older you how drastically bad Amy’s life seemed to just about anyone (I imagine) who ever heard of her.  

When she first became more mainstream popular with her music, a couple years after her first album in 2003, she was noted for her strong voice and edgy tunes. She looked healthy, too. And then, just like that, her appearance changed drastically. She went from being of an average sized girl to a super thin shell of a woman who just looked ill at all times. Very ill. Like a walking skeleton at times.

via google images

It was actually pretty sad to see and some people started wondering when she would die.

And it was all a result of the drugs and alcohol.

She was in too deep.

Maybe she thought she wouldn’t be one of the ones to get sucked in as fiercely as she did. Maybe she started the drugs because of peer pressure. I haven’t a clue what happened but I do know the whole situation, and hearing of her death, was incredibly sad to me.

It doesn’t matter that she was a rock star and was known around the world. That's not what makes the story sad to me. It’s the fact that at 27 years old she died. It’s the fact that she got sucked into a black hole of drugs and alcohol because something inside of her couldn’t fight the demons in her head. It’s the fact that she couldn’t find the strength to Just Say No to the drugs and alcohol in the first place. That’s what is so sad to me.

Parents aren’t supposed to watch their children die.

She was 27 years old. An age that seems old to you now at nearly 19 months old and probably still in 10 years, but sincerely is not old. Not at all. She had her whole life in front of her! I mean, when I was 27, I hadn’t even met your daddy yet!

So I pray today and every day that you, my sweet baby girl, find the peace within to overcome the obstacles that will come your way. (As much as I want to protect you and shield you from some of life’s ugliness, it’s impossible for me to do so.) I pray that you will always believe in the love that your dad and I have for you and pray that it will help carry you through your life. I pray that your life is a very long one full of much peace and happiness.  And I pray you learn to love yourself the way we love you, because that love will give you the strength to be the best you possible and live life to the fullest.

Just keep breathing, sweet baby girl. Keep breathing.

xoxo

WW: goofball

My mom came over late Saturday to visit and spend the night. I was actually giving Lovie a bath when she got there. When Lovie, sopping wet in the tub, turned and saw Grandma standing there smiling at her, she instantly buried her chin into her chest and darted her big browns up at me and away from Grandma. It kills me when she does this shy act and it's really hard not to laugh out loud. A few minutes later and they're BFF's, of course.

Such was the case with Lovie and Grandma on Sunday morning after Lovie woke (she went to bed shortly after Grandma arrived on Saturday). They were inseparable. I was able to make an entire breakfast, clean the kitchen, serve breakfast all without Lovie hanging on me or even popping into the kitchen or calling out for me one time. Not once. (And because I've got a couple screws loose, I missed her hanging on me, whining for me, calling out for me and ended up checking on them several times. I'm a freak of nature, I know!)

After breakfast we were all just hanging out and it dawned on me that it had been a good couple weeks since I took any substantial pictures. I love having thousands of pictures to look through, but I also really enjoy living in the moment these days, you know? I don't want to be behind the camera snapping pictures of my Lovie as she plays and does her thing when I can be down there with her. You know what I mean? Argh. But still, I felt I needed some pictures so I snapped a bunch for about an hour as Lovie goofed around with us.

My lord does she make my heart swell.

finding my Thing

About a month ago, I was seriously contemplating not blogging anymore. Something was missing for me... something just wasn't clicking. I wasn't sure what it was exactly, but I was just feeling very blah about it all. Couple that with the fact that I was feeling like I was relying on my Lovie for all of my happiness, and I was just not in a real good state of (blogging) mind. 

But then something happened.

People started chiming in more and more and one comment left kept echoing in my head and heart days later:

The beautiful and wonderful Peeper was absolutely right... I found my "thing" and it was staring me in the face the whole time I bitched and moan: WRITING.

Hello!?!

It's why I started blogging moons ago (at other blogs that have since been deleted for the most part) in the first place! To get shit out of my head. To express myself. Hell, it's what my college degree is in - Fiction Writing (it's actually a Bachelor of Arts with a concentration in Fiction Writing- gotta love those artsy colleges, heh).

So with that I found some great writing exercises to participate in the blogosphere via the likes of The Red Dress Club, Mama's Losin It!, and even through Shell's Pour Your Heart Out Wednesdays, and I started thinking and writing again.... About stuff other than just my Lovie.

And it felt/feels fantastic!

But it's because of the comments that it feels as good as it does. Getting confirmation that what I've written, fiction or not, has made some of you feel something is really awesome. It's fantastically wonderful, really. It makes me think that I'm sharing my stories, fiction or not, in a way that's relatable to the reader and that means something's working right. To me, at least.

So my whole point to this long ramble is to say Thank You. Very much. Your words, your thoughts, your feedback, your comments... it's lit a fire under my ass and I'm really digging the feeling as a result.

: )

Lesson Learned

This week's prompt, from Angela and Galit, asked us to write a post that either starts or ends with the words "Lesson learned."

I’m ashamed to admit that the following is a true story- though the names are not:

Lesson learned: I ain’t ever gonna get almost arrested again!

My nephew (Anthony) was 4 and his big sister (Marie) was 10. Their mother Lynn, my ex-SIL, wanted out of her marriage to my brother so packed up her bags and left my brother and her kids behind. I was there the day she said goodbye and let me just say that it’s a moment I never ever want to relive. The tears by everyone involved… the shrieking by the kids. It’s just not something my heart could ever bear witnessing again.

Lynn picked up the kids every other weekend for the night and returned them the next day… except for the day when she only returned one child: Anthony (my brother is not Marie’s biological father).

Marie was nowhere to be seen.

As Anthony entered the house, Lynn was asking for more of Marie’s stuff, telling Brother that Marie didn’t want to come back. 

Brother slammed the door in her face.

Lynn screamed and cussed through the door.

Anthony, standing behind Brother inside, screamed and cried for Marie.

More screaming and cussing from outside.

Brother yelled up to me in the kitchen to call the police.

More screaming and cussing now directed at me.

I had enough of the screaming and cussing being done over Anthony’s screaming and crying, so I flew down the hall, down the stairs, past Anthony and Brother and into the driveway to confront Lynn. We started cussing each other out and soon started shoving one another. She grabbed my hair and wouldn’t let go so I pummelled  her until stunned by the presence of little Marie standing right next to us, uncontrollably sobbing and screaming for us to stop.

I instantly pulled back and told Lynn to stop. She tried coming back toward me but I kept backing away and telling her that she needed to stop because of Marie. The police appeared and separated us and took our stories and asked if charges wanted to be filed.

HELL FUCKING YES, I screamed on the inside. “No,” is what came out as my eyes fell upon Marie still hysterically sobbing by her mommy’s side. “Not unless she does.”

Lynn didn’t either. The police threatened to call Child Protective Services.

I was mortified by my actions…. mortified that a mother could keep one child and return another… mortified that a child saw us fighting. I always felt that kids knew more than adults gave them credit for and I always said I wouldn’t pretend they didn’t, and yet here I was acting like a friggin caged animal set free, not even giving a second thought to what Anthony or Marie might witness.

Never again will I chip away at a child’s innocence in that fashion.

 

Editor's Note: Marie is now in her mid-20's with a little boy six months older than my Lovie. We lost contact for several years after this all went down but now communicate via Facebook. Anthony is 19 and a HS drop-out who's gotten into a bit of trouble the past several years- mainly because his dad, aka Brother, no longer has anything to do with him and his mother doesn't parent. That's all I can say about any of that as that's their story to share, not mine. Anthony and I do still have an extremely close relationship (I helped raise him for several years after this incident); he's the reason I wanted a child of my own.

Green

Green is...

all images except #2 are via google images

1. My favorite color
2. Eyes (mine)
3. Sharpies
4. Broccoli
5. Trees
6. Money
7. Green Eggs and Ham
8. Summertime
9. Green beans
10. Envy

Perfect

Aunt Helen had two children, a boy and a girl- my cousins, James and Laura- both with blond hair and blue eyes. She had a meticulously clean home with ample space both inside and out.

Her kids had everything they could ever want- books, toys, designer clothes.

Everything was perfect.

Perfect.

Perfect.

She took photos of her children when they were babies. She curled them into a ball and placed them atop the laundry in a wicker basket and took photos of them. Pictures of their feet, their eyes, their lips, their bums. Pictures of them in the bath, on the kitchen counter, in their bed. She made most of the photos black and white and blew them up large and hung them on the walls of their spotless home so that visitors could see how perfect she and her family was.

As the kids grew, so did the photos. Some color, some black and white. The pictures were all so beautiful and… perfect. From sleeping babies to laughing kids. Playing in the sprinkler photos; kids coloring, eating, blowing bubbles, riding bikes, playing soccer photos.

Holiday cards were always photos of the family with a letter describing how perfect everything was.

Perfect.

Perfect.

When I would visit to play with my perfect cousins and their perfect toys, I barely spoke unless it was in a whisper in my cousin’s room with the door closed.

See, my aunt Helen scared the shit out of me. Even when I was a little kid.

James and Laura were scared, too, because when nobody was looking as the sun went down for the night, aunt Helen would yell. She yelled a lot. And she would hit my cousins, too. With books or magazines or the phone or shoes or her hands.

I never saw her hit them, but I could hear it, and afterward, when Laura and/or James would come back into Laura’s room where I would hide, they would try not to say anything, try not to cry, but would typically break down and tell me that what I heard was her beating them. We would stay hidden and as quiet as could be the rest of the night and the next morning, aunt Helen, in a calm, happy, and chipper voice, would call out to us that breakfast was ready: Chocolate chip pancakes or waffles and freshly squeezed orange juice. Served on bright white plates at the dining room table with the shiniest forks and knives. A vase of fresh flowers sitting in the center of the table.

                                  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time to link up your Red Writing Hood post!

This week Galit and Angela asked you to write a short fiction or non based on the following picture:.

Editor's Note: this piece is fiction.

 

The simple things.

Going to soccer games and eating hot dogs and cheering and jeering for 2 hours.
Riding bikes to the park and climbing and swinging and sliding for (what seems like) hours on end.
Collecting fireflies on warm summer nights while waiting for the magical music of the ice cream truck.
Swimming in dirty lakes.
Eating ice cream from old mom and pop stands.
Blowing out birthday candles while family stand around smiling and looking at you.
Opening a few, small gifts.
Family meals on Sunday at the grandparents.
Playing with cousins every weekend.
Stopping for McDonald’s on the way home from the grandparents’ on  Sunday nights.

But then Mama and Papa fight and separate, and Papa’s living elsewhere and Mama is different and never home, and Sissy and Brother are always out, too. So then the simple things change:

Someone is actually home when you go to bed.

The electricity is on to allow some TV time.
Mama makes dinner: warm baked beans with corn bread.
A warm bath.
Weekends with only Papa and eating out, visiting Nonna, going go-carting and playing mini-golf, etc.
 
Then you move so much that you end up at four different high schools. The simple things change, yet again:

Meeting your nephew for the first time.

Someone in class actually talks to you and looks you in the eye.
Movies, concerts with a friend.
That feeling you get when you look at him, when your eyes meet.
Hugs from people who care.
Drunken nights with your BFF/cousin.
 
Now you’re in your 20’s and have a college degree but it’s not a fancy one and it’s hard to find a job. Simple things become:

Hugs and kisses and jibber jabber from nieces and nephews.

Helping a child to spell and read and ride a bike.
Renting out your own apartment.
 
Next up is your 30’s; you’ve got a man by your side now and life is finally being lived… for you. The simple things:

Quiet evenings together watching TV, playing video games.
Holding hands.
Walking down the aisle with Papa by your side and Mama sitting proudly up front.
Watching everyone eat and dance and laugh and party on your wedding day.
Feeling your unborn baby kick.
Hearing her cry out for the first time.
Holding her.
Looking at her.
Seeing her smile.
Hearing her giggle.
Watching her discover.
Seeing her crawl.
Watching her stand on her own.
Cheering as she takes a step.
Catching her as she runs into your arms.
Her crazy hair.
Her big brown eyes.
Hearing her say, “Mama.”
Hearing her say, “Wuv you.”

Wordless Wednesday: damn flower headbands!

These were taken at school a couple weeks ago... the props, including the sweater and ridiculous head gear, are from the photogs. While I think the pics are cute, I won't be ordering any... sadly. Pink shit aside, I just cannot get down with the fact that the flower on her head in the first picture is as big as her head. I mean, really?!? Why?! And while I think she's super cute in that second picture, these represent her 18 months and who the hell wears a winter hat in the dead of summer?! Oh well. I think she's cuter when she's not posing anyway.

Rhythm: a birth story

This week's prompt asked us to write about a time that rhythm, or a lack thereof, played a role in your life. And don’t use the word “rhythm.”  (I admit this is roughly 75 words over the 600 word limit.)

We arrive at the hospital Sunday night and not less than an hour later, the Cervadil’s inserted.

I’m told to get some sleep.

7am the next morning, they take out the Cervadil and an exam reveals I need more help.

They start the Pitocin.  

Around 9am, I feel mad tightening in my stomach every so often. Sometimes it makes me catch my breath.

Around noon I get up to pee.  When I manage to get back into bed and somewhat comfortable, I feel a sort of twist inside on my right side near my lower abdominal area. I then feel like I wet the bed.

I start to panic: Surely my water couldn't be breaking just five hours after the Pitocin started! Something must be wrong with my sweetpea!

DH calls the nurse. I feel this incredible urgency to take a dump.

I panic more as I think about all the I Didn't Know I was Pregnant shows I watched where the moms end up giving birth to their babies in the toilet.

I try to convey all this to the nurse. We go round and round. Finally I allow her to check and she confirms my water broke.

Just like that, I was in active labor.

The contractions are fierce and scary (I was petrified of shitting out my baby!) and I was letting everyone know.

“Do you want an epidural?”

Yes.

The room becomes incredibly warm: Sweat drips from every pore as I clutch onto the nurse, roll my back in position, and listen to the anesthesiologist tell me not to move over and over again and again.

“All done,” says the dude with the needle the size of my baby.

I lay back and wipe the sweat off my face and feel nothing as the numbers on the monitor race up and down every so often.

Nine hours later, with no solid food for 28 hours (thanks to gestational diabetes), I vomit for 10 minutes straight. 15 minutes after that, I’m told to push down like I’m on the toilet… like I’ve never pushed before.

My legs are dead;  DH holds one while a nurse holds the other.

Two hours later, they insist upon a c-section; the baby’s heart rate keeps dropping (only) when I push.

Once I agree, the room closes in on me: I become incredibly warm…anxious…hungry…tired… then I start panicking that something would go wrong. It had been 16 hours since I could last feel my legs and now they were about to make it so I couldn't feel my stomach either. I was drop dead tired and pissed off; I feared that I would miss the birth of my baby because the whole thing had taken so long.

I drift in and out of consciousness.

Finally they wheel me away into an ice cold room and hook me up like Jesus onto a flat table. I start to shiver.

I want to close my eyes so bad. DH sits by my side the whole time trying to make me smile. Finally after what seems like an hour of lying there with a big sheet hovering over me, people start to move about, peaking over the curtain and telling me that I'll feel some pressure but no pain.

Different voices saying different things.

Pressure on one side and another.

"It's going to feel like someone is sitting on your chest now," a voice declared.

I feel a tug and hear excitement in the various voices as the narrator of the event, the anesthesiologist, tell me they pulled her out.

Different voices saying different things.

Finally an itty wail and some deep laughter.

“She’s beautiful!”

The curtain still blocks my view. I urge DH to go to her (later learning it was the most awesome experience for him - to meet his baby girl for the first time).

And then I see her.

Finally.

She is beyond pefect, beyond beautiful. And she's all mine.

I have no words.

oh if you really want to...

here are some words about this. 

and here, too.

Black and White: Aw snap, Fast Food eating Toddler!

We had no plans on the fourth so we went to the park after picking up some (gasp) McDonald's. That's right.... I feed my kid fast food. And she eats it. Along with fresh vegetables, fresh lean meats, fresh fruits, etc. See my kid eats everything. Not just McDonald's, but also not just mac n cheese. Anyway, this was one of the few pictures taken that day where she didn't look absolutely miserable (she ended up with a 103 fever and vomitting {and no, it wasn't a result of the McDonald's} a couple hours after this picture was taken). I love the way her little lips are pursed together (confining a chicken nugget or fry)... and with the MickeyD's beside it almost makes me wanna caption this, Aw snap, a fast food eating toddler caught in the act! That poor child!!

My girl is currently napping. She woke this morning in time to watch an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba before enjoying some cheerios and blueberries. Then we played and kissed and tickled and giggled and colored and ate some cheese. Then we played and kissed and tickled and giggled and vacuumed and ate some honeydew mellon and tuna salad and peas. It's been a busy, stay-indoors-from-this-maddening-heat kind of day. And we like it that way: Lots of hugs and kisses; lots of mommy, daddy, and baby girl time.

What makes me happy

This was fun and different as far as a "writing prompt" goes. I enjoyed doing it... even though I kept putting it off and just did it here at work minutes ago. It would've been nice to have the actual "SHE" in the picture, but you get the idea I'm sure. Ack, I do love her so. : ) And she does make me so happy. Even on mornings like this one when I stupidly had her carry in the Chips Ahoy cookies into daycare where the classrooms are all having Picnic Days later today. She did great carrying the cookies in but then letting them go and sit on the counter unopened, uneaten???? What the hell was I thinking?!?!!!! Stupid mommy FAIL. She went limp, her mouth flew open (I think I counted like 15 teeth now!), and she screamed and cried and carried on and on and on. I don't blame her, really. I kinda wanted to dive into the damn cookies myself.  Anyway, even on mornings like this one when she's throwing tantrums and not liking me very much, she still makes me oh so happy.

Wordless Wednesday: Picasso video

More

My goodness do I love watching her... be.

Embarrassment

Your assignment this week was to write a post about an embarrassing moment. So, here we go:

The yellow line of light from under the door was the only thing to fixate on, and the voices and laughter from the kitchen intensified with each blink of an eye and every thumping beat of my heart.

I tried not saying anything… I tried not moving or breathing… I tried not freaking out. I was a girl, but I was a rough and tough tomboy girl. And I was pushed into the pantry with Randy so that we could be together… so that we could become a couple. 

Randy was 11 and I was 10. 

Our parents thought it would be funny, apparently. Actually it was his parents and my mom... or who used to be my mom. I mean, she still looked like my mom and talked like my mom, but she was definitely not the mom I knew my entire life up till the year prior when she locked my dad out of the house. 

I could hear Randy’s dad say something to taunt his son and then everyone would burst into laughter.

Of course there was clanking of beer bottles involved. And smoke from the cigarettes. Dear god, the smoke that invaded my youth.

It wasn’t the first time Randy and I had met, but it was the first time we were stuck together in a small space. My brother and Randy were best friends. I always wanted to play with my brother so I followed him everywhere thereby following Randy as well. We played soccer together when they allowed me to play with them, but for the most part, I always sat on the sidelines watching them play because what boys wanted a little girl, tomboy or not, playing with them? Especially when that girl happens to be a little sister to one of them. 

But now that my mom and his parents were, apparently, best friends, we were seeing a lot more of each other. And my mom, revisiting her teen years or something, didn’t like having a little girl sitting by her side. So they pushed me in the pantry when Randy was in there looking for something to eat. 

“You can come out after you kiss her,” Randy’s dad shouted at one point. 

More laughter, more clanking of beer bottles.  

Suddenly the light from under the doorway melted away. Randy turned on a light inside the pantry.  

“I’m sorry about this,” he said.  

I didn’t say anything. I just turned back to look at the door and prayed that it would open. 

We didn’t really say much more after that and we certainly didn’t kiss. I’m not sure how long we were in there exactly- could’ve been 10 seconds, could’ve been an hour for all I know. All I do know is that I was mortified. I felt so … nonexistent. Like my feelings just didn’t matter.

Editor's notes: My mom has had quite a few transformations in my life. Today she is a wonderful, doting grandmother and it really makes me happy to see her with my Lovie. Basically, she's a much better grandparent than she was a parent. I love her. She's my mom. If she didn't exist, I wouldn't exist to have my Lovie. But the mother she was is nothing like the mother I am and will continue to be. I'm just glad she grew up enough in time to grandparent Lovie.

As for Randy... I haven't seen him since my brother got remarried over four years ago. He was my brother's best man. They no longer talk because my brother's an asshole. I do know Randy is on his second marriage, has several kids, and recently added a grandbaby to the mix. I liked Randy when we were kids. A lot. He reminded me of Ricky Schroder in Silver Spoons. We never did kiss but we did go see movies and play video games together- alone- a lot. I wonder if he remembers the time they locked us in the pantry together...

where it all began

itty bitty yawns... itty bitty fingers and hands...
pink skin... flat hair... super proud papa

brand new life... brand new world... brand new love...

brand new mama's dreams all coming true

everything finally makes sense ... THIS is what IT is all about

the above were all taken in the hospital the day after Lovie's birth.

below are from the first days home with her.

first ice cream truck treat

from june 2011

work of art

Still nursing a cold with a horrid cough and weekend temps were in the 90s so we never left the house. But we still had fun.

Die-Die

For this week, take what you know out of your comfort zone... And here's the result:

Here comes Mama and she looks so pretty and she’s so happy and she’s gonna give me lots of kisses and hugs, I bet. And the Kitty. There’s the Kitty. Look at the Kitty- so soft and hairy and funny looking and the noises it makes is pretty funny, too. It’s funny when Mama makes the noises like the Kitty, too. Oh Kitty, be nice to the other Kitty. Niiiice. Niiiiiice, Kitty and Kitty. Oh Mama’s lifting me up into the air. Weeee!! I see a cute baby in the mirror. Baby! Baby!! There’s Kitty again. And there’s Mr. Bear, too. And now Mama is kissing me a bunch of times and some more and now I’m laying next to the window and I like kicking the wooden blinds and feeling them on my feet. And toes. Toes. I have toes. Shoes. I like wearing shoes. Shoes. Shoes. And Socks.

Oh Mama!! She’s blowing on my tummy and making loud noises while blowing on my tummy. I have a head and a nose and ears and toes and feet. Shoes go on my feet. I love shoes. Me Me Me shoes and Mama shoes and Dada’s shoes.

Dada. Where’s Dada? Dada? Dada?

“We just gotta get you dressed and then we’re gonna go see Dada,” Mama tells me. She’s so smart. And pretty. Oh Mama. Puppy.

Puppy. Where’s Puppy? Puppy! Puppy. Puppy?!

“We’ll bring your Puppy when we go see Dada, don’t worry,” says Mama. Oh Mama. She looks at me so much and smiles and laughs so much and she talks to me all the time. 

And now Mama is carrying me on her hip. Kitty! Kitty Niiiiice Kitty! 

Dada!! There’s Dada in bed by the tv. Dada’s so fun and makes loud noises when I watch the Fresh Beat Band… La! La, La La, La La!!

“It’s time to go now,” Mama tells me when they’re done singing on TV. “Say bye bye to Daddy.”

Dada. Die Die Dada.

She picks me up and kisses me and carries me to the door and lets me turn off the light.

“Blow kisses to Daddy!” she says. “We love you!”

Dada is in bed waving Die Die. Die Die Dada. 

“Bye Bye,” Dada says, waving. “I love you!!”

Puppy

The Lovebug is feeling much better today, praise. She was gravy yesterday, too, but we stayed home just in case... well, and because I felt like my head was going to explode if I moved too quickly (pretty sure I have a fun, summertime sinus infection).

Yesterday when we were playing (she played, I laid) and reading books, we came across a new word that Lovie added to her growing by the millisecond vocab: Puppy.

One of the books talked about a Puppy and now instead of everything GgeeeGgeee for dogs, it's Puppy. I'm down with this because her old "word" for Doggie sounded so much like Kitty (just a bit harder sounding) that I had to always pay super attention at what she was calling what. So now, I'm all about Puppy. And Kitty. Two different sounding words. Hoorah.

This morning as we left the house and walked to the car, we passed the neighbor who had their dog out.

"Puppy," I said first before she started whining to see it, play with it, pet it, lay on it...  "Bye bye Puppy."

"Die die," Lovie said. (always makes me smile when she says Die Die so sweetly)

I should've counted because it was that insane but I'm still not feeling great feeling like utter shit so I needed to just focus on driving but I swear she must've said Puppy 350 times on our drive to school this morning.

And when I went to unstrap her, it turned into a whine: "Puuuuupppppppyyyyyyyyyyy. Puuuupppppyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyhhh."

As I was leaving her at school, the teacher, in an effort to distract her and unglue her from my chest, said, "C'mon wanna go color?!"

I can't wait to guess "Puppy!!" when she shows me her artwork later.

Wordless Wednesday: What we've been up to the past couple days

On top of her being feverish and downright pathetic the past two days (my poor sweet baby doll!), I now have what I believe to be a sinus infection. Fun summer times are being had over here.

Reason #5646438

I'm not a fan of summer and I've never been one to hide my disdain toward it. All winter long when people moan and groan about how awfully cold and gray it is, I smile thinking At least I can sip some hot chocolate and put on an extra sweater and a pair of socks to get warmer. What about when it's blazing hot out?!?

Man I hate summer. I hate so much about it- the heat, the humidity, the bugs, the skinny bitches, the kids smelling like... kids who've been playing outside all day, etc etc.

Well yesterday was the 4th of July and here in the good ol' U S of A, it's a day to celebrate the red, white and blue. It's a day for good foods cooked out on the grill (cuz it's not hot enough out there with the beating down sun!), corn on the cob, ice cold watermelon (ok this one I'll give you summer fanatics- I do love me some watermelon and ice cream... can't ever forget the ice cream though my kid actually chose grapes over ice cream the other day, the little weirdo), fireworks when the sun goes down.

We had none of that planned.

We live in the city. In an apartment with very little outdoor space to grill let alone picnic with the damn mosquitoes, bees, and other buzzing tiny annoying creatures.

But it was the 4th of July, gosh darnit.

So I came up with a plan and as soon as Lovie went down for a nap with no fussing or fighting, I told the H about it: when she wakes, we're going to drive by the park to see if it's busy and if it's not, we're picking up some McDonald's and having ourselves a little picnic in the park (and if it is busy, we'll just eat out first and then go back to the park to play).

Lovie slept for nearly 3 hours (third day in a row, too!). When she woke, we got dressed and left. The park was empty. HOLLA! We picked up McDonald's and went back to the park and ate. Only Lovie didn't want to eat much. We were sitting with our backs to the sun and I suspect the sun was bothersome. It's ALWAYS bothersome to me but I didn't think a couple minutes would matter much. We moved farther from the playground area to where there was more cover. She still wouldn't eat much more than three fries and one chicken nugget (and my girl LOVES french fries and chicken nuggets).

We stayed for about an hour and when Lovie wasn't near us under shade, she just kind of stood around. No laughing, no squealing, no climbing all around... basically no Lovie behaviors displayed.

Finally she came up to me and laid in my arms and I knew we needed to leave. When we got home, minutes later, I stripped her down to her diaper and she felt SO warm. She had a friggin 103 fever! I felt SO friggin bad for her.

Here I was trying to put my hatred for summer to the side so that she could have a fun (well more so than just staying inside and playing with our boring asses) 4th of July and I ended up making her more sick! (I'm SURE the 85 degree temps and not a cloud in the sky sun made her temp rise.)

About an hour later, she puked.

My poor sweet baby doll.

She laid on one of us for the next couple hours before she finally started drinking some water and eating some crackers. Then it was bedtime and she went down without a word.

I went in to check on her every couple hours.

This morning she seemed OK but I kept her home and came in to work for a couple hours so that I could get some shit done that needs to get done. I'll be leaving soon though to be with her so that the H can go in to work as his work is more important than mine.

My heart aches so bad. I hated driving in without her. I hate not being with her right now.

And I'm blaming it all on Summer.

Because I can.

Old Letter

(The following is a take on fiction. It's been a LONG time since I've tried creating any but you gotta start back up somewhere, eh? My point is that names, numbers, etc are all made up and if they relate to you or someone you know, it's pure coincidence.)

With the kids at my sister’s house, I was sorting crap in our bedroom into a Keep Pile or a big black plastic garbage bag when my eyes spotted the fading blues and yellows on a small, paper crescent moon box that was tucked behind some books. 

Goosebumps invaded my arms.

Marco was nowhere in sight. Why would he be when it was time to pack and clean? Fucker.

I grabbed the box and opened it, preparing myself for its contents: a dried rose that was so fragile, my breathing nearly destroyed it; a folded photo of two happy kids from another life taken at my sister’s house one Christmas morning; a piece of paper folded over and over again so that it might be overlooked.

With my eyes shut, I studied the photo for a moment. His backwards baseball cap… his blue eyes that were so much older than the 22 years he was… the veins that stuck out from his deliciously toned forearms… his soft, plump lips. 

It had been 16 years since we last talked, last saw each other. 16 years, 2 marriages, 2 babies, and about 10 moves.

And through it all, I kept that small moon crescent shaped box with the rose, the photo, and the piece of paper folded so many times over in hopes of being overlooked.

I unfolded the paper and read its fading scribble:

757-584-8758

Corey

Instantly I was brought back to the first time Corey and I finally talked. We worked together for a couple months and would run into one another in the cafeteria at times.  We would smile at each other but that was about it.

I longed for him from the first time I saw those blue eyes, those thick lips, and those forearms. But there was no chance he’d go for a fluffy bitch like me so I just kept to myself.

Then he opened up the conversation one morning while we were alone in the cafeteria. The next night we went for dinner and a movie. He didn’t leave my house for another 10 hours. All we did was talk and watch tv and play cards. He finally asked to kiss me as he was leaving and as much as I wanted to do nothing more than to leech onto those lips, I told him he should’ve just gone for it and not asked.  I was so dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

I was sure he would want nothing more to do with me. The next day after work, I found a rose under my windshield. 

We dated for about two months before I finally gave up my virginity. I finally won’t die a virgin, I remembered thinking on one cold, snowy day in January. 

A couple months later I got a new job. And when I left the old job for the new one, we stopped seeing one another. 

I was mortified and so heartbroken.

“You’re gonna do so much better than me,” he told me as we hugged good bye in the parking lot at my old job on my last day. 

“I do love you,” I said through my uncontrolled tears. 

And I did. He was my first love. And I’ll never forget him. Never.

I crumpled the piece of and put it into the box alongside the rose and photo and shoved all of it deep down into the black plastic garbage bag.