I Didn't Want You To Worry Reverb

Every once in awhile, something happens that makes you reevaluate everything you thought you knew only moments before.

My schema was shook up late last night. I can not go into details, it's too personal. But I can say that after a few confusing texts at 1:30am, my view on the world was different.

I'd realized I had been walking through my life, my interactions with family, with blinders on. I'm still not sure if I was the one who put the blinders on or if they were put on me by someone else. Regardless, I had been a naive little girl. I saw what was pleasant.

There is a significant period of my past that, if it were a blog post would have been titled I Didn't Want You To Worry. This recent event feels an awful lot like that, just a smaller scale. Well meaning family members elect to keep information secret in order to spare other people pain and worry. I do not know of any situation where this plan has had the intended result. In my personal experiences, it has always left me hurt.

Now, the morning after my awakening, I'm hurt and worried. My small family is strong, and we have managed far worse than this. Nonetheless, I'm so very worried about the future. How will this current information affect those I love so deeply? It forces me to look at the inevitable nature of life and what lies in the future.

Today, I will try to have fun and enjoy my beautiful and charismatic daughter. Maybe we will get ice cream.

Not The Watermelon!

A few weeks back I wrote about K's issue with the garbage disposal.

Yes...I'm sad to say, it's still going on. Daily. Hourly, even. She's still freaking out about food scraps going into the dreaded disposal.

This time, it came to me out of nowhere.

We had been playing outside. Seeing it was getting late, I suggested we come in and get ready for dinner. I pulled the stool up to the kitchen sink and K climbed up to wash her hands. I turned the water on and she started rinsing her hands.

I followed her eyes as she watched the water go down the drain and then, dun dun dun, she saw it.

"Not the watermelon!!" she wailed. "Get it out, Mama! You have to! Pleeease, Mama!"

She had watermelon with her lunch. But, since it had started to turn slimy she refused to eat it. I avoided the post lunch meltdown by just setting the bowl of spoiled watermelon on the counter. I waited until later when she was "napping" to clean up the dishes. I must have forgotten to turn on the disposal.

I will not make that mistake again. I'm learning as we go.

There it sat. Down in sink purgatory. Just waiting to be pulverized.

And of course...she would see it.

Darth Vader's been missing for three days now, and she can't seem to find him. But she has no problem spotting three cubes of watermelon deep down in the depths of the disposal.

The Sky is Falling, Henny Penny

I had to go to Home Depot on Saturday. Thrilling, I know.

After a tantrum over appropriate Home Depot footwear and another over whether or not K should eat pizza for lunch, we found ourselves standing in the pest removal section of the store.

We live in an old city rowhouse, we get bugs. We've seen a cockroach or two in our basement and we generally get ants this time of year.

My husband and I are standing in the aisle staring at the selection of products to kill anything unwanted in anyway you want. We're having a discussion on whether it would be worth it to kill the cockroaches if it also kills the cats, when from the sky something falls down on us, well, nearly on us. It falls inches in front of us...and then scurries away.

It had an effing tail! A freaking mouse fell from the ceiling! Holy shit! Oh my gosh! It could have landed on my head!

I look up and survey the scene, wondering if hundreds of mice are now going to fall down on us. I've seen Infested on Animal Planet. I saw footage of the Australian mouse plague of 1993. I've watched the opening scene of Ratatouille. Where there is one of these rodents, there are hundreds.

Up above the rodent and pest removal aisle, high up on a platform was a pallet of grass seed. It was wrapped in plastic which the mice had chewed through to build a nest, have lunch or whatever the hell a colony of mice does in a pallet of grass seed. I look down in front of my feet, sure enough, grass seed.

As my husband and I are sharing this bonding moment where I was almost pelted in the head by a mouse, discussing the irony of the mouse falling a foot from hundreds of mouse traps, a Home Depot sales guy in the orange apron stumbles upon us asking if he could help with anything.

"Well, I think you have a mouse problem up there. One just fell on us and ran away."

With a straight face he says, "Oh, yeah, I know. We had a hawk in here for a little while. That helped out a bit."

It's like National Geographic in Home Depot.

"Anything else I can help you with?"

I was stunned. I guess I expected him to be concerned about my well being. Maybe get on his walkie talkie and page a supervisor. Feign interest just to pacify a customer. But nope, that wasn't going to happen. He didn't even appreciate the irony of the mouse landing in the rodent removal aisle. I guess this was just far too common place. Maybe over in plumbing a raccoon was wandering around.

 

Marley My Love

I would like to introduce to you a lovely being. Someone who has more brain power than my daughter did for the entire first year of her life. When they designed this piece of flair they had our dog, Marley, in mind. That's just how brillant she is.

This morning, I asked Marley if she would be a doll and write a guest post for me. You know, telling her view on the dark side of Aurora. Naturally, she jumped at the chance.

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

Dear Humans,

Can someone please tell me what the eff has happened to my life?

I used to be honored around these parts. I was revered. I was living the good life. Then you brought home that...that, thing. Life has never been the same since.

Tell me, was I not good enough? Did I not jump high enough when I was catching the Frisbee? I think I can rule that out. I've seen that thing attempt to catch, and she has hands. It's laughable, really. Did I not provide you with enough entertainment when it was time to perform tricks? I could have learned to pirouette, I'm sure of it.

But no, you went ahead and brought that thing home. I live here too, you know! I have a voice. I thought life was fine just the way it was.

Just think back to the good old days for a moment. Ah, those were the days. Remember when we would all go out for happy hour? Now, the best I get is Yappy Hour at the SPCA, where, lets face it, you're likely just checking out the drop off policy.

I used to look good, back then. I had regular spa appointments. I'd come home feeling refreshed, smelling good, and with a new toy to boot. Now? Seriously? Look at me.

Do you see what you allow me to look like? Do you see my fur? It hasn't seen professional clippers in years. I do not appreciate the home cuts. Check out my color! I'm supposed to be white and black, not a dingy shade of ecru. And don't even get me started on that heart stuck to my paw. I heard you people laughing about it. I am not a joke! Do not laugh at my misfortune. To top it off, you didn't even remove it for another day or so. Shame on you. You would never allow that thing to go out looking like that.

Now let's discuss the matter of sleeping arrangements. I hear you tell that thing, "Everyone sleeps in their own bed." Well...where's my bed?

Why must I always be forced to share?

I've decided it's time my voice be heard! I will no longer tolerate a subpar standard of living! I expect the same rights as that thing. I am 11 years old, I demand respect, damn it!

I demand more walks, more long hikes, and more dog park time. Some prison inmates see more fresh air than me.

I demand to be talked to respectfully.

Stop yelling at me to get out of the kitchen. I'm just trying to help, the more crumbs I eat the less you have to vacuum.

Stop yelling at me to hurry when I'm outside. I'm old, I don't move as quickly as I used to. The sooner you accept it, the better off things will be.

Stop yelling at me to get out of the way. That thing scares me shitless! Surely, she's out to get me. I spend the majority of her waking hours terrified. Two inches from your feet is the safest place in the house. Sorry for the inconvenience, but remember, you were the one who wanted her.

I do not think I'm asking for much. I only want what I used to have. I know you love me, now it's time you remembered how to show it.

Lots of kisses,

Marley

P.S. I heard you the other day when you were discussing getting another dog. I'm not stupid. I don't need a playmate, I'm 11. I know you're just shopping in advance for my replacement. Real classy.

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

Dear Marley,

Touché.

Love,

Your Human Mother

P.S.

I allow K to go out looking like this regularly.

And she gets home cuts, too. Just saying.

Heaven

A mother, by definition, is all knowing. She is said to have eyes in the back of her head. A mother's kiss can cure any ailment. Tell her your problems, she will listen and help you find the best solution. A mother is omniscient.

Except when we're not. I'm finding...I'm not.

My mother died in 2006. She wasn't alive the day I was married. She has never properly met my daughter. But, I believe in angels and an afterlife. I know she was there at the Little White Chapel and again in the delivery room. I'm certain she knows K.

K, on the other hand, does not know my mother, her grandmother.

I have been able to handle every aspect of motherhood to date. Sure, I've had my challenges, but I've handled it. I have a solid childhood education background. I know the research.

But this...I'm finding myself tongue-tied.

I have never wanted my mom to be a mystery. I talk with K about my mom. She knows she's in heaven. Nevertheless, K's 3 and this shit is getting harder to explain by the day. Her questions start off simple.

"Did your mom make you eat lima beans?"

Quickly they progress to the point my eyes are welling and I'm fighting back tears.

"I know you miss your mom. One day, will you go with me to visit her? I think she would want you to come too, with me. Because I'm sure she would want to see you."

I don't know how to answer the questions so she will understand, so she will feel satisfied. Because the questions keep going.

"When can we see your mom? I know that you can't come back from heaven, so when can I see her? I don't want to be sick."

It breaks my heart. Truly. I have not the right answer for my sweet, sweet girl. I'm speechless. I have tears and sadness and I can not convey to her, that which I, don't fully understand myself. I do not understand death. I comprehend the science behind it, but that's it.

I try talking to K about seeing my mother in her dreams, and that helps...me anyway. The image of my mom playing with K in her dream, riding horses together, makes me momentarily smile. Still, I know K has little understanding of dreams. They are as abstract to her as heaven.

Try as I may, the best I can do is make it through the conversations. I can't imagine I am saying anything that makes much sense to her. After all, heaven and death aren't very logical concepts. I offer her truth in the simplest fashion. I don't want her to view my mother as a sad topic and I don't want her to fear death.

The conversations are becoming more frequent and her thoughts, regarding my mom and heaven, are becoming more complex. It's proof she's growing up. She no longer just accepts, "my mom is in heaven."

I miss my mother daily. And in some way, without ever meeting her, K misses her too.

Don't Pour it Down the Drain

A few months ago, I blogged about K's fear of drains. Since it's a popular post, I thought my fine readers deserved an update.

K is still quite fearful of her hair being sucked down the drain. She won't use the big potty without a full-blown tantrum of epic proportions. And, she still flips her head over daily to ask about the status of her hair growth. She's a ball of laughs. Yet, she makes me want to rip my hair out and force her to watch it be flushed down the toilet.

I'd like to brief you on the drain fear manifestation. She's learned about the garbage disposal.

Dear God, why did I teach her about it?! Why?? When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?!

Now, on a daily basis, K's in the kitchen defending the rights of table scraps and spoiled food. It started right after a stomach virus infectected my house. Our fridge was full of produce, yet none of us could eat for days. Strawberries molded and had to be disposed of. K watched as strawberry after strawberry was stuffed down the garbage disposal. To her, I think it sounded like this...

No!! Please don't! We promise to be good. Ahh!! Oh my gosh, please NO! Don't put me in there!! NOOO!

She has quite the imagination. Sweet, huh.

Which brings me to today, she wanted to make hot chocolate. And even though it will be 60 degrees today, I agreed. I bought it thinking after playing all morning in the snow, she would love to come in and warm up with yummy, hot chocolate (look at me being all June Cleaver like.) Except, it hasn't really snowed. And it doesn't appear it's going to. So, if she wants to try hot chocolate for the first time on a balmy February day, that's fine with me.

We made the drink and it was all well and good, until she drank it. I guess I didn't make her wait long enough, and she's clueless about drinking hot drinks. Two gulps at two different times, both spit out all over the table and herself. Hot chocolate fun over, commence tantrum.

K: I'm not drinking anymore. I don't want it. I don't like it. You drink it.

Me: Fine. Don't drink it. But I'm not drinking anymore.

K: You have to! Don't put it in the sink! No Mama, NO! Save it for Papa. No, Mama!

Me: K, I'm not saving it for Papa. I'll take care of it.

Now, at this point, K is sobbing, uncontrollably. Over hot chocolate. At the mere thought of it being poured down the drain.

K: Mama! Pouring it down the drain is NOT taking care of it!! Please, Mama, please! Take care of it! Just take care of it!

I am seriously beside myself. I'm just standing there in awe of the meltdown. I'm not even sure what to say or do. She's serious.

K: Hurry, Mama! It's getting cold. Please! Put it in a different cup and put a lid on it. Mama! Please! Put it in the cabinet. Put it up high, up here, so it's not near the cold! ...sob, sob... Please, Mama, just do it! Please!! Don't put it in the sink! No! NO!! Please, Mama!

I'm not even sure where to go from here. Maybe the psychiatrists office for her...or me? All I know, I'm really freakin glad I didn't give up alcohol.

 

Censorship

I have bad news. I was censored.

Now I know what it feels like to be George Orwell. Or Eminem.

I was working on yesterday's post. I needed to do some fact checking, so I texted my husband.

Him: But wait - your NOT blogging about (insert censored topic here) - sorry!

Me: Yes.

Him: Sorry - do not blog about (censored topic)...seriously.

Me: I'm not saying you specifically.

Him: Don't care - u can include many things - no (censored topic.) Please don't write about that.

Me: Ugh.

This text exchange continued, and I'd love to share it all. But I fear the wrath if I do. I'm sure dear husband will already not enjoy this post. See, the thing is, I thought the censored topic was harmless. It's 2012, people do and say far worse than what I wanted to write about. I'm not a nip slip or an obscene hand gesture waiting to happen at the Super Bowl. I can be trusted to blog responsibly. But evidently, he feels otherwise.

And during the entire text conversation, I was cursing myself for fact checking. I know my facts. My memory rocks! Why did I even bother to bring him into it. I should have just written the damn, funny post. Dealing with him afterwards would have been worth it. But, as soon as I knew his feelings on the topic, I was effed.

I should have heeded the advice of successful blogger, Marinka from Motherhood in NYC. In a post written in 2009, she offers blog lessons she's learned. Lesson #3, which I clearly did not follow, is Do not tell anyone about your blog.

"The big downside to telling people about your blog is that they will read it and then you can never blog about them. Well, you can never blog about them in THAT way," -- Marinka

Now I'm stuck. Unless, I find a loop hole. Like maybe next year, I'll turn the censored Lent topic into my own personal Lent story. Then, I can blog about it with reckless abandon. Stay tuned, Lent 2013 might be quite funny.

Mouth Buggies

There's a ginormous amount of tension in the air at my house. K's antics are taking a toll on everyone. I'm in need of lighthearted amusement. Or really good wine.

Hopefully this post will brighten my heart a little...

 

How many of you fine readers have ever thought...Gee, I sure do wish I could be a fly on Kara's sticky car wall. Seriously? None of you are going to raise your hand? I just finished telling you how rough things are and you can't throw me a bone? Whatever. A lot of really funny shit is said in my car. Here's a sample from this mornings car ride, the wit and wisdom of K.

K: Mama? Do I have buggies in my teeth?

Me: I can't look right now, I'm driving? 

But I do look. In the rear view, I see her, mouth wide open.

Me: I don't see any bugs.

K: My tooth hurts. It's probably the buggies. You know we all have buggies in our mouth, Mama?

Me: I know.

K: They're probably trying to build a nest in my mouth. Maybe if I drink my orange juice, the buggies will go away.

I contemplate asking her where the bugs will go when she drinks her juice. But decide against it, for fear she will infer that the bugs would go into her tummy. Knowing her insane phobia of insects, she may stop eating all together.

K: I don't want the buggies building nestses in my teeth. They're probably all working hard in my mouth building lots of nestses. Maybe a whole city. That's probably why my tooth hurts. All the building. You think the buggies like it in my mouth, Mama?

Me: Probably. 

K: You think they're going to be mad when I brush my teeth tonight? I'm gonna spit their nestses right out.

 

Aww...my thought provoking, little girl. Every now and again, she makes it all worth it. 

Milestones

I'm proud to say dear, sweet K has reached another milestone over the weekend. We really are so proud of her!

Stifles laughter

She's fearful of the drains...bathtub drains, bathroom and kitchen sink drains, and even the toilet. Aww, isn't that just so wonderful!

This fear has reached epidemic proportions in the house. It's consuming her innocent little mind, and, as sad as it is, I can't help laughing.

See, she's not worried that she might actually get sucked down the drain. No, she's too smart for that. She's all hung up on hair. Yes, you read that right, hair. She's freaked out about the hair on her head falling out and getting sucked down the drain or flushed down the toilet. And not just her hair, she's looking out for my hair as well.

It all started Friday night.

"Mama! Mama! Get it out quick! Hurry Mama! A hair in the potty, in my pee!"

I attempted to explain to her that hair falls out all the time, no big deal. She clearly was not buying my crazy talk.

"Mama NO! Don't flush it down! Get it! GET IT MAMA!"

Now, she's thinking entirely too hard about the probability of more hair going down the drain if she takes a bath or a shower. She's convinced herself that if she just poops in the big potty and pees in the kid potty, she will save more of her hair from its untimely fate.

I've been fielding questions left and right about what can fit down the drain and where everything goes.

"So the bath water goes to the bay? Like with the fish, but not the sharks? Right Mama? The drain doesn't go to the sharks?"

I can see her little mind picturing the scariest scene ever, vicious man eating sharks swimming around in a full head of her hair.

My husband, trying to help matters or get her to shut up, told her that he could see new hair growing in the holes the old hair fell out of. So to add to the all consuming nature of the original fear, now she thinks she has super hair. She walks around, periodically flipping her head upside down.

"Can you see it growing, Mama?"

I've decided to wait this phase out. There's no reasoning with someone who wants to gather her fallen hair into a pile to save.