Scenes from Thanksgiving

November 27, 2009

Thank you Butterball for teaching me how to cook a still frozen turkey!

Why he must stick his tongue out in every photo lately is beyond me.

At one point Susan texted me and I told her my youngest two were fighting in the bathtub and my 12 year old had decided that it was the perfect time to practice his trombone. Shortly afterward I sent him outside to serenade the neighbors.

Mom, do you think it’s weird to be dating a girl for six weeks and have her only let you hug her?

Um, no, not at all. (Thinking: why do you even have to hug? Handshakes are great. Or hi-fives if you are feeling fiesty.)

Really? I think it is weird.

Why? What do you think would be more appropriate? Holding hands?

And this, friends, is what all those useless Lamaze breathing exercises were for– conversations that start like this.

That phone may have to be surgically removed from his hands…

Early this morning I waswoken up by a light tapping on my cheek. I opened my eyes to see Miles face about two inches from my own. In a quiet conspiratorial whisper he said, “You know what would be the perfect breakfast….”

“No, what?” I whispered back.

“Pie.”

Want to know what to make with those Thanksgiving leftovers? Here are some of my ideas. I will be making the Tortilla Soup this weekend.

Happy Thanksgiving

November 26, 2009

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. ~Thornton Wilder

May you be surrounded by all of your treasures today.

This one…

November 17, 2009

This one turns NINE years old today.

More than my oldest turning fifteen, this son turning nine blows my mind, breaks my heart, and all those other cliches about time passing much too quickly.

Birthday post to follow at some point.

(I wrote about the story behind the photo here last year.)

Oh, and if you are just itching to read something new I have a post up over at Butterball about hosting an allergen-free Thanksgiving. Tasty ideas that won’t kill your loved ones! Win-win!

In Which I Make Fun of Myself

November 16, 2009

Things you should notice in this photo:

1) The SCRUNCHIE worn on my wrist like a bracelet.

2) The Flashdance look of my shirt hanging off my shoulder. Because nothing says SEXAY like a woman one day post-partum

3) The white couch I am sitting on that I purchased while pregnant, further evidence that pregnant women are insane

4) Not only is my baby is escaping his swaddling, the bottoms of his feet are still dyed from having his footprints done. I couldn’t bear for the nurses to wash him and MAKE HIM CRY. Ha.

I very clearly remember this day. I was at my mother’s house and my baby was about a few weeks old. I wanted her to take a photo of me and the baby. She was really annoying me with her inability to focus the completely automatic camera. This was in the days before digital cameras so I had NO IDEA until I went to the mall and dropped them off at the one hour photo place that this would be the best of the bunch. What? Wouldn’t you want this on your desk at work?

Things to notice in this photo:

1) I was chaneling Crystal Gayle or perhaps Rapunzel.

2) I am making my 4 week old baby, who still lacks any control of his neck muscles, stand up.

3) Stand up while wearing tiny white shoes WITH BELLS ON THEM. Why bells? Well, in case he tries to run off somewhere.

4) Why would he try to run off? Because his mother has dressed him in a quilted velour outfit, clearly she is not mentally stable.

Just look at his little baby face. If he could talk you know he would be saying, “Duuuude, I am not toy!”

And I would have whispered back, “Oh yes you are.”

I wish I could find the photos from when I was pregnant with him. Back in the days before GAP, or Old Navy or any normal clothing manufacturer made maternity clothes. I shudder at some of the things I wore. Jumpers? Big Peter Pan collars? One piece jumpsuits? I remember I had one made of denim with pearlized buttons all down the front. We all know hugely pregnant women never are in a rush to pee, right?

On second thought, it is better that I can’t find them. For all of us.

The Neighborhood Saga Part II

November 13, 2009

The first part of the story is here.

I don’t even know where to begin the story. Some would say at the beginning, but I am not even sure where that is anymore.

My 8 and 10 yr old sons have friends that live down the street on a cul-de-sac. They play there almost everyday after school. Because it is a cul-de-sac and is a sort of midway point between many of the boys’ houses it has become the place where they play. Usually they play touch football in the street or basketball in one of the boy’s driveway.

The problem that arose was that the 11 yr old boy they are not allowed to play with began coming to the cul-de-sac to play with the boys. While my children are not allowed to play with him, I have also told them that they are not to be mean to him nor are they to ostracize him. The compromise we reached was that if he came down to the cul-de-sac to play they could stay and play too as long as there were all the other kids around. They were to refrain from talking to him as much as possible.

Well one day they were all playing touch football, my 8 yr old “tackled” the 11 yr old boy, who became mad about it. No one seems to know why. According to all of the kids who were there, and there were many, the 11 yr old just started bullying my 8yr old son. He kept shoving him in the back while they were trying to play and kicking his legs out from under him.

The other kids told him to knock it off, but he wouldn’t. Finally my son had enough and after he was knocked down one time too many, took off running after the kid. The kid stopped, tried to punch my son in the face, and missed. My son swung back and got the kid right in the eye. The boy ran home crying.

I feel like I should reiterate the fact that my son is 8 yrs old and weighs MAYBE 55 pounds. The boy in question is a 11yrs old, probably 5ft tall and at least 100 pounds, not a small frail kid, but one who is twice as big as my son.

I did not hear about it until the next afternoon. My boys knew I would not be happy about it. I found out because my oldest son’s friends had witnessed it. When the punches started flying they ran over to try and break it up, but they said it all happened so fast by the time they got there it was over. They told my oldest son who then told me.

Two days later there was a police officer at my door. The crazy neighbor had called the police to file assault charges against an 8yr old. I was not home and heard about it from a different neighbor who is also a police officer. My first instinct was to laugh and then to cry. How crazy and vindictive do you have to be to call the police on an 8 yr old.

I didn’t get a note or any sort of letter, so I just tried to forget about it. Every single person I told about the incident said that they would vouch for our family if necessary and tell the police about their own encounters with this woman.

A week later I came home to a card on my front door from the Crimminal Investigation Unit. I immediately called the phone number. I know I have done nothing wrong.

The man called me back a couple hours later and asked if he could stop by in about five minutes. I think my exact words were, “Please, do.”

It wasn’t until he came to the house that I found out he was with Child Protective Services. The case had been turned over to him because no one else wanted to waste their time on a bullshit case. My words, his sentiment. I invited him inside, intoduced him to my children, and had them tell the entire story. I gave him some of the back story.

He remarked at one point that he could see my children were well taken care of and that my home was cleaner and tidier than his. I knew my obsessive nervous cleaning would pay off at one point. He then said something that chilled me to the bone.

He said he has been doing this for over 25 years and every once in awhile he runs across someone like this woman. He said he knows she will keep coming after our family. He said he would guarantee that he will be back at my house many many more times. Because she cant get satisfaction this way, she will start calling CPS on us. I told him he is welcome to come by anytime, I have NOTHING to hide.

Oh and talk about scary, he read me what she said when she filed the report and it was complete lies. Her version of the account was that my son attacked her son completely unprovoked while all the rest of the children stood around in a circle and cheered him on. Me thinks someone has been watching too many 1980’s movies of the week.

He then asked me what she looked like.

Looks like?

Um, she is about probably 5′8 ish and heavy-set. And kind of loud…

He started laughing.

What?

She also alleges in the report that you have tried to physically assault her in the past and that you have verbally assaulted her. You are just so small and calm it seems very unlikely to me that could have ever happened.

I laughed. But as I told him, I was horrified that someone would lie like that.

So in a nutshell that is the crazy neighbor story.

Except for this.

Miles and I went to our neighborhood playground the other afternoon. On our way walking home we had a “race.” We each took a different path around some trees. When I realized he was winning I began running, as I caught up to him and tried to tag him I tripped over the edge of the sidewalk. And fell. On top of Miles.

For all intents and purposes I TACKLED MY CHILD.

He laughed and I tried to play it off like I meant to do it. But I look up and who is stopped right there at the stop sign staring at me…

Yup.

Caught In Between Ten and Twenty

November 11, 2009

On your first birthday. You weren’t nearly as messy on your fifteenth.

To My Oldest Son On His Fifteenth Birthday,

Fifteen years ago I had no idea what I was in for. I didn’t have much of an idea of what it meant to be a mother, other than having a tiny baby. A tiny baby I thought would be like the babies on tv, chubby and smiling on cue. I would still be me, but with an adorable accessory and a little tupperware of Cheerios. I thought all mothers carried Cheerios around with them.

I never did.

I had no idea how much I would change. How much you would change me.

Two weeks before my due date I went into labor with you. I remember pacing the floor of our apartment after my water broke. The contractions coming one on top of the other.

I remember laboring with you in the hospital. I didn’t know that someone could feel so much pain and survive. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. At one point I remember telling the nurse that I changed my mind. I didn’t want to have a baby after all and I would just be leaving thank-you-very-much.

Of course that wasn’t possible.

The labor itself was short maybe four hours until I reached 10 cm and began to push. And push and push. You were stuck. And so I pushed and pushed. Finally after three hours of you stuck between my tail bone and pelvic bones, your heart rate decelerating, the doctor got out the vacuum and pulled you out. It is not a gentle thing being sucked out of a person’s body. The doctor pulled with all his might, I half suspect he had a foot up on the end of the bed for leverage. It was awful. Broken bones and stitches. God Lord the stitches where no one should ever have to be stitched. I have blocked most of that out.

Then I hemorrhaged. Blood was everywhere in the room. I don’t remember most of this because I was losing consciousness. I do remember a controlled sort of panic in the room and getting shots in my legs to stop the bleeding. You were taken from my arms. It would be some hours later before I would be aware enough to view the scene and think it looked like a horror movie butcher shop.

The dimples.

It would be a few hours after that a nurse would catch me crying in bed holding you. It took a few minutes for me to gulp out that I was sad you would be an only child. There was no way I was going to go through THAT again.

And yet…

This photo makes me laugh. You still have this same expression when you are exasperated with me.

All the plans I thought I had, the absolutes I held onto, all of those things have evolved over the past fifteen years. You have paved the path for your siblings behind you. You are my practice child… the one who gets me at my most uptight, my most fearful, my most uncertain. You are the one who gets all the rules, until I realize around kid number three that the rules are not that big of a deal. And by kid number five, well, it is a free for all.

Not really, it just seems that way because I have a clearer picture of what is important.

I have honed whatever new mothering skill it is which that particular age requires. And most often I have discovered that the new mothering skill is just remembering not to get hung up on the small stuff.

Christmas 1997

You have a very different mother than your youngest siblings do. And really, that is not always a bad thing. I remember what it is like to be fifteen. Very clearly remember in fact. So clearly that I wonder how the heck I became old enough to have a child of my own that age.

I look at you and can sometimes still see the baby in your face, the toddler when you smile in that mischievous way. But the chubby cheeks are gone. The dimpled knuckles and wrist creases have been replaced by arms that have muscles and veins, arms that more resemble those of a man than the little boy I still think of you as being.

Summer 1996. With Dee-Dee Bear, your constant companion for the first few years of your life. Your bed mate for the next handful. Now he is in a dusty box somewhere in the back of a closet.

I wonder where the time has gone. Because you aren’t a little boy anymore.

How is it possible that you are that same baby who was torn from my body that cold rainy November day? I wish I could remember those days and years with better clarity. So much of it has been lost from my memory.

I wonder how much of right now will eventually be lost.

I look at the old photos and want to weep. And yet it doesn’t stop me from continuing to wish away the days.

I wrote a few weeks ago on Twitter that every morning you pause at the front door on your way out to the bus stop and yell, “Bye, Mom. I love you!” People thought that I was joking. Will I forget this one day? Or what about your recent sneaker obsession? How many pair of sneakers does a growing teenage boy need, I wonder? Especially since all of your clothes are virtually identical, different colors of the same thing.

You excel in sports and school, but more importantly you excel in life. Your teachers and coaches all like you, even that crotchety teacher who hates all athletes on principle, even he likes you now, grudgingly as it may be. You have friends who text you at all hours of the day and night. You are funny, smart, and able to lift heavy things for me. You also always laugh at my jokes. I couldn’t be prouder of you.

Happy Birthday my first born son.
I love you.

You Don’t Have to Wear a Turkey Mask

but I highly recommend it.

I’m talking Thanksgiving crafts to do with your kids over at Butterball today. Come on over!

Funny story. I made all of these crafts in September and have had them up ever since. Giving all my new neighbors and friends the impression that I am highly organized and crafty. Let’s see what they think when the same decorations are still up for Easter and I try to pass the the decorative turkey off as a Ressurection Turkey.

You think I am kidding?

My oldest son just turned 15. I will have his birthday post up just as soon as I can stop crying over all the old photos.

The Wishing Well

November 9, 2009

Last week we went shopping and in the middle of the shopping center there is a big wishing well. After restraining Miles from flinging his body into the water to get the money, I explained to him that you throw coins in and make a wish.

He threw the first couple of pennies in without wishing for anything.

Miles, you have to say what you wish for. Like Mommy wishes she had a big cup of coffee!

Okay, I wish for coffee!

Miles, LOOK! Your wish came true!

I turned around and pointed to the Starbuck’s behind us.

Miles stomped his foot.

Arrrrrgh. I should have wished for a dog!

*****

You know what I wish? That you would go read my latest post over at WIM where I write about my adventures in cooking fish for my family. Perhaps adventure is too strong of a word, but there is a recipe that you will totally want to make for your family.

Um, hello there…

November 4, 2009

My life, it is overwhelming right now. Everytime I sit down to open my laptop I just don’t even have the energy to do it. Instead I have been:

trick-or-treating (the amount of candy in my house should be against the law)

making dentist appointments (see above)

playing Duplos with my baby (shut-up he is a baby),

hanging out with good new friends (Friends that live and breathe outside of this shiny box. I know. Weird!),

dealing with MORE crazy neighbor drama (The kind which deserves a post all of its own. Because it involves the police.)

cleaning out my garage (Just what the hell is in all of those boxes anyway? So far the answer has been LEGOS.)

abusing the parenthetical expression (It’s addictive. Once you start using them you can not stop.)

I have things written other places. Most recently over at Butterball where I wrote about hosting Thanksgiving on a budget. I know that many of us are more budget conscious this year, but also still want to have all of our family and friends with us. So go on over there and comment and let me know any tips you have for hosting on a holiday on a budget.