Fyi....

I'm working on a rant, and it's taking me a while.  By the time I finish it will probably be "old news", but unfortunately, I'm sure will still apply.  I know I've been sucking on posts as of late...but I've had a lot on my plate...like breeding and selling frogs on my iphone Pocket Frogs game, which is so addictive I just might end up neglecting my children, husband, and household duties.  It's like gambling; but interesting.  So I'll post in a few days, hopefully, after I've finished what I need to say. Until then..if any of you play pocket frogs?  Hook me up, Homies.

Stuff Cole's friend says:

(Just so you know, you may want to skip this post.  I'm writing it down for future reference, and to me, it's funny.  But I can see how others would label it as "boring").


So a few days ago we set up a "playdate" for Cole.  Now playdates with new kids are a bit on the tricky side.  First I like to establish some sort of communication with the friend's parent or parents.  With Riley, we've slowly worked up to a passable system.  With Cole, however, we are starting all over again.  This wasn't as obvious to me until recent events occurred.  One day at school Cole's friend gave him his phone number.  And when Cole got home, he asked if he could call him.  The following conversation went like this:


Cole:  (as he's calling his friend), "Mom, the phone is ringing".


Me:  "Okay, well wait until someone says hello..."


Cole:  "Jacob? Jacob?  I need to talk to Jacob".


Me: (Whispering), "Cole, you need to say hello to the person, say who you are, and then ask for Jacob..."


Cole: (Nodding at me),  "I said I need to talk to JACOB!"


Pause


Me:  "Okay when your friend gets on the phone..."


Cole:  "Um, can you come over?"  "I said, CAN.  YOU.  COME.  OVER".


Me: (Whispering), "Cole, you introduce yourself, you say who you are and then..."


Cole:  "This is Cole.  Anderson."


Cole:  "Okay, ask her.  My mom said yes".  '


Me:  "Ask if his mom would like to speak with..."


Cole:  "Okay.  Tomorrow?  Okay.  Bye."


I then asked Cole what was said, and he told me that "Jacob can't come over today." I asked what that part about tomorrow was, and he goes, "oh, he'll just come over tomorrow".  I figured that we'd talk about it after school the next day, I'd get a hold of his mom or dad, and then we'd see what would come out of that.  I let Cole go outside and ride his bike.
The next day I went out to lunch with two friends from Kelvin Grove.  (The place we used to live).  Afterward I went to Walmart because Jeff was out of Fast Break candy bars.  Yeah.  For reals.  As I was checking out of the store, I got a text from Jeff saying, "Did you tell Cole that he could have a friend over?"
Upon calling him back, I found out that when the kids got home from school Riley and Cole and JACOB, came into our house, followed by Jacob's mother, who after following the kids home in her mini van, came by to introduce herself to one of Cole's parents.  Fyi:  this didn't go over well with Jeff.  And he reminded me that I was lucky he had showered and was wearing regular pants, rather than pajamas.  (Note that I was lucky).
So when I got home, I got to meet Jacob.  I was a little worried about what his friend would think of our family...or more precisely, Cole around his family.
But about two seconds after I got home, I found I didn't have to worry.

I brought Jeff's candy bars inside and Cole's grapes and some of my sodas.  Suddenly both boys ran into the kitchen, and Jacob began talking...and just didn't stop.  Until he went home.  So I think they are a match made in a place where kids get along, while driving everyone else that is around them, nutso.  However, there were a few things that I found somewhat humorous.  First things where Jacob's questions.


"Why are all your chairs on the floor?" (Because Sydney climbs on everything).
"Do you have something to eat?" (We have some toast).
"Grapes!!"  (As he's leaning over Jeff, grabbing them and stuffing them in his face),
"I mean, can I have some of those?" (He's pointing to the Sour-Patch Kids on the counter). (Yes).
"Can I have a soda?" (Yes.)
"Does this have sugar in it?"  (Um...nope, Splenda).
"Good because sometimes I get sugar rush.  And go crazy".


After shoving as many Sour Patch Kids as possible in a plastic baggy, he followed Cole down to his room, except two seconds later he came back into the kitchen and asked me, "Do you allow your son to litter in your house?"  I told him no, and asked why he mentioned it.  He goes:  "Well, your son threw that piece of plastic on the floor..."
Cole came around the corner, looking pitiful, and I asked him if he did it.  He said yes, and I told him to go pick it up right then, and that he knew better than to throw stuff on the floor.  As Cole was running the plastic to the garbage can, Jacob said:  "You're a nice mom."  I asked him, "Isn't your mom nice?"  And he goes: "No.  She's really mean".
So Boom.  I am an awesome mom.  I've been telling everyone this, but they just haven't been listening.


And it went on and on, people.  


"Why does your baby keep saying that?"  ("Bob-bob, Bob-bob, Bob-bob")


"Why do you just drink that green soda?"


"Why do you have so much candy? Can I have some more of those?"


"What else do you have to eat?"


Three entire hours of this kid.  Right before his mom came to pick him up, he had grabbed one of my hair clips, squeezed it a couple times, and goes:  "Why is everything in your house so weird?"  I just looked at him, and then asked, "Like what, exactly?"  Jacob goes: "well, my mom has one of these, (a hair clip, go figure), and it's straight.  But this one is...like this."  (Curved).  I conceded that he had a point and told him:  "Well, I guess it's because we are a weird family...and everything we have and do is weird.  The only person in our family that is normal, is Cole".  Jacob looked at me very seriously and said:  "Cole is NOT normal".  And to his credit, Cole chose that moment to pretend he was bashing his head into the hallway wall.  So there wasn't very much room to argue. 


And that was Cole's very first official playdate.  Though it didn't go the way I thought it would, I can't say I'm overly surprised at the events that occurred.  I've always said my Bubbers was "special".  ;)  I guess the biggest relief that I have is that there are kids that are just like him, and now I won't be as worried to let him go over to other people's homes without a lot of explaining, first.  

So things are good here.  I'm assuming somewhat normal, as well...despite my and my family's weirdness.  I'm hoping that you all will have a super week.  And just for funsies, here's a preview of my Bubby's Halloween costume.  (Still in the beginning stages).

Um...because?

Do you ever have a certain hatred toward something or someone just because?  There's really no reason or cause so it means that you're just going on your personal gut feeling.  And so here's a gut feeling of mine:  I hate Justin Beiber.  No, I don't know what he's from or who he is...if he started out on the Disney channel, or if he was just an overnight success...but I hate him.  I hate his bowl cut.  I hate that he sounds like a girl, and I hate that he's loved for a song that really sucks.  Maybe even more songs, but I've only heard one, and it was way more than enough.  I hate that his face is staring at me from every t-shirt in every store in their girl department.  How's that gut feeling for you?  Where does this anger come from?  Any ideas?

Still Kicking

A few personal observations.  


1.  The weather is getting cooler and I'm getting that "rejuvenated" feeling.  Like, you know when you wake up in the middle of the night?  To pee or something?  And then you get back into bed and it's waaaay too hot, and you toss and turn and try to get back to sleep, but it's impossible because you can't get comfortable?  
Well, these past two nights, that HASN'T happened.  It's been cool outside of my covers, and snuggling up and getting comfortable only takes like, eight seconds rather than an eternity.  I've actually gotten some sleep.  And this makes me happy.  


2.  I might be swayed into doing something I swore I never would. 
I'm so embarrassed about this, that I can't bring myself to admit what it is...but just know that I'm aware of my being a hypocrite.  (However, I will say that it is nothing politically related.  And I am still an avid hater of the waste of space that is Glenn Beck). 


3.  I'm pretty sure that my neighbors here are OCD about their yards.  I don't know if this is because they're older, or if this is how they've always been, but mowing twice a week?  And watering every day?  This not only boarders on the absurd, but is also a bit on the wasteful side.  Hands down, they have the best yards I've ever seen; even by people that don't do it themselves, and hire landscapers.  But I think there's a line that must be drawn.  And I start drawing it at the notion of mowing more than once a week.  I have a life, people.  

4.  Number three being said, I'd much rather have OCD neighbors than possible meth producing, dog abusing, dirt-bike adoring neighbors.  Because, despite making me look bad, their yard DOES look a bazillion times better.

5.  My TV shows are starting.  I just watched the first episode of Sons of Anarchy.  And next week It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia will start.  And then Big Bang Theory, and then Fringe, and Dexter, and so on, and so forth.  I really love my life, but I sure do enjoy being a voyeur into other, more chaotic lives that seem to have really pretty and charismatic people in them.  


6.  I'm getting older.  And I'm okay with it.  Which is weird to me, because I can't tell if I've just given up, or made peace.  And whether or not there's a difference.  But I'm kind of liking it.  I just don't want to develop jowls. I had a nightmare about it.  And it was ugly.

7.  I've made more peace with the fact that my baby is more like a pet, rather than a, well, miniature human.  As I would look at kids the same size--well, age, I should say, and see them really try to say actual words and interact with those around them, I worried that something was wrong with Syd.  Now I look at Sydney and how she can act out every action on SpongeBob episodes seconds before they happen, or how she will demand to be picked up for her fifteen minutes of pure snuggling at least three times a day, or run to the fridge as soon as she hears it opening, because she knows that I'll let her have some of the whipped cream from the spray can on the top shelf, and I see how she is playing everyone. 

She knows what she's doing.  She refuses to do anything that sounds remotely dull to her, and should she need something, she just will do something cute...or give you extra love.  It's like having a puppy that doesn't shed or ever have an accident on the carpet.  She'll lick you just because, or she'll stick her head in your crotch, and just stay there.  And for some reason, I let her, because I'm besotted with her cuteness. The only difference between her and having a puppy is that when you get angry with her, she doesn't even pretend to be sorry.  She knows that you're pissed, and she knows that you'll get over it.  Cause look what she can do--she can cover her eyes and then peek out at you and say, "aboo".  Or she can hold your hand and say, "eeee" which is I'm pretty sure is her way of copying Jeff and my saying of "One, Two, Three", that we say right before we swing her between us, as that's her favorite game right now.  She may not be a talker, but she's a thinker.  And for now?  I'm just fine with that.  


8.  My husband keeps surprising me.  I know I say stuff like, "he's my best friend", and "he always figures stuff out and can fix anything", and so on and so forth, but where do his endearing qualities end?  

Lately he's been using some brick that his father gave us, and making our yard extra pretty.  I wish I would have taken some "before" pics, but he just surprised me and did this stuff without telling me he was going to do it.  

I'm always amazed at how much work this yard is...we still have a lot more to do, but we need to pace ourselves.  However, it seems like I've been more willing to pace myself, than Jeff has.  I'd be lying if I said that bugged me. This is just another one of the reasons I love him.  Sometimes he knows just what to do make me extra happy. 


Okay....I need to be getting to bed. I have a feeling that this week will be kind of hard.  But I'll make it through.  I have two beautiful daughters, a handsome son, and my best friend to help me remember the good stuff.  And there's a lot of good stuff to be happy about. 
Especially the not having jowls part.  Just yet, anyway.       

The 411

So I need to say that I'm still really happy.  I mean, despite my last post, I'm grateful for where I am right now--where my family is.  I feel like where Jeff and I are at is what I saw when I imagined us "making it".  Never not having obligations or occasional worries, but being at a place where we can breathe and not have to worry every second.  Being at this point took a while, and it wasn't easy to get here.  But we are, and I wake up realizing how much our little family has, and being so overwhelmed with happiness.  I just wish my dad could have seen where we are now.  Because I know he would have been excited for us.

I've still been having pretty rotten dreams.  Really vivid and disturbing and keeping me from sleeping juuuust enough to make my naturally dark circles under my eyes unnaturally dark and obvious.  Even with makeup.  So yeah, it could be worse, I know.  But all joking aside?  My heart still hurts.  And my heart hurts for my siblings.  And my Stepmom.  
Last year at this time I was what my dad would call "babysitting" him.  Sometimes Teresa would need to go to work-she'd take as much time off as she could-but sometimes she HAD to be there.  So, I'd take advantage of Jeff's work-at-home schedule and go over and just hang out with Dad.  Most of the time he was cognizant, but he was having more and more trouble with eating or drinking anything.  And he needed someone there, just to make sure he didn't choke on something.  He'd get really scared about that.  And I remember thinking about how uncomfortable that was, for me.  How seeing him like that was scary and wrong and despite all the other times I'd see him display scary and wrong behavior, that was the worst.  It was pretty selfish of me.  But I know he appreciated me being there, and I appreciated the time I had with him, even though he was so embarrassed about me seeing what I saw.  I wish I would have known how sick he was at that point, because he had still been keeping a lot of what he was feeling from me.  And Teresa had thought that he'd shared a lot more than he did.  It was very soon after that everything just sort of came all at once.
I have so many vivid memories of my dad.  And as I type some of them out, I get teary-eyed, because my life turned out how he said it would.  I was a melancholy kid...surprise, right?  And that was hard for him to see.  But he had patience with me.  I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I remember lying on my bed, wondering why life hated me, and he'd knock and come sit by me.  He'd ask me what it was, and I didn't even know where to begin.  Why was I so unhappy?  Why did I feel so disconnected?  When would it end?  
I guess only now do I understand why he'd look so heartbroken while I lay there.  At the time, I wondered why he looked sad, when I was the one that was in anguish.  And yeah, I realize that's a strong word to be using, but, remember what high school was like?  Like, when you were having a bad day it was nothing less than wretched.  Everything was at least 50% more...just more.  I think about the possibility of me in that situation with one of my kids.  My heart would just ache for them.      I remember he'd tell me that one day he knew I'd find someone that would see how great I was, (that he thought I was), and that all the unhappiness I was having at that time would seem far away. My main comfort was when he'd tell me, "This too, shall pass".  Then he'd say that nothing lasts forever and we have to try to appreciate all that we have.  At the time, that last part didn't sound nearly as helpful.  
Dad honestly tried to understand me.  As confusing and futile as it was, he tried.  And I will always love him for that.  
This past weekend was kind of nice.  I got a lot more caught up on sleep than I've been in a long time.  And things seem to be looking up.  The problem with me and not enough sleep is not only the lack of sleep, but also the fact that things just seem more dreary.  And I feel weepy and mopey.  But I'm not so deprived anymore, and now I feel a bit more refreshed and grounded.
This brings me to my family.  Moriah commented on my last post that maybe this missing my father and seeing Teresa being lonely would make me appreciate Jeff more.  And honestly, it does.  I've had a couple dreams in which Jeff isn't my husband.  Or he's gone.  Or I never knew him.  And I wake up so grateful that it was just a dream.  Or nightmare, I guess.  I do know I couldn't be without him, and I take a few minutes to say a quick prayer that I won't ever have to be.  
The same with my daughters and my son.  I've just gotten way too attached to them, you know?  Call me sentimental.  
Despite all this month reminds me of, I am taking something that Dad said to heart.  Nothing lasts forever.  This too, shall pass.  I need to be grateful for all that I've been blessed with...and I've really been blessed with a lot.  Have a good week, everyone.  And take time to tell those you love, that you love them.  Because it's never a bad thing to hear.  

September

Two weeks ago I went to my Stepmom's house to get some of my father's stuff.  She's been trying to de-clutter her home...and now that Jeff and I have the space, there were some things Dad had given me that she didn't need to keep for us, anymore.  Remember my "beautiful girls" post a couple months ago?  I didn't put my Stepmother, Teresa in it.  However, the reason wasn't because I don't include her in that category.  It's because I knew this post would be coming.  And I think she'll need it more at this time; like I do.  
September 16th will be the first anniversary of my dad's death.  I didn't know how I'd feel about it.  For a while, I thought I'd be just fine...that maybe I'd get by with thinking/remembering the good stuff, and being appreciative of that.  But lately I've been having bad dreams.  I've been remembering things my dad would say or do, or places we'd eat, or his shirts that I'd iron, or any number of things.  And it makes me miss him.  A lot.  
When I went over to Teresa's house, in addition to a lot of tools and household items, she gave me some of my dad's hangers.  I'd iron for him, (something he'd have me do each week to make a few extra bucks when times were hard), I'd hang his shirts up, and then give them to him.  I continued to do this even as things started to get better for us, financially.  It began to be a way that he and I would keep in touch each week, I think.  He'd come drop his shirts by, or I'd pick them up, giving us at least a few minutes each week to talk--in addition to any other time we'd hang out. 
Anyway, as Jeff and I were packing some of my dad's stuff up, Teresa told me she had a lot of extra hangers if I needed any, and I can always use more, so I followed her to her room, to get them.  Hanging there were all my dad's shirts.  The ones that I'd iron each week.  The ones that I occasionally borrowed in high school and wore because at the time REALLY big clothing and flannel were the fad.  And the ones that were literally falling apart because he'd had them for so long, and wore them so often.  Coincidentally, a lot of the same shirts that were falling apart were the ones that I borrowed.  And I started to get teary-eyed.  Teresa had told me that there was a lot that she just couldn't give up yet; things that held memories too raw to part with them.  And at that moment, I could see why.  They still smelled the same.  They still looked the same...the same as all those times they'd be on my ironing board.  And then he'd come get them.  And wear them.  Except that part is different.  Because he won't be wearing them.  Anymore.
Last year after I came back from Colorado, where my father is buried, I kept thinking I'd see him.  I'd see men about the same size and shape, with the same color of hair, and that wore the same type of clothing.  And my heart would stop.  And I'd feel all this hope.  Which is weird, because I knew he was gone.  But in that second, I could totally believe that Dad's death was some type of misconception.  That we had been all confused and things didn't happen the way it seemed.  
Then I'd see I was wrong, and it was like feeling the loss of him all over again.  
At that moment, I realized that Teresa goes through that everyday.  Maybe seeing a towel that he'd use or a cup that was his favorite.  I'm reminded often of how much I love Teresa.  And how much she loved my dad.  Despite his imperfections, and there were many, Teresa loved him.  She sat with him, was by his side the entire time he lay there, dying.  She held his hand and spoke to him like they were having a regular conversation, and she let me and Muff and Jess and all these other people have the time we needed with him.  She changed him and moved him and bathed him...and she took it upon herself, because she knew that Dad would have been too embarrassed to be seen or coddled by anyone else, despite his pain and dementia.  She was strong, and loving and selfless.  And I saw that he was in the best hands possible.  And I thanked Heaven that he had her.  I know that Teresa was my dad's best friend.  He'd told me that more than once.  And Teresa showed me that so many times.
I still have a can of Diet Squirt that he gave me a week before he died.  Riley and Cole both have asked if they could drink it at some point in the last year.  And I can't let them.  It's still in my pantry, looking beat up and old.  And no one would know it was special in any way.  But it is to me.  He gave it to me, because he knew I like it.  I remember him having it in his shaking hand, and giving it to me before I left his house, "for the trip home".  I think about that every time I see it.
Anyway, I know these next few posts of mine will probably be downers for the common reader, but I think I need to get some feelings off of my chest.  And I need to write this down.  Cause keeping it to myself isn't doing me any favors. 

If I had a hammer...

"I'd hammer in the morning, I'd hammer in the evening, all over this land.  I'd hammer out danger, I'd hammer out warning, I'd hammer out love between my brother and my sisters, all over this laaaaaaand".  
What the crap does that mean?  I've not a clue.  It starts out pretty cut and dry but then gets into a territory that could be good or terribly bad.  I sang this in an eighth grade choir concert.  My teacher was Mrs. Damaska.  I couldn't stand her.  She was one of those people that was happy ALL the time, and I just assumed that no one was really like that.  But she was...even when I was terribly mean to her.  Sorry, Mrs. Damaska.  Sometimes I realize that as a kid I was really awful, and even though I knew it as I was doing it, I just couldn't help myself.  
All that being said, I think of that song when I think of being happy.  Not that I was happy when I sang it all those years ago; I was actually rather pissed that my mother INSISTED I be in choir, yet again.  However, I remember Mrs. Damaska yelling:  "Smile, People!  Smile!  This was the 60's!  People were happy!"  (Read:  High).  
And oddly enough, I've been really, really happy lately.  (No illegal drugs involved at all, promise).  When I wake up in the mornings I have that feeling that everything is right with me...with the world.    You'd think that I would be grateful.  And I am...but It's scary, too.  When things are so great, there is just so much more to lose.


In the mornings I wake up and feel so content and grateful and it's kinda wonderful.  It's a bazillion different things that have come together and meshed in the most perfect of ways.    It's being married to my best friend, 

it's having a daughter that's turning into a beautiful young woman that amazes me everyday (the middle one, fyi),

it's having a son that is kind and wonderful and hilarious, 

it's having a baby that tries my patience and then melts my heart in equal parts all day long.

 And it's my house, and it's my yard,  and it's being here, and it's feeling like I'm home and I'm an adult.  
I've been making goals, and following through.  I've been trying new things, things I swore were impossible for me, and a waste of my time.  But now...I kind of just, can do anything.  Okay, maybe that's just a little over the top, but I've just felt so great.  Hopefully I'm not jinxing myself.  Anyway, school starts tomorrow.  This makes me a little less happy, but I've hope for this new school year, and I pray that Riley and Cole will meet good friends, and enjoy their teachers.  If I had a hammer, I'd probably just try to hammer a nail in the wall to hang a picture.  And then it would be crooked, because that's how I always do it.  But, I'd be happy with it, anyway.  And I think that's pretty good for 2010.  Right?