It's Actually Pretty Hard To Shut Me Up

I had something silly and a bit snarky to talk about today, but then I had to take all the ornaments off the tree so we could start over with the lights.  I finally understand how lights make people insane.  We have this ornament that is a long tube, about the length of a half piece of paper, and it says "Letters To Santa" on it.  We write our lists to Santa the week before Christmas, roll them up and stick them in that tube, and shortly after Santa swings by in the middle of the night and grabs them.  It's awesome.  I took that ornament off the tree tonight and peeked inside, and there was something in it already.

I took the paper out, unfolded it, and saw this:

A gift for the big guy.

Behind that was another sheet of paper:

Dear Santa, I want to make my mom cry.

That says, "Dear Santa I have been verry good and I hope I have a verry good Christmas. Love, 2of3

PS: Do kids right to you?"

My 8 year old, my child who cannot go more than 45 seconds without asking for gum or milk or a back scratch, wrote his own letter to Santa and asked for NOTHING.  He asked for a good Christmas.  Not Hot Wheels, not skateboards, not video games, just a good Christmas.  And then he gave Santa a gift.

This is me, speechless.  And very much so in love.

You Will Bring NO SUCH THING Back, Young Man

My oldest son is a carbon copy of his father.  They both overdress for every and any occasion, they both obsess over gadgets, they both listen to punk and rock, and they are both fairly proper in their demeanor.

I've been trying to get that kid in a tshirt and a pair of Adidas with some hiphop on the stereo for 10 years now, and I am falling him.  Every time I get him a new CD, he scoffs at me, "Mom, I don't like that kind of music."  Is he 80?  What is wrong with him?  What 10 year old burns through Devotchka cd's?  MIne, apparently.

You can only imagine my surprise when I went downstairs to do some laundry last night and his little boom box was singing this:
Come here girl
Go ahead, be gone with it
Come to the back
Go ahead, be gone with it
Go ahead, be gone with it
Drinks on me

I just kept on doing my laundry and casually asked him what he was listening to.  He said that 2of3's friends dad had made him a CD of kid's hiphop songs.  I asked what he thought of it and he said he really liked it.  I snickered and then said, "You DO know this is Justin Timberlake, right?"  "NO WAY, mom!"  "Yup, sure is.  And you said you didn't like him."  "Every other song I've heard of his, I haven't liked, but Bringing Sexy Back is really good!"

There comes a time in the life of every parent when something happens, some small little something, and it scares the crap out of you.  Maybe you think it'll be when they stick their first pair of tweezers into a socket, maybe it'll when they ride their first bike, maybe you imagine it will be when they walk to school alone for the first time.  It's not; it's when they hit puberty and you hear SEXY come out of their mouths for the first time.

It was so effortless, so fluid, like it was some word he was born to say.  LIKE HE KNEW WHAT IT MEANT.  I can still hear it ringing through my head, right this very second; the hiss of the S, the choked sound of the EX, the Y that I think had just a little too much gotcha! in it.

I was stunned.  Shocked.  The wind kind of knocked out of me.  I don't know why, I don't know what I was expecting.  The song is called Sexy Back, and the version he has is the PG Justin remix so I have no problem with him listening to it, but still.  My kid said Sexy.  Like it was spaghetti or raincoat.  Like it was any old normal word.

I'm not ready.  I'm Just. Not. Ready.

A Little Bit Of This, A Little Bit Of That

He's a great snuggler
This week, we bundled up.

We giggled at silly ol' boys.

Free Chiropractic
We made delicious sandwiches.

There is NO reason she can't do this at night.
We slept a little. JUST a little.

Don't think those feet didn't smell like death warmed over.
We laughed our butts off.

I guess I wasn't invited to her Quinceañera
We sneered at our mother, who couldn't resist taking pictures of us anyway.

As good as it gets.  Unfortunately.
And we actually showered for once.

See all of Lotus' Weekly Winners here.

Mi Casa Es Su Casa

Hey!  Guess what!  It's FRIDAY!  Yesterday, I saw a teaser for ER on tv and asked myself, out loud, "Huh, I wonder why ER is on Wednesday nights now?" and my 10 year old rolled his little eyes and me and said, "Mawm, it's Thursday."

Well I'll be a greased Jesus.  I lost a whole day.  I also lost 5 hours to a toddler who could not sleep anywhere but on my big fat tummy while she burned off what I am praying is the last of her fever.  Kids really stink when they're sick, you know that?  Good thing she was irresistibly cute.

I managed to get some "work" done while she slept, and there may or may not be a post on that other blog I write today.  Look, we've only had 2 months.  Stop pressuring us!

I'm rambling, I know.  I haven't been this tired since she was born.  I can't believe how sick she is, that I am literally losing days from the lack of sleep.  I called my husband at work and asked him to bring me home a ginormous cheeseburger and all the fries, and he told me he needed to go unwind after work before he came home.  Shut up, his week has been MUCH worse than mine.  So I am getting out of the house in the morning, right about when you're reading this, to go mail some Christmas boxes and drink coffee and not get perspired on for a few hours.  Until then, I'm waiting up for that cheeseburger and typing this.

So, while I wait, I might as well tell you about Casa* since it's her birthday and all, and I almost totally missed it.  Casa doesn't read this blog; I don't think Casa even has indoor plumbing to be honest.  She's my soulmate, my love, my right hand man, my sounding board, my Missing Piece.  And she lives in fucking COSTA RICA.  In the hills, not the touristy cool part with walls that go all the way up to the ceiling and stuff.

I met her the day she returned to Colorado after burying her 16 year old baby brother in East Lansing.  I had an 8 month old baby, and she had a hole in her heart.  I starting working at the tiny cafe in Denver that she worked at the day she left to bury him, and I was out back smoking a cigarette when she came sauntering across the parking lot her first day home.  I saw her, and I just knew.

I never expected another person to come into my life and to completely shatter everything I thought I knew about relationships, about people, about love.  She did just that; silently, quietly and effortlessly.  That dirty pot smoking hippie and this freaked out spaz newlywed uptight new mom wrapped ourselves in each other the way the stories tell me that lovers do.  Our lives intertwined, our souls melded.  I can't explain it, it just was.  Is.  Will always be.

I dove into her the way I don't ever do with people.  I am cautious, I am slow.  My other two best girlfriends can tell you all about that.  We damn near lived together, she used to play "A Case of You" on the guitar and sing to my pregnant belly when I was cooking up a shiny new 2of3, we made each other little gifts out of string and beads, we took pictures of each other incessantly, she held my hand faithfully through some really hard shit, and she never waivered in her devotion.  Never, through all my bullshit and my drama and my heartbreak, she was right there.  I'd like to think I was there for her, too.  All I know is that I love her just as much today, 30 years old, a wife and mother, as I did 10 years ago, silly, young and carefree, even though she's in another country, even though I've never seen her son, my godson, and she's never seen my daughter, her third god child, and we only get to talk twice a year if we're lucky.  She's the most perfect thing that's ever happened to me, and even though she won't read this, I think she knows.

me & casa New Year's Eve 2001

*Yes, Casa is what everyone calls her. 1of3 couldn't (or wouldn't) say her name, he called her Ca or Casa. Now the whole world does.

Hey Man, Nice Shot


Those are two of my children. They are at the doctor. Why do I care? Because the last time one of them saw a doctor, she looked a little more like this:


Yeah, it's been 2 years and 4 months. The whys are too complicated to even begin getting into, so you'll just have to trust me. I had a reason. That reason no longer applies. And we have some catching up to do.

Her baby book is empty on the pages for height and weight, though quite full on the ER visits, so I'll call that a wash.  I've just figured that if she outgrows clothes on a regular timeline, she must be doing okay, right?  The one thing that I can't reconcile is her immunizations.  Those are way behind, and it sucks hard when you get way behind.

You know what happens when you go 2 years and 4 months without immunizing your child, and the one time you do when she's one year old it's under ever so shady circumstances and there are no records anywhere of what shots she actually had?  Your doctor tells you to come back when she's 12.

Or your newly found Canadian doctor will decide that he's just repeating her 18 month shots.  ALL OF THEM.  There are 3 that he can't repeat if she got them at 12 months, because of course Canada and the US have different immunization schedules.  What is a 12 month shot in the US is by no means necessarily a Canadian 12 month shot.  That's just what I need, more complication.

The nice thing is that since I haven't taken her to a doctor for 2/3 of her life, she doesn't know that doctors stick things into you, and she thought that going to the doctor was just as much fun as going to Disneyland.


Poor thing had no clue what was coming.  Look how excited she was.  Until the doctor gave her a flu shot, a measles shot, and a couple more shots that I just can't remember.  What I can remember is the screaming.  My boys were totally used to shots by the time they were three.  They flinched, they got their popsicle and we were on our way.  This baby?  Screamed like I have NEVER seen her scream before.  My heart?  Broke into 8 million pieces for her.

Yes, I'm trying to kiss him.  What of it?

He wasn't being seen that day, and WOW was he happy about it.  The doctor totally snuck a flu shot in on him when he wasn't looking, though.  Spreading the joy, that's what christmas is all about.

So everyone got an injection, my girl came home with a small case of the measles, and this is what we were up to at 11:45pm a few nights later.

Pokey makes it better

That's a Tylenol bribe.  A "Please child, for the love of god and all that's holy, take some medicine so you can sleep already" bribe.  It didn't really work, but now she knows that Tylenol gets her treats and that one in the morning is a super fun time to be awake until, and I know that I will never, ever skip another shot again for as long as we all shall live.