The Lost Blog Posts
Hey! These are just my favorite posts that I'm transferring over here.
The Helpless Fear that Comes with Love
It starts with the quickening of my pulse as you come running into the house. I notice your hand over your eye, the wild look in the other, and my heart drops. It's happening again. I sit on the couch without saying anything and you come to me. That alone makes my throat tighten; the love and trust that one move demostrates makes me feel useless. I'm you're mom; I'm supposed to keep you safe, and yet I will never be able to stop this. All I can do is hold you.
I lay your head on my lap as you start to lose control. Your eyes roll back, you body starts to stiffen, and it takes all of my will power not to show your brother and sister how devistated I am. I tell myself to breathe. Just a few minutes, that's all it will last. But a few minutes passes and this time, it doesn't end. This time, you seem locked in a position that your body shouldn't be able to be in. This time I can't see your chest rise and fall with your breathing. Your green eyes look into mine and I try to smile. I'm not sure if you can see me, but I smile just in case you can.
Your brother asks if you're alright and your sister looks on with wide eyes; even they know that something's different; that something's wrong. I tell them you're fine, that you used to do it this way when you were a baby, but I think I might be trying to convince myself. Your lips start to turn blue and I try not to think of the time you died in my arms. I almost lost you then; God can't do that to me twice, can he? I put my ear by your mouth to be sure and tiny puffs of hot air touch my cheek. You'll be alright, I tell myself; it just has to pass.
Yet this time it doesn't seem to pass. I look up at the clock; seven minutes. The jerking's still happening and your breathing won't start up again. Please, God, just let this one end. Ten minutes goes by and still you seem like a puppet on a string. Your eyes are tearing. Are you crying? Are you trying to tell me something? Your lips are such a dark blue. My chest tightens and I make my decision to phone the ambulance. I tell your brother to bring me the phone.
Your jaw is the first thing to relax. Your arms and legs are next. Finally, your head turns back to it's proper position and your chest swells with the deep breath it's been needing. I start to cry and drop the phone so I can hold you.
You look up at me, your wet green eyes showing the exhaustion you're feeling. I ask if you're alright and all you can do is blink in answer before falling asleep. I set you on the couch where I can watch you, see your siblings off with your grandmere, then lock myself in my bedroom and sob.
There will never be words to describe the helplessness of not being able to keep you safe from this, the fear I feel every time the seizures get worse. I may not be able to keep them away, but I do promise you this: that I will be there to hold you, to make you comfortable, and to keep you as safe as I possibly can for as long as I live. I love you.
My Parking Lot Angel...
The setting: Sobey's Parking lot (again)
The cast: Me, three drunks, and (thankfully) a stranger
I swear, I am going to start shopping at Superstore again. This is getting ridiculous. I must have a 'harass me' sign on my forehead that only I can't see. Granted, the old man telling me I'd never get married cause I looked like a boy was comical. This morning, however, was not.
This morning I woke up and realized we were out of bread. Kyle is home for a couple of days to work on a garage, so I left him with the kids, hopped in my van, and off to Sobey's I went to grab a few things before he had to leave. I noticed three drunks lying on a grassy spot between Wallmart and Subway as I drove by. I didn't think mych of it. I've lived in Prince Albert since I was thirteen. Scenes like that just aren't a shocker anymore. I parked, walked in, got what I needed, and was on my way back to my van in the matter of five or ten minutes. Just as I get to my van, I hear someone yell, 'Hey!'.
My heart jumped into my throat as I glanced back and realized it was the three drunks and that the shout had been directed at me. Now, I said that I was used to seeing drunks lying around; that doesn't mean I like to or even want to have anything to do with them. I hurried to try and get my van unlocked (the remote lock doesn't work) and of course dropped my keys. I bent down, grabbed them, and by then, they were right in front of me (drunks can stumble pretty quickly when they have a destination in mind, it seems).
"Hey," the tall one smiles and manages to look slightly charming, but in a scary kind of way. All I can smell is stale booze. I am not big, I can't fight, and at this very moment, I'm scared.
I stop trying to unlock my van because, quite frankly, I'm a bit scared they'll try to get in with me.
"Do you have any money?" This was the old one. He smiles too, but it doesn't look quite as charming cause he's missing half of his teeth.
I shake my head. "No, I don't."
The third one stayed quiet and was staring off into space. The young one gestures at my groceries. "If you don't have any money, how'd you buy those?" (You'll have to imagine the slur he had, I'm not sure how to write it in).
"I spent it all on groceries." I hate lying, but there was no way they were getting the cash I had in my purse.
"Come on, you gotta have some change. A couple bucks."
My heart is pounding, I'm sweating, and I can't see anybody around.
The old one takes a step toward me (or he may have lost his balance, I'm not sure) and I almost screamed. Have I meantioned I'm not brave... at all.
The sound of a truck pulling up makes me look past the one that's staring into space and I see a young guy (early twenties?) step out of the black one ton. He looks over a me and frowns.
"Are they bugging you?" He starts walking over.
I nod.
"Maybe it's time you guys went home." He's standing right behind the three of them now and I notice he's tall cause he's towering over the drunks. They turn toward him (well, the two that aren't lost in space do) and look up at him.
"We're just seeing if she had some change." That's the young one.
"And what did she tell you?"
"She said no."
"So there's your answer."
The young one looks at the old one and the two of them start walking away. The tall stranger taps the third one on the shoulder.
"Your friends are leaving."
Space man jumps like he's been hit with a cattle prod, looks around and stumbles after his friends.
"Are you ok?"
I take a deep breath and nod. "Thanks."
He smiles, puts my groceries in the van for me, and stands by it until I drive away. It takes everything I have not to start crying on the way home. It was scary, it was... god, it was just scary. But it did help remind me that though the scum of the earth is out in full force, there are still angels out there; people who give a damn just because they are good people.
So to you, my tall hero, Thank you. This morning, you were my angel.
My Children and My Retreating Sanity
There are days when I sit on my couch and shake my head. Is it just me? Is there some other poor sap out there that finds herself in the same situations, all the while not quite believing what is happening? I mean, honestly, I seriously think that when God wrote out my life, he was having a bad day and needed a good laugh. ‘Hmmmm…” He thought to Himself. “Let’s see how she handles this one.”
This is the thought I had one disastrous afternoon. I was talking to a couple of friends of mine, standing in the entrance of our old house, when all of a sudden, it was raining on me.
“What the…” I looked up at the ceiling and realize with some shock that my second level was flooding. With a quick goodbye to my friends I dashed upstairs and found my three children standing in the flooded bathroom, all of them staring at me with that ‘oh, shit, she caught us’ look on their faces.
Now what you need to know is that our upstairs bathroom was never used, therefore, there was nothing in it; no toilet paper, no hand towels, no towels, nothing. So I scrambled back down the stairs (almost breaking an ankle in the process because my shoes were wet) and grabbed a plunger and as many towels as I could see on my way past the towel closet then limped back up the stairs.
By this time the kids had scattered and were nowhere to be found. I threw my towels on the floor and watched as they all became instantly soaked. Seeing that the flood was no longer rushing out of my toilet, I tried plunging it and flushing again only to find that whatever it was the kids stuck down there wouldn’t be budged by the force of the plunger and the water came flowing out of the white porcelain bowl once again.
I ran back down the stairs, a bit more carefully this time, grabbed more towels, all the while noticing that I am now running through a puddle on the main level of the house, and ran back upstairs.
I can’t even describe the amount of water my children had managed to get out of the toilet before I noticed what was happening. All I can tell you is that it took all of my towels and three comforters to soak up all of the water on the second and main floors of the house. I was just mopping up the last of the flood on the main level when Anthony, Emery, and Ashtynn poked their heads into the room I was in. I clenched my jaw and took a deep breath then said, “go play downstairs while I get supper ready.”
I peeling potatoes when Emery peeked into the kitchen, his eyes wide.
“What is it Emery?”
“Our toys are wet.”
Something must have shown on my face because he scrambled back down the stairs as fast as he could. I followed him down and stepped on some extremely wet carpet.
“Fuck’s sakes.” By this time I’m choking back the tears and I’m screaming on the inside. The kids are watching me closely, all of them kneeling on the wet carpet, toys in their hands. “Go to the living room and watch tv.”
I go back up the stairs, grab two more comforters, and lay them on the carpet to try and soak up the worst of it. Did I mention this was brand new carpet? It had just been installed, oh, about two months before.
By the time I’ve dealt with the basement flood, it’s too late to make a decent meal so I order pizza and go sit on the couch with the kids who by this time seem to have completely forgotten how they just managed to get all three floors of the house wet. They go back to watching Treehouse and I try to calm myself down. Usually, a few deep breaths will work so I flip open my lap top and pull up the ‘Crossover’ file because getting lost in my story will usually make me forget a shitty day. Nope, not today. I hit ‘new’ on the file tab and smile as my fingers start to type and I realize what I’m writing. In big bold letters, the title stands out…
My Children and My Retreating Sanity
Yes, I do believe I have found my new therapy.
Lol. Now, some of you are thinking, ‘that’s not so bad. My kids have done way worse.’ I’ll tip my head to you and agree; probably. But this, this one not so awful incident is not the begining, nor is it the end. And trust me, it’s quite the story…
The Good, the bad, and everything else that's worth it...
There are days when I sit down at night after the kids get to bed and I wonder what God’s plan is for me. Then I remember the little kisses and hugs and the ‘goodnight, mommy, I love you’ that I just heard and it’s obvious. When there’s a day that seems unbearable and everything seems to go wrong, all I have to do is think back to when I first became a mom and I’m actually greatful for the broken window, the dead fish, or the lotion all over the bathroom floor. I’ll warn you ahead of time, this isn’t one of my promised funny stories.
I am one of the many unfortunate woman in this world who have had the misfortune to have a miscarriage. I’ve actually had two. When I found out I was pregnant the third time, I refused to get excited and Kyle refused to not tell everyone. Third time’s the charm, he told me. It turns out he was right. After 36 weeks filled with puking, bleeding, cramping and four ultrasounds I had the pleasure of waking up completely soaked. I looked at the clock. It was three in the morning. “Kyle! Wake up!” “Hmm? Are you ok?” “Well, either I peed the bed or my water just broke.” “Ugh. Either way, that’s pretty gross. Does it wash out of blankets?” “I don’t know!” During this slightly odd conversation we were getting dressed. “Alright. Let’s get you to the hospital.” At three pm the next day, all of the bleeding, cramping and puking became worth it. The look on Kyle’s face as he gazed upon his tiny son was priceless.
Though I had a feeling that being newly weds as well as new parents wasn’t going to be easy, I had no idea that it would be this hard. Anthony never slept and always screamed. When Kyle was home he would clean house and help me with the constant walking that was needed to keep Anthony quiet during the night. Some people told me I had him spoiled; that all I had to do was put him down. But the instant I put him down, he would scream.
At six months, the center of our universe almost shattered when we woke up to the sound of Anthony trying to breathe. We rushed to the hospital where we were told to get ready to head to Saskatoon. If the IV didn’t make a difference here, our little man was going to be shipped away. Thankfully Dr. Ramji is terrific at what he does and soon had Anthony stabilized. Kyle took time off work and barely left the hospital. We took turns staying there until a week later when Anthony was released.
By the time Anthony was a year old I knew something was wrong. Three of my friends and I had babies within weeks of each other. All of theirs could roll, sit, stand, babble. Anthony could sit but barely made any noise at all. We brought it up to our family doctor. We were told Anthony would catch up; he was a boy and boys were slower.
If we thought our world had been shaken up when Anthony had his massive croup attack at six months, nothing could have prepared us for what happened when he was eighteen months. After laying him down for a nap, we sat at my mother in law’s table and chatted over a cup of coffee. Anthony was screaming his usual scream and by this time we were used to it. Then, the scream changed and we ran into the room to find him throwing up. Kyle picked him up, cleaned him off and came back to the table with Anthony in his arms. My mother in law frowned. “Is he ok?” My heart jumped into my throat and I followed Kyle as he ran out to our car. Anthony’s eyes were rolled back into his head, his lips were turning blue. He wasn’t breathing. It took Kyle one minute to get from Silken’s to the hospital. I remember giving Anthony chest compressions, Kyle reaching over and doing the same, trying to get him to breathe, the car stopping and Kyle grabbing him out of my arms. The look on the nurses’ faces as we ran in to the emergency room. I remember them shutting the door so we couldn’t see what was happening and the voice over the loud speaker saying, ‘Doctors to the ER, code blue, code blue.’ I don’t remember sitting on the cold floor and breaking down, but I remember Kyle helping me stand and guiding me to the family room where we were told we should phone someone to come be with us. I remember how Kyle’s hands shook as he picked up the phone and dialled his mom’s number. How his voice caught in his throat when he said, “Dad? It’s not good.” How his blue eyes filled with tears when he looked at me and all we could manage was to sit on the couch and hold each other, praying to God that he wouldn’t take our son away. It was the feel of his hand tightening around mine when Dr Ramji came into the room and the way his arm went around my shoulders when we were told, “He’s alright. He had a seizure.”
At the age of two, Anthony was diagnosed with epilepsy. When he was twenty eight months we were seen by the specialists at KCC. When the MRI showed that a small part of his right frontal lobe was missing, he was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. We were told it would take a lot of work to get him to walk properly and that he may never talk. I remember crying on the ride home from Saskatoon. Kyle put a hand on my leg. “It will be ok,” he said. “How do you know?” I asked. He shrugged. “I don’t know. But God gave him to us for a reason.”
It took two more horrible pregnancies with cramping, bleeding, puking, and multiple ultrasounds and two more premature labours, but by the time we were done, we had our three angels.
Anthony is now seven. He can walk, run, skate, ride his bike and now plays lacrosse. Not bad for the kid they said might never walk. He also has about fifty words he can say, which, considering we were told he would never talk, is pretty fantastic. Emery will be five and is sharp as a whip, while Ashtynn, who is two, is a blue eyed, blond curly haired angel with cuddles and kisses for all when she’s not being shy.
When I write some of my statuses I usually get a couple of replies along the lines of, ‘geez, Mi, I don’t know how you do it some days’. Well, this, my friends, is how. I think of how much I love my kids, my husband, my life, and I know that no matter now many windows get broken, how much lotion I find smeared on my walls, I wouldn’t trade a day of it for any anything. I almost didn’t have my kids and I’ll treasure every moment with them. Now don’t get me wrong… I do have days when I ask God why? He hasn’t answered me yet, but I’m sure that one of these days he will and I’ll go, ‘Ah! I get it.’
Until that day comes, I’ll try to laugh through the bad and enjoy the good because, well, really, what else is a woman to do…
Silence is never a good thing...
“I swear, I locked the door.” That’s the answer I got from Kyle while I sat at home and he got his trailers loaded in Regina. He’d just finished asking me if I’d be up when he got home and I answered his question by saying, “sure. I’ll still be up wiping up all of the caulking the kids got into because someone forgot to lock up the furnace room when he was done in there.”
Hmmm. Now that the kids are in bed and the caulking is all cleaned up, I thought I’d take a minute to tell you about it. Maybe I should start at the beginning.
This morning I went to Saskatoon and dropped Kyle off at the NRT shop so he could go to work. My mom was a dear and watched Ashtynn for me and picked Emery up at noon so I didn’t have to worry about things. The ride down was nice, the ride back was quiet, and I had fun visiting with mom when I got back. Anthony got home from school and we all had a snack while we watched the second Harry Potter movie; we’re having a Harry Potter marathon right now because the box set containing years 1-6 got here today and well, when you have that many movies in a series, the thing to do is watch from beginning to end. :)
So, my day was going spendidly when the kids decided they were tired of watching Harry and went downstairs to play in their room.
Kyle text me. How’s your day going?
Good.
How are the kids.
Excellent. They’re being so good today.
Right on. I’ll be home tonight about midnight.
At this point, I realize… it’s pretty quiet down there. I tip toe down the stairs and find all three of them with pieces of jip rock, markers, a little saw, a hammer, some unused light switches and two tubes of caulking.
Emery looks at me, proud as can be. “Look, mommy, we’re fixing!”
Ashtynn grins. “Fixing!”
Anthony looks up midswing with the hammer. “Fix!”
“I’m sure you are, but this is daddy’s stuff and you’re not allowed to play with it.” I pick up the caulking, grab the hammer and little saw, and put everything back into the furnace room and lock the door. We head back upstairs to have a snack and watch some more Harry Potter. I look at my phone.
Do you think you’ll be up when I get home?
… Well, you know the rest of the story.
Sleep? Sleep is for wussies...
Ugh.
Of course, as I’m writing the title to this little piece, I’m so tired I feel like crying, but since I know I won’t be sleeping anytime soon, I try to give myself little pep talks and tell myself that sleep is really just a luxury, not a necessity.
Tonight, I went to bed at ten thirty. At eleven thirty, I was woken up the the worst sound in the world. Anyone who has heard it will remember it for the rest of their lives. It makes your stomach drop, your heart race, and you instantly feel like crying. It is the sound of your child trying to breathe with lungs that aren’t working properly. I’m lying in my bed on the main floor of the house and I’m hearing Anthony’s breathing, or lack thereof, and he is in the basement. I hear him start to cry as his body realizes it isn’t getting enough oxygen and it wakes him up. The first thing that runs through my head… where the fuck did we put the nebulizer when we moved. (You’ll have to pardon my language, but I tend to swear alot when this shit happens at a retarded time of night.)
Now, what I should tell you guys is that since Sunday, Anthony has had two seizures, I’ve had to wrestle him still to get bloodwork to check the levels of his seizure meds, Ashtynn has had a fever off and on, this morning Emery woke up with a hundred and three point five fever and he also puked this afternoon. After getting everyone drugged up and in bed, I prayed that tonight, everyone might have a decent night… only to be woken up by this.
The first thing I tried was a flovent puffer and a steam shower… sometimes this works, but tonight it didn’t. Honestly, by the sound of the wheezing, I knew I’d need to pull out the bad boy to kill this asthma attack.
Anthony has been having asthma attacks since he was six months old. By the time he was two I’d had enough. Rushing to the hospital in the middle of the night just to stay there to be observed after he was given a mask was starting to get to me. I did all the work there anyway. The doctor would come in, say, ‘oh, my… lets give this little man a mask,’ and then would leave with me holding onto a screaming and kicking toddler while I tried to hold this stupid mask on his face. I finally asked one doctor… ‘is there any way I can do this at home?’
The doctor was great and explained to me that I could, indeed, do this at home. All I needed was a nebulizer. He prescribed me the little nebules I would need (these are tiny packets with the steroids in them) and off I went to the drug store to buy a nebulizer which to my annoyance, was not covered by any medical plan. However, I reminded myself that this would be best, that I could fight with my struggling son in the comfort of my own home and that just that little bit of stress relief would help make all the difference.
And I was right. As I look to the side and see Emery falling asleep (his fever is down to a hundred and one now) and Anthony already sleeping (his breathing much better though not completely back to normal yet) I think of what would have happened tonight had I not spent that two hundred dollars. For one thing, I would have had to wake somebody up to come watch Ashtynn and Emery… I would have rushed to the hospital, sat on a bed, then spent the next two hours there (maybe longer). Instead, I found the nebulizer (it was in my closet still packed in a box) pulled out a little nebule and put the salbutamol in the little green thingy that the air goes through, sat on the couch with Anthony while we counted to a hundred then made a bed on the couch for him so he could watch tv while we waited for the steroids to do their thing.
So now that the boys are sleeping again, I’ll try to do the same, though I know that the chances of me getting any sleep tonight are slim… I’ll be on full alert as I listen to make sure neither of them has a repeat of their symptoms.
*Yawns* Sleep? Ugh. Who needs to sleep. Apparantly, not me.
Owy is never a good word
“Owy, owy, owy, ooooowwwwww!”
This is never a good sound when you’re making supper and the scream is coming from another room. If you’re me and it’s coming from your children, you calmly tell yourself that supper is now postponed and a trip to the hospital is in order.
I’m serious. My kids are tough… like, superhero tough. Like, all three are running full speed in the house and manage to run into a wall, get up and do it again kind of tough. The two year old can be lying of the ground and the seven year old will jump on her and she’ll look at him and scream… not in pain… in anger… because he made her drop her pony. That kind of tough. Or the five year old will jump off of his bed, trip, and smash his face into the floor, then show his siblings how to do it just like he did.
When one of my kids is screaming owy at the top of his lungs, I know it’s not going to be a good sight. Owy means skin is missing, blood is flowing, or body parts are no longer bent in the proper direction. (thankfully, the latter has only happened once and it was a toe. Toes are a minor body part, so I’m not even sure if it bears mentioning).
So tonight when I heard that dreadful word, I took a deep breath, and headed into my bedroom which was where the horrible sound was coming from. This usually means a wrestling match gone wrong. My kids have a great time trying to kill each other. It happens every day and I’ve given up on trying to stop them. I’d never clean, I’d never eat, hell, I’d never be able to have a shit if I was trying to keep it from happening. Survival of the fittest is the law in my house and so far, the three of them seem pretty well matched.
I heard my daughter jump off the bed and scramble to her bedroom. I heard another thump as one of the boys jumped to the ground. This left the five year old screaming at the top of his lungs, so I knew who was the object of today’s assasination attempt.
My first instinct when I walked into the room was to start yelling. I opened my mouth, took a deep breath, and stopped. I was speechless. And then I started to laugh, because, well, it was funny as hell (though apparantly not to Emery who had his head wedged between the matress and the boxspring of my bed). That’s right. Today’s attempted murder was by means of head squishing. Somehow, this was fun (I never did get a straight answer as to how or why Emery thought it was a good idea to let his siblings put his head between the matresses) . Stick brother’s head in matresses and jump. Sure, I can see the logic in that.
After freeing my son and making sure that his skull was still intact, we had a small group discussion as to why it is a bad idea to squish your brother’s head between two objects of any kind. The three of them ran downstairs (to plan their next assassination, I’m sure), and I went back to making supper, shaking my head while thinking to myself that today was a good day. No bent body parts, no missing skin, hell, not even a drop of blood to wipe off the floor.
So, let me rephrase that. Today was not good. It was fantastic. :)Hahahaha! Stay safe, everyone!
Some People's Nerves
Contrary to how the title makes it sounds, this is not a rant. Let’s put this little story into the ‘reflection’ category. I have to start off by telling you about the incident that led to this train of thought.
This morning I was running some errands with my two year old daughter. We dropped Kyle off at the semi so he could get back on the road, proceeded to head down to the bank, went for coffee with my mom at Tim Horton’s, then went to Sobe’s to do groceries. Once back in the parking lot, I put Ashtynn in her car seat and started to put the bags away in the trunk of the van. I guess I should tell you what I’m wearing today… though most of you who know me can probably guess. Yep, I’m wearing my usual baseball hat, a zip up bunny hug, my jeans, and the same running shoes I’ve owned for the past eight years.
So, I was putting my grocery bags into the back of the van when a little blue car pulls up beside me. A little old man gets out and looks at me.
“Good morning,” I say with a smile. It’s beautiful out and I’m in a good mood. The little old guy keeps look at me without saying anything. I stop putting the groceries away. “Can I help you with something?” Who knows, he’s pretty old… maybe he forgot what he’s doing there, I don’t know. Maybe I remind him of someone. Maybe, just maybe, he’s my biggest fan and he’s too shy to ask me for my autograph (*snicker* no, I did not really think that).
Anyway, he looks at me and asks, “are you a boy or a girl?”
Just smile, I think to myself. “I’m a girl.”
He frowns. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.” By this time I’m wondering where the hell he’s going with this.
He shakes his head. “You know, you’ll never find a man that wants to marry you if you keep looking like a boy.”
I feel my wedding band on my finger and take a deep breath. “It just so happens that I’ve been with my husband for ten years now and we have three kids together.”
The old man grunts and walks away. I turn back to my groceries wondering did this just actually happen? Now, granted, if he had looked at my hand to see if it had a ring on it, the odds were he just didn’t see it. When Kyle asked what kind of ring I wanted I told him that if he spend more that a couple hundred bucks on my entire set that I wouldn’t marry him. My wedding band is a thin yellow gold one with a tiny diamond in it which usually gets turned around and ends up facing the bottom of my hand. I don’t wear the engagement ring. I’m not big on jewelry. But still…
Now, at this point I need to point out that I wasn’t upset, simply floored. How does a person walk up to a complete stranger and so bluntly insult them. I mean, I could see if a friend of mine had seen me, come to say hi and said something along the lines of, “Hey, Mi, can’t you do yourself up a little when you leave the house?” Though, now that I write this, if they were any kind of friend to me, they wouldn’t think of saying that for the simple fact that they would know that no, I don’t dress up to leave the house. As my youngest sister once so nicely put it, “You know Mimi is dressed up when she’s wearing a bra.” :D
So, would you have the nerve to do what the old man did to me? How would you react if you’d been in my shoes? Would I have done anything different had I had time to prepare for his comments? No, probably not. Does it make me think that maybe I need to change my look when I leave the house? No, definitely not.
And that gets me going on a completely different topic related to this one which is ‘image’, but that, my friends, is a reflection for another day…
Damn You Thundercats!
"Never! I have no cause! I believe in nothing!" Bahahahaha!
"Justice! Truth! Honor! Loyalty!Thundercats, Ho!" Lmfao!
Holy good god, help me now! At this very moment, I should be writing. The kids are in bed and it's prime time for me to shut everything off, start my writing playlist, and get lost in Quelondain.... at least that's what happens why I'm home alone with the kids. :D Tonight, Kyle is home and the tv is on. What is it about 80's cartoons that causes me to sit with my fingers poised over the keyboard, my mouth slack and my eyes glued to the flatscreen? Bah!
Fine then. I'll watch Thundercats. But then, when it's over, it's time to write. I sit and watch the entire cartoon, my fingers still sitting on my keyboard, and as the end credits make their way up the screen, I turn back to my laptop, primed to get some words down on the screen. Until...
"Transformers! Dum, dum, dum, dum! More than meets the eye!" Holy shit! Optimus is hurt! Ratchet! Where the hell are you?! I'm positive all I do is blink, but the next thing I know, the end credits scroll up the screen. *facepalm*
Damn it! I've been watching cartoons for the past two hours! *sigh* I guess I won't be getting any writing done tonight... so I might as well go blog about it.
Hahaha! Well, there you have it. My evening as it were. *yawn* Though, do you know, I think that every so often, an evening of distraction is just what I need.
Have a great night everyone, and stay safe.
Well, I hope you enjoyed rereading those as much as I did!
Have a great day and stay safe!
The Helpless Fear that Comes with Love
It starts with the quickening of my pulse as you come running into the house. I notice your hand over your eye, the wild look in the other, and my heart drops. It's happening again. I sit on the couch without saying anything and you come to me. That alone makes my throat tighten; the love and trust that one move demostrates makes me feel useless. I'm you're mom; I'm supposed to keep you safe, and yet I will never be able to stop this. All I can do is hold you.
I lay your head on my lap as you start to lose control. Your eyes roll back, you body starts to stiffen, and it takes all of my will power not to show your brother and sister how devistated I am. I tell myself to breathe. Just a few minutes, that's all it will last. But a few minutes passes and this time, it doesn't end. This time, you seem locked in a position that your body shouldn't be able to be in. This time I can't see your chest rise and fall with your breathing. Your green eyes look into mine and I try to smile. I'm not sure if you can see me, but I smile just in case you can.
Your brother asks if you're alright and your sister looks on with wide eyes; even they know that something's different; that something's wrong. I tell them you're fine, that you used to do it this way when you were a baby, but I think I might be trying to convince myself. Your lips start to turn blue and I try not to think of the time you died in my arms. I almost lost you then; God can't do that to me twice, can he? I put my ear by your mouth to be sure and tiny puffs of hot air touch my cheek. You'll be alright, I tell myself; it just has to pass.
Yet this time it doesn't seem to pass. I look up at the clock; seven minutes. The jerking's still happening and your breathing won't start up again. Please, God, just let this one end. Ten minutes goes by and still you seem like a puppet on a string. Your eyes are tearing. Are you crying? Are you trying to tell me something? Your lips are such a dark blue. My chest tightens and I make my decision to phone the ambulance. I tell your brother to bring me the phone.
Your jaw is the first thing to relax. Your arms and legs are next. Finally, your head turns back to it's proper position and your chest swells with the deep breath it's been needing. I start to cry and drop the phone so I can hold you.
You look up at me, your wet green eyes showing the exhaustion you're feeling. I ask if you're alright and all you can do is blink in answer before falling asleep. I set you on the couch where I can watch you, see your siblings off with your grandmere, then lock myself in my bedroom and sob.
There will never be words to describe the helplessness of not being able to keep you safe from this, the fear I feel every time the seizures get worse. I may not be able to keep them away, but I do promise you this: that I will be there to hold you, to make you comfortable, and to keep you as safe as I possibly can for as long as I live. I love you.
My Parking Lot Angel...
The setting: Sobey's Parking lot (again)
The cast: Me, three drunks, and (thankfully) a stranger
I swear, I am going to start shopping at Superstore again. This is getting ridiculous. I must have a 'harass me' sign on my forehead that only I can't see. Granted, the old man telling me I'd never get married cause I looked like a boy was comical. This morning, however, was not.
This morning I woke up and realized we were out of bread. Kyle is home for a couple of days to work on a garage, so I left him with the kids, hopped in my van, and off to Sobey's I went to grab a few things before he had to leave. I noticed three drunks lying on a grassy spot between Wallmart and Subway as I drove by. I didn't think mych of it. I've lived in Prince Albert since I was thirteen. Scenes like that just aren't a shocker anymore. I parked, walked in, got what I needed, and was on my way back to my van in the matter of five or ten minutes. Just as I get to my van, I hear someone yell, 'Hey!'.
My heart jumped into my throat as I glanced back and realized it was the three drunks and that the shout had been directed at me. Now, I said that I was used to seeing drunks lying around; that doesn't mean I like to or even want to have anything to do with them. I hurried to try and get my van unlocked (the remote lock doesn't work) and of course dropped my keys. I bent down, grabbed them, and by then, they were right in front of me (drunks can stumble pretty quickly when they have a destination in mind, it seems).
"Hey," the tall one smiles and manages to look slightly charming, but in a scary kind of way. All I can smell is stale booze. I am not big, I can't fight, and at this very moment, I'm scared.
I stop trying to unlock my van because, quite frankly, I'm a bit scared they'll try to get in with me.
"Do you have any money?" This was the old one. He smiles too, but it doesn't look quite as charming cause he's missing half of his teeth.
I shake my head. "No, I don't."
The third one stayed quiet and was staring off into space. The young one gestures at my groceries. "If you don't have any money, how'd you buy those?" (You'll have to imagine the slur he had, I'm not sure how to write it in).
"I spent it all on groceries." I hate lying, but there was no way they were getting the cash I had in my purse.
"Come on, you gotta have some change. A couple bucks."
My heart is pounding, I'm sweating, and I can't see anybody around.
The old one takes a step toward me (or he may have lost his balance, I'm not sure) and I almost screamed. Have I meantioned I'm not brave... at all.
The sound of a truck pulling up makes me look past the one that's staring into space and I see a young guy (early twenties?) step out of the black one ton. He looks over a me and frowns.
"Are they bugging you?" He starts walking over.
I nod.
"Maybe it's time you guys went home." He's standing right behind the three of them now and I notice he's tall cause he's towering over the drunks. They turn toward him (well, the two that aren't lost in space do) and look up at him.
"We're just seeing if she had some change." That's the young one.
"And what did she tell you?"
"She said no."
"So there's your answer."
The young one looks at the old one and the two of them start walking away. The tall stranger taps the third one on the shoulder.
"Your friends are leaving."
Space man jumps like he's been hit with a cattle prod, looks around and stumbles after his friends.
"Are you ok?"
I take a deep breath and nod. "Thanks."
He smiles, puts my groceries in the van for me, and stands by it until I drive away. It takes everything I have not to start crying on the way home. It was scary, it was... god, it was just scary. But it did help remind me that though the scum of the earth is out in full force, there are still angels out there; people who give a damn just because they are good people.
So to you, my tall hero, Thank you. This morning, you were my angel.
My Children and My Retreating Sanity
There are days when I sit on my couch and shake my head. Is it just me? Is there some other poor sap out there that finds herself in the same situations, all the while not quite believing what is happening? I mean, honestly, I seriously think that when God wrote out my life, he was having a bad day and needed a good laugh. ‘Hmmmm…” He thought to Himself. “Let’s see how she handles this one.”
This is the thought I had one disastrous afternoon. I was talking to a couple of friends of mine, standing in the entrance of our old house, when all of a sudden, it was raining on me.
“What the…” I looked up at the ceiling and realize with some shock that my second level was flooding. With a quick goodbye to my friends I dashed upstairs and found my three children standing in the flooded bathroom, all of them staring at me with that ‘oh, shit, she caught us’ look on their faces.
Now what you need to know is that our upstairs bathroom was never used, therefore, there was nothing in it; no toilet paper, no hand towels, no towels, nothing. So I scrambled back down the stairs (almost breaking an ankle in the process because my shoes were wet) and grabbed a plunger and as many towels as I could see on my way past the towel closet then limped back up the stairs.
By this time the kids had scattered and were nowhere to be found. I threw my towels on the floor and watched as they all became instantly soaked. Seeing that the flood was no longer rushing out of my toilet, I tried plunging it and flushing again only to find that whatever it was the kids stuck down there wouldn’t be budged by the force of the plunger and the water came flowing out of the white porcelain bowl once again.
I ran back down the stairs, a bit more carefully this time, grabbed more towels, all the while noticing that I am now running through a puddle on the main level of the house, and ran back upstairs.
I can’t even describe the amount of water my children had managed to get out of the toilet before I noticed what was happening. All I can tell you is that it took all of my towels and three comforters to soak up all of the water on the second and main floors of the house. I was just mopping up the last of the flood on the main level when Anthony, Emery, and Ashtynn poked their heads into the room I was in. I clenched my jaw and took a deep breath then said, “go play downstairs while I get supper ready.”
I peeling potatoes when Emery peeked into the kitchen, his eyes wide.
“What is it Emery?”
“Our toys are wet.”
Something must have shown on my face because he scrambled back down the stairs as fast as he could. I followed him down and stepped on some extremely wet carpet.
“Fuck’s sakes.” By this time I’m choking back the tears and I’m screaming on the inside. The kids are watching me closely, all of them kneeling on the wet carpet, toys in their hands. “Go to the living room and watch tv.”
I go back up the stairs, grab two more comforters, and lay them on the carpet to try and soak up the worst of it. Did I mention this was brand new carpet? It had just been installed, oh, about two months before.
By the time I’ve dealt with the basement flood, it’s too late to make a decent meal so I order pizza and go sit on the couch with the kids who by this time seem to have completely forgotten how they just managed to get all three floors of the house wet. They go back to watching Treehouse and I try to calm myself down. Usually, a few deep breaths will work so I flip open my lap top and pull up the ‘Crossover’ file because getting lost in my story will usually make me forget a shitty day. Nope, not today. I hit ‘new’ on the file tab and smile as my fingers start to type and I realize what I’m writing. In big bold letters, the title stands out…
My Children and My Retreating Sanity
Yes, I do believe I have found my new therapy.
Lol. Now, some of you are thinking, ‘that’s not so bad. My kids have done way worse.’ I’ll tip my head to you and agree; probably. But this, this one not so awful incident is not the begining, nor is it the end. And trust me, it’s quite the story…
The Good, the bad, and everything else that's worth it...
There are days when I sit down at night after the kids get to bed and I wonder what God’s plan is for me. Then I remember the little kisses and hugs and the ‘goodnight, mommy, I love you’ that I just heard and it’s obvious. When there’s a day that seems unbearable and everything seems to go wrong, all I have to do is think back to when I first became a mom and I’m actually greatful for the broken window, the dead fish, or the lotion all over the bathroom floor. I’ll warn you ahead of time, this isn’t one of my promised funny stories.
I am one of the many unfortunate woman in this world who have had the misfortune to have a miscarriage. I’ve actually had two. When I found out I was pregnant the third time, I refused to get excited and Kyle refused to not tell everyone. Third time’s the charm, he told me. It turns out he was right. After 36 weeks filled with puking, bleeding, cramping and four ultrasounds I had the pleasure of waking up completely soaked. I looked at the clock. It was three in the morning. “Kyle! Wake up!” “Hmm? Are you ok?” “Well, either I peed the bed or my water just broke.” “Ugh. Either way, that’s pretty gross. Does it wash out of blankets?” “I don’t know!” During this slightly odd conversation we were getting dressed. “Alright. Let’s get you to the hospital.” At three pm the next day, all of the bleeding, cramping and puking became worth it. The look on Kyle’s face as he gazed upon his tiny son was priceless.
Though I had a feeling that being newly weds as well as new parents wasn’t going to be easy, I had no idea that it would be this hard. Anthony never slept and always screamed. When Kyle was home he would clean house and help me with the constant walking that was needed to keep Anthony quiet during the night. Some people told me I had him spoiled; that all I had to do was put him down. But the instant I put him down, he would scream.
At six months, the center of our universe almost shattered when we woke up to the sound of Anthony trying to breathe. We rushed to the hospital where we were told to get ready to head to Saskatoon. If the IV didn’t make a difference here, our little man was going to be shipped away. Thankfully Dr. Ramji is terrific at what he does and soon had Anthony stabilized. Kyle took time off work and barely left the hospital. We took turns staying there until a week later when Anthony was released.
By the time Anthony was a year old I knew something was wrong. Three of my friends and I had babies within weeks of each other. All of theirs could roll, sit, stand, babble. Anthony could sit but barely made any noise at all. We brought it up to our family doctor. We were told Anthony would catch up; he was a boy and boys were slower.
If we thought our world had been shaken up when Anthony had his massive croup attack at six months, nothing could have prepared us for what happened when he was eighteen months. After laying him down for a nap, we sat at my mother in law’s table and chatted over a cup of coffee. Anthony was screaming his usual scream and by this time we were used to it. Then, the scream changed and we ran into the room to find him throwing up. Kyle picked him up, cleaned him off and came back to the table with Anthony in his arms. My mother in law frowned. “Is he ok?” My heart jumped into my throat and I followed Kyle as he ran out to our car. Anthony’s eyes were rolled back into his head, his lips were turning blue. He wasn’t breathing. It took Kyle one minute to get from Silken’s to the hospital. I remember giving Anthony chest compressions, Kyle reaching over and doing the same, trying to get him to breathe, the car stopping and Kyle grabbing him out of my arms. The look on the nurses’ faces as we ran in to the emergency room. I remember them shutting the door so we couldn’t see what was happening and the voice over the loud speaker saying, ‘Doctors to the ER, code blue, code blue.’ I don’t remember sitting on the cold floor and breaking down, but I remember Kyle helping me stand and guiding me to the family room where we were told we should phone someone to come be with us. I remember how Kyle’s hands shook as he picked up the phone and dialled his mom’s number. How his voice caught in his throat when he said, “Dad? It’s not good.” How his blue eyes filled with tears when he looked at me and all we could manage was to sit on the couch and hold each other, praying to God that he wouldn’t take our son away. It was the feel of his hand tightening around mine when Dr Ramji came into the room and the way his arm went around my shoulders when we were told, “He’s alright. He had a seizure.”
At the age of two, Anthony was diagnosed with epilepsy. When he was twenty eight months we were seen by the specialists at KCC. When the MRI showed that a small part of his right frontal lobe was missing, he was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. We were told it would take a lot of work to get him to walk properly and that he may never talk. I remember crying on the ride home from Saskatoon. Kyle put a hand on my leg. “It will be ok,” he said. “How do you know?” I asked. He shrugged. “I don’t know. But God gave him to us for a reason.”
It took two more horrible pregnancies with cramping, bleeding, puking, and multiple ultrasounds and two more premature labours, but by the time we were done, we had our three angels.
Anthony is now seven. He can walk, run, skate, ride his bike and now plays lacrosse. Not bad for the kid they said might never walk. He also has about fifty words he can say, which, considering we were told he would never talk, is pretty fantastic. Emery will be five and is sharp as a whip, while Ashtynn, who is two, is a blue eyed, blond curly haired angel with cuddles and kisses for all when she’s not being shy.
When I write some of my statuses I usually get a couple of replies along the lines of, ‘geez, Mi, I don’t know how you do it some days’. Well, this, my friends, is how. I think of how much I love my kids, my husband, my life, and I know that no matter now many windows get broken, how much lotion I find smeared on my walls, I wouldn’t trade a day of it for any anything. I almost didn’t have my kids and I’ll treasure every moment with them. Now don’t get me wrong… I do have days when I ask God why? He hasn’t answered me yet, but I’m sure that one of these days he will and I’ll go, ‘Ah! I get it.’
Until that day comes, I’ll try to laugh through the bad and enjoy the good because, well, really, what else is a woman to do…
Silence is never a good thing...
“I swear, I locked the door.” That’s the answer I got from Kyle while I sat at home and he got his trailers loaded in Regina. He’d just finished asking me if I’d be up when he got home and I answered his question by saying, “sure. I’ll still be up wiping up all of the caulking the kids got into because someone forgot to lock up the furnace room when he was done in there.”
Hmmm. Now that the kids are in bed and the caulking is all cleaned up, I thought I’d take a minute to tell you about it. Maybe I should start at the beginning.
This morning I went to Saskatoon and dropped Kyle off at the NRT shop so he could go to work. My mom was a dear and watched Ashtynn for me and picked Emery up at noon so I didn’t have to worry about things. The ride down was nice, the ride back was quiet, and I had fun visiting with mom when I got back. Anthony got home from school and we all had a snack while we watched the second Harry Potter movie; we’re having a Harry Potter marathon right now because the box set containing years 1-6 got here today and well, when you have that many movies in a series, the thing to do is watch from beginning to end. :)
So, my day was going spendidly when the kids decided they were tired of watching Harry and went downstairs to play in their room.
Kyle text me. How’s your day going?
Good.
How are the kids.
Excellent. They’re being so good today.
Right on. I’ll be home tonight about midnight.
At this point, I realize… it’s pretty quiet down there. I tip toe down the stairs and find all three of them with pieces of jip rock, markers, a little saw, a hammer, some unused light switches and two tubes of caulking.
Emery looks at me, proud as can be. “Look, mommy, we’re fixing!”
Ashtynn grins. “Fixing!”
Anthony looks up midswing with the hammer. “Fix!”
“I’m sure you are, but this is daddy’s stuff and you’re not allowed to play with it.” I pick up the caulking, grab the hammer and little saw, and put everything back into the furnace room and lock the door. We head back upstairs to have a snack and watch some more Harry Potter. I look at my phone.
Do you think you’ll be up when I get home?
… Well, you know the rest of the story.
Sleep? Sleep is for wussies...
Ugh.
Of course, as I’m writing the title to this little piece, I’m so tired I feel like crying, but since I know I won’t be sleeping anytime soon, I try to give myself little pep talks and tell myself that sleep is really just a luxury, not a necessity.
Tonight, I went to bed at ten thirty. At eleven thirty, I was woken up the the worst sound in the world. Anyone who has heard it will remember it for the rest of their lives. It makes your stomach drop, your heart race, and you instantly feel like crying. It is the sound of your child trying to breathe with lungs that aren’t working properly. I’m lying in my bed on the main floor of the house and I’m hearing Anthony’s breathing, or lack thereof, and he is in the basement. I hear him start to cry as his body realizes it isn’t getting enough oxygen and it wakes him up. The first thing that runs through my head… where the fuck did we put the nebulizer when we moved. (You’ll have to pardon my language, but I tend to swear alot when this shit happens at a retarded time of night.)
Now, what I should tell you guys is that since Sunday, Anthony has had two seizures, I’ve had to wrestle him still to get bloodwork to check the levels of his seizure meds, Ashtynn has had a fever off and on, this morning Emery woke up with a hundred and three point five fever and he also puked this afternoon. After getting everyone drugged up and in bed, I prayed that tonight, everyone might have a decent night… only to be woken up by this.
The first thing I tried was a flovent puffer and a steam shower… sometimes this works, but tonight it didn’t. Honestly, by the sound of the wheezing, I knew I’d need to pull out the bad boy to kill this asthma attack.
Anthony has been having asthma attacks since he was six months old. By the time he was two I’d had enough. Rushing to the hospital in the middle of the night just to stay there to be observed after he was given a mask was starting to get to me. I did all the work there anyway. The doctor would come in, say, ‘oh, my… lets give this little man a mask,’ and then would leave with me holding onto a screaming and kicking toddler while I tried to hold this stupid mask on his face. I finally asked one doctor… ‘is there any way I can do this at home?’
The doctor was great and explained to me that I could, indeed, do this at home. All I needed was a nebulizer. He prescribed me the little nebules I would need (these are tiny packets with the steroids in them) and off I went to the drug store to buy a nebulizer which to my annoyance, was not covered by any medical plan. However, I reminded myself that this would be best, that I could fight with my struggling son in the comfort of my own home and that just that little bit of stress relief would help make all the difference.
And I was right. As I look to the side and see Emery falling asleep (his fever is down to a hundred and one now) and Anthony already sleeping (his breathing much better though not completely back to normal yet) I think of what would have happened tonight had I not spent that two hundred dollars. For one thing, I would have had to wake somebody up to come watch Ashtynn and Emery… I would have rushed to the hospital, sat on a bed, then spent the next two hours there (maybe longer). Instead, I found the nebulizer (it was in my closet still packed in a box) pulled out a little nebule and put the salbutamol in the little green thingy that the air goes through, sat on the couch with Anthony while we counted to a hundred then made a bed on the couch for him so he could watch tv while we waited for the steroids to do their thing.
So now that the boys are sleeping again, I’ll try to do the same, though I know that the chances of me getting any sleep tonight are slim… I’ll be on full alert as I listen to make sure neither of them has a repeat of their symptoms.
*Yawns* Sleep? Ugh. Who needs to sleep. Apparantly, not me.
Owy is never a good word
“Owy, owy, owy, ooooowwwwww!”
This is never a good sound when you’re making supper and the scream is coming from another room. If you’re me and it’s coming from your children, you calmly tell yourself that supper is now postponed and a trip to the hospital is in order.
I’m serious. My kids are tough… like, superhero tough. Like, all three are running full speed in the house and manage to run into a wall, get up and do it again kind of tough. The two year old can be lying of the ground and the seven year old will jump on her and she’ll look at him and scream… not in pain… in anger… because he made her drop her pony. That kind of tough. Or the five year old will jump off of his bed, trip, and smash his face into the floor, then show his siblings how to do it just like he did.
When one of my kids is screaming owy at the top of his lungs, I know it’s not going to be a good sight. Owy means skin is missing, blood is flowing, or body parts are no longer bent in the proper direction. (thankfully, the latter has only happened once and it was a toe. Toes are a minor body part, so I’m not even sure if it bears mentioning).
So tonight when I heard that dreadful word, I took a deep breath, and headed into my bedroom which was where the horrible sound was coming from. This usually means a wrestling match gone wrong. My kids have a great time trying to kill each other. It happens every day and I’ve given up on trying to stop them. I’d never clean, I’d never eat, hell, I’d never be able to have a shit if I was trying to keep it from happening. Survival of the fittest is the law in my house and so far, the three of them seem pretty well matched.
I heard my daughter jump off the bed and scramble to her bedroom. I heard another thump as one of the boys jumped to the ground. This left the five year old screaming at the top of his lungs, so I knew who was the object of today’s assasination attempt.
My first instinct when I walked into the room was to start yelling. I opened my mouth, took a deep breath, and stopped. I was speechless. And then I started to laugh, because, well, it was funny as hell (though apparantly not to Emery who had his head wedged between the matress and the boxspring of my bed). That’s right. Today’s attempted murder was by means of head squishing. Somehow, this was fun (I never did get a straight answer as to how or why Emery thought it was a good idea to let his siblings put his head between the matresses) . Stick brother’s head in matresses and jump. Sure, I can see the logic in that.
After freeing my son and making sure that his skull was still intact, we had a small group discussion as to why it is a bad idea to squish your brother’s head between two objects of any kind. The three of them ran downstairs (to plan their next assassination, I’m sure), and I went back to making supper, shaking my head while thinking to myself that today was a good day. No bent body parts, no missing skin, hell, not even a drop of blood to wipe off the floor.
So, let me rephrase that. Today was not good. It was fantastic. :)Hahahaha! Stay safe, everyone!
Some People's Nerves
Contrary to how the title makes it sounds, this is not a rant. Let’s put this little story into the ‘reflection’ category. I have to start off by telling you about the incident that led to this train of thought.
This morning I was running some errands with my two year old daughter. We dropped Kyle off at the semi so he could get back on the road, proceeded to head down to the bank, went for coffee with my mom at Tim Horton’s, then went to Sobe’s to do groceries. Once back in the parking lot, I put Ashtynn in her car seat and started to put the bags away in the trunk of the van. I guess I should tell you what I’m wearing today… though most of you who know me can probably guess. Yep, I’m wearing my usual baseball hat, a zip up bunny hug, my jeans, and the same running shoes I’ve owned for the past eight years.
So, I was putting my grocery bags into the back of the van when a little blue car pulls up beside me. A little old man gets out and looks at me.
“Good morning,” I say with a smile. It’s beautiful out and I’m in a good mood. The little old guy keeps look at me without saying anything. I stop putting the groceries away. “Can I help you with something?” Who knows, he’s pretty old… maybe he forgot what he’s doing there, I don’t know. Maybe I remind him of someone. Maybe, just maybe, he’s my biggest fan and he’s too shy to ask me for my autograph (*snicker* no, I did not really think that).
Anyway, he looks at me and asks, “are you a boy or a girl?”
Just smile, I think to myself. “I’m a girl.”
He frowns. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.” By this time I’m wondering where the hell he’s going with this.
He shakes his head. “You know, you’ll never find a man that wants to marry you if you keep looking like a boy.”
I feel my wedding band on my finger and take a deep breath. “It just so happens that I’ve been with my husband for ten years now and we have three kids together.”
The old man grunts and walks away. I turn back to my groceries wondering did this just actually happen? Now, granted, if he had looked at my hand to see if it had a ring on it, the odds were he just didn’t see it. When Kyle asked what kind of ring I wanted I told him that if he spend more that a couple hundred bucks on my entire set that I wouldn’t marry him. My wedding band is a thin yellow gold one with a tiny diamond in it which usually gets turned around and ends up facing the bottom of my hand. I don’t wear the engagement ring. I’m not big on jewelry. But still…
Now, at this point I need to point out that I wasn’t upset, simply floored. How does a person walk up to a complete stranger and so bluntly insult them. I mean, I could see if a friend of mine had seen me, come to say hi and said something along the lines of, “Hey, Mi, can’t you do yourself up a little when you leave the house?” Though, now that I write this, if they were any kind of friend to me, they wouldn’t think of saying that for the simple fact that they would know that no, I don’t dress up to leave the house. As my youngest sister once so nicely put it, “You know Mimi is dressed up when she’s wearing a bra.” :D
So, would you have the nerve to do what the old man did to me? How would you react if you’d been in my shoes? Would I have done anything different had I had time to prepare for his comments? No, probably not. Does it make me think that maybe I need to change my look when I leave the house? No, definitely not.
And that gets me going on a completely different topic related to this one which is ‘image’, but that, my friends, is a reflection for another day…
Damn You Thundercats!
"Never! I have no cause! I believe in nothing!" Bahahahaha!
"Justice! Truth! Honor! Loyalty!Thundercats, Ho!" Lmfao!
Holy good god, help me now! At this very moment, I should be writing. The kids are in bed and it's prime time for me to shut everything off, start my writing playlist, and get lost in Quelondain.... at least that's what happens why I'm home alone with the kids. :D Tonight, Kyle is home and the tv is on. What is it about 80's cartoons that causes me to sit with my fingers poised over the keyboard, my mouth slack and my eyes glued to the flatscreen? Bah!
Fine then. I'll watch Thundercats. But then, when it's over, it's time to write. I sit and watch the entire cartoon, my fingers still sitting on my keyboard, and as the end credits make their way up the screen, I turn back to my laptop, primed to get some words down on the screen. Until...
"Transformers! Dum, dum, dum, dum! More than meets the eye!" Holy shit! Optimus is hurt! Ratchet! Where the hell are you?! I'm positive all I do is blink, but the next thing I know, the end credits scroll up the screen. *facepalm*
Damn it! I've been watching cartoons for the past two hours! *sigh* I guess I won't be getting any writing done tonight... so I might as well go blog about it.
Hahaha! Well, there you have it. My evening as it were. *yawn* Though, do you know, I think that every so often, an evening of distraction is just what I need.
Have a great night everyone, and stay safe.
Well, I hope you enjoyed rereading those as much as I did!
Have a great day and stay safe!
No comments have been added yet.
