MommyBlog

“The Mommy Back Home” just started her own blog, called Half My Heart.   Congratulations and good luck, Kimmie!

Speaking of blogging, “Mommy Blogging” in particular, this is a good time to reflect on how theraputic writing a blog has been for me.   Journaling is one of the best ways to produce an outlet for your thoughts, feelings and emotions, as well as to  hone your communication skills and writing style.   But Blogging gives the journal a whole new dimension: an audience.   As any writer knows, a good author always has an audience in mind; with a blog, your audience isn’t imagined, but real and tangible.   Blogging gives you an opportunity not only to let your thoughts spill out, but also to learn control: do you really want to write that?   Is there a better word to use to describe how I feel?   Some bloggers use the web as a free-zone to use as much profanity as they can think of (you’d be surprised how many Mommy Blogs out there are so peppered with the F-word that they should come with a parental control), but most use their blogs to express themselves in a way that their children can someday be proud of.   Can you imagine having a nearly daily account of your own babyhood, writen by your Mom, to read someday when you have a child of your own?   Consider it!   I hope that I can give a book to Kenny one day that he can read and see how much his Dad and I love him, as well as read about all the circus-like antics we put up with!

So get out there and write!    Think of the laptop as the new therapy couch…  

My sister’s husband arrived today in the Middle East for his second deployment since the Iraq war began.   (I’m not writing where specifically, for obvious reasons.)   Though a Naval flight officer, he will be serving with an Army unit for the next seven months.   My sister waits at home with her two daughters, Kaitie and Kristen, ages 4 and 3:

   I have to admit that I don’t fare well when Casey is away on business for two nights, and I cannot begin to imagine kissing my husband goodbye for the better part of a year.   I think of how Kenny asks about “Dada” all day, asking when he’s coming home, if he’ll play his guitar, and if they can play hide and seek.   I think of those nights when Casey has had to work late, or been out of town, and  when I put Kenny to bed, how I can just tell that he’s waiting and delaying going to sleep, just in case Daddy’s about to walk through the door.   I can’t fathom having to explain to my child that Daddy’s not going to be back until next fall.   I can’t even comprehend sitting down, after the kids go to bed, night after night alone.The movies make it seem so romantic about the faithful housewife keeping the homefires burning, bravely raising the kids, and loyally waiting for the day her handsome sailor walks back through the front door.   But I think it’s anything but romantic, and anything but a fairytale.   I think it’s mean, heartbreaking and sad to take a husband and father away from his wife and kids for seven months.     And yet I support the US effort in Iraq and Afghanistan.   I support our President.   As much as I hate to see that my little sister is suffering while her husband leaves to  serve, I’m grateful for what he’s doing and proud that he is standing with so many others to fight for what is right.

I wish I could write an entire essay in tribute to my sister, and all the other military spouses who have been left behind, but all I can say is simply,

Hang in there, I love you, and I’m praying for you all.

Casey and I went out on a date again tonight… Yee HAA for another set of grandparents being in town.   It was a lot of fun: good food, cool atmosphere, handsome date.   We went on the early side to a trendy little spot, and by the time we paid the check, we  realized that it was only 7:15.   Wait.   Didn’t we used to be hip?   Didn’t Casey once pick me up for dates at 7:15?   We  tried to stretch it out by going to Starbucks for  coffee, but we still got home by 8:30.    

What does this mean?    Am I  suddenly a dowdy, dull suburban housewife?   Is  Casey stuck foerever with a woman on an eighteen-month-old’s time schedule?   It’s 9:30 now and I’m already in pjs, face washed, teeth brushed, and keeping my eyelids open with toothpicks.   Where are those days gone by when I’d be  getting ready to go out dancing  at this hour?   My goodness, for five years after college I worked in the theater… at 9:30 I’d be only halfway through the second act of a play, getting ready  for the curtain call so I could go out and find something to eat!   Where did that me go?

I wouldn’t trade this life for anything, don’t misunderstand.   But tonight, I suddenly feel…. well…. boring.   Not bored, that’s different.   Just kind of like a faded flower of what was once a wild and energetic youth.   When did going to sleep start seeming like an exciting part of the day?   When did I start getting jealous that Kenny got to go to sleep at 7?   Oh woe.   I’d write more, but I’m really just too ready for bed…

This past Saturday afternoon, Kenny and I were innocently playing in his room (I was even standing two feet from where he was) and he tripped on a book on the floor and walloped his head right into the corner of the dressing table.

I can’t even begin to describe the feeling I had of my heart hitting the back of my throat.   He was stunned for a half second, then started to wail.   No little boo-boo sniffles, but the real deal screams of honest pain.   I wasn’t even sure what part of his head he hit, and as I cradled his shaking body in my arms, I pulled back and saw an enormous purple welt start to grow on his forehead.     Casey had gone on a quick run to rent a movie, and as he walked back into the house, even he was shocked by the size of the bruise.   Kenny wanted nothing to do with an ice pack on the head either.   I couldn’t even bribe him with ice cream.   I finally managed to get him interested in a bag of frozen peas, then got him distracted with a cartoon, and we sat on the couch for close to an hour with him nestled in my arms, and Casey and I taking turns holding the peas and ice packs over his head.  

He’s fine now, and the bruise, while quite noticeable, is nowhere near as horrible as I thought it would be.   But everytime I think about his soft little head hitting that corner, I get nauseous.   Lord help me when he starts riding a skateboard.    Oh, and  he did carry that bag of peas around with him the rest of the day.   That was pretty funny.   Funny until he was going to bed and wouldn’t let them go.   (Who needs a teddy bear when a ziplock bag of frozen green giant veggies will do the trick??)

On a lighter note, my parents are here visiting for the week (we’ve been having so much fun, it’s been hard to slip away to write!).    Kenny is loving it.   My neices call them “Grammie” and “Grampy,” which Kenny has  morphed into “Damnie” and “Dampy”  and there is nothing sweeter than watching him run through the house yelling, “Dampy?   Damnie?”  They arrived in  their RV, which is  the size of our house (ok, it’s not quite that big… ok, it almost is) with their King Charles Spaniel, Madison, whom Kenny calls “Manny.”     Kenny is infatuated, and takes great sport in chasing her through the yard, trying to hug her.    Dudley is trying to decide whether or not she would make a good snack:

  I wonder what the Dog Whisperer would have to say about that…

And finally, just for fun, here’s a  picture of Kenny that my mom had on her camera from the day before we moved out to Arizona… where did my baby go, and who is that little boy?!?!

Kenny’s new favorite game is “hide and seek.”   Unfortunately, his favorite person to play it with is Dudley, who is not always aware of the event.

Today poor Kenny sat under a blanket for at least ten minutes (while I sat close by, painfully observing), waiting for Dudley to “seek” him…   Guess what didn’t happen.   But Kenny was not to be deterred.   He emerged, not discouraged, but inspired, and instead walked over to where Dudley was sitting and put the blanket over Dudley’s head, declaring, “Dudley! HIDE!   Dudley hiding!”   and ran in circles around our faithful pup until he “found” Dudley by whipping the blanket off his head and yelling, “DUDLEY!   Ders Dudley!”

Ah, to have that sweet young imagination.

This morning after Kenny’s MyGym class, he and I met Casey at the Scottsdale Stadium to watch a little Spring Training practice with the San Francisco Giants. The sun was high, the air was warm and the balls were flying. Kenny was excited, and we even nabbed a front row seat right behind the pitchers and catchers.

A recipe for a perfect day until a single pitch went out of control and landed full force into an elderly lady’s face.

I know. It was one of the most sickening things I’ve ever witnessed. She was in such shock, she made no sound, but the river of blood flowing from beneath the hands covering her face was horrific. The stands went silent and the players froze, anxiously looking up at the frail lady in the pink sweater. Someone called for a doctor, then the paramedics were called, and in an instant, I jumped up with Kenny in my arms and ran up the steps and out into the promenade. I was shaking so hard, thinking of how close we were to that woman, thinking that my little boy was just yards away from the fast ball. And then my trusty vasal vagal reaction kicked in.

I handed Kenny to Casey and said, “I’m going to black out in a minute.” and promptly sat down next to an empty hot dog stand. Casey grabbed one of the spare paramedics following the stretcher with the injured lady on it and told him what was going on. As the amblance sped away, and as poor Kenny called, “Mama? Mama? Mama?????” the second response team attended to the poor limp Me fading into a fainting spell…

(I think it’s pretty funny that Casey had the inclination to snap this shot… he told me later that he figured I want it for my blog…)

These guys were just about the nicest, gentlest firemen you’ll ever meet. A big burly guy with a ten o’clock shadow took my blood pressure three times in a row, whispering to another of the paramedics. I finally came too a little and asked what it was. 60 over 40. Whoa. They took my pulse for awhile too… it started out at forty and climbed to 52 as I started getting some blood back into my brain. A few minutes later, my pressure went back up to 80 over 50 and they let me sit up. That’s when I noticed Kenny high-fiving one of the firemen and wearing a red “Junior Fire Fighter” hat. Once they decided I could stand up, they also let me know that the woman was going to be fine, and was already at the hospital for treatment. Then they gave Casey and Kenny a tour of the firetruck

A few more pictures and many thanks later, we parted ways.

The vasal vagal / fainting spells have happened about 10 times in my adult life, most specifically with either being hurt myself, or witnessing someone get hurt. The last time it happened, I was eight weeks pregnant and at the movies watching Million Dollar Baby. When the scene where Hillary Swank gets dirty-punched and breaks her neck, I ran out of the theater, vomited in the lobby and passed out. I met some nice paramedics that time, too.

The rest of today has been rough – I’m still dizzy and out-of-sorts. Not easy when you’ve got a rebel-rouser toddler who doesn’t sit still for a second. He did wear his fireman hat all day….

Have you ever seen a cuter kid? And my super-star husband came home early to bathe Kenny and get him to bed, and then make me dinner. He’s in the kitchen right now, banging pots and pans, and I think I smell something yummy… But I just can’t shake that image of the poor lady holding her face in her hands. I’ve been praying for her all day, and wish there was some way I could find out how she is.

Kenny pooped five (yes, FIVE) times today.   How can that be?   He’s not sick, all of it was “normal.”   I guess when a boy’s gotta go, a boy’s gotta go….

When I said, “Wow, Kenny!   You’ve pooped a lot today!” on change number four, he chirped up, “POOP!   Poop like Dudley.”   You see, we’ve been talking about how everyone poops, since Kenny is mesmerized watching Dudley do his business in the yard.   I replied, “No, baby.   Dudley poops outside, Kenny poops in a diaper,”  and Kenny said, “Poop osside like Dudley.”   Well, he was right.   We’d been playing outside when he did it….

Kenny was trying to convince me to let him play with the balls from the pool table in the living room, and I said (rather without thinking), “No, Honey.   Those are Daddy’s balls.”    So he spent the rest of the day pointing at the pool table and shouting, “Daddy’s Balls!”

We were at the park, wandering around the playground equipment, which is surrounded by sand, and Kenny stopped to pick up a handful.   I said, “That’s sand, Kenny.   Just like at the beach!”   and Kenny said, “Beetch!   Beetch!”   only it sounded a whole lot like another not very nice word.   He continued saying it as several other moms and tots walked past us…. “BEETCH!   BEETCH!”   I couldn’t help but blush at the accusatory glances… what must  she be teaching  her child? these women wondered…

Ok all you bloggers out there:

Have you ever totally wanted desperately to write about something because it’s all you can think about and it’s practically consuming your waking hours, yet you can’t because what you want so passionately to talk about is not ready to be talked about?   Or because a certain person or group of persons might read it and be offended?   Or because…     It’s infuriating!   After all, the very nature of a blog is a journal, really, and yet because it is public, it’s not a journal at all, at least not in the “Dear Diary” sense, and you can’t just go on spouting about any old topic.   You have to censor yourself, for goodness sake!

So let me try to focus on something else.   Hm.   Dudley is sitting behind me, licking himself like a fiend with such gusto, you might actually start to believe that they didn’t get it all when we took him to get “fixed.”   The sound is stomach churning, filling my mouth with bile at the very slurp, slurp, slurp which my fixated canine is taking such pleasure in.  

On a happier note, here is a picture of said guilty pup and my sweet, perfect child in Sedona a few days ago:

We took Casey’s folks to Sedona this past Friday, and it was just gorgeous.   Dudley was the star of the town, getting stopped every few feet to be admired, and Kenny loved the gorgeous views, and getting totted around in his beloved backpack.   This is beautiful country out here!

Kenny has gone from about a hundred  words to at least  couple hundred nearly overnight.   He will now repeat everything and anything you say.   (That is not a boast, it is a warning.   No more  accidental four-letter words allowed.   No more even slightly-suggestive-of-four-letter words allowed.)   Not only will he repeat the words when you say them, but he will  say them again later in context.   It’s amazing and slightly scary.  

His favorite book the last few days has been a big board book about construction trucks, which he refers to as “Ment” (short for cement).   In the car today, we were talking to him about his book, and asking him what else was in the book beside the cement truck.    He said, “pipe,” “chute” and “up and down” (refering to the motion that the cement chute makes).    And he’s comprehending responses.   If you say “up high!” he’ll respond with “do’ low!”   If you  ask him what’s in his cup, he’ll say “Apa-orge juice.   Ice.”   If you say, “Let’s go for a walk in the stroller!”   he will answer, “Hep walk Dudley.”   He can point out and say  eyes, ears, nose, mouth, head, belly and heart.   And he will tell you which pair of shoes he wants to wear.

All of this is confirming  Casey’s theory that he was really a few months old when he was born.    

But it is facinating to watch his little mind at work.   I really do know what he’s thinking about most of the time these days.   And he is exuberant to finally be understood about what he wants to say.   You can tell by the way his face beams when you interact with him that he is thrilled to be a part of the action, and not just a silent bystander.   As I write, he is outside in the backyard with his grandparents and Daddy, playing t-ball and filling his plastic dump truck with rocks to deposit in the living room.   He is also becoming a fan of “Hide and Seek” where he will “hide” by flattening himself against the side of the house in the backyard and quivering with excitement, waiting for us to “find” him.   It is a hoot, by all standards.

More to come… I am working on a uploading videos, so hopefully, I’ll have a clip of this afternoon’s t-ball game to share later today…

Casey and I celebrated a belated Valentine’s tonight with an unbelievable dinner out at the City Hall Steakhouse here in Scottsdale…. imagine Ruth’s Chris on disco. I think I ate a pound of butter, no joke, between the mashed potatoes smothered with chunks of lobster in beurre blanc, the butter crusted filet mignon, and the fourless chocolate cake. Sin on a plate. But a night out without frantically catching pieces of bread being flung from the highchair of a future major-leaguer was the best part.

Casey and I celebrated a belated Valentine’s tonight with an unbelievable dinner out at the City Hall Steakhouse here in Scottsdale…. imagine Ruth’s Chris on disco. I think I ate a pound of butter, no joke, between the mashed potatoes smothered with chunks of lobster in beurre blanc, the butter crusted filet mignon, and the fourless chocolate cake. Sin on a plate. But a night out without frantically catching pieces of bread being flung from the highchair of a future major-leaguer was the best part.And Kenny was in fine hands. My in-laws are out here for a week, and they graciously stayed home to eat leftovers and watch late night TV so that Casey and I could go out and gaze at each other across a table for two without having to sing “The Farmer and the Dell” to occupy The Wiggler until dinner arrived. We even lingered over coffee and dessert. And drove the convertible. And I wore white, without fear of toddler smears and spatters. A wonderful night, no doubt about it.

And we managed to only talk about Kenny half the time, too. Kenny has been happy as ever to have not only me to play with him all day, but his “PAPA!” and “MaMA Woobee” (that is, Gramma Ruby) here to dote on his every antic.

His Papa is almost as serious about lego buildings as he is. Stay tuned: tomorrow they build the Sears Tower.

Casey and I celebrated a belated Valentine’s tonight with an unbelievable dinner out at the City Hall Steakhouse here in Scottsdale…. imagine Ruth’s Chris on disco. I think I ate a pound of butter, no joke, between the mashed potatoes smothered with chunks of lobster in beurre blanc, the butter crusted filet mignon, and the fourless chocolate cake. Sin on a plate. But a night out without frantically catching pieces of bread being flung from the highchair of a future major-leaguer was the best part.