A bittersweet evening...

Tonight unfolded into an interesting mix of heartache and a little bit of glory all at the same time. My son's little friend who was in the horrible accident came home yesterday--earlier than most of us expected he would. The kids on our street had planned to greet him with signs and cheering welcome home.

This little boy has suffered massive injuries to his face and has a long way to go in terms of recovery. And, so when his parents talked to him about seeing the kids before he headed home, he got very upset. He didn't want anyone to see him. I think about my son last year (the age this boy is) and it was the first year he actually started caring about things like fitting in and looking a certain way. So, my heart ached for his friend and what he must be going through, feeling so scared to even see the friends he played with just over a week ago on the street.

Instead, the kids put their banners and signs and balloons in his yard as a showing of love and support, and the boy came home with his parents while all the kids were at school. They said his face lit up and later he came out to read all his signs and was beaming. It turned out to be the perfect way to show their support and love, without overwhelming their friend.

Today, there was a late afternoon surprise as the boy decided he wanted to go outside and see some friends. And, so my son and some other kids walked down to see him.

Normally very lively and sporty, his demeanor was complete different. At first he hid the side of his face with the most injuries, where he'd had his eye surgery, by nestling it into his mom's side. And, I wondered if he'd stay very long outside at all. What I saw next was unforgettable.

Slowly, he began to relax. His parents had gotten he and his sister a puppy after the accident. And, instinctively, the children went to asking him about his new dog. The focus was completely off of their friend and his injuries and on this funny little scrappy puppy. After about 15 minutes, I saw the boy start to put his hand down off the bad side of his face--at first, just for a few seconds at a time. His shoulders relaxed. He moved away from his mom and sat on his own among his friends.

And, during this time, I felt a beam of pride in my own son. We'd talked with him about how his friend might look different and how he should treat him the same, but understand if he was shy or not his old self yet. The doctors have told this little boy he cannot run and play as he normally does for six long months--something that his parents say will be near impossible knowing their child. My son sat and talked and even seemed to be standing in a protective sort of stance by his friend.

And, amazingly, after about a half hour, the boy turned to my son and asked if he'd come in to play inside with him. After they'd played inside for another half hour or so, the boy came out with his hands down and his head held high smiling. His parents were elated and amazed at how fast he'd relaxed and let go of his fears.

I gave my son a big hug when he got home and when he asked why I told him how proud I was of him--that I knew that it was hard seeing a friend hurt like that. The boy's face was really swollen and while he still looked like the same person, it gave him a sort of younger look--like maybe how he looked at age 3 or 4. His eye injury and facial lacerations were significant and, even as an adult, I found myself having to control my reaction because I felt so much sadness for he and his family when I got a full glimpse of his face.

But, my son never changed his usual expression with his friend, and I marvelled at that knowing how tender-hearted he is inside.

As I hugged him, he got an emotional look in his eyes, but said nothing. We had our dinner as usual and later after I read to him before bedtime, he told me with some tears behind his eyes, "Mom, you know he did look a little scary to me." And, I hugged him and reassured him that his friend would day-by-day start looking back to his old self and that I couldn't have been more proud of how he was today with him.

At nine, my son is pretty sheltered and fearful of many things. We don't watch all the Harry Potter movies because he requests not to. He has never wanted to be anything scary for Halloween. He has a lot of bad dreams and an over-active imagination, just as I did as a kid. And, I knew it took him great strength and love to be there for his friend today.

Miracles happen every day. One week ago my son thought he might lose a wonderful neighbor friend and we felt the shock of this tragedy that hit such a wonderful family just a few doors down. Today, my son's friend found the strength to face his fears and even managed to smile with his friends. And, that smile and my son's courage and friendship is something that will stay with me for a long time to come.

When there are no words...

I don't even know how to start this one. It's been a jarring and difficult day here. The morning started off nice enough. I got to sleep past 8, which hasn't happened in several weeks with having house guests and our little hurricane fun.

We'd gone outside to work in the yard when a neighbor ran across the street to tell me the news. Our neighbor's son and his wife were in a very serious car accident and the son, who is friends with my son, was life lighted to the medical center.

As the story unfolded, it was even more frightening. The mom had been late for soccer practice and was at an intersection that has no light and it is on a two-laned country road. Apparently, she made a mistake in judgment and pulled out with an oncoming truck right upon them. They were hit in their minivan hard on the son's side by an F-250 pickup truck, which plowed them into the roadside ditch. Her son had head injuries, no word on how serious. The mom was bruised, certainly shaken, but fine.

And, I felt just sick inside. Sick because these are really wonderful new friends who are truly good people--salt of the earth kind of folks. Sick because we know this boy and he's pretty good friends with my son. Sick because he's very small for his age and I worried about internal injuries to his head.

The story has a somewhat happy ending. Our neighbor's son is going to be OK, pending a follow-up catscan in the morning. He has massive cuts and injuries to his face, but all are superficial and there was no internal damage to his brain. The injuries are serious, but he may be able to come home in a few days. The kids on our street have made posters to welcome him home and the moms have signed up to make the family meals. His sister spent the day with all of us, as neighborhood kids tried to take her mind off of the trauma and her fears by holding a popcorn/lemonade stand to raise money to get her brother something. The kids marvelled that no one was taking the popcorn or lemonade and they'd almost made $50--a real record.

After saying prayers of thankfulness and giving the mom a big hug the first chance I had to give her one, I was left still reeling from it all, as was everyone on our street. I can't even fathom what she must feel right now.

I'm left realizing how fleeting life is and how lucky we all are. I have sat at that very intersection, cursing under my breath because we were so late for a game before and wondering if I had time to turn. Elsewhere, I have made the mistake before of pulling out when I thought I had time, only to barely make it. And, then I took a deep breath and never gave it a second thought. Now I have the understanding of what might have happened if I did NOT make it and the anger with myself for dismissing it at the time.

I have a new friend on my street who will now have a very difficult time coping with this. Motherhood guilt is vicious even with everyday missteps--we blame ourselves for every character flaw, every failing in our kids. We tell ourselves it must have been something we did, something we forgot to do, something our children learned from us. This is a mom who loves her kids and who has a warm and caring heart and would probably give her own life for her kids in a heartbeat. And one quick mistaken decision almost took the life of her sweet son.

I am struck by how very easily something like this can happen. To anyone. Anywhere. And, aren't we all just lucky with each day that we tuck our kids in and say our goodnights?

I'm still feeling sick to my stomach tonight because I know that could have just as easily been my son in my car in the ditch...

Not out of power, but still somewhat in the dark...

Through the whole hurricane and aftermath, I've felt this big wave of gratefulness. I feel very lucky that we just had no power for a short time, that our water is safe and we had only minor storm damage. The wind gusts took a 4x6 patch of shingles off our roof and we had a lot of water leaking in our house, but only in the entryway and one room. The roof is already fixed. The other fixes will happen later on when things calm down here--I know there are people with way more pressing needs than my ceiling and walls looking pretty right now.

But, we are without TV at my house. A fact that certain family members keep announcing to me. And, we cannot get a person out to fix our dish until early next week. So, because of this, I've been completely out of the loop about the aftermath of the storm, barring the stuff I've tried to read online about it. On the positive side, I'm getting VERY caught up on my DVR recordings and can recite the new releases at Blockbuster by heart.

With the death toll rising and people now being turned away from going to see the damage at their homes, again I feel very fortunate. The biggest issue I have is trying to managed a house full of family staying with us while everyone's nerves are completely frazzled. Everyone is tired. My family members want to get back home and aren't fully comfortable here. I'm sensitive to that and trying to make them comfortable and be very welcoming, telling them they can stay however long it takes. Comments get made that I take way too seriously and feel my feathers being ruffled. We're all close to snapping, and I recognize that.

So, I'd love to hear any advice/stories from you in comments, should you have time to leave them.

What's going on in the world?

How did you or your family fair through the storm?

How have you handled unexpected house guests for extended periods of time?

Do you know any tricks for making everyone relax and feel comfortable, all the while not working yourself to death trying to wait on everyone?

How do you do the hostess thing when you're overly tired and feeling sensitive and so is everyone else?

My service to you today...

...those without kids will not get this. But, those of you who have kids and who allow your kids to watch kid-TV every now and then...this one goes out to you.

My kids like The Backyardigans, a cartoon about five animal friends who go on all kinds of adventures. The show's heavy song content weaved into the stories gets in your brain after awhile. And, it's cute. But, something has always bothered me about it.

Of the five characters, there's Tyrone the Moose, Tasha the Hippo, Pablo the Penguin, Austin the Kangaroo, and Uniqua.

Screeechhh.... (record player needle)

Wait! What the hell is Uniqua supposed to be? It's a pink little creature that I assume is a girl. It has an oval head with this curly cue ears. No, it doesn't look like a pig--no curly tail or snout. It almost looks like some sort of overgrown insect cavorting with cute animals who dress and act like people. Now, if I'm confused, how confused do you think a 4-year-old little girl might be?

Is Uniqua transgender? Is she a morphing of several animals? We get that she's "unique" but really can't we get a little more to go on? Where is Uniqua from? What are her values?

As you can tell, wondering the origin of Uniqua has occupied my mind for entirely too long.

Well, thanks to the wonder that is the internet, I now have an answer for you. It comes complements of Wikipedia.

A curious, self-confident and high-spirited pink creature with polka dots and overalls, Uniqua is almost always sweet and friendly, though her strong opinions and occasional stubbornness get in the way of her relationships. She is more tomboyish than Tasha, and often imagines herself in roles requiring brains and fortitude (scientist, pirate captain, etc). More than once, when she has got the mystery solved she will interject with a "You guys!".

Uniqua is a unique creature that is unlike any other in the world, and Uniqua is also the name of her species. [5]

Creator Janice Burgess describes Uniqua as the child she wishes she was like as a
child. [6] She has been called simply "Uniqua, the pink."

Wow. That's deeper than I expected the "Great Wiki" to get, actually. Who'd have though so much could be written about a kids' show with singing animals?

I think I am definitely now pro-Uniqua. In fact, should Palin not work out, how about Uniqua for VP, McCain? She's friendly, pink and self-confident. And, the best news--you won't need to vet her at all, just go read the Wiki!

Exploring new territories...

This past weekend my husband and I journeyed into uncharted territory.

We wisely chose to ship our 4-year-old daughter off to relatives for adventures unknown, and faced the brave new world on our own.

Like dual Marlin Perkins (or would you call that Marlin Perki?), we explored our own animal kingdom--in the wide unexamined world of a 9-year-old boy's mind. And, my, what we learned was simply amazing!

I foolishly made some assumptions about this party, based on my own slumber party experiences growing up. What I learned was that boy sleep-over parties (which you cannot CALL slumber parties, according to my husband) are an entirely different species from the girls.

I remember back in the day, hitting a friend's house to music blaring, pizza out the wazoo, makeup and nail polish staged ready for all night "makeovers" and other fun activities. Usually, those things would be done within the first hour or two of the party, which seemed to leave the rest of the slumber party time for what always seemed to happen--sharing secret crushes on boys, silly crank calls, and then gang-ups on some poor unsuspecting girl. Perhaps this was the reason I never hosted my own slumber party.

Fortunately, I became quite adept at avoiding being "the girl" that got picked on at the slumber party. First, my insomniac ways were established at an early age, so there was no chance I'd ever fall asleep first or even early. Some nights I didn't sleep at all, actually. No hand in the warm water trick on me. No frozen bra hanging outside for all to see or stolen underwear launched up the school flag pole come Monday morning either. No, I learned to lay low and avoid the mean girls but also not be too obviously against what they were doing so as not to single myself out....unless they targeted a good friend, that is.

But, boy sleepovers are vastly different. Nailpolish and secrets are replaced by gratuitous fart sounds and references to "butts," "underwear," "nads," and other "bathroom words." This is the accepted language spoken at boy sleep-overs. As the mom, you can roll your eyes all you want, but don't try to contain this as it only makes it worse. At one point over pizza, we had an entire chorus of under-arm farts playing in sweet harmony.

I had to leave the room.

Fortunately, at boy sleepovers there's really no ganging up on one person, unless you try to hog the Playstation controller--in which case, there WILL be hell to pay for your mistake.

Also, boys seem to love battles and wars of any kind. We scored big points by having water balloon battles in the front yard, followed by soggy jumping in a moonwalk and then a massive Nerf gun war behind air mattresses which seemed to never end. (The big kid--oops I mean hubs--happily participated in--uh, I mean supervised--both battles, of course.)

Someone lead me to believe that the great thing about boy sleepovers is that boys actually DO SLEEP, unlike girls at slumber parties. So, when my son decided to have a contest to see who could stay up the longest, well I didn't worry.

At midnight, we cut off lights, got everyone's sleeping bags situated and put a movie on for the boys that we thought might help lull them to sleep. By 3:30 a.m., the movie was done and I'd made 4 trips upstairs to ask them to be more quiet, stay on their air mattresses, not change rooms, let the single sleeping boy sleep, etc.

By 5:15 a.m., I threw my hands up and woke my husband when I heard the sound of the Playstation coming on full blast. Hubs returned with confiscated PS2 controllers and several light sabers in hand. Whatever he said, must have finally worked as things quieted down by 5:30 a.m.
In the end, the one boy who fell asleep just after midnight and slept through ALL sorts of commotion, woke up and proudly proclaimed he'd stayed up the latest of all, while the other boys giggled. The boy we knew had bed-wetting issues turned into the instigator of keeping people awake all night, which we suspect was to avoid having any nighttime problems. My son and one of his good friends stayed up all night with this boy, I think, barring any 15-30 minute nap at daybreak.

The main thing I got out of the whole sleepless night? Well, no matter how many belches or bad table manners I have to correct, my 9-year-old son is really quite normal for his age--and actually may be on the polite end of the spectrum actually!

I hope our studies of boy life will educate and enlighten you all to a world most dare not explore or even visit, and few return from the same as when they left. I know I feel like I earned some kind of stripes from our expedition. And, my goodness, I hope we don't have to do this again for at LEAST a few years!

Welcome to the jungle, come on and dig on in!

We survived our very first sleep-over party for my son's 9th birthday. I'll have a longer installment with observations soon, but for now I'll share this:

BOYS EAT A WHOLE FREAKING LOT!!!

In fact, dear LadyBug warned me ahead to have LOTS of food. And, she wasn't kidding. Here's just a list of the food I can think of that went down those skinny little 9-year-olds in a 17-hour period.

8 100 cal Sprites
8 100 cal Cokes
12 kids water bottles
6 Capri Sun Oranges
2 1/2 pizzas
3 bags of popcorn
1/2 chocolate cake
6 cupcakes
1/2 gallon of ice cream
various forms of sprinkles
chocolate syrup
hot fudge
m&ms
1 liter of coke
1 liter of sprite
1 dozen donuts
8 slices of bacon
1/2 a jug of orange juice

Thankfully, I had panicked about how much food we had and stocked up the day before. But, the hubs DID have to run for a couple of 2 liter soda bottles just to get us through the night. My big question from all of this is, where the heck do all of those calories GO and why can't I have that kind of metabolism?

M is for the mondo shopping trips she takes...

I wish I could say this conversation was atypical for my mother and me, but it is not. I found it very amusing all the same.

Mother (while driving to a huge pottery warehouse she asked to go to): "
Well, I certainly HOPE this shopping trip isn't going to put you out at all. I mean, I don't know what you all had planned for today."

MomCat: "Not at all. I haven't been there in over a year so it will be fun to go and look around. I'm sure we'll be back in time for Hubs to take Wildcat to his friend's birthday party in a few hours. "

(pause)

MomCat (laughing): "I mean, it's not like we're going to shop here for THREE HOURS or something..."

(awkward pause--Mother looks at MomCat surprised, indicating that three
hours wasn't an unreasonable time to look at pottery and silk flowers to her at all)

Mother: "Oh, well...(begrudingly)...I guess I'm glad you told me that up front then."

Everyone--Jazz Hands for Disney!!!

Ok, so we're back from Disney and the trip was wonderful. I will write more about it in detail. But, today due to unforeseen circumstances, I've got to leave you with two short snippets to tide you over until I can write my usual lengthy details. First, a little ditty for you:

Went to Disney all last week,
doo dah, doo dah
Two queen beds--kids kicking feet
oh, dee doo dah day...

We got no sleep,
arrived to a 6 ft ceiling leak
Family arriving late this week...
oh freakin' doo dah day...

And, now my weird observations of our Disney World week. While at Disney, we noticed a freakish number of the following classes of people all week long:

Canadians
About 50 percent of the license plates in the parking lots were from Canada.

Morbidly Obese People
Suddenly it became evident why to other countries we have a reputation for being a fat nation. I don't typically notice overweight people, being a little pudgy myself. This was extreme cases of obesity. Hey, wait...maybe it is CANADA with the weight problem. Yeah, that's the ticket!!!
Oh, and did I mention, I'm officially on a diet now?

Crazy Elderly Lark Riding Maniacs
We're talking folks who didn't mind taking out you and your kids to push their way into lines. (Seriously, I have a bruise the size of a quarter on my thigh and the hubs foot got ran over by one cranky old woman.)

Dancing Feet Light in the Loafers
Lots of...how do I say this, flamboyant performers with excellent jazz hands. In fact, almost all of the male entertainers we saw were of the "jazz hands" variety and damn good dancers to boot! Not that there's anything wrong with that, mind you...(grin)

Teen Volunteers
At our hotel, freakishly large packs of older high school students, all wearing Special Olympics tees roaming around unchaperoned. However, no handicapped people there at all. Maybe a trip reward for volunteering? How did all of these kids get out of school so early?

A Leafy Walker
My favorite oddly weird sighting was this Leaf Lady at the Animal Kingdom.


This woman wove around blending into shrubs and then walking out to surprise people. I'd have traded 10 Disney Princess meetings to get a shot with this character...she was SO cool! Here's a video of her I found on YouTube where you can see her odd way of moving.

I'll try to post some daily updates based on our experiences, later tonight. Please say a prayer for my air conditioning unit. While the ceiling damage isn't pretty, home girl just needs some cold breezes en su casa. This is Houston for goodness sake--late May feels like July in most places!

A question sitting in my head...

When it comes to baby-sitters, I'm pretty inexperienced. Almost virgin-like, actually. Most of the time we use family to watch the kids, since my mother-in-law and sister-in-law both live within 30-45 minutes of us. So, the times we do use a sitter, it never feels natural to me. And, we probably use one maybe every 4-6 months or so. I know this makes us sound strange--I have friends who use a sitter almost weekly. We don't get out enough...I know that.

Fortunately, I have found a couple of sitters whose parents I know and who I think are good kids. The most recent two are sisters and we typically use the older sister if we can. She's sweet, plays nicely with the kids, and seems to follow most of our rules from what I can tell.

The problem?

Well, being a teenage girl, she leaves a mess. I have friends who instantly nuke a sitter off their list if the kid doesn't clean everything and leave no signs of her being there. I find this extreme. I don't have an issue with glasses being out, some toys not all picked up. She's there to watch and play with my kids, not be my maid, right?

The last time she sat for us, there was food left out from dinner and a pretty big mess from that and all the toys the kids played with were out. M'kay...hmmm...

This time, when we get home, I find her sitting on the couch doing something on her laptop. I walk in to find two bags of bagel chips I had leftover from my bunco party last night out and open on our living room coffee table. A drink was sitting on our table, with no coaster (not hers, but I think my son's) and some bagel chips were spilled on the carpet and couch.

She got up, packed up her stuff and left it all there without batting an eye. I felt like Seinfeld on the Poppy episode where Poppy the cook doesn't wash his hands in the bathroom--my eyes just kept going back to the mess and then to her as she walked towards the garage door to get in my car.

To most, this might not be a big deal. But, we don't eat in our living room and the kids aren't allowed to have drinks on our couch. My kids are still small and until they are past the major spilling stage, they stay on the tile with food and drinks. Still, she couldn't know that I guess.

Upstairs, there were stuffed animals and toys everywhere. The TV was still on, upstairs and the Scene-It game they played out. My daughter was sleeping on top of her covers as if she had just crawled in there herself and my son showed signs of tucking himself in as well. Lights were on in both rooms, so bright I don't know how they got to sleep. Hmm...

Both kids said they had fun. They like the girl and they want her to come again. And, I will probably use her again, just because of that. But, am I being nit-picky and unrealistic to expect her to pick up her snacks if she spills them on the floor? Shouldn't she tuck in my 4 yr old at least? I'm so unseasoned when it comes to sitters, so do share---what do you expect to come home and find? Or should I just be concerned with her keeping the kids safe and playing with them?

---

Updated: More details are coming out... apparently there was a game of throw the stuffed animals down the laundry shoot. Hmm....again...

What I'm up against...

In case you have ever wondered why I struggle with my weight...

This weekend, while separating out two egg whites for my breakfast after making regular eggs for the rest of my family who was visiting:

Sister: "What are you doing?"

MomCat: "I'm separating the eggs so I can just eat the whites."

Mother: "What do you do with the yolks, save them?'

MomCat: "Well, no. I just throw them away. I know it is wasteful,
but I can't figure out what else to do with them."

Mother: "Why don't you just give them to the kids?"

MomCat: "Well, because the yolk is the part that isn't good for you,
especially if you have to watch your cholesterol...which I do.

(blank looks from Mother and Sister)

MomCat: Sooooo, if it isn't good for ME to eat them, why would I give them to the kids?"

Mother (self-assuredly): "Because they taste good."

This from the woman who thought she was helping me with my diet by buying frozen deep-fried, breaded mushrooms. (It's a vegetable, right?) Sigh...family. God love em...

The Anti-Frances Strikes Again

I've blogged before about my daughter and her picky eating--comparing her to one of my favorite book characters--Frances, the strong-minded badger who refuses to eat anything but bread and jam until her parents finally decide to teach her a lesson by feeding her only bread and jam at all meals. In the end, Frances learns that one can have a little too much of a good thing and a little variety is important to your diet.

I had been in the presence of a Frances-like child before with my nephew, who is just about the most extreme case of picky eating that I have ever seen. He's now 13-years-old, and eats a few more foods, but for the first 12 or so years of his life you could literally count on one hand the number of foods he would eat. And, my eight-year-old is almost as tall as him now, probably because of it.

My husband and I, in our full non-parenting arrogance, could not believe how he was allowed to fill up on sweets and not eat the food in front of him. Why, we'd NEVER let our child behave that way!

And, then, almost 4 years ago, my daughter was born. And, until about age 2, she was fine. And, then it hit us--we've got a full blown Frances on our hands! And, it seems to have only gotten worse. Case in point:

• My daughter only eats bananas, peaches, apples and mandarin oranges for fruits--and fruit is the best type of food she eats (aside from junk food sweets). She's starting to reject bananas now too.


• She eats no vegetables at all. Not ONE. Not a carrot. Not a kernel of corn. Potatoes only in the form of french friends, not mashed or baked. She's not budging on this one.


• She does not eat rice or pasta, other than spaghetti and occasionally cheesy shells.


• She only recently began sporadically eating macaroni and cheese at all, and it's still rejected more than she eats it.


• She recently started completely boycotting meats--and only eats them in "meatball" form or lunch meat rolled up. No chicken, fish or beef at all.


• She drinks no milk and will not touch it no matter how you try and disguise it (except in Jello pudding and yogurt (but it must have sprinkles on top). She's starting to not request yogurt anymore, thus another calcium source bites the dust.

My tactics thus far have been:

• I've tried not making a big deal of it.


• I've tried making foods fun.


• I've had her help me in the kitchen and she loves to cook. And, then she won't eat it. Not a single bite. Instead, she asks you how YOU like the food and is thrilled when you do.


• I've tried creative presentations, peer pressure, you name it...I've tried it.

As someone who struggles with TOO healthy of an appetite, I have to admit I am a bit jealous of this at times. I told my husband the other day that if I ever lose my appetite, he should have me checked for cancer or something because I can have the full-blown flu and still will be hungry at mealtime.

So, a few times now, we've had a show-down with our little Frances, determined to win the battle. Dinner time is her worst time of day. She's been told she has to eat at least 3 bites of something and then she can be excused, but if she does not eat, that is it. No snacks. Nothing until breakfast in the morning.

And, she's fine with that completely. The child will go to bed with her stomach growling loud enough for me to hear it, and wait it out until morning.

But, two nights ago, we had our worst showdown. My husband and I dared to serve flank steak, which tastes just like our favorite restaurant's beef fajitas--something a year ago that she would eat just fine. Along with it--we had roasted potatoes which I cut up on her plate like french fries and served them with ketchup. And, her token mandarin oranges or peaches--which we now have to hold along with any bread we might serve as she'll fill up on bread and peaches and eat no vegetables or meat.

After eating a bite or so of the potatoes and curling her lip at that, she refused to eat another bite of anything. I gave the nothing-after-dinner speech and she proclaimed herself done, excused herself from the table, and didn't ask for anything the whole evening.

When, I put her to bed, I knew she was starving and I felt like a horrible mother. I considered a small cup of yogurt, but she'd even been turning her nose at that lately. But, I stood strong, determined to out-stubborn my stubborn darling. After all, how many times had I heard from parenting experts--"a child won't starve from one night of no dinner, will they?"

The next morning, something was very physically wrong with my daughter. She could barely wake up and her eyes would not focus on anything for a long period of time. She seemed lethargic and I was quite scared. No fever, no other symptoms of illness. I instantly got her some apple juice, full strength for a change, and made one of the only 2-3 breakfast options that I knew she'd eat.

She quickly ate and started to perk up. About 20 minutes after eating her breakfast, she threw it up everywhere. (An aside--the irony of it was, this happened just moments before the carpet guys were to show up to stretch our carpets.) So, as I frantically shampooed up upchuck, I worried what it the world could be wrong with her. Was it the flu?

Then, she seemed completely back to normal after the barfing episode, and ran no fever and had no other intestinal problems the rest of the day. And, it dawned on me--maybe her problem was from not eating.

Could she have had extremely low blood sugar from her win at the dinner-time standoff? I am a Type II diabetic, so it is quite possible this could have caused her episode that morning. Was the food such a SHOCK to her system that she couldn't keep it down? Is my 4-year-old becoming an anorexic or something. (Lest you worry, she has no problem eating breads, chicken nuggets, and chocolate ice cream anytime she can get her hands on them!)

That, my friends, is when I realized that Frances badger was actually a big weenie. My daughter could take Frances any day of the week. In fact, if she had been in the story, I am certain the badger mommy's ploy would have failed miserably. My daughter would have eaten that bread and jam for years without complaint. And, badger mommy and daddy would eventually have been turned in to the animal CPS for malnourishing their badger child when school officials noticed her teeth rotting out. And, then she'd bounce from foster badger hole to foster badger hole, lasting only long enough for her new foster family to realize what it really means to live with a picky eater. The End.

Fish and house guests...

In this season of holiday giving, I watch as many neighbors and friends have their families descend upon their homes for holiday fun and merriment. And, then I give great thanks. I love both sides of my family dearly. They are generous and giving people as a whole. Salt of the earth, I tell you. But, mostly I am thankful for the fact that our family never comes for more than a few days at a time. What is that old saying about fish and house guests smelling bad after more than three days?

SO...in tribute to those of you who have endured the marathon visits from family and friends all with the hopes of spreading holiday cheer, only to find yourselves in holiday hell, this one is for you. ***


If you go and visit family, please take note. Do not make these mistakes:

• DO NOT insist that no other desserts need to be made after finding out one family member is already making a few. Then, feeling competitive, rush and make 2-3 more desserts for Christmas Eve in an attempt to upstage, or keep up with the original dessert maker. She is not trying to compete with you--just trying to help out. Let it go, will you?


• It is inevitable that among all of the holiday delectables and tasty indulgences, you may have a few unhappy visits to the Great Porcelain God in the home of your host/hostess. DO NOT walk away from any explosive experiences (that's as nicely as I can put it) and pretend that the disaster you've made with the toilet and surrounding area is not there. You have visited this home many times and know where the toilet brush and cleaner is. For the sake of your own embarrassment, grab a brush man and scrub the carnage away. Please.


• Are you a smoker? This is America and that is your right. But, DO NOT expect that your non-smoking host/hostess will overlook or not notice that you smoked in their house hidden in the guest room. Trust me, if you do not smoke, you can smell it a MILE away. Just smoke outside please, if you know it offends your loved ones.


• On the same smoking topic, don't assume that the same non-smoking host/hostess will not mind if you smoke in their car while they're driving. If they are not OK with you puffing it up in their near 4,000 square foot home, what makes you think that lighting up in an enclosed SUV will be no problem? Have you never heard of secondhand smoke?


• DO NOT wait until your host/hostess has frantically made a huge meal, put it all on the table and is just doing the final few things before ringing the dinner bell to offer to help out. It was obvious when you sat on your ass on the kitchen stool watching them for the past 45 minutes that you did not want to help. So, just keep quiet and don't try and throw him/her a bone when the dirty work is all done.


• Along the same lines, the same goes for the dish clean-up. DO NOT say, "I guess I could have helped you wash those," when the last dish is being dried. It only annoys the crap out of your host/hostess. Wallow in your rudeness and laziness if you must, but don't act like you intended to help when everyone knows that you did not for one second.


• DO NOT not insist upon coming over to a family member's home who lives nearby, when you haven't even been invited with the guises of looking at some new home renovations, when you really just want a change of scenery from where you are staying. It becomes very obvious when you don't even spend one second looking at the renovated area that you just wanted a new couch to sit on and magazines to read.


• Unless you live in another country or you have a family member who needs your help through a health crises, DO NOT come and stay with family members for a period of more than a week, unless they've requested for you to do so. Yes, they have a new home, but is your staying in the new home for almost a month necessary to break it in? Uh, I think NOT!


• DO NOT try to outdo every family member in the gift giving department just because you are insecure. Just buy a decent gift and let it go. It's not a competition for goodness sake! Who gives a crap what you spent?


• DO NOT give a speech before the Christmas names for gifts have been drawn about how the spending limit is X and how if someone exceeds that, then they can't expect everyone else to go over. If they spend more on your gift, they want to. You just make yourself look like a cheap-ass tightwad with this speech.


• However, DO NOT only put items that are significantly over the spending limit on your holiday wish lists either. That's just rude!


• DO NOT whine and whine and whine about how you need holiday wish lists from your family members when you have not sent your own wish list out for the past 12 years.


• And, when you finally get your family member's wish list after you'd whined for it starting from three weeks before Thanksgiving, DO NOT choose to pick something not on that list and then announce that you thought they'd like your gift better than what the had down anyway. If they'd wanted your gift, wouldn't it have appeared on their WISH LIST?


• DO NOT give used CDs, DVDs, etc. Also, DO NOT try to hide this by saying you just had to watch the DVD before you gave it and that's why it had no plastic wrap around it. Please, if that's not even more rude, then I don't know what is. Would you wear someone's new sweater before you gave it to them too?


• If you are unable to attend a family affair, DO NOT be rude enough to call the host/hostesses home 55 times in the course of three days to report insignificant facts to the visitors who have come without you, all the while interrupting the few days the host/hostess have to enjoy the company they have there.


• Do not say you are getting a family member an extravagent gift, letting them know ahead of time, only to never deliver said gift. You will become the butt of many a holiday joke behind your back. I promise you.


• DO NOT walk around the home of your host/hostess in the morning in any gaping underwear or overly worn pajamas that are, shall we say, a little too revealing? Do not choose to go outside in said pajamas/underwear for the paper, a smoke, or to get something from your car. There are neighbors to think of and I'm certain the Jones's next door don't feel like walking out to get the paper and seeing Grandpa's twig and berries staring back at them from the lawn next door.


• If you are visiting family members, do not shoot down every single idea they have for fun excursions or things to do, talking about how you don't like a single one of them and then just wallow on their couch the entire day. They are trying to entertain you and while it is OK to not really like or want to do everything they suggest, cut them a break and try to break out of your norm a little, will you?

Feel free to add your own DOs and DON'Ts in the comments below. Resolutions will be coming soon as will a few other posts. Happy New Year everyone! Or, as my 3-year-old says, "Happy You Year!"

*** DISCLAIMER: The aformentioned incidents may or may not have happened with my OWN beloved family and could entirely be the hearsay of ranting friends about their famlies. Seriously, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried!

Service, sans the pants...

First of all, it is pretty bad that I left that lousy lack of leg shaving (how's that for alliteration?) post up there all through the Thanksgiving break. I mean, that's not very appetizing, now is it? I hope it didn't leave you all queasy before the turkey or anything.

Worse than that, now, I come back from our family festivities run-down, over-stuffed, and void of all cleverness. Instead, I will entertain you with a tidbit of a conversation from my son on our way home because it is much more entertaining that delving into my family's messed up dynamics.

We were 10 minutes from home when my daughter could absolutely not wait a minute more to go to the bathroom. So, we stopped at the closest, most reasonably-clean-considering convenience store for a quick "pee-run." When I returned to the car, my husband was chuckling and had my son repeat their conversation from moments before. It went a little something like this:

"Dad? You know how that sign says No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what about the pants?"

"What?"(laughing)

"What about the pants? Do you think they SUSPECT you'll be wearing
pants?"

"Do you mean they EXPECT us to wear pants?"

"Yeah, do they expect you to wear pants?"

"Well, yes. People usually do wear pants."

(pause)

"What about (sister's name)? She never likes to wear pants. She takes hers off all the time...all her clothes."

Once I heard this, I added, "I'm sure they never accounted for someone like
your sister."

"Yeah, Mom. I think you're right," he added.

"Everybody Needs a Second Chance"

From the moment it arrived in my house, it beckoned me.

Perhaps it was because of the disappointing experiences long ago, or my love of song, or my deep desire to take Kelly Clarkson's vocal chords and transplant them into my own...

All that I know is, it took every fiber of my being to not Karaoke on my sister-in-law's machine for my son's 8th birthday.

I smiled and listened as my son attempted his favorite guitar song, Smoke on the Water. My sister-in-law gave Big and Rich's Ride a Cowboy a whirl. (I am quite certain she'd never thought about the meaning to the words of that song beforehand.)

And, then she left...telling us she'd leave it with us for a few weeks after seeing my daughter's enthusiastic screaming into the microphone with the echo machine on. For some reason, everyone in the room was in tears laughing as my daughter rolled on the floor squealing in a way that sounded like a beached whale bellowing for help or some sort of dolphin-dialect.

Me, I didn't find it funny...I just saw the writing on the wall.

She is going to be as tone-deaf as me...the singing wannabe, too afraid to Karaoke.

It isn't like I haven't tried before---years ago at a moms' group retreat, I jumped in with a God-awful rendition of Build Me Up Buttercup, only to try and redeem myself with It's Raining Men. Thankfully, both were with a partner. Not so thankfully, we both have low voices which seemed to be about a key off of one another. No amount of wine that evening could have covered our voices destroying those two perfectly wonderful songs.

And, since then, I have contained myself to car singing or the occasionally iPod vocals when no one is around, and I've never gone near a Karaoke night again.

Until yesterday...when I could take it no more.

The box sat there with all of these great 70s and 80s hits just waiting for me. Begging me to come and try them out. Hit me with Your Best Shot, Free Ride, I Love Rock-N-Roll, all of them! It was just too much, I tell you!

So, last night, after dinner, I could wait no longer. And, I pounced.

I pushed away from my dinner chair and walked directly to the machine while my family watched in bewilderment. After all, I had shown no interest in the machine since we got it. I put in the CD and let the music take me away.

After a rather deep version of The Devil Went Down to Georgia where I'd only missed one word, I put the microphone down feeling triumphant--like a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders. I looked around at my family. My son sat wide-eyed with his mouth open. Then, I looked to my spouse for approval.

"It was...certainly, um...low...kind of monotoned even..." He said with a strange and traumatic look on his face.

Rejection. Again. Sigh.

But, in my failure, a new generation of Karaoke enthusiasts was born. My son has mastered the words to Everybody's Workin' for the Weekend, Van Halen's Jump, and is working on The Devil now too. He loves the music. And, surprisingly, this little box is helping his reading too as he has to read quickly to keep up.

And my daughter? She still sounds like a dying whale. Oh well, at least there is hope for one of us...

Forever Changed...

I don't even know how to start this post. So, I guess I'll just start from the beginning.

Two weeks ago, a dear friend of ours only sibling committed suicide. An act that left her whole family shocked and questioning why. At the funeral, we made plans to meet up with our friend and his wife and kids, who were coming back in town again for Memorial Day. Emailed plans were made for us all to meet at Galveston Beach with our kids for a day of fun and catching up. Our friend's two children would be there along with his mother, who needed a happy day at the beach to get her mind away from grief--if only for a few hours.

And, so we arrived, noticing the gray clouds looming and the strong winds that made the choppy waves crash to shore. But, it was not raining or thundering, and so we decided to stay for awhile. After we unloaded, we watched the kids playing in the sand, and then our friend's wife and I took my kids down the beach to gather shells. Neither of my kids was that interested in the water, as I'm learning they aren't much for beaches. The weather was windy enough that my son had complained of being too cold and he really didn't want to swim at all.

After we returned from the shell hunt, I noticed my husband sitting down and talking to our friend's mother, obviously about the loss of a daughter and how she was doing. So, I continued to chat with my girlfriend and watch my 3-year-old who was right by me with her shells. My seven-year-old had walked just a few feet ahead looking for more shells but then I saw him run back away from the water out of the corner of my eye. I assumed he'd run back to talk to his father, who was sitting about 10 feet behind us further from the water.

A few minutes later, my husband shouts to me and asks where our son is.

Puzzled, I looked down the beach both ways.

He was gone.

After we simultaneously realized that I had thought he was with his father, and his father had thought he was with me, we tried to contain panic and just started looking down the beach either way. Surely he was a few feet down gathering more shells, although it was very unlike him to stray like that.

After a short time of each of us searching down either side of the beach, I could say I was officially terrified. I left my daughter with our friends and began sprinting towards the parking lot, the bathrooms, and later down the same stretch of beach that my husband had just looked.

After we'd been searching for what seemed like an eternity, but had to have been about 30 minutes or so, it struck me. My son could be gone forever. Just like that. I might never see him, ever again.

My mind raced with all the horrible possibilities, and then cursed itself for thinking of them.

What if he'd decided to go into the water and a strong undertow had pulled him under somewhere and he was lost to us? What if he'd walked a little ways and had been snatched by someone, right beneath our noses? Every possibility brought me more and more terror and panic.

I began running down the beach, barefoot and hysterically screaming his name. Every few hundred yards, I'd stop to tell the concerned other families what he was wearing. I came across a beach/park ranger and described my son. "Do you think he'd go out into the water alone?" She questioned. In my gut, I didn't feel he had and I said so, but then my head questioned that as I ran the other way from her. My husband had gone in the opposite direction, and looked down the short end of the beach that I'd already combed, apparently going through the same thing.

After I'd run so far that I couldn't even see where we'd been camped and playing, my legs started to tremble beneath me. There was no sight of him at all.

I let myself crumble into the sand and threw my hands together saying frantic prayers. "Please, God. Do anything you want with me. Do not let my son be gone. Please don't take him from us. Oh, please God. I'll do anything. Anything."

I jumped back up because I knew time was of the essence and I began sprinting further down the beach. After a few more minutes of my running and screaming his name, I saw the khaki shorts and shirt of another male park ranger standing in the distance with a boy in red shorts, much too far for me to distinguish. I said another quick prayer that it wasn't just some kid who also had on red swim trunks and kept running.

As they came in to better view, I saw it was, indeed, my son. He had a few shells in his hand and a bewildered and slightly frightened look to his face. I ran quickly to him and threw my arms around him crying and saying his name over and over again, telling him how much we loved him and how scared we were. I couldn't let him go.

My son started crying. He told me that he'd thought his Dad had gone that direction down the beach and he'd though he'd run and catch up with him. We guess now that he kept running that way thinking he'd find him and then he probably realized he was lost and turned back, just before the ranger approached him, which also probably scared him because of our warnings about strangers.

The ride in another ranger's truck back to our family and friends was filled with so many prayers of thankfulness, and a lot of apologies from my son who obviously felt terrible that we'd worried. We'd stop every few feet to let the wonderful families who were searching for our boy know that he'd been found safe and sound, to hear the relieved responses of "Oh, thank God" over and over again. When we reached my husband, I could see that his face mirrored my own--traumatized and yet so grateful that we had a happy ending--but forever changed by the horrific experience.

When I think what might have happened to my child today, I still feel sick in the pit of my stomach. My son refused to play his new handheld game in the car, as we were trying to get his mind off of the incident. Finally he told us he didn't deserve to have it anymore. He cried as much as we did, and I'm not sure if it was because he had been so scared himself or it is that he realized how upset we were that he was gone.

Tonight he picked his favorite restaurant for dinner, a previously planned reward for a good report card and an attempt to help end the night on a better note. But, before he went to bed, he got hugs from all of us and extra kisses goodnight.

It only takes a few seconds for a child to be taken from your presence. And, that is a lesson that my husband and me, who are already a little over-protective, will never forget.

As we were leaving the beach, I hugged our friend's mother goodbye and thanked her for watching our youngest while we searched. It struck me how very traumatic this must have even been for her, having just lost her only daughter so suddenly. She stopped and hugged our boy for a long time, whom she hadn't seen really since he was a baby. Then, she looked and me and said, "It doesn't matter how old they are. You never stop worrying that something might happen to them."

Hug your kids a little tighter tonight and give thanks for every single day that they bless your life. I know that I will be...

Showdown at the PP Corral

The day has come, my friends. I gave myself the deadline of going cold turkey with the potty training thing with my 3-year-old for today, once we got back from our quick trip to Washington, D.C. It is potty or bust in the MomCat household.

And, how have we fared so far? We're 0 for 3, with 1 wet grocery store floor, one accident on our carpet and one nap time wet-in.

My daughter refuses to use her potty. Here are the facts before I ask for your advice:

She knows HOW and has used it on a whim before.

I have not pushed her, but I can tell if I don't push her this will never happen.

She can hold it a long time, even overnight.

She does not fall for bribes of candy, special treats, etc. I could offer her the moon and she would rather not go.

It is almost as if she suddenly has a fear of going in the potty, and I can't figure out why. We've always been positive about it. We watch potty-time videos and have potty books and she loves both.

My son potty trained in about 2 weeks and very easily at the age of 3. No issues. No crying. No problem--I waited until he was older and he was ready.

Any advice for me here? If you haven't potty trained or don't have that in your future, my apologies for bombarding you. And, oh...and also...I'm jealous of hell of you as well...

With a little bit of pixie dust....

There's another big red mark against me on my permanent parenting record this week. And, I fear that I'm dangerously close to being in trouble with the parenting police. Tonight, is my last chance to make it right.

Let me back-track a bit...

My son is losing his teeth faster than we can keep count right now. In the past month, he has now lost three and is trying to loosen a fourth. The third tooth, I swear he pulled on purpose at school all so he could get the little plastic green tooth treasure chest that his teacher gives if you lose a tooth while at school.

But, I digress. This is not his first "round" of teeth. He has already lost the four front teeth--the grand poobah teeth in the world of elementary tooth shedders. Those are the really big-deal teeth, because they are the first time you get the visit from the infamous Tooth Fairy.

Now, in my house, we do not make a big deal about the Easter bunny. My parents never did, and so we've always just done an Easter basket from us and not really talked much about the Easter bunny. Sure, Aunts and Uncles have planted that seed, but my son has never really bought into it very much, I don't think. I have friends who have woven entire novels about the Easter Bunny and how he delivers the eggs and goodies.

Between you and me, I thank my lucky stars every day that Santa is still real and I cross my fingers that the Tooth Fairy continues on at least for a few more incisors. Because the world is a cruel place, my friends. And, all it takes is one little whisper from that same obnoxious little classmate who teaches your kid things like "the finger" and which cuss words are the best, and both of those dear childhood heroes are vaporized into a cloud of smoke right before your eyes. And, my son is finishing up the first grade with a huge batch of friends in the second grade. We are really just counting the days until "poof" and it is all over. (sigh)

So, for those who haven't had to do it, this Tooth Fairy business is tricky stuff, especially on the weary mind of two parents late at night. But, it doesn't help when you're on tooth number seven and you forget to leave the fairy treat or pick up the tooth! Wait, let me add to that...

YOU FORGET TO LEAVE THE FAIRY TREAT OR PICK UP THE TOOTH FOR TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW!!!

Yes, I can see you all shaking your heads in disbelief and shame at me right now. Tsk, tsk... No, MomCat! Say it isn't so!!!

In my defense, my child forgot to put his tooth under his pillow for two days in a row too. But, then when he finally remembered, my husband and I completely forgot to complete the tooth transaction. And, imagine how our hearts sank when he came downstairs disappointed and announced, "I think the tooth fairy doesn't work on the weekends, Mom." Why, if you could have taken a meat cleaver and clubbed me over the head right then and there, I would have told you it wasn't hard enough and to do it all over again. And, while you were at it, why not grate my fingers with that cheese grater over there at the same time.

Then, the next night it was a repeat. We'd had a late night out of seafood on our favorite touristy pier over an hour away, and got home an hour past bedtime for the kids. I didn't even realize he'd remembered to grab his tooth and put it under his pillow. It wasn't until the next morning when I saw it on our end table, that I knew I had failed again. Sigh.

"I'm pretty sure the Tooth Fairy is on vacation," I said, confidently. "I mean, don't you think she needs a rest every now and then? Imagine how many teeth she has to pick up each night all around the world!" And, the lies continued on until I just about had him convinced...I think.

So, tonight it is time for serious damage control. Especially when my husband shared with me that our son had quite frankly informed him as he tucked himself into bed, "Dad, if the Tooth Fairy doesn't come tonight, I THINK I'm going to have to leave her a letter."

So, a fairy letter was typed and formatted in the fanciest scrawl that I could find. The fairy explained that she was so very sorry she'd not picked up his tooth the past two nights. Why, she'd had the worst case of the "fairy flu!" And, special glitter glue from my scrapbooking supplies tipped the edges of the torn paper just to make it look more authentic. Finally, in a fine moment of forgery (how's the for alliteration?), my right hand took on the role of her majesty, Role Highness of Choppers, as I scribbled her signature, wishing to great goodness that it didn't look anything like my own. I dropped in our coins and motherly guilt saw me adding one dollar greenback, just to make up for it all.

Now, I am off to keep the fantasy alive. And, I'm hoping like hell that he doesn't wake up as I'm in there as I trying to make the swap. And, trust me, that's not so easy when your son sleeps 6-foot up on a platform bed. But, I must succeed tonight. After all, Tooth Fairies don't last forever and I've got serious parenting points to make up now!

A confession from between the sheets...(UPDATED)

This post is updated, now with added irony, below.

------------------

That I've gotten your attention with that title...

In my opinion, based on numerous sleep overs as a kid and the past almost 15 years of sharing a queen with another person, there are two kinds of sleepers in the world. People usually fall in one of these two categories, and some are a combination of the two. There are the "Dead-to-the-World Sleepers" and "the Thrashing Cover-Stealers."

My husband is a DTTW sleeper. There are many nights that I gaze upon him in amazement at how quickly he can go from alert and talking to sawing logs. It is truly a gift and one for which I am very envious.

I have to admit here, that I'm a Thrasher. I can't help it. It is in my genes. There were times as a kid that I'd pass by my parents room and witness my father doing what only could resemble an rare African ritual dance all while lying face down completely asleep. It never failed to make my chin hit the floor and I'd sit there for a few minutes just watching the show.

Actually, my parents rarely slept in the same bed because of this fact. I know that sounds terrible, but I really couldn't blame my mom. Aside from the acrobatic thrashing, my father snores heinously and must have the TV blaring to go to sleep. How could ANYONE sleep in the same bed with that, I ask you? My mother was a night owl and my father was an early riser. The two just could not get their sleeping habits to work together and still haven't to this day.

The past week, my poor husband has been very sick. We are, of course, a few days from our new insurance kicking in, so he's been unable to go to the doctor and hacking up a lung most nights. Because of the congestion, he's started sleeping in our leather chair where he can be elevated. This leaves me, coming off of several very bad weeks of insomnia, with a great big, fairly new pillow-top queen to myself.

And, I'm loving every minute of it, my friends.

I have slept better the past week, than I have in probably six months. I don't wake up at all, which is really out of character for me. And, last night, rather than just allow a leg or an arm to make its way onto his side of the bed, I daringly took center stage and did a full spread eagle, falling asleep that way. My hands were spread out to the side so that I could almost touch each side of the bed with its respective hand. I looked as if I were in mid-jumping jack. I'm certain that I probably slept with my mouth open as well, because it was a full-on awesome REM moment.

It was truly heavenly.

I'll admit, and this sounds awful because I dearly love my husband and want him to get well more than anything, it is going to be hard to go back to our sleeping arrangements when he is well. But, I really hope I can go back to co-sleeping. You see, another thing about me that is kind of odd for a girl I suppose is that I'm not a cuddler. When it is time to sleep, I'm all business. I need to be in the right position and have a certain level of comfort. Years of insomnia have forced this upon me. But, ironically, I recently had a conversation with my sister who admitted she is the same way. Thrasher genes strike again, I suppose.

The past week, while my husband has suffered through this awful cold/bug, I have had more energy than ever because I have been queen of the queen--a master of my pillow topped universe. Yet, it is all so bittersweet. I know in a few days he'll be well and I will have to return to my right-sided sleeping life. (And he, truthfully, will have to return to putting with with a wife who never sleeps still and is known to hog the comforter in the wee hours.) Alas, the whole situation is like giving a dog a massively meaty bone and then ripping it from his teeth just as he starts to taste it. Sigh. Life is not fair sometimes, is it?

---
Little did I know that my husband, who has been too sick to bother reading my silly blog, would approach me tonight and ask if he could take the comfy bed. The bone is gone, my friends...that is, unless I can find it under a couch cushion tonight when I try to sleep. HA!

I was going to finally get on here and update y'all about an interesting development/opportunity that came my way this week. I will have to do that another time.

Instead, I have questions and sadness today. We received a surprising email that a dear friend of ours with whom my husband grew up had a tragedy in his family. His younger sister committed suicide, leaving only a brief note that she was tired of it all for her boyfriend to find. She leaves behind two small children who thankfully I guess were not there but were told after school that day.

Aside from just being so shocked and sad that this happened, it is very hard to comprehend how some who was still fairly young (early 30s at the most) with two children, would take such a drastic turn as to take her own life. We do not know a lot of details. We do know that this girl had a lifetime of problems. She was a pessimistic kind of person who had several chronic health problems from childhood. But, in addition to that, she was the type of person who always had some sort of complaint to file. She was always depressed and unhappy in her life for as long as I knew her, but in the last several years she had given up custody of her kids and was with a lot of the wrong kind of people. But, her negativity and tendency to make bad choices were just something that her family had grown accustomed to over the years. That was just her. Right? Or was it a lifelong cry out for help?

And, so, to some the ending of her life may not seem that surprising. But, to me it was. And, it has me thinking now. I have several close people in my life who have lived a life looking at things very pessimistically and negatively. My own mother is probably the worst case, and I get to where I don't want to be around her when she gets like that. Someone is always out to get her or one of her kids, the worst is guaranteed to happen, and people are disappointing most often to her. And, it drives me crazy at times, even though I recognize that I, myself, take turns of that in my own life.

But, I have never once thought that I'd have to worry about her ending her life because of it. I wrote it off as just her being a negative person and looked the other way. My sister who was always an optimistic like our father is now repeating in these behaviors and called me very depressed today about her life.

Why this all strikes even more close to home for me is because I am watching my son follow in those footsteps. I realize now that I must stop his fatalistic attitude. I know that some of it is his age, but some is obviously either something I have taught him, or something inherent in his genes that gives him this tendency.

We're currently trying our first round with him with flag football. It is not going well. He is learning and practicing with his Dad and loves the sport. And he is actually pretty good. But, for the first time in our experience with the YMCA, we have a coach that is not following their rules of fair play. He is playing only the kids he knows and the kids he thinks will win (including his own son). And, while my son is lucky enough to be getting playing time (4 kids are barely setting foot in the games), not one play has been run that would give him the opportunity to throw, catch or run with the ball. This is the first sport we have played where that is possible really. Even in baseball, you get to bat.

Instead of seeing the unfairness in this, and being mad at the coach, my son walked off the field and announced today that he played bad. He had not played badly at all, making sure he was in the right place to receive passes and being open for that and waving his arms to get noticed, but the boys did not throw it to him. He is not in the inner circle. And the coach also was always there to scream at the quarterback to throw it to one of the inner circle players too.

At almost 8 years old, he cannot see what is going on. So, he blames himself. He is bad at football now. And, this reaction is not unlike him. All year long, he has brought home report cards with either good to great marks, and then thought he was doing badly in school. He expects perfection, much as I have always done to myself. And, he is often unhappy because of it. He gets off the school bus sad many days out of the week, because someone didn't talk to him or someone said something rude. He sees the worst thing that happens during his day instead of the 10 other great things that did. And, it is really hard for me to watch.

How do you change a child from this behavior? I have tried not being negative myself around him, but that doesn't help. Now that I have seen that this way of thinking can completely destroy a person's life, as well as possibly their children's futures, I am determined to get him on a more positive path. I will not let him grow up feeling like his life is so hopeless that he can't go on. No matter what it takes, I must change his negative thinking and help him get on the road to more healthy thinking now.

The lowdown on the camp ground...

OK, let's see if I can give you a very brief recap of my camping trip this weekend. (AS IF I can be brief? Mwah, ha, ha!)

1. My daughter did not get eaten by any alligators. (Although we saw many, many, many!) Nor did she jump off of a cliff.

2. I almost jumped off a cliff when the raccoons opened our cooler and ate my healthy snacks. (I swear, I'm not making this up! They went straight for the grapes.)

3. I went half insane between the hours of noon and 3 p.m. (Think hot and humid temps, no A/C and NOTHING to do but sit around with a bunch of guys listening to sports talk or nervously watching young boys (including my son) try and whittle sticks for the first time with pocket knifes.

4. No fingers were missing when we left the camp out from the aforementioned knife work. Thankfully. And luckily.

5. I learned that just because it is deemed the "family camp out," does not mean that any of the moms actually GO--only that some of the other siblings in the families may get shuttled off with the Dads and sons. (There was only one other mother there. She was an attorney. And very proud of her status in the "gated" section of our 'hood. Enough said.)

6. Camping is damn tiring. Although, I think I actually slept better on a cheap air mattress in a tent than I do on my fancy new pillow top mattress.

7. I am less of a fancy, and more of a sporty kind of chick, generally speaking. But, having to ride a bike at odd hours of the early morning to the nearest bathroom bites big ones. And, no, I'm not a "squatter."

8. I can't squat, but I can miss a shower for a day. But, come day two, and I get a little grumpy...and my HAIR gets even grumpier! Thank goodness for baseball caps!

9. I don't miss wearing make up though. Not for one second. (Big shock...)

10. It doesn't matter how old you get, or whether or not you have diabetes, a toasted, melted smore every now and then is good for the soul.

Stay tuned next for AI Haiku for this week...