tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36480612808390767782024-03-18T22:29:40.189-05:00Adrift in a Sea of TestosteroneAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-16047101871826573612014-05-05T21:50:00.000-05:002014-05-05T22:36:51.045-05:00A Note From Your Public School FriendsLet me just preface this blog post with a disclaimer. I am in no way judging anyone for the decisions they make in regards to their kids' education. I will judge you for wearing socks with crocs or putting your toddler in a tiny speedo, but not for this. There are so many variables that affect the decision to choose public, private or homeschool and being a parent is hard on the easiest of days and darn well impossible on the hard ones. Just like the debate that always seems to rage on regarding working moms, I honestly feel that parents do the best they can and decisions they make are personal to their particular family situations, since this is my blog I am going to share why our family made the choice that is working for us. Now, that being said, on to the story…<br />
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A few weeks ago I was sitting at Chick Fil A watching the boys play and catching up on some reading (translation, listening to other people's conversations). I literally cannot help myself. Eavesdropping is one of my top five favorite pastimes right after creeping on people via the interwebs. Anyway, these two ladies were discussing some incident that happened with one of their kids, I missed the first part because it takes forever for us to convey Hud's super elaborate "Chick o way" order, so I'm not sure what the actual infraction was, but the mom happened to mention, "I think he learned it from so and so… they are some of our Public School Friends."<br />
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Oh. <br />
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It wasn't said in a particularly snarky way, just rather matter of fact and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it for weeks. It is literally consuming a large part of my daily think time. Public School Friends? Is this a thing? I had no idea! After my extensive thinking and endless discussion with Matt about this issue, I've decided to not be offended but I would like to offer you my explanation about why our family is happy to be your Public School Friends. <br />
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Matt and I didn't choose public school for any of the stereotypical reasons. It wasn't because it was easy, in our neighborhood, or "free". We didn't choose it because we are both products of public schools and consider ourselves to be relatively high functioning adults (on a good day). We didn't even choose it because it is my life's work and every day I see the blood, sweat and tears teachers put into your average school day. It certainly isn't because we believe that public education is perfect… hold on while I stop laughing. We chose public school for our kids because in our hearts we believe that public education is making them better people. Period.<br />
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Now, that doesn't mean that we deposit our children in their tiny chairs on the first day of kindergarten and say see ya in thirteen years. We made a commitment to challenge our boys' teachers daily so that they will in turn challenge our children. We hold them to high standards and demand that they do the same with our boys. We send them imperfect children, full of insecurities and flaws and expect them to adapt their skills, personality and resources to fit my child's particular needs…times 22. In short, we expect a lot. Sometimes public education falls short. Sometimes it completely misses the mark. Guess what? My kids go to a fantastic school in a "bad neighborhood". I have no idea why I put those words in quotations because that's truly what it is, I guess it just felt right at the time :). My kids see someone get arrested at least once every couple of weeks while sitting on the bus at a red light. As a parent, I understand why this is not the choice for all families. Sometimes public education lets us down. But we won't back down and our expectations never waver. <br />
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Here's the thing, just as I believe that public schools are making my children better people, I believe that public education is made better every single time my kids walk in the door. And yours, and yours, and yours too. <br />
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We talk to our boys a lot about iron sharpening iron and I believe that it applies to this situation. I expect my children to be the standard in their school all while expecting their school to both hold them accountable and lift them up to that standard. It's a tough balancing act, but to us, worth the effort. So my friends, I can't guarantee that one of my children will not teach your kid their first curse word or moon them while jumping on the trampoline in your backyard (because I will never be a fun enough mom to let us get one) but I can guarantee that we will do everything in our power to make sure you are never ashamed to proclaim that so and so learned it from the Hill family, your Public School Friends. <br />
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Bonus! This blog post has a theme song! I fell in love with this song when Connor was in kindergarten and it really speaks to the way we feel about the sending our precious boys out into a sometimes scary world. <br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91iXRMkmFbs">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91iXRMkmFbs</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-7066402006065313722013-06-27T22:19:00.000-05:002013-06-27T22:19:36.303-05:00Fairy FarceHudson had a really bad day yesterday. One of his worst. He had to have a baby tooth pulled and it was highly traumatic for both of us. But to be fair, mostly him. In a sad attempt to lessen the trauma, I really played up his first visit from the tooth fairy. It was going to be awesome, magical and full of whimsy! To be honest, considering how imaginative my boys are, they rarely buy into Mom-inspired whimsy. They prefer to come up with their own ridiculousness and normally that is totally fine with me. But on this day, I really felt like Hudson needed a little tooth fairy in his life. You see, Connor tolerates the tooth fairy about as much as he tolerates santa claus. He hasn't openly admitted it, but I can tell from the thinly veiled look of disdain in his eyes, that he has known pretty much from birth that none of that crap is real and he plays along strictly to humor me. But Hudson is my baby and he is about to turn five entire years old. I really needed this. <br />
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All afternoon we talked about this wonderful visit and how magical it would all be. He peppered me with questions that I obviously did not have adequate answers to because they just kept coming. How does she get into the house? Is she big size or tiny size? What color is her wand? Does she wear a long beautiful dress or a short beautiful dress? In the spirit of whimsy, I made up a bunch of stuff and tried to pressure him into going to sleep. But he just wasn't having it. He wasn't buying my magical tale of fairy intrigue and point blank told me he didn't think the tooth fairy is real. WHAT?!?! After all my elaborate detail and sensory rich description? Lying in bed with my youngest son, I was left with little choice, so naturally I just straight up lied to him. And before I even repeat the lie, let me please make this disclaimer: as parents, we really try to use lying to our children very judiciously and only for matters that we consider dire and of immediate detriment to their safety. For example, classics such as, "Don't forget, the McDonald's playground is closed on Mondays" or "Only kids 12 and over can get into Six Flags," might have made an appearance in our house. *As another disclaimer, Matt would like me to say that he never said nor participated in either of the previous statements.* Anyway, back to the tooth fairy debacle, I decided in that instant to either put up or shut up, so I just said the first thing that came to mind, "Hudson Hill, the tooth fairy is real and I can prove it! When she comes tonight I am going to take her picture!" It might also be important to note that at this point, Matt rolled over, turned out the light and said, "Good grief, Melissa. I'm out." Fine. I didn't need him to manufacture a magical childhood memory. <br />
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After Hudson finally fell asleep, I got busy. I took his picture, borrowed ten bucks out of Connor's money drawer (don't worry I'll pay him back and yes I know ten bucks is ridiculous but it was very late and I was officially way into go big or go home territory) and made the tooth for money switch. Then the real work began. I found the perfect picture of a fairy online (FYI, googling real women dressed as fairies resulted in some highly questionable, yet oddly fascinating material, apparently it is a lifestyle) and one hour of photoshop later: <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_BLDuN7U7J0IK_gFGR6RzBgWQ3TlfZ8l49XCD2_EAztyHPUtkRp8n4wEE7Czd9PqTlqWaLpovIvoq8lquo_R6fKf9ha5Pv5ZF7qhzlLmRb7V6GuAQobn5GkernxSuvmB58ZWJuZ9-yLDJ/s1600/Hudson+Tooth+Fairy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_BLDuN7U7J0IK_gFGR6RzBgWQ3TlfZ8l49XCD2_EAztyHPUtkRp8n4wEE7Czd9PqTlqWaLpovIvoq8lquo_R6fKf9ha5Pv5ZF7qhzlLmRb7V6GuAQobn5GkernxSuvmB58ZWJuZ9-yLDJ/s400/Hudson+Tooth+Fairy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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Not bad, right? I went to bed feeling pretty good about my mothering skills. I couldn't wait for Hudson to wake up to a little bit of childhood innocence and it really did start out well. He found his "one million dollars" (that kindergarten teacher is really going to love our math skills come August) and then immediately asked to see the evidence. Proudly I opened my computer and presented the documentation for his review. After scrutinizing it for about fifteen long seconds, he looked at me and said, "I don't think so, her doesn't even have shoes on. Where's the video?" Seriously. <div>
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I guess at Christmas we will wait in line for hours just so Hudson can punch Santa in the face. <div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-63413533271734364792013-02-18T20:39:00.000-06:002013-02-18T20:39:04.603-06:00Connor Wages War on Childhood ObesityA while back Connor spent three weeks immersed in a healthy living unit at school. In typical Connor fashion, he approached this unit of study with intense, laser-like focus. He came home talking all about the importance of healthy eating and regular exercise. He also came home with a heart full of concerns for overweight people. Apparently his teacher let them know how dangerous it is to be overweight and Connor couldn't get this off his mind. He became slightly obsessed with the few students in his class that had "big tummies." He was genuinely worried that they would get sick and/or die. This started to become an issue because the more he talked about it at home, the more I became worried that he would accidentally say something to these kids at school and hurt their feelings. No matter how well intentioned, I did not want him bringing up their six year old big tummies. So I sat him down for a little chat. I told him that while I was very supportive of his concern and compassion for his classmates, he needed to cool his jets because he wouldn't want to say anything to offend them. Of course this immediately offended him! "Mommy, I would never say anything about their big tummies! I am just so worried that they aren't living healthy and could get sick!" Connor is a really sweet, compassionate boy and I know this was truly his intent but again, I reminded him that it was their mom and dad's concern and not his. He promised to never talk about it at school and I thought that was the end of it. <div>
Nope. </div>
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He got off the bus a couple of days later beaming with pride. He got in the car and told me he had the best idea at school and had solved the potential big tummy problem without having to say a word about it. I was almost afraid to ask. As it turns out, Connor's new plan included stalking those particular children on the playground at recess and enticing them to chase him around therefore getting some exercise and improving their health. </div>
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What the what?</div>
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After letting this master plan marinate in my brain for a couple of minutes, I sought further clarification. "So, let me get this straight. You run around these children on the playground yelling, 'Hey, so and so come chase me! Come on chase me!'" He nodded excitedly. "Because you want them to get exercise and are trying to trick them into it? " More nodding. "And how exactly is that working out for all the parties involved?" "Well, actually I'm getting a lot of exercise, but they don't really seem to want to run after me. They think I'm being kind of weird. But I'm going to keep trying." Hmm. No kidding. I put an end to that little bit of madness and told him from now on he should just concern himself with the well being of the people living in his house, because lord knows we have enough weird already working against us, we don't need to add involuntary fitness instructor to the list. </div>
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After a few days of relative peace and quiet, the healthy living project again reared it's ugly head. Every afternoon Hudson and I wait to meet Connor's bus. As it stops, Hudson climbs aboard, hugs the driver, hugs his brother and then runs down the aisle high fiving all the other passengers. It's kind of his thing. This particular afternoon after they both disembarked, Connor bent down and told his brother, "Guess what Hudson? I bought you a surprise at school today!" To which Hudson immediately responded by shutting his eyes, holding out his hands and screaming, "A 'pise? OMG, a pise for me? Tell me when I can open my eyes Connor!" Grinning from ear to ear, Connor ever so gently and lovingly placed a blue pedometer into his brothers waiting hands. Yes, a pedometer. This might be the right time to add as a side note that Connor wears a pedometer just about every single day of his life. Does that really surprise you? It shouldn't. But back to the story, Hudson was delighted and had absolutely no idea what it was. Connor told him excitedly that it was a machine that would count his steps and help him get exercise so he could lose his "big tummy so you won't get sick and die." Well that was all Hudson needed to hear. He was in it to win it. I should probably also add that Hudson does not, in fact, have a big tummy. Granted he is almost five years old and still looks like a toddler, so he has retained a little bit of a baby belly, but he is in no way overweight. In fact, we are hoping that he can make it to the 25th percentile in weight at his next check up, but I won't be holding my breath. But Connor, in his quest for healthy living for all, had officially diagnosed his brother with a weight problem. Honestly, this really shouldn't have surprised me because I had noticed him giving his little brother's belly the stank eye ever since that stupid healthy living unit started. But you know what, if those two want to spend their evenings power walking the non existent pounds off, fine by me. </div>
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The next day, I sent Hudson's teacher an email about something stupid (which sum up about 96% of all emails I send to my children's teachers) and at the end of her reply she added, "Oh and by the way, Hudson has taken 476 steps on his pedometer today, he wants me to check it every time we come back in the classroom. He's so cute!" </div>
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Shut. The. Front. Door. </div>
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Now, I knew for a fact that stupid blue pedometer was on the dresser when I did a pedometer check (what, you don't have those at your house) that morning because Connor and I specifically discussed that Hudson would not be wearing it to school and I knew that Hudson was incapable of working the clip mechanism required to attach said pedometer to himself. Not like we don't already have a reputation for oddity at school, now I had to explain to Hudson's teacher that we don't have him on some kind of step count program. Again with the forced fitness! </div>
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Speaking of programs, I think Connor needs one of the twelve step variety. He is about two sweat bands away from his own infomercial. I'm expecting a phone call from Michelle Obama any day now. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-1317270963205673502012-12-29T19:50:00.001-06:002012-12-29T19:50:20.684-06:00Day 20,426One year ago today we brought Connor home from the hospital for the second time in his life. In other words we are commemorating one year of diabetes or as someone online called it Connor's "Diaversarry" (P.S. I officially hate this term and will never, ever use it again because it's extreme cheesiness offends me). I also think that we might have been more scared and worried making that trip home last December with a five year old than with a tiny newborn. A lot has changed for our family over the last 365 days and we are so proud to have a healthy, happy almost 7 year old...who also happens to have diabetes. <br />
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I am so relieved to complete this year because we have officially lived through all the seasons with diabetes. We now know what to expect at all manner of school party, survived not just one, but two baseball seasons plus a myriad of other candy filled holidays. We swam with diabetes, ran with diabetes, laughed with diabetes and cried with diabetes. We have run a gamut of emotions not usually seen outside of a Lifetime movie. Matt and I both feel like we have aged about 7 years in 12 months and he finally found his first gray hair. We are now at a gray hair ratio of Melissa's 1000 to Matt's 1 but oh, how that one made me so very happy. I know it's petty but I just tuck the memory of that single gray hair (which I also discovered by the way, increasing my glee ten fold) and pull it out (pun intended) whenever I need a little pick me up!<br />
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We have tried to spend the last year working as hard as possible to minimize diabetes' intrusion on Connor's life as much as possible and some days it works...for about ten minutes :) and that is still our greatest challenge, letting Connor be a six year old boy without having to drag around the burden of diabetes (and by the way that burden often takes the shape of a thirty year old woman he calls Mom). We still have our bad days and can rationally accept that those are just going to be par for the course as we navigate through this together. But man, do they sting. Connor came home from school on Breakfast with Santa day a few weeks back and told me that he didn't think he would ever participate in that again, despite being super excited for days leading up to the big event. Why the sudden change of heart? Because his blood sugar was low and so he had to spend 45 minutes in the clinic and by the time he made it to the breakfast with the big man, it was over and he ate a donut alone in the cafeteria with the school nurse. Is that the end of the world? No. But in that six year old moment, the hurt was so big it took my breath away. Those are the moments that I can't fix despite the frantic hover of my stellar helicopter parenting and I hate it, but I also know at day 365 we are leaps and bounds farther than we were on day 1. When I think back to our emotional state last January, our family is almost unrecognizable today. Connor spends most of his days laughing and smiling, loves every millisecond he spends in school, considers the school nurse to be one of his closest friends and for the most part is unaffected by the inconvenience of diabetes. It is so awe inspiring to see God's plan for our family. If we ever wondered before why we ended up with the most intelligent, mature kid on the planet (and trust me we have often wondered this), now we know. This is the boy designed to handle this life. He is so unlike his Mom and Dad in so many ways because this is what he was made for. This realization makes me immeasurably proud of him, but also hurts my heart because I know that his days won't always be easy and there are challenges coming that I won't be able to help him with, but I know he will be ready. <br />
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This new life is changing and refining his heart for great things and I can't wait for day 20,426.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-25830292273406906812012-11-28T20:45:00.000-06:002012-11-28T20:45:27.941-06:00FakeabetesBrace yourselves, Hudson has been afflicted with a disease. A disease so rare, it only exists in his mind. I call it Fakeabetes and it is both horrible and ridiculous in equal measure. Since Connor's diagnosis last December, Hudson has been ever so slowly and subtly familiarizing himself with every aspect of Connor's diabetes care. After all, it's not a secret and it's pretty much a family affair. In fact, I thought his careful observation was a wonderful thing because somewhere down the road (way way way down the road) there might come a time when I cannot supervise Connor with what Matt lovingly refers to as my iron fist. When the day arrives that my children might be alone somewhere together (hold on, I feel a panic attack coming on) I need to know that Hudson will know how to help Connor in case of an emergency. I never thought that Hudson might be incapable of helping Connor in a real diabetes emergency because he could possibly be in the throws of his very own Fakeabetes emergency.<br />
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Here is how it started. As we all got used to Connor's new way of life, Hudson started picking up some new lingo and just randomly throwing it into conversation. For example, he would wander downstairs in the morning and yell, "Mom! I needs my bag." What bag, Hudson? "My bag with all thems needles." Oh....hmm. But it was just the odd, occasional reference and so I thought he might be hurting for attention since his brother was kind of stealing the show with that pesky chronic medical condition, so Matt and I decided to lavish the Puddin' Pop with lots of extra love and special feelings. He ate it up with a spoon. We might have created a monster (and yes, I do acknowledge the irony in this very delayed realization). <br />
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Hudson now has more diabetes related situations than Connor and I put together. He is always sneaking around while Connor is in the shower, putting on the running belt Connor wears to hold his pump. He then tries forever to incorrectly connect that pump to his navel, which is absolutely not how it works. At mealtimes, he will randomly shout out such things as, "Mom! Where's my food, I already bolused!" Sometimes from the backseat Connor will request his diabetes bag which I then lovingly toss over my shoulder. Immediately I hear Hudson parrot the request, "Mom, I needs my bag too." Glancing in the rear view mirror I see him staring at the back of my head, hand outstretched. He won't give up until I hand him an imaginary bag over my shoulder, which he then takes and thanks me for. Anytime we eat, he lifts his shirt, dials up his imaginary pump while we all just sit there staring at him. He then has the audacity to look up at us and say "What?"<br />
Really. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hudson modeling his ill-gotten and medically unnecessary insulin pump. You can clearly tell it <br />makes him feel real sassy. </td></tr>
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The best/worst are his faux crisis. Often times when Hudson is required to do something that seems remotely strenuous such as picking his dirty socks up off the floor or brushing his teeth, he immediately collapses to the floor or couch (whichever is closest) and weakly says, "I can'ts do it Mommy, my blood sugar's low. It's 49. I needs some sugars." I swear I feel like Sally Field in the middle of Dolly Parton's salon shoving hard candies down Julia Roberts' gullet. And here's the kicker, his "blood sugar" is always 49. Always. So at least he's consistent? Fakeabetes is like Hudson's imaginary get out of chores free card that never ever works! But I have to give him props for trying. As soon as I say, "You are not low Hudson, you don't have diabetes." he hops up, grins slyly and says, "Oh...I dos."<br />
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I have to admit as weird as this is (and it is pretty high up on the very long list of strange stuff Hudson does) it entertains the holy heck out of Connor. It is like a walking, talking, dancing version of what not to do as a Type 1 diabetic and it never ceases to make us laugh. Should we be encouraging this behavior? Undoubtedly not. But to quote the immortal Hudson Hill....<br />
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"Oh...I dos."<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-2804251072219922392012-10-17T19:35:00.000-05:002012-10-17T19:35:19.979-05:00The Family that Plays Together...So, we've been trying to institute family game night around our house and so far it has debuted to mixed reviews. You might be wondering what kind of parents have intentionally denied their children family board game time, but as with most weird stuff around here, there's a story there. <br />
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You see, Matt and I have several unwritten rules in our marriage; things that weren't officially part of our marriage vows but should have been. The top two are as follows: 1) I promise to limit my own personal access to any and all microphones and 2) we will not play board games together. Why no board games? Well because one of us is grossly overcompetetive and the other is (in my opinion) flippantly accusatory. True story: the last time Matt and I played a board game together was with my future in-laws in 2003. Or as I like to call it, The Great Trivial Pursuit Witch Hunt of 2003, in which my integrity was called into question over a single card. It started off so innocently: What is the state snack of Utah? To which I instantly replied: Jell-o (followed by what might have been considered a celebratory in your face dance). All hell then broke loose because apparently there is no possible way I could have known the state snack of Utah despite iron clad anecdotal evidence that included Bill Cosby, the 2002 Winter Olympics and a Today show segment (hosted by Katie Couric for crying out loud). Needless to say my multi-faceted, higher level explanation did not go over well. I can't say I directly blame Mitt Romney, but if it comes down to him or Dr. Heathcliff Huxtuble, well...you know.<br />
Anyway, I was accused of cheating, as if I spend all my free time reading Trivial Pursuit cards for fun. I really and truly think the people in my life completely underestimate the sheer volume of absolutely useless knowledge I carry around in my brain. Sometimes I'm surprised I don't stagger under it's weight. <br />
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Flash forward to 2012, the board game moratorium has continued, an unholy and fragile alliance formed between my husband and I in order to protect our children from emotional trauma. Don't get me wrong, our kids can play games with each other or they can play games with Matt or they can play games with me, we aren't cruel after all. But as children are apt to do, Connor started questioning why we all just can't play together. Enter a little game called Headbandz. Connor loves this freaking game. It's like 20 questions, but with the addition of individual headbands each player wears holding a picture card. Then you have to ask someone questions, trying to determine what picture you are wearing based on their answers. Fine. There is no game board to overturn in anger, no currency exchanging hands and no random trivia. We thought we were safe. Enter Hudson. <br />
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Now, Connor has owned this game a while and Hudson has expressed zero interest in playing, but now that he is 4 entire years old, he has to participate in Headbandz. Since he has observed us playing in the past, we thought he had a pretty firm grasp on the question/answer format and we all quickly chose a card, loaded it into our headbands and gathered around to play. It was like an episode of Leave it to Beaver....for about 7 seconds. We started with Hudson. I gave him some sample questions just as a reminder (Am I an animal? Am I something you can eat? Do I make noise?) and he nodded with a serious look on his face and whispered, "I ready." After staring at our headbands for what seemed like hours he asked, "Am I aaaaaaaaaaa..........light bulb? " No, you are not a lightbulb. To which he replied, "Cause you are!" Okay, time to revisit the concept. No announcing what anyone else has on their headband. One new picture card for Mom and we're back to it. Hudson's turn came around again and he seemingly went into a trance. After forever he asked, "Am I aaaaaaaaaa....how you say it???? You know... it so beautiful? I am aaaaaaaaa....flower?" Nope, you are not a flower. Cue immediate, uncontrollable laughter. I turn to look at Matt, wearing that ridiculous headband and he said in a defeated voice, "I'm a flower right?" Yep. <br />
As Hudson is up doing his victory dance in celebration of being able to identify what the rest of us have on our cards (because who gives a crap what he is actually supposed to be guessing) he announces, "I so awesome at this game! I winned it!" Cut to Connor losing it. Mr. Perfectionist had reached his limit and proceeded to flip out on his brother's blatant disregard of both rules and good sportsmanship.<br />
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Now it was really starting to feel like a Hill family game night. Because we are grown ups, Matt and I each took a boy and tried to impart some quality parental wisdom. You know, the good stuff like patience, winning with class, cheating with class, restraining oneself when one gets the urge to slap the headband off of one's little brother. I felt like Matt and I were totally channeling Claire and Cliff minus the shoulder pads and funky sweaters. After the group therapy session it was decided that our family is taking a little sabbatical from family game night at least until we find "our" game. That elusive game that challenges our intellect, inspires healthy competition, yet doesn't lead to tears or blood shed. <br />
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It's out there. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-30616094094137448072012-10-02T20:35:00.000-05:002012-10-02T20:35:55.979-05:00I Gots a Hole in my Face Mom. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last Thursday I got the news that Hudson had been injured at school. Apparently while walking out to the playground, he wasn't paying attention (big shock) and a gate swung back and hit him. If my little puddin' pop was an average sized child it would have undoubtedly bounced off his chest, but since he is nugget sized the gate latch hit him square in the forehead. Ouch. He was of course, quite upset but got over it remarkably fast. He was back to eating gold fish in a matter of minutes. The school nurse (or lady doctor as Hudson refers to her) recommended an urgent care visit and some stitches. <br />
So off we went. On the way out I asked Hudson how he was feeling. He sweetly replied, "I gots a hole in my face, Mom." And that is exactly what it looked like, a hole right below his double cowlick, the area of his head I like to refer to as the dead man's zone because no hair dares to grow there. I know in my heart there will be no hair coverage for this scar.<br />
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We arrived at the urgent care and went right back to see the doctor. Hudson was having an absolute ball. He had never seen such a wondrous, magical place. Everything was amazing from the paper on the exam table to the books in the waiting room. I really started to wonder if that gate had damaged his brain, because in all of his four years Hudson has never willingly or openly adored a piece of printed literature. Scary stuff. Hud was a champ while the doctor irrigated his newly acquired hole, keeping up a steady monologue of odd statements that kept the doctor laughing. When the doctor backed up to examine the wound, Hudson looked down at the table where the saline had dripped off his head and down to the paper and said, "Oh my gosh......someones tee teed on this table." The doctor laughed and said, "Oh that's just water." To which Hudson replied in the most solemn voice, "No, it's not. I can't know who did it, but someone peed here. That disgusting." Things kind of went down hill from there.<br />
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The doctor decided that it need one or two stitches to pull it all back together and went to get ready. Hudson decided to check out the room and became obsessed with this poster on the wall. He begged me to take his picture reenacting the scene. Yes, he wanted to take his shirt off, but no, I didn't allow it. I have some standards. They're low, but they're there. But just wait, it gets weirder.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hudson Hill, Electrode Placement Model</td></tr>
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When the doctor and nurse came back in to do the actual procedure, he gave me the rundown on my role. He said they would need all the help they could get to hold him completely still, especially while they were injecting the anesthetic. His exact words? "Get wherever you need to be to hold him, straddle the table if you have to." Pause here for my hysterical laughter. Yes, I have the sense of humor of a 15 year old boy, and second, I don't care if they were performing open heart surgery on my child, there was no way I was straddling that table. After we cleared up that little issue and I finally stopped laughing, I perched myself on the edge of the exam table and held both of Hudson's hands. I have to say, he didn't move a muscle when they did his first shot, but he was plenty ticked. He yelled out, "HEEEEEEYYYY!" in his angriest voice. But he didn't move. After they were done numbing him up, he got ready to start stitching. All of a sudden, Hudson yelled out, "Mom! Kiss me!" I quickly replied that I could give him a kiss when the doctor was finished, but that just wasn't good enough, "MOM!!! Kiss my wips!" Um, I love you Hudson, but I can't right now. "GIVE ME YOUR WIPS!" By now both the doctor and nurse are laughing out loud and when combined with the fact that I laughed like a mad woman at the word straddle, I am sure they had us pegged as a family full of stone cold perverts. <br />
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After what seemed like the longest 90 seconds of Hudson's life and one, count it, one stitch later we were done. I am pretty sure that he might have needed two based on an earlier assessment, but I think that doctor wanted us out of there. Hudson sat up, looked at the doctor and said, "I is so mad at you right now." Then hopped down and walked out. </div>
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So what does it look like now? Well take into consideration we are still growing out Hudson's last self hair mutilation, it doesn't look good.</div>
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I like to think that it looks like he's been in a bar fight and after someone knocked him unconscious, they cut his hair with a dull butter knife. In other words, just another day in the life of the puddin' pop!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-19459058854964416592012-07-25T10:38:00.001-05:002012-07-25T10:38:34.198-05:00Happy Birthday Hudson!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Well our baby is turning 4 and while that in some ways seems shocking to me, I also know that he has lived a whole lot of life in 4 short years and every minute of it has been an adventure. To celebrate our little Mr.Fat Cheeks, I decided to compile a list of Hudson-isms that really capture his spirit while sometimes simultaneously striking fear into the hearts of his parents. <br />
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1. Hold on, I gotta call somebody.<br />
Seeing Hudson talk on his imaginary phone to someone is both adorable and slightly worrisome because nine times out of ten he is talking to Jayden the Red Power Ranger and his calls usually end with him giving Hudson some kind of mission that entails a battle to the imaginary death. During these battles any one of us could be collateral damage so we find it best to steer clear whenever he is taking a meeting on the phone.<br />
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2. They's got tigers in there?<br />
Ah tigers, Hudson's kryptonite. Whenever we want him to rethink a decision to venture into an unknown place we just casually mention that we heard there might be tigers. It puts an immediate stop to whatever plan he was concocting. It might not terminate it indefinitely but it at least slows his roll. There is visible brainstorming in which he weighs the pros and cons of what seemed like a fun idea versus the chance of running into a tiger, his apparent nemesis. For example, he and his brother wanted to ride the kiddy haunted house at the state fair. I did not. I told Hudson he would probably be scared. He replied, "Why? They's got tigers in there?" Yes, yes they do.<br />
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3. I do this myself. <br />
Hudson "do everything" himself, whether he is actually capable or not. Lack of confidence is not one of Hudson's problems. Lack of actual skill to back up that confidence is another matter. Hudson is the best runner, swimmer, dancer and ninja in the whole entire world. Why in that aforementioned world would he ever need assistance? There is a certain little swagger that accompanies Hudson Hill. Emphasis on the little. He is tiny but that personality enters a room about five minutes before that little body. <br />
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4. I got an idea!<br />
I wish I had a picture of Hudson's face as he says this particular phrase but it is always so fleeting. There are always raised eyebrows along with a single index finger in the air pointing to what I imagine is a single illuminated light bulb. Hudson gets an idea about 20 times a day and those ideas are most likely dangerous but seem like boatloads of fun. For example, the day he got an idea to ride the garage door all the way to the top and then dangled like a tiny doll while laughing like a mad man. Or the day he got an idea to cut his own hair. Or the day he got that same idea and cut his hair again (see #5 on the list). Hudson is definitely an idea man and his ideas are generally hilarious. Well 70% hilarious and 30% heart stopping. <br />
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5. Mom! I need the scissors (pronounce see-zors)!<br />
Enough said.<br />
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6. Where's my Connor?<br />
Hudson is a fantastic little brother and adores his big brother. He wants to do everything like Connor, but with an added twist of his own. He misses his brother when they are watching TV in separate rooms and over the last six months has shown so much compassion towards Connor. Connor only has to mention that he doesn't feel good and Hudson will race over to grab his diabetes bag. He pretends to wear Connor's pump (which he firmly believes connects to his belly button) and always uses a really low voice when emulating his big brother. "Look mom, I'm Connor. I so big and I gots all my medicines." Hud is our comic relief and we can't imagine not having him around to booty dance for us when Connor has a sad day. <br />
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7. I'll be right back. <br />
This particular Hudsonism could mean that he is simply headed back to the toy box, or it could mean that he is headed to Neverland. To be honest, it's usually Neverland (Peter Pan's Neverland, not Michael Jackson's). Hudson spends a large part of his day in another world. He doesn't think that he's a hero because there is no thinking about it. He IS Peter Pan or Spiderman or Captain America or anyone else who seems ready to save the day. He is constantly on the look out for bad guys or damsels in distress, preferably both. He has this fantasy of fighting a bad guy in order to "gets myself a girl," who he will then "kiss with my mustache." Not his lips just his mustache. That is going to be one lucky lady.<br />
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8. I need my soups!<br />
This particular saying ties in with #7. Hudson is never fully dressed for the day without a costume or suit (or as he says it, soup). These suits can be real or imaginary, he isn't picky. Currently in my car, I am carrying both a pirate and peter pan hat, tall boots, three swords and an astronaut suit. We are a couple of clowns and an elephant short of a traveling circus These suits make Hud feel awesome and out of all the memories I have of my boys being weird, one I desperately hope I can still remember at age 80 will be Hudson putting on his imaginary suits, armpit length gloves included. Another would have to be when as part of a consequence, I required Hudson to take off his imaginary suit while he was in time out. Hilarious and effective. <br />
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9. That's my favwite!<br />
Here's the thing with Hud, everything is his favorite. Everything. This particular saying can apply to anything from the salad bar at Cici's to a t-shirt he has known all of 2 seconds. I love this enthusiasm. He feels exuberant joy over the most mundane things and I think that is wonderful. I don't get it, but I think it's wonderful. It's hard for me to imagine walking around the world and at every new/old/cool/weird thing I see proclaiming, "That's my favorite!" If you ask Hudson what his favorite color is he will say, "Red. Blue. Red. Yellow. All of them!" and then laugh hysterically. <br />
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10. Close your eyes, Mom!<br />
My favorite of all Hudson sayings because I know that whatever situation I open my eyes to, it will always include a sweet little boy wearing a giant smile.<br />
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Happy Birthday Hudson!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-51546674909569159112012-03-29T18:58:00.000-05:002012-03-29T18:58:39.901-05:00The R.M.S. ConnorLast month Connor's school had a book fair and he wanted to spend some of his birthday money there. Fine with me, and after some serious thought the decided $10 was a good amount (the kid is stinking rich) and I told him he could spend it on whatever he wanted. Over the years I have witnessed many a school book fair and figured my child, like so many before him, would succumb to the siren song of novelty erasers, giant pencils and other various cheap artifacts that seem to physically cry out to students at these events. <br />
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So I was surprised when he arrived home with the most depressing book ever written plus 82 cents in change. Screw the 100 dollar bill shaped erasers, we were now the proud owners of "Heroes of the Titanic." He was giddy with excitement and couldn't wait to shower, get in pajamas and cuddle up to read about the greatest maritime tragedy of all time. Every night we took turns reading about a different hero plus tons of random and apparently intriguing facts about the Titanic. But here's the deal, I am a person that doesn't even like to watch the news before falling asleep because it could potentially be too sad, so it was a real downer to fall asleep with thoughts of under used lifeboats rowing away from screaming passengers trying desperately to stay afloat in icy waters. There. See what I mean? Depressing.<br />
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I have never been so happy to finish a book, but in typical Connor fashion the obsession was only beginning. Bring on the research! "Mommy, the Titanic had 20,000 glasses on board. We only have 17 glasses." or "Mommy, where are our au gratin dishes? I want to see if they look like the Titanic's." I had to break the news that not only were ours dissimilar, they didn't even actually exist. I mean really, what if my children went around boasting that they ate out of au gratin dishes? How pretentious. I draw the line at individual souffle cups because those are clearly a necessity once a year when they get used to hold Easter egg dye. <br />
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All of this interest culminated last week, as most things do at our house, with a two man show. Connor decided that he and his brother would be reenacting the heroic story of Jack Phillips and Harold Bride, the two telegraph operators on the R.M.S. Titanic. (Ever wonder what R.M.S. stands for? Well, guess what? I now possess this knowledge! The Titanic was a Royal Mail Ship and guess what else, there were heroes in the mail room too!) But back to the show, Connor, as director, assigned parts. He was going to be Harold Bride the young operator who had always dreamed of life as a wireless operator and Hudson would be Jack Phillips, Harold's boss, mentor and friend. As we do not actually own a telegraph machine it was decided that messages would be written on paper and then physically thrown across the room to symbolize the passing of messages across the Atlantic. Connor told his brother that their ship was going to hit an iceberg and it was their job to write "help notes" to send/throw across the ocean so other ships would know to come get them. So far, so good. Hudson began writing "his letter" (a capital H) all over the paper. Side note: Hudson is exceptionally good at writing the letter H.<br />
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"Wait," Connor interrupted, "I haven't told you the surprise yet!" At the word surprise, Hudson dropped his marker, hopped to his feet and covered his eyes with his hands, clearly expecting some kind of gift to appear. Connor sighed and pulled his hands down. "No Hudson, it's just words. A word surprise. Listen to me, we are both going to work really hard sending our messages but only one of us gets to stay alive." insert dramatic pause " And it's going to be me." Hudson studied his brother's face for a minute and then said, "I be dead?" "Yes, Hudson, we both make it to the lifeboat but when the Carpathia picks us up you are already dead. You just didn't make it. But don't don't be sad, you saved lives! You sent messages until the very last minute! You are a hero!" Hudson, now warming up to the idea of his heroic demise shouted, "Oh yeah baby! I be Supa-hero and then I get dead!" <br />
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And there you go. Cue the music (inexplicably "Route 66" from the Cars soundtrack) and this show was underway. I have to say it was one of their better performances. Hudson only broke character twice, once to do his infamous booty dance (which looks exactly like it sounds) and the second time at his death scene when he chose to spice things up by eating an imaginary poisoned apple a la Snow White and then collapsing on the floor. End scene. <br />
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And that folks, is how history comes to life.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-28204115133218915792012-03-15T19:02:00.001-05:002012-03-15T19:02:25.897-05:00An Aggressive Zoom.Last month two semi devastating things happened to me. I turned 30 and my driver's license expired. Really, I was fine with 30, but the driver's license broke my heart. Unfortunately I wasn't able to renew it online which meant that I had to give up the best picture of all time. Seriously, the photo on my license was probably one of the best pictures of me ever taken, which was kind of a shame that it was wasted on a little card that people rarely saw. but I loved it. Oh, how I loved it. I was a 23 year old newlywed, tan and skinny. Now, well let's just say things look quite a bit different. I had to come to grips with giving up this photo and let's face it, people were starting to question if it was really me whenever they asked for ID and frankly that is embarrassing. <br />
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So I hit the DMV determined to make the best of this new picture situation. I actually brought a hairbrush and make up with me and spruced myself up in the parking lot, which in retrospect now seems sad. I also wore the exact same shirt from my 2004 picture. Yes, you read that right, I have and still regularly wear this one fantastic black sweater. I've actually owned it since I was a sophomore in college and love it like a child. Bottom line: I spent more time planning this one excursion to the DMV than I spent planning the birth of one Hudson Hill. I was ready.<br />
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I got to the counter (A female clerk! A good omen!) filled out my paperwork and then it was picture time. I told the nice lady the whole story and how nervous I was about the new photo. She stared at me for a second and then told me to stand in front of the blue screen. Now, knowing that in terms of picture taking (and maybe just life in general) the farther one stands away from me the better, I backed myself so far against that screen that I literally pushed into a man seated at a desk behind the screen taking his commercial license exam. I should have felt bad especially since I had already overheard that he was on his last attempt at this test after two previous failures, but I didn't have time to dwell, that lady was ready to click! One slight head tilt, smiley eyes and a millisecond later we were done. I rushed back over to the counter and asked if I could see the picture. She kindly agreed and turned the monitor to me. I about fainted. It was the most hideous photo I have ever seen. I don't know if you know this about me but I suffer from a debilitating disease called Fat Face. It is kind of the long lost 3rd cousin twice removed of unfortunate diseases and no one is hosting a celebrity filled telethon to raise money for it's eradication, but trust me, it's real and it's tragic. To rub even more salt in the wound the clerk then created a split screen of my last photo and my new one for comparison. Even she said, "Yeah, that's just not great." At least we were on the same page.<br />
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I took a deep breath and went into damage control. I told the lady, "Okay, I think this is fixable. I feel like the camera was zoomed a little aggressively. See on my last photo, it is shot from the collarbone up. The new one starts at my double chin and that is never a good place to begin a photo. You can't see any of my sweater. Also I'm thinking I should have pushed either one of both sides of my hair behind my ear. What do you think?" I then demonstrated both a one, then two sided hair tuck. She was quiet for a minute and then said, "I think both looks better. You see more of your face." Okay, now we were in business. I moved back in front of the blue screen and said, "Thanks so much! Remember the farther away the better." She looked at me like I was nuts and said, "Oh, there's no retakes. It's a done deal." <br />
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What. The. Crap. <br />
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I felt like I was in the twilight zone. Had we not just had a lengthy conversation about what I could have done to make that picture better? A conversation she willingly participated in? And for what? Nothing! I signed off on the worst picture I have ever taken and then was forced to pay for it (that really hurt). I left feeling demoralized and discouraged and added the DMV to the list of places where a piece of my soul has died (it's now #2 behind Chuck E. Cheese in case you are wondering). Matt tried to encourage me by saying that it would probably look better on the actual license. <br />
Well guess what? It doesn't. <br />
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So I tucked that little friend behind my old license and plan on showing it only under threat of arrest.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-31068324623221369572012-02-20T20:45:00.001-06:002012-02-20T20:45:06.146-06:00The Hair ApparentAs most of you probably know, in January, Hudson cut his own hair. Not just a little bit, a lot. Right in the front. Actually, if you want the specifics, he removed his double cowlick down to the scalp. He thought it looked awesome. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror brushing his teeth those were in fact his exact words, "Oh my gosh. I looks so awesome." <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hair massacre of 2012</td></tr>
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You might be wondering what kind of parent leaves her child unattended with scissors and to that I say, "This kind of parent and you have obviously not met this child." He is always on the lookout for "fun" and even though we try our darndest to keep sharp objects out of his reach, he has a special gift for finding them out. So after the great hair massacre I was faced with the dilemma of fixing his handiwork. This was tough and we got a lot of suggestions the most common being buzzing it all off. This wasn't going to work for me. I have spent over three years cultivating one of the the strangest heads of hair you could ever imagine and finally got it long enough and trained enough to lay flat. No way was I starting over on that hot mess. I decided that I could just wait it out. After all, when he ran around outside and the wind blew, you could hardly tell that he was missing at least 1/8 of his hair. Plus he's super cute, so that has to count for something. <br />
<br />
We lasted almost four whole weeks and it started to feel like we were living that old adage, watched pots never boil. Apparently watched hair never flipping grows. So the day after Valentines I decided to take him in and see what could be done. We went to our usual place and while Connor was getting his straw toupee trimmed, Hudson took a seat in the adjoining chair. His conversation with the stylist went like this. "Hi Hudson, did you cut your own hair?" "I did. I do so good." "Well it looks interesting, can I trim it up for you?" long pause for a moment of quiet reflection "I trim it now. You give me scissors?" <br />
Oh good grief, I felt like it was time for me to step in before he batted his eyelashes and she handed over the scissors. This might be the right time to mention how my three year old pronounces the word scissors. If I have to make a comparison, I would say he sounds exactly like the Taco Bell chihuaha. See-zors. As in, "You give me see-zors?" There, I wanted you to have that visual, now back to the salon. I could tell that this poor girl was feeling stressed even though I tried to be very upfront in my expectations. I wasn't looking for a miracle, I just wanted some blending. She got to work and it hadn't been five minutes of snipping when she stopped and announced, "I don't think I can do this. It is just too short in that one spot." Again, being the laid back and no-pressure parent that I am, I reminded her that we just wanted her to try her best and frankly the last person that cut it was a three year old, so really our standards were pretty low. After a couple of more minutes she brought in a couple of more ladies to consult. So at this point Hudson is lapping up the attention with a spoon while three women fawn over him and rub his head. They decide that maybe cutting it dry would help, so out came the blow dryer. This entertained the crap out of Hudson. Once dry, the analysis continued along with a few tentative snips of the scissors. No wait, it definitely needed to be wet again. Snip....snip. It was taking forever and frankly by now Connor and I were over it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think you can tell by her hand that she is worried. Hudson on the other hand, not so much.</td></tr>
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After another ten minutes she turned to me and said, "So, do you want to keep the sideburns?" For some reason I found this question hilarious and started laughing like a lunatic. I told her if it was possible to transplant the sideburns to his forehead then please by all means go for it, if not then I consider sideburns to be the very least of our problems. On it went, this never ending haircut. She kept muttering to herself and I could tell we were slowly breaking her spirit. We seem to have a natural talent for spirit breaking and sometimes it truly doesn't feel like a complete day unless we have made someone question their life's calling. <br />
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Finally! She finished/gave up and whirled him around along with the disclaimer, "I am so sorry this is the best we can do, but I think it looks ok?" Hmm, I thought ok was a pretty generous adjective to describe what was happening on top of that little angel's head. Was it worse? No. Was it better? Absolutely not. It was just a whole different kind of bad. Now instead of a big chunk of hair missing, I had just paid $16 (plus tip) for my preschooler to sport a five-head. You know a forehead that is so gigantic it has to be called a five-head? <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The five-head</td></tr>
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So we are back to waiting for tiny blonde hairs to grow. I am not that great at patience and it certainly doesn't help that every time I look at his hair this is what I see.....<br />
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It's uncanny, right?<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-24052370247399772172012-01-10T21:12:00.000-06:002012-01-10T21:12:18.358-06:00One Boy: Extra Sweet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was looking through Connor's note drawer, the place he keeps his beloved lists and journal pages and found this one sitting on top. "Two weeks of Diabetes." Those four words pretty much say it all. As if I could forget any of the days, minutes or seconds that have passed since we got the news, and as you can probably tell from the note, Connor hasn't either. <br />
<br />
To say life at our house has changed would be an understatement. Even though I have lived with Type 1 Diabetes for almost 15 years, Connor's diagnosis at the age of 5 hit us like a physical blow. Yes, I know there are way worse <a href="http://www.adriftinaseaoftestosterone.blogspot.com/2011/11/thanksgiving.html">things</a> in the scary world of childhood illness and yes, we know that it is a completely manageable disease, but it still hurt like a punch in the face. Even though the symptoms were classic and we could not think of any other reasonable explanation and in my heart I knew what the doctor would say before we even stepped into that exam room, I cannot express to you how desperately Matt and I wanted this to be a fluke thing, a virus, a random infection but not diabetes. I think it is a innate feeling in parents everywhere to want better for your own children than you had. I don't talk about my diabetes a lot, in fact as little as possible because it is something I live with every day and I don't ever want to burden anyone else with it or have people feel like they need to feel sorry for me, because they don't. I just never wanted this life for either of my boys. Don't get me wrong, I have a great life, but there is never a single day where I don't think about diabetes and it's impact on my life. No matter how hard I work at it or how easy I make it look, it is still a burden, some days more than others and now my baby is shouldering that same burden but on a much smaller and bonier set of shoulders. In a way, I feel like Connor got cheated. I got fifteen years to be a carefree, sometimes stupid kid without a lot of worry in my life. Connor got five and that doesn't seem like enough. <br />
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Connor, in his usual fashion, has really impressed us over the last two weeks. He has been so incredibly brave and understanding beyond his years. Four days after his diagnosis he was doing all of his own finger sticks and giving himself his five daily injections, which completely blew our minds. He came downstairs one morning and announced that he would be giving all his own shots from now on. Why? "Because I'm a man, Mommy." As happy as we were for his independent streak to come out, it was another tiny crack in my heart, because he isn't a man, he is a little boy doing grown up things. After giving both his morning shots in his legs, he looked up at us and said, "I knew it. It hurts way worse when you and Daddy give them to me." Ouch. Literally. <br />
<br />
We are slowly getting out of survival mode and moving towards a new normal. Connor is back at school, a place where he finds immeasurable joy, and most of our days have been happy. He is becoming pals with the school nurse and he told me yesterday that she is working with him to teach him everything he already knows. "Mommy, I let her tell me even though I know how to do it all, because it makes her happy to show me." That's my boy! We are carefully navigating the sometimes stormy emotional waters of a five year old diabetic and though those sad or mad (or "smad" as my preteen husband has named them) moments have been blessedly few so far, they have served as reminders for his dad and I that no matter how mature he is or how ridiculously high his IQ, in that freakishly tall body still beats the heart of a five year old who wants answers and explanations that don't exist. Man, that hurts. But the good news is that it hurt a tiny bit less today than yesterday.<br />
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So thanks to everyone for all the sweet messages and prayers, we have been more flaky than usual in responding, but we saw and appreciated all of them. And thanks to our friends that didn't look horrified when we showed up places looking like hobos and spontaneously started crying. I am proud to say that I only cried in front of 3 out of 4 of my bosses. That 4th one was a major test in willpower and I made it!<br />
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And for those of you that might be worried that this major life change might have squeezed some of the weirdness out of our oldest child, I saved this last story especially for you. So the last step in insulin injecting that Connor isn't doing by himself is actually putting the insulin in the syringe, but he has been dying to do it. He walked up before dinner last night and said, "Mommy, I really want to do this all by myself, can I please put the Maxima in the needle?" I paused, thought for a second and said, "Can you put the what in the needle?" He stared at me like I had lost my mind and said, "The Maxima. That is what I started calling the insulin. So can I do it or what? Me and Hector are starving!" I glanced over at Hector/Hudson and he gave me a dirty look and said, "Where the maxima? I so hungry!" Oh that crazy Carlos, why go weird solo when you can drag your brother along for the ride?<br />
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Long live the Maxima!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-62882256755626690962011-12-04T15:40:00.001-06:002011-12-04T16:15:20.814-06:00Dear Connor, From SantaDear Connor,<br />
I just want to start out by saying you have been a really good boy this year. Really. Frankly, I've been impressed. However, I have some bad news. You know that toy at the top of your Christmas list? The one whose commercial you have memorized and talked about for months? Right, that one. Well, here's the thing. Santa would love to put that present under the tree for you big guy, but I just can't in good conscience do it. That particular item has a one star review on Amazon and frankly, Connor, that is not an easy thing for Santa to overlook. Some of the reviews include such gems as, "the worst made piece of crap I have ever spent money on," or "is it possible to give negative stars because I think this junk deserves negative stars." and those are the ones safe for children's ears. See my problem? There was even some speculation on the lead content of it's paint and Santa just can't have the shadow of a product recall hanging over his head. <br />
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I know you are going to feel disappointed, but think about how you would feel if you saw that bright shiny, obnoxiously marketed box under the tree and ripped into it ready to play with your dream toy, when all of a sudden it breaks because it truly is an over priced piece of poorly made crap-ola that won't even survive the day. The emotional roller coaster throwing you from the highest high to the lowest low will be almost more than you can take. Trust Santa, this is for the best. Wait, Santa understands that hypothetical disappointment is a hard thing for a five year old to visualize, even a super smart one like you, so let me take you back to a memory from Christmas Past. Remember last year, when Santa brought you and your brother that wicked awesome remote control airplane? Your family was so excited to try it out and Connor, it was truly glorious. Glorious for those few short hours until your daddy flew it onto your neighbor's second story roof never to be seen again. That, son, was disappointment and it felt horrible. Santa desperately wants to shield you from ever having that feeling on December 25th again. <br />
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Still think you want to risk it, maybe you're thinking that those 103 negative reviews were all just flukes? Let's visit another memory. Two years ago, Santa delivered a tiny, yet quite pricey mini helicopter that sadly met it's fate minutes after you awoke, when your dad kamikazed it into the tile floor. It just wasn't built to withstand your daddy's sad aviation skills and that's when Santa decided to start checking the online reviews. Again, Connor, that was disappointment and we just can't have a repeat of that this Christmas. <br />
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Thanks for being so understanding, Sport. Santa never wants to let good kids down, but I think in the long run you will see that I did you a favor here. Feel free to select a new favorite toy to put at the top of your list and I will see what I can do. In the meantime, I will be finishing up my article titled, "The Louder the Commercial, the Crappier the Toy." Look for it in your stocking.<br />
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Love,<br />
The Big Guy in Red.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-58290114724892509372011-11-23T10:21:00.001-06:002011-11-23T11:20:49.938-06:00ThanksgivingFor the last couple of years I have written a Thanksgiving post about all the blessings in my life, namely the three loves of my life. While I am still thankful for those particular blessings, this year I wanted to dedicate my Thanksgiving post to another child that has taken up a big piece of my heart. A couple of years ago, I decided to submit my name into a pool for home bound teachers in our school district. When Matt was sick in high school, he had a home bound teacher that really made an impact on him. We still talk about her to this day and I thought if there was a need, I might be able to help someone in the same way. After submitting my name, I didn't hear anything back and pretty much forgot about it. Over a year later, I was contacted by a school to work with a third grader named Chenee. There are a million things to know about Chenee, the least of which is that she has leukemia. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JSeO50qND7KZNc8jm5CyUnU1xCbBUl96sJjNsWfUfc0BxCLisEc5R0ZBDHZlIN_tQw5gevxaZIUG5wYkVgA5lv8-PVtFINHokkQ2jIit0OOdEYosMyTsB_ZFuaPIJ3AX4msoF9_9y8fn/s1600/180728_1823400074858_1535921978_1899375_596154_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JSeO50qND7KZNc8jm5CyUnU1xCbBUl96sJjNsWfUfc0BxCLisEc5R0ZBDHZlIN_tQw5gevxaZIUG5wYkVgA5lv8-PVtFINHokkQ2jIit0OOdEYosMyTsB_ZFuaPIJ3AX4msoF9_9y8fn/s400/180728_1823400074858_1535921978_1899375_596154_n.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
When I first started visiting her at home, I didn't really know what to expect. I had never been around an eight year old with cancer before, so I was worried that it might be sad or scary. I was nervous. But walking into the Cayco home was like walking into a beam of sunlight. Being around Chenee and her family is like seeing the physical embodiment of joy walking around in human form. She has a mom and dad, an older brother and a spunky little grandma they call Momma Lola. Her parents work night and day to keep their family afloat and take care of their little girl. I worked with Chenee four days a week until the end of school with the hopes that she would be able to start back with her classmates in August. In the time that I taught Chenee, we sometimes worked at home, sometimes in the hospital and never once did I see her with less than a mega watt smile on her face. Even though I knew in my heart she was sick, I knew she was hurting and I knew she was tired, she and her whole family always seemed happy. They tell me that they know there is a higher plan for Chenee and they have faith and peace in that plan. In short, they are amazing.<br />
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As a bonus to my visits, they always treat me like royalty. I have never stepped foot in their home or hospital room without being treated to a home cooked meal plus had left overs to take home to my boys. I have been introduced to a variety of Filipino foods and Chenee is a crack shot baker. They are incredibly gracious and humble and are so grateful for the help I give their child that it makes me want to cry every time I think about it. Frankly, I'm not that great of a teacher :) Sometimes we just talk. I have most definitely given her some questionable math instruction over the past couple of years and we are currently starting a science fair project that is already walking a very fine line between genius and disaster.<br />
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Chenee did start back to school at the beginning of fourth grade and I never thought I would be so happy to be out of a job. Unfortunately, she needed me again a few months into the school year. That is pretty much how our time together has gone since 3rd grade, she goes to school when she is able and when she isn't, she gets me. She is now a 5th grader and I got the call earlier this month that it was time for me to head back to the Cayco household. It had been a couple of months since I had seen Chenee in person and when Momma Lola opened the door she exclaimed, "Oh my goodness Melissa, you have gotten so big!" What a welcome, right? I had to laugh when Chenee explained that she was pretty sure she meant that I had gotten taller, although I know for a fact I have been this exact height since the 7th grade. Nothing like having your Filipino grandma call you out for weight gain! Nonetheless, they keep stuffing my fat face with delicious food and I just can't say no. <br />
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So, our work continues and even though it sounds cliche, I know that I am learning as much as Chenee, and not just about 5th grade math. I am learning what grace under pressure looks like. I am learning about finding joy even though you are facing terrifying odds and I am learning about peace that passes understanding every single afternoon that I sit at her kitchen table. Chenee can't get better without a bone marrow transplant and right now, a match has not been found. I have never heard her parents bemoan this fact, they are just resolute in their belief that they only need one person and that person is out there for Chenee. This week during our last visit before Thanksgiving, I asked what they were going to do for the holiday. This family is always having a party and I love it. Chenee thought for a minute and said that they were going to have a special celebration this Thanksgiving because two years ago on Thanksgiving they were in the hospital hearing that their only daughter was being diagnosed with leukemia. She gave me one of her giant smiles and said, "This Thanksgiving we are celebrating two good years." <br />
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So this year, I am thankful for two good years with Chenee and praying for her to have ninety more.<br />
<br />
I am including a link to a piece from the local news about Chenee's search for a bone marrow match and encourage you to get on the bone marrow registry. Share this with anyone you can so we can get the word out about this little girl's fight. All she needs is one person. <br />
<a href="http://www.wfaa.com/home/related/Wanted-Bone-marrow-match-for-10-year-old-Filipino-girl-130564078.html">http://www.wfaa.com/home/related/Wanted-Bone-marrow-match-for-10-year-old-Filipino-girl-130564078.html</a><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-29683049620194895532011-11-23T08:17:00.001-06:002011-11-27T18:06:11.236-06:00Easy PeasyA few weeks ago Connor and I ran in our first 5K. Maybe I should say Connor ran his first 5k, while I merely finished. Yes, that feels more honest. When we signed up, I had these lofty dreams of impressing my runner child by completing this run with dignity and my head held high. Yeah, that didn't happen. We signed up with the uncles and Ms. Karen (who furthered shamed me by running the 10K). Earlier in the week, this <a href="http://adriftinaseaoftestosterone.blogspot.com/2011/10/my-dignity-is-worth-exactly-one-flesh.html">incident</a> happened. My knee was still shredded and prone to spontaneous bleeding and my training thus far had consisted of absolutely nothing. I had decided to following the training plan of "Just Wing It", so I was obviously not in peak physical condition. The scene was set for humiliation, but I was not going to let my oldest son down.<br />
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The run started out with a hill. Fantastic. We had agreed that in the likelihood of my inability to keep up, Uncle Aaron, armed with a black market inhaler from Mexico, would become Connor's running partner. I felt like on a 3.2 mile run, at least one adult needed to keep him in sight in case a random child predator decided to crash the course. You never know. I was left behind almost immediately. I also immediately wanted to quit, because I am pretty much a quitter, especially since my own kid, who I was there to teach a lesson on not quitting, wasn't even going to see if I did it or not! But I powered on alone. I kept up a very steady walk with occasional spurts of gentle running. I made sure I wasn't at the very last of the pack because I have watched Connor at enough of the runs to know how the person at the end of the group is treated. There is always a lot of yelling and cheering for the person that finishes last. That seems really sweet and encouraging except when you realize that the people generally finishing last are overcoming some kind of significant physical disability, or are in the 85+ age category, or are 9 months pregnant and trying to induce labor. They deserve those shouts of encouragement because they have truly accomplished something great often while overcoming tremendous hardships. I don't think I can consider being an out-of-shape fat chick who is ticked because she forgot her ear buds a disability worthy of having a finish line full of people cheering me on. How embarrassing. <br />
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After a while, I started to see people headed back in the opposite direction which meant that they had reached the halfway point and turned around. That also meant that I would soon be seeing my child for the first time since the run started. I kicked it into high gear because I didn't want to shame him. That only lasted for about 72 seconds and then I got tired again. I should probably point out that my scab had by this time split open and I was bleeding again which furthered added to my good mood. I also passed by the most interesting garage sale so slowly that I could have typed out an inventory for the homeowner by memory. If only I had my wallet! Finally, I saw Aaron and Connor headed my way. Aaron didn't look great, which cheered me up immensely. I could tell he had been puffing on the Mexican inhaler. Connor had his game face on, Ipod in place, running like a champ.....until he saw me. I wish I had a camera to take a picture of the look of confusion on his face, like he was genuinely surprised that I was not only not right behind him but at least a mile back. He was shocked and to make sure everyone knew that he was mine and I was his, called out, "Mommy, why are you going so slow?" <br />
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I finally reached the turnaround and headed back to the finish line. At this point, there are now 10K runners passing me, but that didn't even phase me. I had been running next to this sweet older lady and she said, "Well this is humiliating, I can't believe they have already run twice as far and are passing us." I told her, "Hey, once my 5 year old lapped me I gave up all semblance of dignity." I think you could also probably infer our rate of speed by how easy it was to carry on in depth conversation : ) <br />
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Finally! The finish line! There was my sweet boy waiting to cheer me on! I wasn't last after all and I was so relieved. Of course, he had already been done so long that he had time to eat 2 yogurts, a banana and an apple, but who cares? We did it! I was so proud of him, he finished 12th in his age group and was by far the youngest runner to place that high. As for me, well let's just say I did not finish anywhere close to 12th in any age category. I asked him when it was all said and done if he liked the shorter 1 mile races better or the long ones and he said, "The long ones, Mommy. That was easy peasy." <br />
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Ah yes, that was my exact thought as well, minus a few four letter words.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-66081589024429999262011-10-28T20:36:00.001-05:002011-10-28T20:36:40.257-05:00My Dignity is Worth Exactly One Flesh Toned BandageSo I had a really graceful moment this week. Probably my most graceful moment of the year. If I had to rank this on my scale of personal professionalism it would have to rank higher (as in less professional) than the time I cleaned my sunglasses with toddler underwear in front of my boss. Here is what happened. I take Connor to school early one morning a week because he has Legos class. On this particular morning I also had an early meeting way across town that I absolutely could not be late to. Usually on these mommy drop off mornings, I wait on the porch with him, watch him walk in and then sometimes stay to stare at the empty space he used to occupy for another minute or two. Every week there are lots of kids hanging out on the porch parentless, waiting to get in, but clearly their parents don't love them as much as I love my kid :) However, on this particular day I told Connor that I was going to have to drop him off on the porch with all the other kids and take off because I had a ways to go and absolutely could not be late to this meeting! I was feeling pretty guilty about this because I'd never done it before, even though the doors open at 7:30 and we walked up at 7:27, I still felt bad. And even though he would be in the building before I even made it back to my car I still felt that working mommy guilt. But nonetheless I felt that pressure of new job, big meeting so I powered through, kissed him goodbye and started heading back to my car. I was parked on the street directly across from the porch and made it literally one step off the sidewalk and fell. Hard. It was not an "oops, I just stumbled, how embarrassing" kind of fall. It was pretty major and more than a little embarrassing. I should probably mention at this point what I was wearing. Since it was our first day of cool weather in ages I busted out my cute tall boots and a knee length skirt. I thought I should clarify what length the skirt was, just in case you were picturing another kind of "professional." This ensemble made the fall all the more awkward. <br />
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As I fell, I landed with my entire, considerable body weight on my right knee. It drove into the broken asphalt like a jackhammer and then hurt so bad, I couldn't recover and just fell completely over. I know, super elegant. All this happened while a school bus waiting to turn into the parking lot, idled next to me, full of children with their face pressed against the windows. That's called a real world education kids. So I hoisted myself up using the handle of my car door and threw my body in the car to survey the damage. It wasn't pretty. After brushing off the pieces of gravel size asphalt I realized that I had pretty much removed all the skin from my knee cap. It was bleeding profusely and being the always prepared mother I am, I had no Kleenex, wipes or napkins with which to staunch the bleeding. All I had was a spare shirt of Connor's, left in the car because everyday that the Rangers have been in the world series, we have had to travel with his championship shirt so as soon as his butt hit the seat in the afternoon he could whip off his uniform shirt and throw on his Rangers gear. Blood was running down my leg and into my cute boots so I did what any desperate person would do, I licked the shirt to get it wet and started to clean the blood off my leg, all while driving, because remember I could not be late to this training session. It was not my proudest moment. I made it to the meeting and felt like I had a pretty good handle on my injury. Don't get me wrong it hurt like the devil and every time I lifted my foot off the gas, my key chain banged against my knee and I had to hold back tears. But I had to rise above the pain and try to save any shred of dignity I had left, because lest we forget, I am a professional. I hobbled in and asked a couple of friends in the elevator if they thought it looked okay, and by the horrified looks on their faces I realized it might not just be an overdramatization on my part. It looked nasty. But whatever, I sat down and made a personal vow not to get up because I didn't want to draw any more attention to my humiliation which, again, hurt like nobody's business. In talking with another friend, she got a grossed out look on her face and said, "Um, I think you need a napkin or something, blood is running down your leg." Oh, fabulous! <br />
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On the car ride over, I called Matt to explain to him that the dark cloud of bad luck that seems to follow me everywhere had struck again. He actually had the nerve to accuse me of exaggerating my injury. That offended me so I stopped to take a picture with my phone and sent it to him. His response, "Oh my lord. That is so embarrassing." Thank You Honey! After a while, someone was nice enough to find me a giant elbow bandage, probably because people were getting sick of looking at my wound every time I hit the snack table. The bandage was a lovely flesh tone. I'm not sure whose flesh tone this particular bandage was modeled after but it wasn't a close match to my already pasty white winter skin, but since bleeders can't be choosers I stuck it on and made it through the day. <br />
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So alone, this might not have been blog worthy. After all, I do stupid stuff every day but there's more. I also have the added pressure of running a 5K with Connor tomorrow. It's his first 5K and being the compassionate child he is, checked out my injury and said, "Mom, I am really worried that this is going to slow us down." Um yeah, me too, that's definitely my biggest worry. I think I might be slowed to a gentle walk. So since it hurts every time I extend my leg like, for example, when I take a step, I'm sure tomorrow's big run is going to be a really fun and enjoyable experience. But since my child has been looking forward to this for months, I am going to slap a smile (possibly a grimace) on my face and watch as he leaves me in the dust.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-11418437511816102802011-10-03T10:33:00.001-05:002011-10-03T10:33:29.886-05:00Kinder CreeperSo Connor has just completed his first six weeks of Kindergarten and he loves it. I mean, he really loves it. Which is a good thing. There are a couple of things that have come up though, that have me slightly concerned. But only a couple, so I think that we're doing pretty well. <br />
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My first concern is the weirdness level that Connor is exhibiting at school. I know he has to be himself, but if I could control things (which I obviously cannot) I would like to keep the weirdness level down to about 30 percent. From the stories he is telling me, I am afraid we are maxing out at about 75 percent. That's a lot of weird. For example, a couple of weeks ago there was a substitute in his class while his teacher went to a prearranged meeting. That afternoon, I asked how it went. Before I go into the detailed story, let me just give you the bottom line.....it went weird. Connor first informed me that he was disappointed in his substitute because, although he was very nice, he didn't actually teach him anything. Hmm. Connor has a very literal definition of what learning looks like and it doesn't usually fit the traditional kindergarten model, so this didn't surprise me. We've been addressing this issue all school year. He said, "Mommy, he didn't even speak Spanish to me so since I wasn't learning anything new I decided to observe him." Um, what? He went on, "He was a tallish man with no hair on top,but sand colored hair on the sides and he smelled like a grandpa. He had on black pants, brown shoes and a grey or green shirt. I'm not sure which one because you know I'm color blind Mommy." Wait, there's more. "He also had on a black belt, black socks and a striped tie. The tie was my favorite part and I spent a lot of time on that when I was drawing him."<br />
Hold the phone! I asked what he meant by, "drawing him" and he said, "Mom, I have to write down my observations so I drew and colored the substitute and it took me a long time because I had to keep stopping to watch him." Okay, the needle on the weirdness meter just shot up to the red zone. I am now picturing this poor substitute teacher who probably was someone's sweet old grandpa in a room full of kindergartners being obviously watched by a super creepy tall kid with overly intense eyes. Short of a career as a police sketch artist, I don't think this type of behavior is going to serve him well in life. And here is the best part, when I asked him what happened to this drawing he said, "I left it on Ms. Garcia's desk so she could see what he looked like when she comes back from her meeting." Oh fantastic, instead of bringing the weirdness home where we could bury it in the giant manila envelope titled, "Connor-Kinder-1st six weeks" we left it on display for not only his regular teacher, but also that poor sub to see. I feel like we are already behind the eight ball a little as the five year old who keeps a daily calendar in which he records the lesson objectives and then checks them off after he has reviewed them at home, I'm just not sure what adding the title, "Substitute Profiler" is going to do to his street cred. <br />
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So moving on from my concerns about public weirdness to my concerns about his citizenship (the behavior type, not the origin of birth type). Connor ended the entire first six weeks on green. If you are unfamiliar with his particular kindergarten color code of behavior, green is the best you can get. I should feel elated that my child is behaving himself but instead I have overthought it to the extreme. What an unusual feeling for me :) What has me worried is that Connor has now proclaimed that he will spend the entire year on green. He is really into the personal goal setting and this one is a big one. Come on, that just isn't realistic. I know he is messing up at school, he just isn't getting caught or his teacher is being too nice. I live with the kid, I know he isn't perfect! But he has this enormous expectation for himself that I think is entirely unreasonable and that is my problem. I expect my children to be well behaved, sometimes they are and sometimes they aren't. But I don't ever want my kids to think that their parents expect them to be perfect. We don't have that expectation, but HE does. The longer the green streak goes on, the more disappointed I think he is going to feel when the time comes to change his color. And trust me people, that time is coming. It's life! I am starting to feel like we are walking around with this giant green cloud hanging over us and I just want to get the inevitable over with so we can talk about it and move on. Normally when I overthink and obsess about things, Matt is always the voice of reason, but I would like to announce that this time he is in agreement with me! This is definitely "a moment" in our marriage. We were filling out paperwork to schedule our first parent teacher conference in a couple of weeks and as we were checking the calendar for potential times, Matt looked at me and said, "Listen, when we go to this, I don't want to sit there and listen for 15 minutes about how perfect and wonderful he is, I want her to tell us some stuff that he needs to be working on at home." Oh how I love that man. But now I have to think of a way to word a potentially awkward email in which my message needs to be, "Dear Ms. Garcia, thanks for teaching our kid, please spare us the niceties and tell us all the things he has been doing wrong so we have something to address at home. Think really hard about it and don't hold back. Okay, we're ready. Go."<br />
I'm betting if that teacher doesn't have a personal Hill Family Weirdness meter by now, she will by the time that conference is over! Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-92116086312285775712011-09-09T21:43:00.001-05:002011-09-09T21:43:08.779-05:00El Presidente<div>
The other day Connor woke up with a lot on his mind, specifically the state of our government. Not really, but he had lots of questions about how one gets to be President of this great country. He asked me lots of questions ranging from my thoughts on George Washington to the voting process. It was kind of exhausting. </div>
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Keeping in mind that he is still only five, I tried to sum up the basics of the electoral process as best I could, knowing though, that if I dumbed it down too much, he could very easily call me out on it and I would end up looking stupid. I skimmed over the electoral college, because let's face it, even as an adult that still kind of confuses me, and frankly, he is about two episodes of The Daily Show away from being politically smarter than either one of his parents, so I just can't chance it. He was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fascinated</span> by the process of voting. After I explained how it works, he sat for a few minutes quietly processing. I have learned after a few years of conversations with my oddly bright child that during this quiet time I have to go against my natural <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">instinct</span> to fill the silence with more words and just let him do his thing. After thinking it through he said, "So let me get this straight, to vote you go to a place like the library and then you go in a room and pick who you want to be president. Then you come out and yell, 'I choose Connor! I want Connor Hill!'" Then all the spectators would clap.</div>
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Okay........ so not exactly. And somewhere along the way our conversation veered from how does "one" become president to how does "Connor" become president. He had obviously put more consideration into this than I had originally thought. I told him there were a lot more specifics to the process than I had told him originally but he had the general idea. I asked him what kind of president he thought he wanted to be and he said, "Well, kind of like George Washington but a lot better." Well that is a start, I guess. He told me that he has some big plans for his presidency such as helping people not just get jobs but get jobs that they like. Then he is going to make sure that all kids get to go to schools (a sad fact that bothers him endlessly) and he hopes that they get teachers like his mommy so that everyone will love school as much as he does. That really melted this mother of the fake president's heart. He also wants everyone to like the color red and get to wear whatever they want to school. That feels a little left wing to me :) Then he told me the thing he was most excited about was giving speeches. <br />
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Ah, the speeches. <br />
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Thanks to a particular moment on the morning announcements at school, he has decided that he would like to devote a large portion of his life to speech giving. The topics vary. We have heard orations on everything from the importance of always trying your best to the most efficient way to double knot shoe laces. His target audience is always his brother, who honestly does not have the patience to listen to Connor expound on the eternal debate of white milk (Good for your bones and not very much sugar) and chocolate milk (A lot more sugar but makes your stomach so happy). Having Hud as the audience is probably good practice for a future political career since it is forcing Connor to get used to heckling. <br />
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He went to his room to think some more about his presidency. I took the opportunity to pray that my child will eventually choose a less smarmy career. A little while later he came down with his latest list of plans. He had some words he wanted me to translate into Spanish because he will apparently be running on some sort of bilingual platform. Then he also told me that Hudson needed to get dressed up (preferably in a vest) because he was going to be his helper. It was going to be Hudson's job to hold his papers while he gave speeches and play the music. His campaign song? "Life is a Highway." I mean, really, what else could it be? <br />
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Later on when Dad got home we were retelling the events of the day and filling him in on the plan. He listened to it all and then looked at me and said, "Good grief Melissa, this must be what the Kennedys felt like. Let's give Jack and Bobby a bath and then we'll watch the Rangers." <br />
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I wonder if Rose Kennedy understood the electoral college. Probably.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-78021740825993755022011-09-02T21:13:00.000-05:002011-09-02T21:13:46.366-05:00Grey Hair #1327Rarely does an incident happen in our house where I instantly think, "This is blog worthy." Usually I need a few days or maybe even a week of distance to really see a situation for how horrifying it truly was, but not last night. Oh no, last night was so ridiculous, no amount of distance is going to help clarify my perspective. Here is what happened. <br />
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Matt had to work late so the kids and I were on our own. We decided to meet up with some of our friends at our favorite Mexican restaurant. It sounded like fun, plus I didn't have to cook. It was essentially a perfect plan. But you know what they say about the best laid plans....they end up in public humiliation. So anyway, we have been to this restaurant at least a 100 times, so of course my children feel extremely comfortable there and strut around like they own the place. Whatever, I was still in my happy place because I got to see friends and eat food I didn't cook! We arrived early and were shown to our table. We had been seated for exactly .37 seconds when Hud announced in an extrememly loud, peircing voice that he had, "to go tee tee! BAD!!" Okay, off we all went to the restrooms. As we approached, I turned around to make sure Connor was following and in that split second, Hud raced into the men's restroom. Oh! No, no, no! Immediately, I felt a twinge of panic. Here we were, fatherless and now my three year old had just raced into a very busy men's bathroom unattended. I turned to Connor and said, "Get in there and get your brother." This stressed him because it was in direct conflict with our usual bathroom policy :No one goes in alone and if anyone ever says a word to you in a restroom, you run out screaming. No exceptions. Is that policy a little extreme? I think not. <br />
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Faced with this task, Connor literally squared his shoulders and pushed his way in to "rescue" his brother while I hovered like at the door like some kind of pervert, averting my eyes everytime it swung open. As I said,there was a lot of foot traffic in and out and each time the door opened I could hear bits and pieces of the battle royale unfolding inside. Here is a little sample, <br />
"Hudson! Unlock this door right now! We can't be in here alone with men!"<br />
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"Leave alone Connor! I tee tee in this potty now!"<br />
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Then, "Don't make me come in there Hudson!" Oh sweet Lord!<br />
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At this point, I am coming up with plan B to retrieve them because I am now visualizing Hudson's usual potty routine. When H uses a kid potty he is golden, but in order to balance himself on an adult size toilet he has to pretty much do the splits to stay balanced or he falls completely in. In order to do splits worthy of Cirque del Soleil he must remove both his pants and underwear. So now I know that in a stall in that restroom is my youngest child at least partially naked, possibly fully naked, if he could manage it and the mood struck. Maybe now is the proper time to mention that he was also wearing his Super H cape. I just want you to get the full visual. All of a sudden the door swung open and an elderly man came out and asked, "Are those your boys in there?" I wanted to say, "No, why?" but instead lowered my head slightly and said, "Yes sir." He looked at me for a second and said, "I'm going to tell you a story about what is going on in there, but only if you promise that you won't fuss at them when they come out." Are you kidding me? There is going to be a heck of a lot more than "fussing" going on when those two rapscallions emerge from that restroom. But I couldn't say that because he seemed really sweet, so I simply said, "I promise sir. Just tell me."<br />
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He recapped the part I had heard where Connor threatened to "come in there" and then as he was washing his hands saw Hudson throw his cape under the stall and command, "Hold this Connor." Connor, taking that as some sort of sign, donned the cape and crawled under the stall. There was a a lot of scuffling and after a long moment and half a dozen toilet flushes, they emerged together. Hudson was once again wearing the cape. At this point in his retelling, the man says, "I was already done washing my hands but I really just wanted to see what they would do next." He said they came and stood next to him at the sink and Connor hoisted him up to the sink, the whole time lecturing on how they were not allowed to be in there and if any "men talk to us we have to run out of here screaming Hudson, do you understand me?" Connor washed his hands, then Hudson's and then smoothed his brother's hair down with water and was in the process of drying both their hands and Hudson's hair with the hot air dryer when the man decided to come out and relay what he witnessed. Sure enough, towards the end of the story, out came my two children no worse for the wear but looking guilty as heck. Well strike that, Connor looked guilty, Hudson looked bored. We started walking back towards the tables with this really sweet old man and he said, "I have to tell you that was the funniest damn thing I have seen in a long time and those are two of these sweetest brothers I've ever come across. I wanted to tell them I thought they did a good job in there, but I didn't want them to run out screaming. Now you remember what you promised me. No fussing." <br />
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Well I guess if he is going to put it that way.....maybe it was a little funny. Especially since Hudson's shorts and underwear were both still on backwards. <br />
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And Matt wonders why I am going grey. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-36588310587979666762011-08-29T20:06:00.007-05:002011-08-30T18:53:53.334-05:00Connor Started Kindergarten and the World Didn't End!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMM65UoTUz6TeyTeI60cGrZmBfgf969VUQX6Sg0vGhx5r9hU-8xfqcf-XgabK11mcnno9y5pdxoMhNtuYfgxcXx5dCiupjh3qky31LVU60D4dDLvV9SoLwpi6MXqPaihSrJB0phbWQ1KSB/s1600/027.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 266px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646449735293110306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMM65UoTUz6TeyTeI60cGrZmBfgf969VUQX6Sg0vGhx5r9hU-8xfqcf-XgabK11mcnno9y5pdxoMhNtuYfgxcXx5dCiupjh3qky31LVU60D4dDLvV9SoLwpi6MXqPaihSrJB0phbWQ1KSB/s400/027.JPG" /></a>
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<br />Okay, this is going to be a long and possibly nonsensical post. It has taken me a week to sort out my myriad of emotions and I think I can finally talk about something that I have been secretly dreading for a while now....Connor started kindergarten. As a general rule, I don't consider myself to be overly sentimental. I'm not a cryer and I can usually keep my emotions in check. At least I thought so. Having never sent a child into the scary world of public education, I had no idea how hard it would be!</div>
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<br /><div>Connor was ready. In fact, he was ready approximately 726 days ago. He has been thinking about, talking about and praying about school for pretty much as long as he could talk. Sometimes it is pretty obvious that people are born for certain things, for example I was born to become a ginormous fan of the Bravo channel. Connor was born for school. To my little boy, starting kindergarten was like coming home. While it was natural and easy for him, I was personally a nervous wreck. I could never fathom the depths of fear, uneasiness and worry that I felt sending my sweet, weird, old soul of a boy into the world. Combine that with the unpredictability of starting a new and totally different job and the loss of our comfortable routine and I was a mess. Seriously, I think I was about one more crying jag away from Matt crushing up sedatives and hiding them in my applesauce. It was such an odd mix of emotions because on one hand I could barely contain my excitement for C. After all, this was his dream! He got to go to school every day and learn in two languages! On the other, more sad hand, I was plagued with worry. What if no one wanted to be his friend because he is kind of weird. Or even worse, what if he acted like a know it all and all the kids thought he was a jerk. See what I mean?</div>
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<br /><div>None of this bothered Connor though, he spent the summer going about his back to school business like a pro. There was endless list making and starting around mid-July he began what Matt likes to refer to as the Connor Collection of Potential Scenarios. He likes to think through all potential experiences and make plans A-Z. This helps him feel prepared and therefore ahead of the game. These scenarios were then compiled into a master list for easy reference. (For those of you who judged me in the previous paragraph for calling out my own kid weird, I like to refer to this as Exhibit A.) He had potentials for all kinds of situations from the mundane to the extreme. After all, one cannot be too prepared. Can't get your belt unbuckled by yourself because it accidentally got glued shut? No problem, let me check the list. Ah, Solution C: It states you should always buckle only to the first hole, therefore enabling you to just pull your pants down in the restroom without any unfastening. Crisis averted. He really gets a kick out of list making although I think it might smack a little of OCD with a possible dash of neurosis. I only took one psychology course in college though, and it was a Friday afternoon class, so what the crap do I know. I did, however, watch a lot of Dr. Phil this summer, so I am keeping an eye on this particular situation. </div>
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<br /><div>So, back to the first day of school. It finally arrived! I woke up before dawn with a serious case of regrets. Why did I take a new job? Why did we put Connor in a program way across town? Life would have been so much easier if I had stayed put and brought Connor to school with me. Then I could have been in his business at a moments notice and we would have both been readily available for hand holding when either of us felt insecure. Matt was able to talk me off the ledge though, by reminding me that there is a plan for us and it isn't written on any list in Connor's drawer. My husband is so smart. And way less crazy. Our new kindergartner hopped out of bed, got dressed (with belt buckled to the first hole) and fixed his hair, "exactly like my daddy's."
<br />He was ready. Matt got the privilege of taking him that first day. With my new job, it was going to be difficult to get away but more importantly it was really special for Matt and C to have that time together, so I said my goodbyes at home. Poor Matt, he left armed with a list of must take photos and the pressure of his wife's mental state weighing heavily on his shoulders, but I couldn't have done better myself. He even called and said in a whisper, "Ok, I have taken pictures of everything, including one of him breathing in and out. I'm pretty sure his teacher thinks I am creepy and wants me to leave. Can I?" He is so good! </div>
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<br /><div>Connor had put a mega amount of time selecting the perfect first day of school gift for his new teacher. Talk about a brown noser. First he really wanted to bring her some of his Gammie's homemade chocolate chip cookies. They are truly glorious, but I had to explain to him that as a teacher there is no way I would eat a homemade food gift on the first day of school until I determined how clean the kitchen is at home. That is new teacher 101. Next, he picked out two dozen roses. Good grief. We aren't proposing marriage to her! We just want her to like us, for crying out loud! He settled for a wildflower mix, some cool markers and a hand crafted card that ,of course, included a list. He was satisfied by that, not thrilled, but satisfied. </div>
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<br /><div>I couldn't wait for the day to be over so I could hear everything. I restrained myself from emailing his teacher for updates. I feel like I am walking a very fine line between normal parental concern and abusing the parent/teacher email system. Matt has limited me to one per week and absolutely zero between the hours of 11pm and 4 am because that is apparently when lunatics email. Or drunks. Whatever. So after the world's longest day my boy and I were finally reunited after school! He was so excited to tell me everything. He had an awesome day. He loved his teacher (who he says is beautiful), thinks his principal is hilarious (he pretty much is) and couldn't wait to go back the next day. YES! I was so relieved. He did however mention that he hadn't actually learned anything and that was a little disappointing. He visualized walking into the classroom, saying hello and starting in on two digit subtraction or something. I don't know, I don't understand how nerds think. I guess in the midst of all our preparation I forgot to mention that the first day of school is a weird one and lots of things have to happen, but it isn't a regular learning kind of day. I really can't believe I forgot that, because frankly I had been trying my hardest to crush some of his more outlandish dreams and help him focus on the reality of school. Before you think I am a creativity killer, let me just say that in one scenario his kindergarten class turned into a flash mob. No, he doesn't know the term flash mob, but after hearing him describe 22 five year olds spontaneously breaking into a semi-choreographed dance on the playground, I went ahead and drew that conclusion. Sometimes being his mother is very taxing. So anyway, after explaining to his parents that he hadn't really felt challenged academically on the first day he went on to describe his new plan. He decided to set a series of tasks to himself daily as his own personal homework. Fantastic. Task #1: Memorize the class rules. Task #2: Remember 4 names of classmates (and write them on a list). Task #3: Write his bus number and lunch number 20 times. Done, done and done. Luckily, the learning was on it's way and that has really soothed his restless brain. </div>
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<br /><div>So all oddness aside (and there is a lot of it to put aside) the first week of school has been fantastic. I am so proud of how easily he has adapted to school life and he loves his new school so much, it has already been immortalized in several lists. I am getting pretty used to the idea as well. I have managed to stumble through a few more hurdles, like the bus, and lived to tell the tale. I still feel like there is a Connor shaped piece of my heart walking around speaking Spanglish and creating school uniform pattern charts, but I think I am getting a little more okay with it every day. As Connor told me that first morning before he walked out the door, "I just can't stop getting bigger mom. I have to start kindergarten because I am trying to get ready for college." </div>
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<br /><div>Yes, I guess you are.
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-27677957993327908222011-07-28T09:40:00.006-05:002011-07-28T10:33:31.388-05:00A Walking Tra-Vest-Y<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpIDTXvVX1y1WxsF7Kn66CKdKvwkRw0z3ImRzP4qoBjyGOQp0oD8TOpAlwv3dxNwudAUPWMDazz7eJPT51FHeKvJxsGi_Mj1tg66oiQ0VSxQe2pkqOE5um-vkp5T2o4QHetFdKEKBTvsm/s1600/vest+1.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 300px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634426532741220210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpIDTXvVX1y1WxsF7Kn66CKdKvwkRw0z3ImRzP4qoBjyGOQp0oD8TOpAlwv3dxNwudAUPWMDazz7eJPT51FHeKvJxsGi_Mj1tg66oiQ0VSxQe2pkqOE5um-vkp5T2o4QHetFdKEKBTvsm/s400/vest+1.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlz4s1BNzBq38NymkYQFnS_4uAKV5_z-_IpfMPIHEOIClJc07pH3z3BFwI8jaDWmaWdHMuY-OcxQIUIV52YRbTyvOvaoAXAhRNrpcSfXO-BB3BsRmXbP1y4FQmLD2Bhd4-6gEfVIpUDXx/s1600/vest+2.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 300px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634426533892273602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlz4s1BNzBq38NymkYQFnS_4uAKV5_z-_IpfMPIHEOIClJc07pH3z3BFwI8jaDWmaWdHMuY-OcxQIUIV52YRbTyvOvaoAXAhRNrpcSfXO-BB3BsRmXbP1y4FQmLD2Bhd4-6gEfVIpUDXx/s400/vest+2.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div>Oh the black vest. Where do I even begin. The black vest came into our lives innocently enough. It was part of a super adorable Ch<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Qbg77VjyM3smHxi17SrTsef9rnk_RVTLuzrGAz3TkyDXeHSF2R46xUHrfIJO0O0hAZQbNQIm3i63HN4lkXuC2YZ-yHe0ONrB41_Qrvbftn8an0YIGup2ErrX_K7ZGLYybY2U2EwyLav7/s1600/vest+1.JPG"></a>ristmas outfit. Connor looked so handsome and grown up wearing his red tie and black velvet vest. He picked that outfit out and just felt awesome in it. After the holidays ended, the tie and vest were retired to the back of the closet, but somehow that little vest kept showing up in the most random places. Matt and I came to the conclusion that our son had fallen in love with the vest. </div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>The vest appeared anytime C felt like it was a special occasion. That could include a UPS delivery, a random visit from a friend or when his brother managed to actually pee in the potty. You know, the most special moments in the fabric of our family. The vest was automatically part of his stage costume whenever he and his brother decided to perform one of their shows featuring self written songs and elaborately choreographed dance numbers. What occasion could be fancier than that? You probably can't expect this out of most items of clothing, but that darn vest went with everything. It worked with t-shirts of sleeve both long and short. It also adorned t-ball uniforms and pajamas. And let's not forget the most unnatural of all vest pairings, black velvet vest and no shirt. I can't even type into words the classiness of that particular jersey shore combo.<br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So what's the problem? Matt and I try really hard as the parents of two ridiculously creative and sometimes pretty far out there kids to let them have some space to do their own thing. Even though my natural instinct was to steal the vest while he slept, set it on fire, then lie about it for the rest of my life (seriously, that would have been the most natural thing I had done all week). But obviously ripping the vest out of his life would be traumatic. We tried to reason with him that perhaps summer isn't really the most logical "season of vest". But he was so sincerely intent on impressing the general public with this vest and I could tell his heart was really in it. He felt so proud whenever he had that crazy vest on, it made me want to cry. So, back to the problem. We are now just mere weeks away from starting Kindergarten. I had to break the news earlier this month that his particular school wears uniforms. I might as well have murdered a puppy right in front of him. I never thought when we went through the process of testing and applying for kindergarten programs that standardized dress would have such a devastating impact on my weird kid. Out of all the kindergarten things I have worried about, and I have worried about a lot, this wasn't even on the list. The first words out of his mouth were, "But Mommy, I can't look like everyone else. That isn't me." Crap. After a minute of deep thinking on both our parts I then heard, "Oh my gosh. What about my vest?" Double crap. Now even though you and I know that even if he went to a school with free dress, there was no chance I was going to let the vest make an appearance at school. I think we have enough little eccentricities on our own without having to be "that kid with the vest" that others might be hesitant to make friends with. But he thought he was going to roll into that school with all the confidence in the world because he was wearing "his vest." As smart and tall and ready as my five year old seems to be, there is still a little guy who feels unsure hiding behind the vest. </div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>So we have been slowly phasing out the vest. I think it might have been easier to get him off cigarettes. Connor, who loves to make lists more than he likes to breathe, has been hard at work on a list of occasions that would truly be appropriate for a vest. We are also working on a list of ways that he can show his awesomeness while still dressed like 600 other kids. This is hard for me, because I would have loved nothing more in elementary school than to blend in. But that isn't my sweet, slightly odd little boy. So we are working on it. Matt and I have talked about how that ridiculous vest is obviously part of all three of our journeys to get ready for the big wide world. It's funny the things that God uses to help us along the way. I can tell you that while my son was born ready for school, my heart hasn't been ready yet. But each day without the vest is getting us all a little closer. </div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Who knew black velvet was so versatile? </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-38321694473785046472011-07-26T09:55:00.012-05:002011-07-26T11:11:21.354-05:00Super H turns 3!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnL1q-b6t-7JVKAqn5QD30-9vth20TKHk3iFkWR4TcH_6wLHS2WbM4ngMuSWpcZdrrUBWbiC6lKX1A10_D_8zuLn8tE-0YKb_3WbOlerAF9wjaPOyMvGmfcsLUifDXEFYmLj0Ya0HjMbUI/s1600/hudson+5.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 323px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633690191989728754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnL1q-b6t-7JVKAqn5QD30-9vth20TKHk3iFkWR4TcH_6wLHS2WbM4ngMuSWpcZdrrUBWbiC6lKX1A10_D_8zuLn8tE-0YKb_3WbOlerAF9wjaPOyMvGmfcsLUifDXEFYmLj0Ya0HjMbUI/s400/hudson+5.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_SOUfRuHsEFf_h9UJpt3dxTsFyOe72QO3HvBu7fLyE_ezowleCiQJQDwO3iOmjvXPV3CQATIxa8Qlf-cSzqT8qtJKv10H2Ci0xKf1GM0jFE6Exbwec31nOM3Up-BinsJlstYKNlqf3aX/s1600/hud+birthday+3.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633690096050072018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_SOUfRuHsEFf_h9UJpt3dxTsFyOe72QO3HvBu7fLyE_ezowleCiQJQDwO3iOmjvXPV3CQATIxa8Qlf-cSzqT8qtJKv10H2Ci0xKf1GM0jFE6Exbwec31nOM3Up-BinsJlstYKNlqf3aX/s400/hud+birthday+3.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdTQNO6W0LqG5RpuWbxootVeZToPIT9QJ-MxtLiphVjuLk49GdV3uURAZwNObb1ParAVM1ymo9YUxir00IYqi1Sf3NR5o8XIMUCvHfp_x_O0SA7-Zog5SSjMTXThoHuwSHSS13Vl-7bQb/s1600/hudson+6.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633690096329382482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdTQNO6W0LqG5RpuWbxootVeZToPIT9QJ-MxtLiphVjuLk49GdV3uURAZwNObb1ParAVM1ymo9YUxir00IYqi1Sf3NR5o8XIMUCvHfp_x_O0SA7-Zog5SSjMTXThoHuwSHSS13Vl-7bQb/s400/hudson+6.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNcQ-Av2kpaz_UkNljqjGOLeJfPrEBjsOl5okY5LMf4-2SRiuCoylu66f4Atkrmvalru_Gpp-4kpI3KTc1hyb8HIXVrjYDRQt_TbSaJJdOfoccoXthzy34EMmltNwwxFLJk3osfmZKD_R/s1600/hud+birthday+2.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633690093880720578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNcQ-Av2kpaz_UkNljqjGOLeJfPrEBjsOl5okY5LMf4-2SRiuCoylu66f4Atkrmvalru_Gpp-4kpI3KTc1hyb8HIXVrjYDRQt_TbSaJJdOfoccoXthzy34EMmltNwwxFLJk3osfmZKD_R/s400/hud+birthday+2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRoy6_t82lc9CYZ2C237gjPECeOOe5J9BhLR8uaEd73ytDAgKMV5FWASIbo0jQfMuDQ4D3bzxGg3Q9uACzMTehyphenhyphen_5i0UZGHik-zaIkumyznJNkxkPScq55XVU_etb7kn3HiULcM-q2Y1iG/s1600/hudson+birthday+4.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633690093525013154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRoy6_t82lc9CYZ2C237gjPECeOOe5J9BhLR8uaEd73ytDAgKMV5FWASIbo0jQfMuDQ4D3bzxGg3Q9uACzMTehyphenhyphen_5i0UZGHik-zaIkumyznJNkxkPScq55XVU_etb7kn3HiULcM-q2Y1iG/s400/hudson+birthday+4.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62FQgej_-OTcECEo7bIk-Rc68bv6TjEHdfa0r71eWx5YBFaJuB75H-7GbrAh54Nhc0uNHh5GgQUg4wxONQjd8d7V6BewfgW8I0rv6IlbcBX8o6nfPIY3nmT4pEg2EGxGuKozNlrErSPCZ/s1600/HUd+birthday+1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633690089440224882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62FQgej_-OTcECEo7bIk-Rc68bv6TjEHdfa0r71eWx5YBFaJuB75H-7GbrAh54Nhc0uNHh5GgQUg4wxONQjd8d7V6BewfgW8I0rv6IlbcBX8o6nfPIY3nmT4pEg2EGxGuKozNlrErSPCZ/s400/HUd+birthday+1.jpg" /></a> <br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div>Last week we celebrated Hud's third birthday. I cannot believe my baby is already three! We decided to have a superhero theme because, well, H is a superhero. In his mind, there is no doubt that he has superpowers and is destined to save the world. Or maybe destroy it. I thought when Hud was younger that he and his big brother were total opposites and that they didn't really have a lot in common. That is partially true, but their main commonality is really starting to stand out to their parents. Here is the bottom line: they are both weird. I mean that lovingly, but let's face it they totally are. They both live in a world where the unusual is the norm and I am proud to say that five and a half years into motherhood, I am pretty okay with this. While Connor is likely to costume himself, pack a suitcase and head to space in his bedroom, armed with lots of facts and hand drawn maps, Hudson is more into the constant battle of good versus evil. In an instant, anytime, anywhere, he can be drawn into a life or death duel with one of a myriad of "bad guys." It's weird. </div><br /><div>Spiderman is his favorite hero. He has spent the entire summer introducing himself as Peter Parker. Some people get it, others don't and some just ignore the weirdness. He has built up quite the repertoire of alter egos. We can now distinctly tell when he is being Peter and when he has switched to Spiderman. With Peter there is a lot of faux picture taking and mild mannerness and of course, with Spiderman he is constantly shooting his webs. He has shot just about everyone in the city with his imaginary webs, including the mailman, the cleaning lady (who totally freaked when he chased her around the living room pointing his wrists at her while saying, chooo chooo) and every cashier we have encountered at a grocery store. You never can tell who is going to be a bad guy, he subscribes to the web first, ask questions later philosophy of superhero-ing. In case you are wondering how his transformation from Peter Parker to Spiderman takes place, I have included a video of him putting on his spider suit. He does this roughly 27 times a day. As soon as he gets out of his carseat, it comes on. If we stop to look at produce, he suits up. Before he jumps in the pool.......the reasons for needing an invisible spider suit are endless. I can never understand why said suit requires armpit length gloves, but he never forgets them.<br /><br />Spiderman is just a favorite in his collection of heroes. He also spends quite a bit of time as Peter Pan (maybe we should have named him Peter). This one you have to be careful with because he will cast you as Captain James Hook (he always uses the full name and title) without alerting you, so you can be loading the dishwasher and then turn around to find a tiny boy climbing the counter to cut your hand off with a foam sword. After the amputation, while you are still stunned into silence because you didn't see it coming, he will sheath his sword in his underwear, put his hands on his hips and announce,"Ha ha Captain James Hook! I cut you hand off, bad man. Come on Wendy! Come on boys! I love you mommy." Aww, what I always pictured when I dreamed of being a mother :)<br /></div><br /><div>So life is busy here with a newly minted three year old. There is a lot of world to save and he can't rest until it's done. He is a sweet little boy, stubborn as a mule and possible suffering from some sort of Napolean complex. There is a lot of cape wearing, swaggering around and shouting orders to invisible people. Connor eats it up with a spoon. They are quite the team. Connor is the facts man, he has checked out just about every non fiction kids book from the library. Hudson is in charge of making it movie worthy. While brother makes a beeline for the book shelves, Hud hits up the movie section. Or as he calls them moobies (which when he gets really excited sounds like he is calling out joyfully for boobies. As in "I need new boobies Mommy!"). Needless to say we are well known in the public library. Obviously God knew Connor's heart and gave him baby brother with an imagination big enough to match his own. As a team they are equal parts amazing and terrifying.</div><br /><div>We couldn't love anything more. </div><br /><div>Since this is Hud's birthday post, I put in lots of pictures of the man, some new and some old. It does my heart good to see how far he's come. Enjoy! I am headed up to start a pirate boobie for my little boy :)</div><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxGRiKZBu9yc_UnWR-1itqO-XicAl94pclUk0FkOhnsR9wynyps1MfDMRMa8hlt4Fu_45SbS94AtTQ-5OSfdA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-77200243706257316982011-07-19T19:09:00.006-05:002011-07-21T19:38:15.835-05:00Matt's Ears Revisit Childhood and We All Pay the PriceThis past week was chaotic. We were getting ready for Hud's big birthday, Matt was starting a new project at work that was ultra time consuming and Connor was just busy being himself. In the midst of all this, we had a minor medical crisis. Wednesday night, Matt woke up with screaming ear pain. I am not exaggerating when I say screaming either, so I assumed it was genuinely painful. Since it was the middle of the night and we had all been sound asleep, I was thrown into a tizzy of confusion. Connor can sleep through a hurricane, so he wasn't bothered, but it had the little man up and asking for breakfast. He requested eggs. Fantastic. Since this ear pain was so sudden and he wasn't having any other symptoms, I immediately diagnosed swimmers ear. Matt, who under the healthiest of circumstances questions my self-awarded medical degree, doubted my swift diagnosis. This was surprising since as a child he could never recall having swimmers ear while I could remember the pain so vividly, it might has well have been yesterday. I am obviously an expert, but whatever. I humored him since neither one of us had ever met an adult who had been afflicted with swimmers ear; and I took to google to gather evidence to convince him I was right. <div><br /></div><div>Sure enough, his symptoms matched up with swimmers ear (and also a multitude of other ear problems) but since I wanted to be right and I was the only one not completely incapacitated by shooting ear pain, I presented the evidence and started on my home remedies with the help of one particularly tiny physicians assistant. There are an unbelievable amount of home remedies for swimmers ear out there on the internet ranging from the common to the freaky, so we started with common. Since I am such a well prepared mother, I had lots of the "ingredients" handy. Hud and I raided the kitchen and poured a whole bunch of junk in Matt's ear while he was curled up in a fetal position in bed. It was all quite sad, although Hud had the time of his life. He kept up a running commentary about being the doctor and what spiderman might do if he was sick. There was a lot of gentle petting of Matt's head and leaning over and talking directly into the afflicted ear so his daddy could hear him better. Matt wasn't really entertained by all the chit chat since he was having such intense ear pain, but I secretly thought it was adorable. We had reached the point in our ear ache science experiment when Hud suggested that he might cut off his Daddy's ear with his foam sword and Matt seriously considered taking him up on it. With that I decided to step up and make a trip to the 24 hour pharmacy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ah, the 24 hour pharmacy. I consider myself lucky that in 5 plus years of being a mother, I have never made a trip to this strange mecca of middle of the night weirdness. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I loaded up Hudson since Matt was not in any condition to care for him and whisked us off to find some kind of relief. Again, the excitement was almost too much for Hud to handle. This particular pharmacy is about 15 minutes away from our house in a neighborhood that might be considered "past it's prime". And I don't mean like Cher past it's prime, it's more like a Lindsey Lohan past it's prime. We turned into the parking lot and discovered the all night pharmacy is a hot spot of nighttime activity. There were a wide range of people in the parking lot, there for a wide variety of reasons, many of not them not necessarily pharmaceutical in nature. But I couldn't worry about that because I was a good wife on a mission. I scooped a pajama clad H out of his car seat and realized that in our haste that we had forgotten his shoes. No big deal because earlier in the evening he had gotten a hold of a sharpie and had markered all over his legs and feet. See, we were fitting in already.</div><div><br /></div><div>I took my marker shoed child in and discovered an enormously long line of desperate and wild eyed people waiting to see the pharmacist. Feeling a little desperate and wild eyed myself, I decided to hit up the cashier for some advice because, after all, they have probably scanned every over the counter medicine in the joint. Marker Feet and I schlepped our way up to the cashier and I quickly explained our situation. "Hi, we are looking for swimmers ear treatment and/or ear numbing drops. Do you know where they would be located?" After he studied me for a very awkward feeling 45 seconds, he replied "For a boy or girl?" Automatically I said, "Boy. Wait. What? Does that matter?" He just shrugged his shoulders. Okaaaay. Hudson took advantage of the weird silence to pipe up in a semi-aggressive way, "I a boy. I no baby, I big big boy." Thanks for that update Hud, we definitely needed a dash more crazy in this conversation. Ignoring my highly offended child, I faced down the cashier's blank stare and decided that this future member of Mensa was probably just trying to mess with the deranged woman clutching the mouthy toddler and stormed off to try my luck going solo. The line for the pharmacist was still 10 people deep so H and I combed every stupid aisle of that place and didn't find those drops in any of the logical places. Since in my mind this was clearly an infant problem, I thought surely they would be in the baby aisle. Nope. Children's medication? Nope. Finally when I had reached the point of giving up I stumbled across them in the eyeglass section where Hud was trying on all the readers. Yes, in the eye glass section. I whooped out loud and started laughing hysterically. We headed to the checkout where I thrust our selection of drops in front of the spaced out cashier and shared with him what they were and where they were located so he could be informed whenever the next customer asked. I also felt the need to share that ears are not body parts that differentiate due to gender. He remained unimpressed. With a final dirty look from Hud, we took our sad sack of drops and left. We got home and frankly, I was feeling pretty good about myself. Good and more than a little haggard. We rushed upstairs to save the day and found Matt snoring away. Apparently all my home remedies worked (Lord knows which one since I did them all at once), and he was out like a light and pain free. My victorious return home wasn't even acknowledged by the patient. Oh well, Hudson and I know what we went through to get those drops and then we had another two hours to chat about it before I could get him back to sleep. We had to wait until he felt ready for a nap since he still believed it to be morning. I also spent some of that time googling the most effective ear plugs for a 30 year old man to wear while he swims. I'm sure the sexiness will overwhelm me, considering that he also prefers to swim in a full face mask to prevent water from going up his nose (but that is probably a blog post in itself). </div><div><br /></div><div>Sorry ladies, he, and his baby ears, are taken. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-90658327543132862372011-06-29T10:14:00.003-05:002011-06-29T11:09:02.206-05:00I so awesome mom!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNsMx9uv9dIUmOsaApVQhEzNBD7utInD9YHBj4lpSrv9OZ6mDeRLKhjRP3URt_GEv5NE5jsueylZvy1YWc0ik2Ho7pCbYvMW7Sd0MBoORsTf9VJv0DCQYAEFpSUeksyo7v9gX4laq8Kkwl/s1600/photo.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNsMx9uv9dIUmOsaApVQhEzNBD7utInD9YHBj4lpSrv9OZ6mDeRLKhjRP3URt_GEv5NE5jsueylZvy1YWc0ik2Ho7pCbYvMW7Sd0MBoORsTf9VJv0DCQYAEFpSUeksyo7v9gX4laq8Kkwl/s400/photo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623673432678659250" /></a><br />Last week we finished up our two week sentence of swim lessons. It felt like two years. My boys absolutely love to swim, I am shocked that they don't have gills. The problem is that Connor is an excellent five year old swimmer, Hudson is a two year old non-swimmer who doesn't realize it. In his mind he is the most fantastic swimmer of all time and who cares if he doesn't have any actual swimming skills. This is stressful for me. I tried to give the swim teacher a heads up before we started. She has been Connor's teacher for three years, but I wanted to make sure she was clear that I was not bringing Connor Jr. to lessons this summer. I tried to be very open and honest about Hudson's attention span, energy level and complete and total absence of fear. She thought I was exagerrating. <div><br /></div><div>The first day went okay. The policy in these lessons is the you have an assigned spot in the shallow end and when it is not your turn with the teacher, you must stay hanging on to the wall in your assigned spot. Problem number one. The four other students were all tall enough to touch in the shallow end and therefore had no trouble staying in their spot. Enter Hudson, the world's tiniest 35 month old. He, with the tiny t-rex arms, was not able to muscle up enough strength to hang on to the side for two consecutive minutes. The teacher's solution was to have him sit on the side until it was his turn again. This led to all kinds of confusion. Although the wait for his turn was literally two minutes, as soon as his rear plopped onto the side, he thought he was finished for the day and started calling for his towel wench to bring him his batman towel. "Mommy, I done. I need towel please." "No, you aren't done yet, it is almost your turn again." "Mommy, I need towel. Dry off. I DONE!" and on and on. All in all not a bad first day. We spent that first evening going over the procedures so tomorrow he might understand it better. </div><div><br /></div><div>The next few days were a blur, he caught on to the waiting your turn process but then became obsessed with catching up with the big kids. She would set him on the side and he would immediately decide he could wait in the pool, hanging onto the side like everyone else......and he could do it by himself. Thus began the revolving door of sliding into the pool and climbing out of the pool during swim lessons. He would cling to the side for as long as he had the strength and then oh so painfully drag himself back out to sit. He almost lost a nipple on several occasions from all the concrete on skin friction.</div><div><br /></div><div>So on to the actual swimming. He is a natural. He had a great kick, and could move his arms like a tiny Michael Phelps. What he could not do, however, is shut his dang mouth. He would jump into the teacher's arms, start kicking like crazy and then talk her head off. It was like his own personal floating party line. She would say, "Put your face in Hudson" and he would go under, mouth wide open, then break the surface spitting out a stream of water that would put the fountains at Caesars Palace to shame. He rarely swallowed the water, he just held it until he could spout it out like a whale. It was frustrating to say the least. The next problem was the constant chatter. She would be pulling him around the pool, practicing his kicks and instead of putting his face in, he would be peppering her with questions. "What's that?" That's my swim suit. "Oh. What's that?" That is still my swimsuit. "You see bird?" Yes I saw that bird. Can you put your face in? "Ok, I do it." Then my personal favorite part of lessons. When his turn was over he would climb out of the pool, raise his fists in the air and yell,"I did it Mom! I so awesome! I svim awesome!" By the way, Hudson pronounces all variations of the word swim like he is fresh from the mother land. Oh and to add one more element to Hudson's turn, Connor always felt like it was his brotherly duty to scream out encouragement from the wall. Hudson ate it up with a spoon. So now we had Connor on the sidelines, "Hudson! You're doing it! You are so awesome! You're swimming! Yes!" Then Hudson screaming back, "I do it! I svim so awesome!" At one point, the kid stationed next to Connor put his hands over his ears to drown out the annoying brother love. They looked like lunatics. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last but not least in the daily swim lesson was free time. Free time lasts exactly 180 seconds. This was torture for Hudson on the first day because all the other kids could jump, dive and play with a myriad of pool toys while he could not do anything without his personal toddler carrier. Hanging out with the teacher wasn't nearly as much fun as going for dive sticks unassisted. So he came up with plan B after a few days of observing all the fun he couldn't have. As soon as the teacher started reaching for her watch, the signal that free time was approaching, he hoisted himself out of the pool (with no regard to personal nipple safety) and raced over to the toys and snatched up all the dive sticks. Now he was in the position of power. He towered over all the other kids on the side of the pool and taunted them by waving the sticks around while they begged for him to throw them in. Every once in a while he would toss one in and they would dogpile it while he laughed like a mad man. I think he has a bad case of the little man syndrome, with the way he swaggered around that pool in his size 18 month bathing suit, holding 9 sticks behind his back. Did he eventually toss them all in, yes. But only when he was good and ready and that was usually about the time that she had herded all the kids out of the pool because time was up. Yeah, I know. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, bottom line. Can Hudson swim? No. Does he still think he can swim. Absolutely. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3648061280839076778.post-79383357912354833352011-06-15T19:22:00.005-05:002011-06-15T20:50:15.092-05:00The Rad News Bears<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Connor loved seeing Daddy waiting at home plate!</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLycDu_oG8CxFp8Sf9YD0uXBXkvo78Xk2cD5sbg1N2lSMBdq4rZLRJr1GdFUpoCVJIacgK1aIdBhq9eCIAKfGSbL5bmmBd02V1uBkKqjix4BXJ9gfdxR9hoecqxZpI_NKlWTJYRWRh3tli/s1600/IMG_0123.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLycDu_oG8CxFp8Sf9YD0uXBXkvo78Xk2cD5sbg1N2lSMBdq4rZLRJr1GdFUpoCVJIacgK1aIdBhq9eCIAKfGSbL5bmmBd02V1uBkKqjix4BXJ9gfdxR9hoecqxZpI_NKlWTJYRWRh3tli/s400/IMG_0123.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618628344048603058" /></a><div>We just wrapped up one awesome season of t-ball. It was our first and it was a doozy. It wasn't what I would call a winning season, at least not in the traditional sense. As in we won exactly zero games. We did however tie two games and that was as sweet a victory as an actual win. Surprisingly, this was hard for me, I myself was never into sports so this mom of two boys gig has me experiencing a lot of firsts.<div><br /></div><div>Matt was the head coach and he was so excited to lead this team of boys and teach them the fundamentals of baseball. It was kind of an uphill climb. First of all, we were a team of five and six year olds. This is an age group that is not known for long attention spans. We were also a team that was almost entirely made up of boys that had never played before. Matt expected this. What we did not expect, was that we would be going up against the Texas Rangers of little league all season long. Seriously, these kids were t-ball machines and we were administered beating after beating. Did we improve every single week, oh my gosh yes. By leaps and bounds. But when you are up against ginormous kids making major league plays, our progress wasn't as showcased as I would have liked. We were the new kids on a very grown up block and we definitely had to pay our dues. Here is the thing, Matt has baseball running through his veins. He was used to being a great player on winning teams throughout his baseball career. I thought this would be hard on him. He is a really competitive guy and I just knew that having a brand new team full of brand new players would eventually start to frustrate him. Nope, he was so darn Zen about the whole thing, it started to drive me crazy! In actuality, it was way harder on me! I wanted to win. Not only did I want to win, I wanted to beat someone bad, not just by one or two runs, but by at least twenty (my competitive self is also very immature). The more competitive I felt, the more calm and rational Matt became. Ughh. He ever so sweetly asked me to please stop coaching from the sidelines (yes, I became that woman). Not only could I not keep my mouth shut, but I had no actual baseball knowledge to back it up! (If you have read this blog in the past, you probably already know that Matt often ranks my number one skill as smack talking with nothing to back it up.) I took personal offense to all kind of calls, all of which were completely and totally justified. After every game, Matt would have to explain all kinds of things to me and after all the explanations, I was never in the right. I hate that. I mean, who knew that baseball had so many complex rules. Not me. </div><div><br /></div><div>As the season progressed, the boys really seemed to be having a great time and I know for a fact that Connor never knew the score of any of the games. Oh, but I did and it secretly burned me up. Matt also banned me from talking to the player I gave birth to, when he caught me in the dugout before a game advising said player, "to go out there and bust some heads." Thus began my dugout suspension. During our "discussion" of that incident Coach Matt accused me of undoing all his "good work." Fair enough. I then started to relay my advice to Connor telepathically using my eyes. </div><div><br /></div><div>This might be a good time to mention the fact that I was also team mom. Stop laughing. Let me tell you, I took to that job like a duck to water. I bought myself a sparkly baseball mom hat and stole a clipboard from school and was ready to go. My team mom duties primarily focused on sending out email updates to the team and getting people to sign up for stuff. I had everyone sign up to bring game snacks and then about two games into the season, I lost that list. Naturally. I then had to wing it and try to pull snack assignments from my elephant like memory. By the way though, as I was cleaning out my filing cabinets at the end of the school year I did find that stupid list filed under the letter R in my cabinet. Considering our team name was the Texans, I like to think that was my subconscious filing it under R for Ridiculous. As in, it's ridiculous that people put me in charge of things. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here is the truth, we had a good little team. Those boys made unbelievable progress in three months and they had enough heart to outplay any team we came across. I absolutely loved watching these games, even if the mental score I was keeping was not exactly how I would have liked it to play out. I loved watching my husband coach those boys, especially our own son. He was infinitely more patient and fair than I ever would have been as he is clearly the more mature person in our relationship. He works tons of hours at his "real job" and then spent as many more as necessary to plan for, practice and coach our team. He did awesome. He really worked hard teaching the boys the right way to play the game and focused on teaching them the fundamentals in a way that I know will made them better players. Every day Connor waits, glove in hand to go outside with his dad as soon as he gets home from work and every day his dad takes him. I love that Matt is teaching our son about hard work and dedication and sharing a love for the game that he has loved his whole life. I'm not sure what I am teaching him through my team mom example, but I am sure it is something equally profound and important.</div><div><br /></div><div>In case you think we are down and out, don't worry. The Texans will be back for fall ball and we will no longer be the new kids on the block. That's right, we will be rolling with some experience and frankly I am hoping to enlist a bunch of kindergartners that have been pumping iron in the off season. I have learned from our first season though and I will be on the lookout for that brand new team next time around. I am going to seek out that woman in the sparkly baseball hat holding the clipboard and I am going to hug her and let her know that they too can survive the first season of little league. Then I am going to walk away and hope with all my might that our team beats the pants off their team in order to satisfy my blood lust for winning. That seems normal, right? </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08404050165842055618noreply@blogger.com0