The Internet Gripith

So this is what has happened...I finally joined Facebook about two weeks ago after resisting with every ounce of marrow in my core. For those who don’t know (“Hi Dad!”) it’s that social networking site that, without warning, shoves you right back into ones childhood of passed notes (“Will you go with me? Yes…no…maybe. Check one.”), roller skating with your crush, science fair mishaps, skipping school to swim in a boyfriend’s pool, weekend campouts, high school days, college days…you get the idea. Thankfully my rendezvous with Facebook was like a summer romance. Initially I was wooed, excited and smitten. I hadn’t seen nor heard from SO MANY PEOPLE from my past and it’s been amazing to reconnect but, as I hoped, I don’t feel the need to constantly lurk and post comments and such. I am grateful to now have this huge virtual rolodex and a way to reach out to everyone, make plans for visits and catch up on the last 20+ years. It is remarkable to see how everyone has aged, how some people changed so drastically and some barely at all. And let’s not forget their own children, the offspring of tin foil apple core bong makers and once drunken water skiing slalom competitors.

Oh, and I just joined Twitter last night. Let the wild rumpus start!

Yesterday was a much deserved day off after the success of a huge Mardi Gras condo topping off event I coordinated in downtown Austin the day before. I decompressed while doing yard work and W deemed it warm enough to do this…























Love Texas in February.

Regrowth

Yesterday the Hubs picked up W from school and I had the chance to do whatever I wanted to do when I got off work (go to Target! shoe shopping! Sephora! read!) but instead I went home and pulled weeds until my fingers cramped. The early evening was cloudy, a bit breezy, perfect weather to hunker down in the beds and dig. But it was more than digging and tugging and cursing the gnarly roots. I was deep in thought, buried in curiosities, fears, excitement and responsibilities of the weeks to come. It was blissful and I look forward to my next adventure providing me the many opportunities to work and think, work and reflect, work and enjoy instead of being twisted up about a five mile traffic jam, a long line at the post office, or a person driving out of turn at my neighborhood 5-way stop. Yeah, that one really gets in my crawl. I will be forced to slow down and really smell the yucca (while keeping an eye out for snakes and loose dogs and scorpions). Really can’t wait.

On the home front we are trying to correct a wrong that we thought was oh so cute and convenient (i.e. we were being lazy) and get our son to sleep at a reasonable hour IN HIS OWN BED. It all happened by default, thanks to Miss Jo who came over last night bearing gifts. After dinner, the conversation spun to W’s sleeping habits and she very matter of factly said you need to put him to bed between 8 and 9 and Hubs why don’t you do it now or something like that. I cringed inside knowing W hadn’t really eaten his dinner but there’s no time like the present, right? Books were read, PJs were donned and protests were heard. The Hubs finally emerged from the bedroom as W whipped himself in a frenzy that lasted half an hour (or what seemed like an eternity for me) before he was quiet, exhausted by his efforts to get someone's attention. Miss Jo hung around until it was over probably knowing full well that I would’ve gone in to his room to rescue him and be the hero. W slept through the night if you consider “waking at 5 a.m. and ready to get the day started” sleeping through the night. But I’m committed to making this work and the Hubs is committed to being the bedtime person and I will pick up the slack when he’s not home. Besides our relationship could use a shot in the arm and having that evening time together is just what Miss Jo ordered.

It Takes A Village

So this is the episode where I have to give mad props to all the mommies and daddies who are the kick arse parents of the kids in W’s class at school. Can I just say that I’m the luckiest momma on the planet to have such an awesome bunch for a) drinking buddies, b) open-minded, laid back, non-judgmental conversationalists, and c) measuring 11 on the 1-10 scale of total foxiness. Seriously, we should all pose for a calendar and I bet we would sell the hell out of it. We could donate some of the money to the school and spend the rest on wine clubs.

Friday, W had his first school program. They had been studying about Africa for 2 weeks and this was the apex of all their research. A small gathering of parentals waited like paparazzi for the tots to burst through the classroom door dressed in kente cloth vests made of paper bags and painted images and anklets made of pipe cleaners and bells. It was no surprise to see W sans kente vest and bells. I can barely convince him to dress in the morning. All of his friends paraded around in costume and banged on various instruments while W promptly put his toosh in my lap and watched. “I ain’t wearin’ no stinkin’ paper bag.” Yep, that’s my boy. He takes very much after his father.

Afterwards, I took W to my workplace to finish my day and pack up while he ate the dusty candy pumpkins perched on my edge of my desk as decor. I then wrangled the sugar-hyped tot and hoofed it over to the motherland, Central Market, where everyone from W’s class noshed and kibitzed as a PG-rated group. The wine bottles lined the tables like centerpieces, the kiddos ran amok and danced to the live music and we all had some good laughs at watching them wrestle, mosh, do yoga poses and hug. Good times, good times.

Here We Are!

Well, here we are again and darn it, it’s good to be back. I had seriously considered abandoning this blog once and for all but me mind has changed. I thought about how great it is to read someone else’s blog and relate to what they are saying or realize that I’m not the worst parent on the planet at times and decided, I, too, must continue to air out the dirty laundry of childrearing on my end of the street. Besides, W needs to understand why he’s in therapy for life.

It is with boastful parenting pride that I can report that we, as a family of three, traveled for 7 straight weeks together this summer without one maimed limb or the filing of divorce papers. There were several bruised egos but that’s about it. I should also mention that 5 of those weeks were spent traveling in a car the size of a go cart…with a nearly 2-year-old…because it had a GPS and good gas mileage but I would’ve given my last glass of wine on earth to have had a bit more room to sleep/eat/read/stretch out while cruising down the endless highway. We had fun though. W is now qualified to work either at Sea World or an airport. All of the beach and airline time has made him employable. As I play catch up here on this site, I’ll highlight the hilarious and the horrible details of our summer.

W and I flew home on the 5th of this month. Several days later while in the throes of decompression and jet lag, W started back to school, in the bigger kids class, the one where he is required to bring his own lunch box and can’t have his binkie (as a result of so much travel, W became very attached to his paci and blankie so much so that the Hubs said if he went missing, the photo we’d submit to the police would have to include one), the one where the bigger boys say things like, “I’m not a baby’s friend, I’m a big kid’s friend.” They tower over him like giants. His small frame is swallowed by the plastic chairs in his classroom. My little shrimp is growing up and, as usual, I have mixed feelings about all of this.

Here are some shots of the trip out west.

Clap Your Hands

Thank you to everyone who commented on my last post or wrote to me directly. W is doing much better today which means he wanted macaroni and cheese for breakfast, danced on the bar to the Arcade Fire and asked to “Whash paci?” when I was at the sink doing my makeup before work. While we were enduring the worst moments of the illnesses, all I could do was wonder how other parents did it, too. Single parents, those with several children, or those without much money. My heart went out to them in understanding and empathy. You have to walk a mile in someone’s shoes to get it, huh? I do know that as a parent something inside of you kicks in, a tremendous will, a determination to fight for whatever your child needs at all cost, and you just do it. You stay up all night every night, you cuddle for hours on end, you respond to every whimper, and you try to keep serenity in the home despite the unfamiliar horror of it all. And then you cry with relief in the shower when it’s all finally over. I never thought I’d be taking my son to the ER at nineteen months of age but I am so grateful it wasn’t more serious than it was.

The Hubs leaves on a trip in the morning to Italy for 12 days and returns on my birthday. I am green with envy but more happy that he has the opportunity to go song write in such an amazing place. This is what he should be doing and it’s been a long time coming. Bring us home a number one single, darling.

Muy Enfermo

It’s been a rollercoaster ride the last two days, folks. Remember that supremely undesirable disease that W picked up that made everyone run in the opposite direction? The one that should’ve been treated by the neighborhood veternarian? Well, he took it to the next level Monday evening and not just any level, my friends, but the level of pneumonia. Tis’ true.

On Monday after returning from a rather bland day at the office, I found a calmer, quieter version of my normally active W chillin’ on the couch. I didn’t expect any significant changes since he was already under viral attack but I thought he was on the mend. What I found was his small chest cavity straining for breath, each contraction a push for air. To look at his face, you wouldn’t have been able to tell anything was going on but his tiny frame moved with effort in a dramatic way. I called the after hours nurse and she said to medicate his fever (which was taking hold yet again) and to watch him. If he didn’t improve then the ER needed to check him out. Now I’m the kind of person who waits a bit to make sure a trip to the ER is absolutely necessary. The wait is long, the tests painful and the place totally scary. The Hubs, on the other hand, would go to the ER if he had a hangnail.

W and I snuggled up in the guest bedroom and we drifted in and out of sleep for a couple of hours before I decided that the situation was too much to bear. At 3:30 a.m., I startled the Hubs out of a deep sleep and off we went. Four hours we spent in the ER. Four hours of very kind nurses holding my frightened child down to insert an IV, to give him shots, to take pictures of his chest. The whole time W looked at me wild eyed, pleaded with tears to make it stop. After the IV had been removed and I sat him up, he immediately began signing “All done” and saying the words simultaneously in a hopeful, eager tone. Totally heartbreaking. The x-ray revealed pneumonia in his left lung so we did a round with the nebulizer which helped enormously. We were given a script to be filled and told to see his pediatrician so he could determine if W needed to be admitted to Children’s Hospital. Gasp! The next morning (we had all slept an hour and a half), W was almost entirely his regular, happy self and put on a very friendly but misleading show for Dr. G. He was chatty and charming and a little gentleman. Thankfully Dr. G knew the smoke and mirrors were a result of the meds and said to keep an eye on him for changes. Thank goodness we weren't bound for the Children's Hospital!

Last night was better except for the fact that I had given W a dose of some medication for his cough that according to the pharmacist “might make him a little hyper.” A little? He was practically break dancing off the walls when Miss Jo came over. Freak out. I won’t be administering that med anymore. Too dangerous for all of us.

W and I almost got a full night’s sleep last night so that’s a good sign. Fingers crossed that all will be well and back to normal very soon.

Running Away From Home

The post-conference recovery has been slow and, thankfully, so have things at the office. We’re playing catch up, billing clients for onsite add ons and trying to figure out which end is our ass and which is our brains. It’s all mush to me (sorry for the mental visual).

W has resumed being totally mommy-centric much to the Hubs' dismay. I heard him mention to W this morning how bummed he was about playing second fiddle now that I’m around. It’s not fair but you can’t argue with a toddler. I get out of eyeshot and W immediately hollers out “Muma?” and goes racing around like a displaced pup. It’s endearing and unnerving at the same time. Last night, the little worm wouldn’t go to sleep so I stuck him in bed with me only to be tortured by his wiggling around and kicking. I made use of the tiny swinging heels by turning my back and letting him pound away. He eventually dozed off but I was left to wonder how other families actually spend entire nights sharing their beds with little people. W flips and flops like a huge mosquito larva and sometimes his giant noggin’ connected with mine. Speaking of melon heads, the doc told us Tuesday that he’s 50% for height, 10% in weight, and 90 for his cabeza grande. We may need those lead shoes I mentioned a while back before too long.

W’s greatest parental weapon to date is saying “Pwease” when he wants something. Works like a charm as we can’t resist the sweetness of the plead. As a result, he’s gotten a squishy car that wasn’t worth the $8, completely soaked himself playing with the water hose fully clothed, played in my truck for at least an hour, and buckets of yogurt. It could be worse, I guess.

Tonight is date night. We're skipping out on the Four Seasons company dinner and spending time with the parents of CaCa (as W calls her) from W's school instead. I have hung out with CaCa's mom only once before and it was awesome. We were the duo sitting at Sesame Street Live with our tots in our laps while sharing red vino out of a large sippy cup. Go ahead, nominate us for Mommy of the Year.

Tomorrow, a girlfriend from SXSW and I are heading to Marfa for 4 days for much needed R n R (that’s definitely NOT rock n roll). I’m leaving the boys behind this trip. There would be no way I could fully recover with both of them in my orbit. I’m taking the computer so the daily blogging will continue. I need the Rx.

Whoa.

I sit here and think of all that has happened since I last posted and realize I need to take a serious vacation. 83 parties we produced, people, 83 in 9 days. After several 14 to 17 hour slogs in a row, I wasn't sure I was going to make it to the end. At a certain point, everything became an act of smoke and mirrors, an exercise in digging deep within to muster what was needed to keep the momentum moving forward and clients happy. Freakin’ challenging but we all made it (except for my poor boss who is down and out with the flu). I remember briefly taking a load off in my hotel room, just a mere 10 minutes to rest my bones, and being jolted awake from an upright position by my cell phone. I had just flat out passed out sitting up. I’m still feeling the sting of fatigue as I write this. I never once had a hangover, never had a chance to let it all hang out, but my body is hungover and will be until I can get indefinitely horizontal.

There were many days in a row that I didn’t get to see W and on the days I did, it was only in the morning. I returned home at the end of this conference to find him taller, hair longer, with more teeth, and full of new words. He is also covered in a horrible (but non-contagious) rash caused by a bout of rotavirus (exploding landmines of rocket-like poop with a force that boggles the mind and blasts through clothing) he suffered a few weeks back. He looks like he’s covered in Braille. He has also claimed a level of independence that surprises me. The Hubs tells a funny story of going to pick up W from school one afternoon and trying his best to get W to follow him out the door. His “I’m leaving now,” and “Daddy’s going to go,” had no impact on the boy. After many gentle threats, the Hubs made his way to the classroom patio, just a few steps away from the exit gate. He said he breathed a sigh of relief when W marched in his direction as if his only intention was to vacate the building with him but instead he grabbed the classroom door and closed it in the Hubs’ face leaving him alone on the stoop as W hiked his way back to whatever it was he was doing. What a little fink.

Many props go to Miss Jo who became other mother and not only took care of W but kept the house in order. Gogo came in for the weekend and took up some of the slack as well. The Hubs really stepped up to the plate and I am so thrilled, grateful and happy knowing he didn’t maim W and W didn’t drive him around the bend. I think the two even had some serious fun together.

Now, let’s get back to our regularly scheduled programming, shall we?