The Way It Is

I have always wanted a family. I grew up with desires to have a house full of kids...dogs...white picket fence....the whole nine. Obviously, if you have been reading ANY of my blog, you know that my life hasn't quite worked out that way. Instead, I am a single mom, who can now compare her divorce attorneys. (In case you're curious, the second one wins, hands down. He's so incredibly on the ball, AND he wears a kick-ass bow tie.) I have managed to carve out a life for myself that JUST. ISN'T. NORMAL.

But every now and then I get a teeny tiny moment that borders on "the way it was supposed to be."

Yesterday was E's first dentist appointment. Honestly, if I were a good parent, he would have gone to the dentist when he was two...but I'm merely mediocre, so I waited to make his first appointment until just before DCS got involved. And honestly, I was dreading it. I just KNEW E would clamp his mouth shut and refuse to let "the nice lady count his teeth." I just knew it. So earlier in the week I sent Ex a text letting him know I had made the appointment. Since the appointment was on one of Ex's custody days, I asked him to bring E to the dentist and meet me there. We generally try to do medical appointments together when possible, just because it keeps us on the same page, eliminates any confusion about E's health and well-being, and I think it makes us both feel a little less crappy for forcing E into such a shit situation in the first place. (Or it does for me anyway.)

When I pulled up to the dentist's office, Ex was getting E out of the car. I hugged him (E, not Ex) and took his hand as we walked in. I didn't know what kind of prep work Ex had done for this whole experience, so I tried to get E excited about what was about to happen. "Are you ready for them to count your teeth?!? It's going to be so great! They will make sure they are all healthy and then you will get a special new toothbrush and probably a sticker!!!!"

We walked in, handed over insurance cards, signed papers, and then they called us back. And then cool stuff just started happening. E was a total champ during the whole thing, only shaking one time when he saw them aim the little scraper tool at his face. Ex held his hand. I patted his leg. And he did awesome! Then they gave him two little red cars, and he played until the dentist came to do the final exam. And while he played, Ex and I chit chatted about his need to get his teeth worked on, my work, and just life in general. It was downright pleasant. In fact, until I told the dentist that E splits the week between us, she probably didn't even realize that we weren't one big happy family.

Because here's the deal. Ex and I were horrible at marriage. But we are FREAKING AWESOME at divorce. E has never seen us fight. He's never seen us be mean. He's never heard us say harsh things about the other one. We have worked really hard through the course of E's life, so that his security is affected as little as possible. We have a really important common goal of making sure that our son is happy, healthy, and loved. And, apparently that his teeth are clean.

We walked out of the dentist office, and I was very aware that although our situation isn't the happy little family that I had once envisioned, that we are very much a team. And I couldn't help but wonder if E in fact does feel secure. Does he feel safe and fulfilled even though he goes back and forth all the time? Does he know that he is loved? Does he ever feel torn between us?

Is he ok?

And then E answered my question. He put his left hand in Ex's and his right hand in mine, took a flying leap, and hollered, "Daddy, Mama, SWING ME!!!"

So Ex and I walked through the parking lot, swinging our cavity free child, who smiled and laughed, because he knew we wouldn't drop him. He knew that he could fly through the air and come back down safely...because Daddy was in one hand and Mama was in the other.

So I guess everything is just as it should be.

The One with the Blue Balloon

The internet has been finicky at my house lately, which means I am spending crazy, insane amounts of time at places that offer free wi-fi. Mocha Frappe' anyone? When E was with me the other day, I decided to take him to the only place in town that has both an indoor play place AND free wi-fi, which also just happened to give me a reprieve from McDonald's. The only indoor play place, free wi-fi enabled place in town happens to be Chick-Fil-A. Yep....we're classing it up in these parts.

I needed to log some time on my work's database, and well, facebook has just MISSED me. So I loaded E into the car, we ate chicken nuggets and waffle fries, and then he headed off into the play area while I got some "work" done. He had a blast, and played hard for a solid hour...so hard in fact that little beads of sweat formed on his little forehead. On the way out, the cashier stopped him and offered him his choice of a blue balloon or an orange one. He chose the blue one.

As we walked outside I told him to hold onto his balloon tightly so it wouldn't fly away. He agreed. Ok. Good plan. I opened the car door, and while he climbed into the car, I put my laptop back in my bag, completely oblivious to the trauma that was unfolding. Apparently E was oblivious as well, because when he got situated in his seat he looked at me and said, "Will you hand me my balloon now?"

Of course, I, having never actually had a hand on the balloon, looked at him, then into the car, and then....up into the sky....where there was a blue balloon frolicking farther and farther away from its little "shree year old." Oops. There I go again, being so highly competitive for "Mom of the Year."

INSERT SECOND STORY HERE

Ok, last year I blogged about my mom's dog, Bo. Bo was old and sick, and eventually had to be put down. E loved that dog. So my mom, knowing that the inevitable was fast approaching, began to prepare E by saying, "Bo is old and sick." And then when Bo died, Mom said, "Bo was old and sick, and he died." She tried to keep it simple. But then Ex picked E up one day, and when E said, "Daddy, Bo is old and sick and he died," Ex added to it by saying, "Yes, he's up in the sky in Heaven." AND THEN, E's other grandmother heard about Bo being "old and sick and he died and he's up in Heaven" and she added "with Jesus." Ok...you with me? So all year long E has talked about Bo. And whenever you ask him where Bo is, he ALWAYS says, "Up in the sky with Jesus."

OK...BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING....

We're in the parking lot of Chick Fil A and the rebel balloon has just escaped, virtually unnoticed, until E requests that I hand it to him. I realized what had just happened, and the following conversation took place....

Me: Oh baby, I'm sorry. Your balloon flew away!

E: (confused) where did it go?

Me: It's up in the sky.

E: (complete dismay) WITH BO AND JESUS?!?!?!?!?!

Me: (thinking that maybe life just threw me a bone here...) Yes...with Bo and Jesus. They will be glad to have a balloon.

E: (again with the dismay) THAT DOES NOT MAKE ME HAPPY!

Me: (oh.) Oh. I'm sorry. We'll get you another balloon next time.

E: (alligator tears and wailing) BUT I DIDN'T WANT BO AND JESUS TO PLAY WITH MY BALLOON!

Me: I'm sorry.

****five minutes down the road****

E: Mama, next time I want an orange balloon.

Me: Ok. I think we can do that.

E: And Bo and Jesus can't play with it!

Me: Fair enough.

****The next morning****

Me: Good morning! How are you?

E: I'm mad that Bo and Jesus have my balloon. They should say they are sorry. And next time I'm going to get an orange one...and they CAN'T HAVE IT!

Me: Ummm.....Ok. (My son is STILL mad at the dead dog and the Christ for "taking" his toy.)

And THAT is why the mom should ALWAYS HOLD THE BALLOON.

Ethan

To all prayer warriors out there, please say a prayer for Ethan. He is a little boy whose family is from my hometown. He has been battling brain cancer for over a year now, and this week the hospital sent him home with hospice. I only know of him, and my closest connection to this family is that I sat next to Ethan's uncle in Spanish I in 1997. But I have followed their journal, and they are in so much pain right now. Please pray for Ethan, his parents, Farris and Robin, and his older sister Lanna.

You can read his journal here:

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/bibb

As a mom, there is just no greater gift than a healthy child. I am thanking God for mine...always...but especially today.

Dear E

Mother's Day came and went yesterday without much fanfare. There weren't any special gatherings we had to go to, or presents to open. There wasn't breakfast in bed or flowers. You didn't tell me Happy Mother's Day or paint your hand print on a rock for me to put in the flowerbed. In fact, from an outsider's perspective, it was just another day. Another day where you woke me up with your LOUD, but still so sweet, voice proclaiming, "It's MORNING!!! The SUN is OUT so it is MOOOORRRRNING!!!!" Oh sweet child...I really can't get enough of that at 5:59 AM.

To anyone else it would seem that we had a pretty drab Mother's Day. But they don't know what I know. They don't know that it was just me and you yesterday. They don't know that at the same time that I found myself absolutely exhausted by your energy, that I was also overcome by the joy of being the one you call Mommy. They don't know that each and every day I thank God for choosing me...because it means that I'm the mom to a child that owns my heart, that in the same breath you are someone who I want to live for and would not hesitate to die for. They don't know that when they see your sweet smile, or hear your sweet voice that they are a witness to my heart. They don't know that your kind spirit and zest for life make me spill over with zealous pride. They don't know that when you learn something new I feel like I have learned it all over again. They don't know that when your heart hurts that mine just absolutely shreds to bits of nothing. They don't know that sharing the same air with you makes life exceedingly more complicated but infinitely more rewarding. They don't know that when you smile, laugh, or crinkle your eyes, that my insides come alive. Sweet boy, they just don't know.

And they never will.

I have been given the most amazing gift from God, and I'm the only one on this earth who can claim it. I'm the only one who will ever be able to look at your sweet face and say,

Thank you, Lord, for letting me call him "son," and for letting me be the only one he calls, "mommy." If there were ever a reason to praise you, he is it.

My child, no one will ever know what it's like to be your mommy. But I have the gift of knowing. And that is what made this very quiet, very uneventful Mother's Day, the most amazing gift of all.

And for that, my son, I am all shades of thankful.

Liar, Liar

I am getting divorced.....again. In case anyone is keeping track, that's TWICE before I hit 30.

How do I get myself into these situations???

Years ago, before I began testing the true boundaries of social acceptance and the patience of my family and friends, I was a good kid. I hardly ever acted out. I rarely threw fits. And with the exception of that time in the second grade when I lied to my mom for a week straight about something that can only be described as S-T-O-O-P-I-D, I never really lied. The sing song mantra "Liar, Liar, pants on fire" was never really aimed at me.

And then I entered my twenties, and began lying to the worst possible person, myself. I told myself I had it all together. I told myself I was ready. I told myself I knew what I was doing. I told myself I was, ahem, stable. And now I think it's safe for the powers that be (along with my parents and the FAS) to all point their fingers and join in the chorus of....

LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE.

Because everything I once thought to be true about myself has recently been aired out as dirty laundry on the clothesline. My issues and my drama are once again a public spectacle, gossip fodder for facebook if you will. I have turned myself into a one woman "did you hear" water cooler conversation.

But truth be told, I'm ok with that.

Because I know things now. Granted, I know things that other people could probably grasp without having to actually experience it, but I've never been one for the easy route. So in honor of the new life that I'm (again) building for me and E....here's what I know for sure:

MY SON DESERVES PEACE IN HIS LIFE.

He deserves to be able to be 3 without the fear, consequences, and general wrath of someone who thinks that being 3 just isn't really good enough. So I know now, that in my home, and in the homes of all of the many that love him...He can be 3 in peace.

I DESERVE PEACE IN MY LIFE.

I deserve to be valued by anyone who enters my home. I have the right to hold onto my beliefs and the core of who I am without the criticism of someone who won't accept the core of who THEY are. My value and worth will not be compromised. Ever. Again.

IF YOU LOVE ME, PROVE IT.

Never again will I hear these words, and believe them without loving action. I believed them easily the first time I fell in love, and found myself picking up the pieces of a broken family. Because actions speak louder than words. And I believed them easily the second time I fell in love, and found myself fleeing my own home in the night out of sheer terror of staying put. Because actions speak louder than words. So to the next guy, I appreciate the sentiment...now prove it. Because actions speak louder than words.

I LIED TO MYSELF. I'M DONE NOW.

I wanted life to be a certain way, and when it wasn't, I forced the hand of the universe. To any of you out there who are contemplating doing this, IT DOESN'T EVER END WELL. I told myself that I could make it right, fix it, take it back, work hard enough, love strong enough, be good enough, fight long enough to overcome the bad stuff. And I told myself that I would be ok in the process. I LIED TO MYSELF. I'M DONE NOW. I can't make it right. I can't fix it. I can't take it back. I can't work hard enough or love strong enough, or be good enough or fight long enough to overcome the bad stuff. If the bad stuff is there, I will no longer know deep down that it is bad stuff, while I turn a blind eye and call it good. I am done now.

I AM LOVED.

There's a fairly long list of people in line to say "I told you so." They have every right. They knew I was lying to myself long before I did. So I can't blame them for pointing fingers...for being annoyed with the sheer determination I seem to have to see how many things I can possibly screw up and then blame it on "I was in my twenties." I really can't blame them for saying, "I told you so." But I JUST MUST BE LOVED. Because they haven't said it. (to me.) Instead they have said things like, "I'm here for you. I'm glad you're safe. I am proud of you for getting out. I believe in you. You deserve so much more. I understand. I LOVE YOU." So to Mom, Dad, Stace, Amy, Jenny, Kat, Lisa, Jennifer, Brandon, Steven, Jonathan, and Beth....Thanks. I love you too.

I WILL LISTEN

Dear God, I prayed for your voice. I HEARD your voice. And then I ignored your voice. Umm....sorry 'bout that. Any chance you might want to make something good out of this??? I thought you might. Knew I could count on you. And, for the record, I'm listening.

GRACE GETS GREATER

There's a pretty hefty possibility that even though I have a healthy grip on reality today, that tomorrow my fingers might slip. If history is any indication, I may let go altogether. (But I'm REALLY committed to not letting that happen, Dad! So tell the vein in your forehead to retreat.) I'm just saying, that even though I am on a better path today than I have been in a long time, I still lack the navigational skills to meander through this journey without messing up. So again, I am thankful that I intimately know THE ONE who shows up when I ask, with a REALLY GREAT MAP. And I'm thankful that He stockpiles Grace....because anyone who calls me His child....let's just be honest....He's gonna need it.

And to anyone else who may still be reading this, point fingers if you must.....

but I am moving on.

Um, yeah actually....

This week I've been trying to get into an exercise routine, and since the weather has been nice I've taken this endeavor outdoors. I've been jogging the loop around our local park trying to get myself in some kind of shape that isn't categorically defined as "round." Four days this week I have either gone by myself, with OS, or with the dog.

Jogging with the dog makes me proud.

A. Because I'm not being lazy on the couch

and

B. Because we spent a TON of money trying to whip this dog into shape, and now I can take her to the park, off leash, and know that she's not going too far from me.

However, I don't have full confidence that she wouldn't run off if , say, a handsome German Shepherd or a kid carrying an ice cream cone wandered by. So she wears an electronic collar that is equipped to both "page" and/or "shock the fire out of her" if it becomes necessary. She responds well to both, but her trainers told us that if we want to make an impression that we have certain expectations, that we should turn the setting up to "OH MY GOD I THINK YOU JUST LIT MY ASS ON FIRE" and let her know that whatever behavior she is exhibiting at that time is not appropriate. It's called "marking the moment."

So far, she has done extremely well with this training method and we have a great pet on our hands. In fact, we rarely have to use the shock settings on her collar now, because she responds so well to the pager. So the other day I loaded her up in the car to go for a quick run. It was my first trip to the park since she has been out of training, so when we started to get close to passing the couple in front of us, I saw her begin to head their way for a sniff. I meant to give her only a light shock and a quiet correction, but apparently OS had marked a moment recently, because the collar setting was turned up to "SHOCK THE LIVING HELL OUT OF THE DOG." Of course, she shrieked and scared both me and the poor couple in front of us. I apologized to them and explained that she was in training. Then we passed and went on our way. However, as I got passed them I heard the guy say, "Geez...can you draw more attention to yourself?"

So I spent the rest of my jog thinking about this:

In the fall of 2000, I was a sophomore in college. During my college years I was involved in a Christian organization whose focus was on dramatic outreach. At the time I thought this was a great organization. I learned a lot about the Bible. Now, however, I think the organization is a little EXTREME for my tastes...and I kind of wish I had joined a sorority...and drank more margaritas. Oh well.

During the fall of my sophomore year, this organization did a dramatic outreach called "I Agree with Ryan." Because all of my friends were in this group, I participated. Participation consisted of wearing a canary yellow t-shirt that said "I AGREE WITH RYAN" in bold black letters on a certain day, when all the other participants were wearing their t-shirts too. On that day, any place you looked you'd see a canary yellow t-shirt, walking into a building, getting on the shuttle, eating lunch, sitting in class. And I was one of them. The goal was to get the entire campus asking "What the hell?" and when they questioned any of us, we were to instruct them of a meeting held that evening. If they wanted to learn more, they could come and hear about it. Then of course, Ryan would speak and give his testimony in hopes of converting the sinners.

While the meeting that night didn't go off entirely as planned, the first part of the outreach...the get the campus to say "What the Hell?" part, well...it worked. All day long I felt like a giant loser in my canary yellow "I Agree With Ryan" t-shirt...and all day long I wanted to crawl into a hole and drink myself silly. And then it got worse.

The day before the "I'm a loser in a canary yellow t-shirt day" I had given blood. That day I was fine, but the next day, I felt pretty crappy all day long. And I was wearing a canary yellow t-shirt. Great. So I sat in Psych 310 listening to a lecture on the Id and the Ego with 35 classmates...who weren't wearing canary yellow "I Agree With Ryan" t-shirts....because they were normal. And about 15 minutes into class...after all the students had looked at me like I was a loser...can't blame them...my crappy "I gave blood" feeling swooped in full force, and I was hit with the intense knowledge of "in about 60 seconds I"m either going to pass out or throw up." Since I didn't want to do either of these in front of 35 college kids who already thought I was about half stupid, I did the only thing I could think of. I got up in the middle of the lecture, weaved my way in and out of desks towards the door....

and passed out in the doorway...my feet in the classroom, my head in the hallway floor, and my canary yellow "I Agree With Ryan" t-shirt gleaming towards the heavens. The professor dismissed the class, and then about 10 of them stood around while two guys picked me up off the floor and sat me on a bench. Girls were handing me moist towels and water bottles, and they all just. kept. staring.

A couple of years later I was pawing through racks at Goodwill, and I came across an "I Agree With Ryan" shirt. I couldn't help but think it was a much cooler shirt when the attached story was, "dude, I totally found this shirt at the Goodwill for a quarter! What the hell?"

So to the snarky guy at Triple Creek Park....

um, yes, as a matter of fact, I can draw WAY. MORE. ATTENTION to myself.

Oh Boy.

My baby boy has turned into a kid.

A rowdy one.

I blame preschool.

E goes to preschool 3 days a week, and there is a kid there who he calls his best friend. This kid's mother and I grew up in church together so we know each other pretty well. Our boys were attending a small Mother's Day Out program together and loving every minute of it. In December, we were informed that the program's funding had been cut and they were shutting it down. Because we wanted our boys to continue preschool together, we made sure to move them to the same new Mother's Day Out program on the same days.

Oh boy.

Other than being E's "best fwiend" he has taught my sweet baby boy the following:

*Candy can be shoved in your mouth up to the point that your lips no longer close and rainbow colored spit pours out the sides.

*Anything, and I mean ANYTHING, can be used to "shoot a deer." My sweet little boy now goes around aiming rolls of wrapping paper, remote controls, and dinner forks at the dog hollering, "I'm going to shoot a deer....chi, chi, BAM!"

The phrase "what the hell" is appropriate to say when the dog knocks over one of your trains. Obviously, the appropriate response after the aforementioned derailing of the train, is to pick up said train, aim it at the dog and yell "Chi, Chi, BAM!"

I guess it was too much to hope that he would simply learn to wipe himself and write his name.

I know everything he's experiencing right now is par for the course when you have a little boy. However, he's growing up WAY. TOO. FAST. While I'm excited about each new phase of development, I am finding myself missing the baby in him. He's all into wanting to help me, and he actually PLAYS now instead of just tossing toys about. He has his own little agenda, and when things don't go according to it, he responds with some form of loud protest. Everything about him now is a bit more pronounced than it once was: his love, his dismay, his frustration, his joy, his sense of humor, his sadness, his excitement, his energy, and his precious little spirit.

I miss him being a baby. I miss holding him and smelling his sweet little head. I miss rocking him to sleep at night while singing songs. I miss being able to lay him down on a blanket in the floor and leaving the room only to come back and him be in the same exact spot, smiling at me. I miss cuddling on the couch with him sleeping beside me. I miss my baby.

But I love this kid. I love grabbing him and hugging him tight as I smell the little boy smell from his hair. I love laying in bed with him and reading stories as he stops me mid sentence to count all of the bears in the picture. I love listening to him to sing songs in the car to the radio, only to get shy when he catches me looking at him in the rear view mirror. I love leaving the room with him watching tv and coming back in to an empty room and a little voice in the house hollering, "I bet you can't find me Momma!" I love laying with my son on the couch to watch cartoons while he throws the blanket over his head and says, "get under the tent wif me!"

Even if I never get to be the mommy of another baby, I get to be "Momma" to this precious kid.

Thank you, God, for picking me. Oh Boy.

A Therapy Blog

This morning I saw something that caught my attention. I had just dropped E off at the gas station for the weekly swap with his dad, and on my way back, I passed a BMW. It's not that strange to pass a BMW...people do it on a daily basis, I'm sure of it. But this one was different. This wasn't just any BMW.

This was a BMW with a Pizza Hut magnetic sign perched on top. Yeah, really.

My first thought after, ok...not something you see every day, was what kind of choices did that guy make to put himself in the position of BMW owner and pizza delivery guy in the same season of his life? I can't help but think that his story must be some kind of flirtation between "sometimes life hands you lemons" and "holy, sh*t...wish I hadn't done that."

Lately I've been sorting through a pile of choices in my life, trying to distinguish the good from the bad, the lucky from the unlucky, the "sometimes life hands you lemons" and the "holy sh*t...wish I hadn't done that." I'm on a personal quest to figure out why I do the things I do....a much bigger initiative than I'm actually comfortable with, because it requires me to dive into the dark corners of my psyche and air out whatever might have set up residence there. And so far, the only conclusion that I've come to is that these aforementioned shortcomings and inadequacies have been shoved into the dark corners for a good reason...they kind of suck.

But, in the spirit of "airing out", this is what I've uncovered so far:

I live life in victim mode. It's very easy for me to take any lemons life might hand me and hurl them in someone else's direction. I try very hard to never be "at fault"....not because I'm never actually a key player in whatever heartache may be going on....but because the admission of such a role would mean that I'm not perfect. And while I KNOW I'm not perfect, I have nearly 29 years invested in getting others to believe that I'm pretty darn close....even though, rationally, I know they never do. (A realization that only serves to make me even MORE disappointed in my inability to live up to my incredibly unrealistic expectations of myself.) Wow...it was exhausting just typing that....no wonder I'm so tired all the time.

I'm never quite as happy where I'm at as I need to be. It seems that I'm always looking for the NEXT thing in life to bring excitement or happiness. It's hard for me to just. settle. in. I used to think I did this because life is supposed to one of those "the sky's the limit, take the bull by the horns, ride like the wind" kind of experiences. But in the process of airing out the dark corners, I've realized that I do this because I have an unhealthy ideal that life should be perfect, happy, rosy, uplifting, satisfying, gratifying, and splendid ALL THE TIME. Obviously, a mindset like this leads a girl to a wealth of absolutely nothing but disappointment on semi-regular basis. I haven't quite figured out WHY I do this yet...just that I do it. Stay tuned for the details...I'm sure it will be a humdinger.

There's tons more...but we'll call it a night there.

Suddenly, for some reason, being a BMW Pizza Delivery driver doesn't seem so bad.

(For anyone still reading this thing...I promise to blog about something completely comical and free of therapeutic references as soon as possible. Fart blog, anyone???)

Well, crap.

Hello Blog. Remember me? I'm the girl who promised to love you forever and then just one day stopped typing. Sorry about that. I'm back now, because

A. I am a good blogger

B. I miss you.

and

C. When all this crazy is trapped in my head, life gets ugly. So I figured I'd return and release all the crazy back into the blogdom. Oh yes. You're welcome.

Here it comes...

I think I may have possibly said this before, but apparently it warrants repeating. I have issues. Not just the kind of issues that require the occasional threesome with Ben and Jerry, but REAL issues....the kind that call for serious processing and visits with my inner child and, ugh, honesty.

I wish that I could say that during my extended blog absence life has been all sunshine and roses. I wish I could say that I was the model of joy and happiness. I wish I could say that I had learned how to go all Bewitched on the things that haunt me. But I haven't. Life since marrying OS has had its ups and downs. We've done the expected laughing and crying, but recently found ourselves at a crossroads, probably the first of many, where a decision had to be made. It wasn't painless and it wasn't easy, but at the end of the day we found ourselves taking each other's hand and walking in the same direction. However, during this little journey, I looked at myself in a new light. Unfortunately, it was a cheap dressing room kind of light instead of an upscale salon light....and, well, let's just say it....all my crap was right there for the whole world to see.

The result of this experience has been me realizing that I am long overdue at dealing with my issues. So far in my life, it's been rather convenient to blame my shortcomings on others in my life. It's my parents fault, my sister's fault, my ex husband's fault, or OS's fault. Never mine though....never mine. Sadly, this isn't quite the case. I've realized that I have been experiencing the same problems over and over for years now, and this cross roads experience with OS has made me decide that it's time to tackle the things that haunt me like a ghostbuster with a new proton pack. I have a feeling it's not going to be an easy journey, but LUCKY YOU....you'll get to read about it...because guess what Blog....

I'm back.

Conversations with E

My son has been quite the little conversationalist lately. Most of the time it's too stinkin' cute. Like this one:

Setting the stage: On our way to a bounce house for him to celebrate his birthday with a friend who was also having a birthday. The bounce house is in the same general direction as the place where we got his halloween costume. We had just pulled off the exit when the conversation started:

E: Mommy...are we getting costume?

Me: Not today, Buddy...we're going to a bouncy house for you to play!

E: Will there be costumes there?

Me: No baby...we only wear costumes for halloween...now it's time for your birthday, so we're going to play!

E: My dirfday? I will be shree on my dirfday!

Me: I know! You're such a big boy!

E: After my dirfday will there be costumes?

Me: No...after your dirf...BIRTHday...there will be Christmas!

E: What's Christmas?

Me: Christmas is when we celebrate Jesus' birthday! It will be fun. You will get presents and we'll read stories about Jesus!

E: How old is Jesus going to be?

Me: Ummm....I don't know...but it's going to be fun!

E: What costume will Jesus wear?

Me: Jesus doesn't have a costume...costumes are just for Halloween.

E: Jesus is going to be a bat.

Me: A bat, huh?

E: yeah (nodding head enthusiastically). A bat. And he'll say "tricky-tricky" and we'll give him candy for his dirfday. And, and, and, and, Jesus will be "shree" too.

Me: (unable to figure out how to diffuse the confusion at this point) sounds good to me baby!

E: yeah.


And then there are conversations like this one that are just downright exhausting:

Setting the stage: I'm folding laundry. And then the fun began.

E: Mommy, whatcha doin?

Me: folding clothes.

E: why?

Me: So we'll have clean clothes to wear.

E: why?

Me: because we like to wear clean clothes.

E: why do we like cwean cwothes?

Me: we just do. (walking into the laundry room)

E: Now whatcha doin?

Me: washing some more clothes for us.

E: why?

Me: (because I said so!) we just have a lot of laundry

E: why?

Me: (Oh dear Lord...we just do!) we just do, baby.

E: but why?

Me: (OH MY GOD!) we just wear a lot of clothes.

E: Why we wear a wot of cwothes?

Me: I think Tom and Jerry is on! Want to watch it?

E: Tom and Jerry?! Why is Tom and Jerry on?

Me: come on! I'll turn it on for you!

After turning on the tv, I begin to walk out of the room...

E: whatcha doin mommy?

Me: going to finish laundry.

E: why?

Me: (because you're driving me crazy!) because you're driving me crazy!

E: I'm dwiving you cwazy?

Me: yes (feeling guilty)

E: why?

and it continued until bedtime.

I love this kid. Just don't ask why.