Love and War

Probably one of the happiest days of my youth was when I found out that I didn’t have to celebrate or even acknowledge The-Fake-&-Smarmy-Holiday-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named. This was long before K was in my life, so it has nothing to do with any missteps on either of our parts. In fact, when I told him he was permanently off the hook for that particular day, a happier man you’ve never seen. I suspect that was one of the reasons we’re together. Ironic, no?

Over the years when I have told people what I celebrate instead of St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, the reactions run the gamut from confusion and disbelief to high-fives. I didn’t choose to celebrate this event just to thumb my nose at the marketing machine that has turned people into love-struck loonies with expectations that defy rational thought—that was just an added benefit. I chose this particular anniversary because the man it honors embodies so many of the qualities I admire in humans. So without further ado, I wish you all a very Happy Winfield Scott Hancock’s 186th Birthday!

Since I was in middle school, I have been a student of the Civil War. I’ve always found that war to be the most fascinating and heart-wrenching conflict and I used to spend a fair amount of my time reading about it, going to lectures, and visiting battlefields. I suspect my great attachment to soldiers was born during these years. And now as a wife of a soldier, I have a greater appreciation for what soldier’s families must have gone through. We have it so much better today with our cell phones and the internet. Everything is as immediate as it possibly could be for how geographically separate we are. For so many centuries, communication between soldiers and their families was all but non-existent. Sometimes the only way they knew their loved one was dead was because he simply didn’t come home again. I know how good I have it and I never take it for granted. This life is not easy, but it certainly could be a hell of a lot worse and I believe that people need to keep that in mind as they bitch and moan about so many of the hardships we deal with. But I digress…

Who is Winfield Scott Hancock?

General Hancock was born February 14, 1824 in Norristown, PA. Hancock served as a young lieutenant under his namesake, General Winfield Scott during the Mexican War in 1847. He remained career Army and served in Missouri (where he met his wife Almira), Florida during the Seminole wars, and California just as the Civil War broke out . He was the father of a son and a daughter, both of whom predeceased him. He was also a closet artist, amature scientist and botanist, wrote the occasional poem, and swore with vigor and colorful turn of phrase. General Hancock rose to fame and glory during the American Civil War fighting for the Union commanding the 2nd Corps. He was nicknamed “Hancock the Superb” for his courage, composure, and effectiveness during battle. He was wounded at Gettysburg while urging his men from horseback to hold their lines during Pickett’s infamous charge. He turned down the offer to Command the Army of the Potomac and remained 2nd Corps Commander until his wound forced him to give up field command toward the end of the war. Here is what General Ulysses S. Grant had to say about Winfield Scott Hancock:

“Hancock stands the most conspicuous figure of all the general officers who did not exercise a separate command.  He commanded a corps longer than any other one, and his name was never mentioned as having committed in battle a blunder for which he was responsible.  He was a man of very conspicuous personal appearance.  Tall, well-formed and, at the time of which I now write, young and fresh-looking, he presented an appearance which would have attracted the attention of an army as he passed.  His genial disposition made him friends, and his personal courage and his presence with his command in the thickest of the fight won for him the confidence of troops serving under him.  No matter how hard the fight, the 2d Corps always felt that their commander was looking after them.”

After the Civil War, Hancock remained in the Army and ran for President in 1880 losing in one of the closest presidential races ever to James Garfield. One of his last duties before his own death on Feb. 9, 1886 was to oversee the funeral for former General and President Grant. Hancock died penniless because he would often give former 2nd Corps veterans money if they came to him needing help. His wife wrote a book about his life to support herself in her later years (the first-edition copy I have is one of my prized possessions). Hancock led his life with integrity and his love and devotion for his fellow soldier and country is far more impressive than paper hearts and gooey chocolates. So if I’m going to have to pretend this day is about love, then I’d rather hold him up as an example of what it truly means to love something or someone than anything retail advertisers could come up with.

Now on to a quick update about my own soldier: I heard from K the other night and he is well but missing home already. Their training is moving along and he’s doing prep work for their mission that he’s anxious to get started doing. His internet right now is spotty, so I’m not sure how many updates we’ll have for a little while. Just wanted to let everyone know all is still well.

Enjoy your day whether you spend it eating conversation hearts, petting tigers (Happy Chinese New Year!), or saluting a soldier you love!

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I’ll be back

I know it’s been too long since I last wrote, but I will be back regularly after January 2nd. We had a more chaotic Christmas than normal (and planned) and I’ll explain it all when I get back. With all the work to make Christmas happen, I really needed a long break to relax and reset my brain for the coming months as well as enjoy this last week with K before he heads out for the long haul. In the meantime, I want to thank everyone who has been coming by to read my ramblings. It means very much to me to have an audience. I also wanted to wish you all a very Happy New Year. I hope 2010 is a satisfying and fulfilling year for all of us.

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‘Tis the Season

Christmas makes me feel like the Wizard of Oz. I get to be the (wo)man behind the curtain orchestrating the gifts and making sure the munchkins don’t stick lollipops in each other’s hair while I turn everything green. I suspect, though, that I am busier at Christmas time than the Wizard is running Oz. I would love to complain that with K away I have more to do, but I’ve always been the one doing the majority of Christmas planning and executing (and there are years I wish I could execute Christmas!), so this year is not all that different. The only thing I’ve added to the to do is list is kid wrangling which just means things take a little longer.

Since K was leaving early in December, we decided to knock out some of the things we would normally do later so he could be here. First on the list was decorate the tree, of course. It wasn’t just K wanting to participate that drove us to decorate a little early. Nope, it was Monkey who had been talking about Santa and Christmas trees since before Thanksgiving. He could not be denied any longer. I was actually beginning to worry that if we didn’t bring the tree down from the barn (we have to have an artificial tree because of his allergies), he would and end up hurting himself. I blame Dora and her Christmas Time Adventure ads—they brainwashed the boy.

So decorate we did. I usually prep the tree before everyone decorates. Apparently I have the most patience for fixing and stringing the lights (a little secret: I actually enjoy repairing the stupid lights as long as I have enough replacement parts) which isn’t saying much. I’m usually tapped out on patience after that for at least a few months. Aside from electric circuit puzzles, my favorite thing about decorating our Christmas tree is putting up the picture ornaments. Since R was a baby, I’ve been putting together picture ornaments for the tree. I’ll pick out my favorite picture from earlier in the year and up it goes. I absolutely love to go through them and see how much the kids have changed or laugh over the sometimes very goofy pictures I’ve chosen (like Monkey sitting inside the toilet when he was first potty training). My goal someday is to have a tree that is just these pictures. We could probably do it now, but I keep getting vetoed. The other tree I want that no one else in my house wants is the lights only tree. After I put so much time into making the damn things work, I don’t want them covered with stuff. One day…

And here is our pretty traditional looking tree. Normally I do red, white, and green lights, but I couldn’t revive the red and green lights for a full compliment, so we went with white and blue. I do not like blinking, multi-colored lights. They make me feel like I’m going to have a seizure. Since K likes multi lights and I prefer white, this is our compromise.

And here is the kid’s little tree they decorate without our help at all. We put it on the dining room table so they can still rearrange it when they want. It’s pretty small and when they are done, I am reminded of modern art.

One of my favorite things about this house is that we have a working fire place with a real mantel we can hang stockings from. In our last house we had to hang them from the staircase banister which is just not the same. There are actually many things I love about Christmas time: my blue snowflake dishes, the icicle lights out on the porch, our little Santa collection, and figuring out how to keep Santa’s secret while he is still a revered figure. I enjoy making our goofy Christmas cards (traditionally I make us stick figures, or, like this year we are gingerbread cookies), and I love to make baklava to give as gifts. I often wish these things would take care of themselves, but they don’t and I do get a fair amount of satisfaction out of managing it all. I just need to hire the occasional elf.

Last year I started a new tradition with the kids by taking them to Santa’s Village up north in the mountains. Santa’s Village is actually an amusement park. Yes, I said amusement park. There are roller coasters and a ferris wheel as well as other typical outdoor rides that run all summer and through to Christmas. And I can say only people who live this far north would consider riding a ferris wheel in the freezing cold after a snow storm. And only people who live this far north would actually wear shorts to the tundra. (The guy in front of us to see Santa was wearing shorts while the rest of us were in snow suits. Dude was hardcore!) We are insane because our blood does not flow in the winter making us nearly impervious to the cold. (I wish!) The kids love it though and they get to visit with Santa and my kids are never so well-behaved as they are at Santa’s Village. Visiting the snowy playground is becoming my favorite tradition of all.

K didn’t get to go last year due to a slightly catastrophic ice storm that the Guard was called out for and that we lost power for several days (but was not catastrophic enough to stop a trip to the Village!). We lucked out this year with only minor snow and a free weekend so K could make this trip. It was one of the better family excursions we’ve taken this year.

Monkey is talking to Santa about Handy Manny tools while he waits for the obligatory candy cane.

I left the red-eye in on purpose because we like to tease our devil-child who looks so sweet (if not amazingly like Pepto) here.

K and R on the Ferris wheel.

And here is the view from the top. Almost makes the nausea and extra cold worthwhile.

R couldn’t wait to “drive” the old-fashioned cars. All I can say is I’m glad it was on a track she couldn’t hop.

And finally, the goofy face picture of the day… The little girl in the middle is cute though.

For as much work and thought that goes into Christmas preparations, I’m glad we did these things while K was still home to enjoy it too. It was the most fun we had and the least stressful between all his travel and long hours since this pre-deployment phase started. Sometimes I forget how much I like this time of year. Expectations can run too high and the workload and expense seems to grow exponentially, but these little things are the best parts. I’ve been doing my best this year to remember that these smaller things count and I don’t have to let out the humbug that lurks inside.

This year I’ve asked Santa to give me the patience to make it to next year’s visit with him. I have an inside connection and I’ve been less naughty than usual, so I think I’m in good shape. Time will tell.

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Treasures and Time off

I hope everyone had a pleasant Thanksgiving. We enjoyed both a nice overnight stay with our families and some time away from the kids who stayed with my parents an extra couple of nights after we left. As much as we love the kiddos, it is always nice to have a break. We are lucky to get that opportunity with some regularity. I head down to pick them up this afternoon and on the way home we are going to listen to more of Madeleine L’Engle read her novel, A Wrinkle in Time. It is my all-time favorite book and R’s first time hearing it. I’m tickled she wants to hear more (we only listened to part of it on the way down) and I really love to hear the late, great Ms. L’Engle read her own words. I enjoy hearing the author’s interpretation of what they wrote—I like to know how they heard what they wrote as they wrote it. Plus, for me, I just feel such a connection to her, that it’s a treat to her her voice.

I digress. We had a lovely time at Auntie L and Uncle D’s for Thanksgiving dinner. We hung out with Grammie and Auntie S & Uncle Fungus and got to see how much little E has grown since he stayed with us this summer. The four bigger cousins: R, C, A, and Monkey all ran around together like good cousins do, with very little tattling, fighting, or arguing which is always a bonus. Earlier in the day I had brought over the furry kids, CaseyJones and Zoe, to play with their cousin Ayla. We wanted to wear them out so they would sleep while we ate copious amounts of meat. It worked like a charm. They ran around playing fetch and they wrestled and Zoe and Ayla cut each other off from water and people, trying to prove who had the better position in their temporary pack. I was amused to watch Zoe cutting off Ayla from Casey who apparently is only allowed to be tormented by Zoe. Ayla, a beautiful German Shepherd, is the youngest, but as big as Casey who is an adult male Lab, with Zoe, coming in a close third size-wise. But my girl is tough and liked to remind Ayla that she was the elder of the two. There wasn’t any real fighting, but a fair amount of teeth showing and warning growls. Luckily, all of them are smart and good listeners so nothing ever went too far. All in all they were great dogs and they were definitely tuckered out.

After dinner, R and I went over to visit with my side of the family for dessert (not that I could eat anything, I was so full). We got to visit with some of my cousins who live even farther away than I do, which was fantastic. I’m pretty close to my cousins and always miss them even if I’m lousy at letting them know. The next generation of cousins all ran around screeching and giggling and singing like a band of pixies on crack…or frosted cupcakes as the case may be. In any event, it was good to see my family even if it was for a short time. We’ll see them again around Christmas when we head down one more time before K leaves the country.

Before we came home to enjoy the quiet, we stopped over at my grandfather’s house so K could visit with him too since he didn’t get to the night before (not that we could have heard a conversation over the screaming mimi’s). I loved to hear his stories especially the one when he was a young boy hitching a ride on the bread guy’s horse-drawn cart. Stories he told of my great-grandmother’s brushes with death always amaze me : on her way over from Greece on a freighter carrying marble, the cargo broke loose during a storm and ripped a hole in the ship, forcing the passengers into lifeboats for 2 days; and a few years later, when my grandfather was very small, their landlord set the house on fire for the insurance money but blocked the main way out causing my great-grandparents to make a jump from their house to the house next door. It always makes me pause to consider how many different times our family could have ceased to exist. I’m glad all my grandparents were so tough.

Those great stories weren’t the only treasures we got to leave with. Oh, no! My grandfather’s tenant recently passed away and apparently he was a hoarder. While his family did take care of most of what he left behind, my grandfather held on to a good chunk of the guy’s cigar box collection. The boxes are not really worth much, but for some of us, it was like Christmas come early to get to poke around and find the most unusual or useful of the many varieties. I, personally (and R, too) love wooden boxes and I if I hadn’t shown some restraint would have come home with several more than I did. Here are the ones K and I chose to bring home and eventually put to use:

I loved the shape of the inside of the box in the upper left of the picture:

It is rounded on the outside to accommodate rounder, more natural cigars.

This next one I was so excited to find among the boxes my mom had. It’s going to be my new art supply box for when I start my drawing class next week.

I love that it has all the different compartments. I don’t particularly care that the box isn’t in mint condition because it will be so useful to me. All my different pencils and erasers and sharpeners will fit beautifully in here.

I suspect I’ll be using at least one box to hold letters from K should he decide to send any while he’s away. And I might keep one for the various little things the kids make for me. I love to put things away to find later and reminisce over and these cigar boxes are perfect.

K and I have had a very mellow weekend without the kids. We slept in, started (and almost finished) watching Generation Kill, food shopped, sat in front of the fire, I went for tea with B again, K and I went to dinner, and we just generally took advantage of the quiet. I should have enough peace stored up to last me at least the drive back after picking up the kids. I’m glad one holiday is down and just one more to go. I’ve got lots of organizing to do for Christmas and even more freelance work to do before the end of the year. Fitting it all in should be quite the juggling act. We’ve got one more short time with K being gone, and then we all need to get into longer-term mind-sets of separate lives after the new year. It’s a lot to contemplate, so I’m thankful we’ve had this little quiet before the storm.

 

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Gobble Gobble!

There was a turkey loose in my back yard yesterday. He tried to make a break for it, but I caught him…on film anyway.

There’s no getting away, little turkey!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I’ll be off for a couple of days visiting family and friends.  Hope you will be too.

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Little things

Thanksgiving is approaching and I am generally not one of those people who gets particularly sappy about the holiday. Of course I am thankful for the big things: family, friends I can count on, good health, my relative sanity, the Internets (and all the many devices that connect me to it), and a roof over my head. All important items on the “To be thankful for” list.  But it’s not Thanksgiving yet, so I’m not going to wax poetic at this time—possibly not this year even. I try as best I can to be thankful for them daily and not just trot them out once a year.

Instead, I am going to count some of the little things I’m thankful for, though, that maybe don’t get the press they deserve. In fact, I might just make this type of list a semi-regular event so I remember to pay attention to them.

1. Playing tag and hide-and-go-seek with Monkey while we wait for his school bus. We hide in the same places every time but he’s always surprised to be found and we always laugh like it’s the first time. It’s becoming my favorite part of the day.

2. Zoe sleeping at my feet every night. She is so warm and my feet are always so damn cold. She was meant for me.

3. A clear night sky. Living in the country has made star gazing one of my favorite things. We have very little light pollution in our neighborhood, so it’s “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” on a regular basis. Finally, the longer hours of darkness have a perk.

4. My Tuesday morning trips to the cafe for a Chai Latte. It might not be Calgon, but it’s a close second.

5. Reduced fat Oreos. Why isn’t there a diet based around these? They go with everything. I know because I’ve tested the theory.

Any other items on this list would reveal just how big a fangirl and/or geek I am, and really, no one needs to know the full extent of that.

Thanks, little things!

If anyone would like to share some little things they are thankful for, please do! (And no quoting Bull Durham‘s list either—that’s cheating!)

 

 

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Plague, Possums, and Birthdays all around

Looks like the plague disrupted my writing plans again. I had a symptom a day ranging from chills to ear ache to headache. I can’t decide if having everything at once would have been preferable. I suppose it would have been more efficient. I will say that taking Lysine seems to have tipped the scale so that no one symptom lasted long. Either way, happy to not be feeling icky today. Of course being sick put me behind in just about everything, so this weekend is all about catching up and moving ahead.

In the on-going gang war between my dogs and a local opossum, you can finally score 1 for Casey and Zoe. We’ve had a run-in with said possum before, and the last couple of times the possum (with a little help from me) bested my pups. The first occasion ended with the possum playing—you guessed it—possum and faking all of us out. When K. went out to dispose of “the body” it was high-tailing it across the street. The other night I went to bring the dogs in for the night and there was a whole lot of barking going on at the side of the yard and sure enough, there was a (or the) possum just outside the electric fence range mocking Zoe. She was not pleased. Casey was at least interested but was perfectly happy coming back to me for some plain old treats. That is only because the possum was not a quilled, slow-moving, animal whose capture would result in a $250 vet visit and a week of antibiotics. The other morning, I was pulling into the driveway and to the left of our barn I thought I saw something that could have been a piece of a broken birch limb that the dogs liked to run around with. I figured I’d go put it back on the wood pile. Instead, I found (finally) dead possum. I have no idea of the possum corpse was the result of a revenge killing, or a gift from an admirer. Either way, I left it there for an overnight just to make sure it was really dead. It is. The dogs have ignored it but I no longer can. Tomorrow morning, if it’s not raining, I’ll head out and be a big girl and dispose of the body. It’ll be my first cover-up! I can’t wait.

Of course, I could learn to strip the carcass and make some possum fur birthday slippers for one of the many men in my life who shared a birthday yesterday. I’m not entirely sure who would appreciate them more: my grandfather, who at 93 would be dazzled at my skinning and sewing skills (especially since I was the kid who could never cut the live crab in half to use as bait when we went fishing); my oldest cousin who would appreciate the originality of the gift and at least model them for me before hiding them in his closet for eternity; or DG who would gladly take them and re-gift them to DS later as a joke, which is exactly what I would do.

As I said, my grandfather turned 93 yesterday. I love my Papou. He’s still spry and sharp and all-around awesome. He knows something about everything but he’s not a know-it-all. He is always curious and we know this because he likes to tap on walls to see what’s hiding behind them. As kids we were not allowed to wake Papou up from a nap because it was suicide. My cousin, S., thought that memo was crap, apparently. He only ever ignored it once though.When Star Wars originally came out in the theaters we told Papou he should go see it and he told us he’d wait until it came on TV… we told him that was never going to happen. Papou has always been all-knowing as you can see. Back when he had the restaurant (we’re Greek, we always have a restaurant somewhere in our past), I would go have a grilled cheese with tomato whenever possible. It’s still my favorite sandwich and favorite comfort food. I especially liked to walk over after school (my middle school was a block away) and visit him on my own because he always made time for me. And Mondays, which was his day off, he and my grandmother would come visit and I always looked forward to it. Papou outside of the restaurant was pretty novel when I was little. During my marriage, my grandfather has provided my husband with a range of weaponry that sadly, I have not let through the front door of my house. Papou likes K. apparently, otherwise, no doubt the various knives and such would remain in the treasure trove that is his basement. I love that basement and it’s clutter. If you can’t find what you need in there, you really just don’t need it. You know you love someone when even their crazy basement is a source of enjoyment. And that’s my Papou: a crazy assortment of amazing stuff.

Today was a pretty good day for me and the kiddos as we wait for K. to get home at the end of this coming week to wrap up part 1b of this deployment. We made a library run, a shopping trip to Target for various and sundries, and then tonight R. went to a “Girl’s Night” at her dojo, and I took Monkey on a date to see Astroboy. I love that he can finally sit through a movie without being a complete looney. And now, to finish this satisfying day, I’m going to hang out and watch episodes 4-6 of Generation Kill and snuggle with my slightly damp puppies.

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Sick or Treat

It didn’t take long for something to happen after K. left. Nothing like getting things out of the way early. Luckily for the kids Trick or Treating happens a day earlier in our town (why, I’m really not sure) otherwise they would not have made it out the door. Given how excited Monkey was this year to go candy begging, I would have been heart-broken for him to have missed it. He had a blast being Dash from The Incredibles, and his big sister was an “eraser” or assassin from her newest favorite anime, Black Cat. Of course not one single person around here would have known it, but she looked pretty close to the mark minus her hair. Hey, she was pretty happy with it, and I’m just glad the days of being a Princess of any kind seem to be over. As Lafayette says, “hallalujas, hallalujas.”

Here they are with R.’s BFF, S. (a corpse bride) right before the candy begging started. We were one of the first groups out and the kids had a blast.

Here are a few more from the evening’s festivities…

We took the kids around a townhouse complex and even though they maybe went to a third of the condos, they had quite the haul by the time it got dark and they (I) got tired. I did enjoy watching them run around all hopped up on the idea of eating their loot as soon as they slowed down enough to eat something. This was the first year Monkey really understood what he was supposed to do and he did it well. He was polite and excited. His big sister did a fantastic job of heading off as much peanut butter candy for him as she could. She’s a good kid that way and it’s nice that she doesn’t want him to die…in spite of her chosen costume. And that costume gave people pause on occasion which I thought was fantastic. I think a sparkly, blue-eyed, dimpled assassin would be pretty terrifying myself. Nothing like standing a stereotype on its butt.

They were both fairly wiped out by bedtime and they each woke up sick. It’s fevers and coughs all around now. Monkey has a runny nose, and R. has a headache. Yaya and Papa are here this weekend to hang with us and give me a chance to do some of my own things which I truly appreciate even at this early stage of things, and I really hope they won’t leave sick as payment for their good deed. I hate spreading germs around. I am doing my best to drink my ginseng tea and hope that the plate of Thea Sofi’s cranberry squares I have demolished will be a good vitamin C supplement. Thanks, Thea Sofi! The kids layed around watching horrible Disney Halloween movies all day between coughing and napping and not eating their candy. With any luck they will forget they have candy and I can get rid of it before I feel obligated to eat all the good stuff for them.

I did knock out one project yesterday afternoon while the kids rested and my folks kept an eye on them. I worked in the upstairs part of our barn and got it organized. Uncle Fungus had been living up there off and on since April and now that he and K. have left for duty, I was able to go up there and sort through some of the piles of boxes and organize things so that I would know where everything was. We still have a ton of unused space up here and I intend to keep it that way. I say this as one entire, and very large, shelving unit holds all mine and K.’s childhood memorabilia. That’s about half of the boxes and storage containers up here. Of that group, I would say that 75% of them are mine—and I’m not really that much of a horder. I have to go through the boxes and cull many things, but not today. I did peek in some of my boxes and found many examples of my earlier writing. Barely touched journals, papers from middle school, high school, college and grad school, and a play I wrote with a friend in high school called “Cheerleaders from Heck” which I pulled out to read along with a journal I kept my senior year of high school for my Advanced Composition class. We were to pick someone specific for our audience and I picked my future kids so they would know that I was like them once too. We’ll see how that goes. Funny thing is I still write for my kids for that same reason. Sometimes what goes on on the outside isn’t representative of what’s going on inside and they are too young to get it anyway. But someday they won’t be and I would like them to know. I was surprised to see just how passionate I was about writing even back then. Back in high school and college I had A Plan. On the one hand I was quite proud of myself for working towards my goals even back then, and on the other hand, I was sad to see how far I had strayed from those dreams. I can honestly say that writing—or wanting to be a writer—has been the one constant in my life. I may not have been as diligent about doing it for many years, but the desire never went away. I’m glad I boxed up that young, ambitious woman I used to be so that I could find her again. I think she’s going to come in handy this year.

 

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Great pumpkin

In an odd switch for our family, we are getting ready for Halloween earlier than usual. I admit that I’m rather lazy with this particular holiday. I, myself, am not interested in dressing up and I know what little self-control I have with Halloween candy, so it’s one of those times I tolerate. But this year Monkey has been interested in Halloween which is great. Last year we trolled his dress up clothes and he was a knight and it took until the day of Trick or Treating for R. to decide what she wanted to be (a ghost). This year, however, we are running early. Part of it has to do with K. leaving the weekend of Halloween and us wanting him to see the kids dressed up, and part of it has to do with Monkey’s excitement. For the first time ever, he picked out what he wanted to be: “Dash” from The Incredibles.

Normally, I try not to buy costumes, but he was due since R. had had a purchased costume once or twice. Off we went to Target to purchase one Incredibles costume. And here is my little superhero:

We’ve had to hide the costume and only bring it out now and again or I’m sure he’d end up looking like a homeless superhero on Halloween. The mask is already shot (not like that was a surprise), but he’s having so much fun, so I’m ignoring the fact that I’ll be making a new one in a week or so.

And after much indecision and conferring with her BFF, R. is going her own costume way and decided to be an assassin. We are still working out the actual costume, but she’s definitely enjoying posing with her guns. I should probably worry, but I think this is just the beginning of a long hammy career for my girl.

Watch out Angelina Jolie!

In another fit of earlybirdiness, we started carving the pumpkins too. Monkey wanted his to look like Jack Skellington from A Nightmare Before Christmas, so I did that first since it was already familiar to me after doing his birthday cake a la Jack.

R & K worked on getting the pumpkin prepped (he cut, she scooped).

Then I drew on the face, and K. started cutting out the details and then I took over to do the mouth which required smaller hands.

I only had one little mishap which thankfully did not involve me losing a finger, gouging an eye out, or accidentally ingesting anything. Jack did lose a stitch, but in the long run, it didn’t make much difference.

Jack, the Pumpkin King…

…in all his glowing glory thanks to a spare chem light.

K. and I had a good chuckle at our advanced preparations for Halloween. It’s completely unlike us, but it was fun. I just have to carve R’s pumpkin once I come up with a quick design for a vampire face. I wonder if she’d mind a vampire with a Viking helmet…

While sometimes it feels like we are cramming in a bunch of “normal” activities in a short space, we are also enjoying doing them. Instead of thinking that this is the last time we’ll do something for a while, we’ve been talking about how much we’d like to do them again when we are all together, and I have to say, it helps keep things in the proper perspective.

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Ode to a Monkey

Six years ago tonight I sat in a maternity ward hospital room by myself. I could hear the cries of newborns but none of them were mine…not that I would have known what my baby sounded like. It was a tough day and a lonesome night. I had been 7 months pregnant and everything was going well until earlier in the week when I started pre-term labor that not even the anti-contraction drugs could stop. Monkey was born at two in the afternoon after a ridiculously quick labor and emergency C-section. After he was born—coming in at a whopping 4.4 oz. and 16 inches long—I only saw Monkey for about a minute right before they loaded him onto the ambulance, and that was it until the next afternoon when I was moved to the same hospital as him. I spent that first night contemplating the picture the nurses had given me of my baby boy. I couldn’t say who he looked like, nor how heavy he felt, or how well he was eating, or how strong his grip was. I just didn’t know and it broke my heart.

The next day started 5 weeks of hospital stay at two different NICUs. Within 24 hours of his birth he had surgery for testicular torsion. Within a couple days a nurse realized one of his arms was broken (it wasn’t broken during the birthing process–someone broke it and no one ever took responsibility). Thanks to all the crying from the pain of the broken arm (as we later found out) Monkey ended up with air in his intestines that he couldn’t get rid of easily so they thought he had and biopsied him for Hirschprung’s disease. Luckily it was not that or any other thing. Within a couple of weeks he was breathing well on his own which was our first hurdle in bringing him home. All that was left was for him to gain enough weight so he was over 5 lbs. He was so skinny he looked like a spider monkey and that’s how he first got his nickname “Monkey.” Now he just is a monkey. He spent his first Halloween in a NICU looking like an old man who was only as big as a stuffed animal. See?

We were able to bring our boy home in the first part of November. He was just over 5 lbs. and was a really good-natured boy who didn’t cry more than he should and was already starting to be the sunny kid he is now. We just started getting into a routine with him when the rumblings of K’s first deployment started to become serious. There wasn’t much time to really enjoy our new baby before the craziness of the deployment preparations came along. I can honestly say I don’t remember a whole lot about my maternity leave that doesn’t seem like watching a movie in fast forward. Soon, K. left and I was on my own with the kids.

Monkey’s first year was tough on all of us. I don’t know that Monkey noticed though which was really a boon for me and probably him too. He seemed to know when I was feeling my absolute shittiest or when his big sister was going to push me right over the edge with her “I miss Daddy” tantrums, because he would just look at me and smile a big old toothless grin and deflate my anger and frustration in a second. He was a little squirmy Prozac. Monkey developed eczema when he was a few months old and we’ve been fighting and managing it ever since, and that really only made him tougher, but he was still a happy kid in spite of it all. It was hard to feel sorry for myself when I had this sweet face in front of me who had been through more in his short life than I had been through in over 30 years. I had no room to complain.

K. came home when Monkey was about 16 months old and Monkey was wary of him for a couple of weeks before he decided that K. was ok. After that, we tried to carry on like a regular family, although like most families find out post-deployment, it’s neither a quick nor easy adjustment. Again, I don’t think Monkey noticed and his growing sense of humor and comic timing certainly helped me over the bumps and balanced out all the trouble we were having with his eczema that kept him, K. and I up most nights trying to ease his discomfort. He was part of an Early Intervention program keeping track of his developmental progress and before he was released from the program, the OT (who loved him) commented on how his sense of humor was far better developed than most kids his age.

Potty training might take a while at this rate…

asleep at the meal!

Coffee, tea, or Monkey?

Monkey’s eczema has influenced our lives—and mine in particular—in ways I never thought possible. The lack of sleep we all experienced for a good solid 5 years certainly did not help anyone. The allergy meds were turning him into a zombie and impeded his academic development as well as his speech. Plus, they just weren’t working. We changed his diet and even that wasn’t helping enough to ease his itching. He built a habit of scratching when he was stressed that has been incredibly hard to break. And he missed out on those bursts of learning that young kids have. His speech is still way behind. He sounds more like a 3-year old than a 6-year old but he has a wonderful imagination, he’s incredibly polite and affectionate, and thanks to being an extreme visual learner he can pretty much recite back almost every movie he’s watched. It’s both funny as hell when he uses the lines he knows at the odd yet strangely appropriate moment, and irritating as can be when he’s just rambling on to himself. Through all his problems he is still a happy, mischievious kid. He has his tantrums like every other little kid, but they don’t last long and he’s not one to hold a grudge.

In moving to our new town and home, I made the decision to stay home with Monkey. It was not in my plans ever to be a stay-at-home Mom, but he was not a day care kid like his sister. Other people could not seem to handle the eczema management, and Monkey could not manage the over-stimulation that large groups of kids managed to create. We looked at a few potential day cares when we came up here, but with every visit I could see Monkey get stressed and I could see the other kids staring at him and making him feel bad for looking different. I couldn’t do it to him just so I could pretend that I was still a cubicle jockey and feel “normal” myself. He had already lost a lot of academic ground and catching him up was becoming more important by the day. He was so far behind. He was and is by no means a stupid kid, he is just laden with speed bumps like a condo complex. We’ve been lucky to have such a great team up here helping him—teachers, therapists, specialists, and his dermatologist. They have all guided me to have a better grasp on his learning style, what he needs to manage his itching both emotionally and physically, and how to prepare him to deal with transitions. Working with Monkey has been a huge learning experience for me and by that, I mean I’ve learned about about myself.

I love my kids, but I’m not generally a kid person. I sometimes think I’ve lost the ability to just play, but Monkey is showing me the ropes again and I feel a lot less silly being silly. Laughing with him is just too addictive. I’ll even sing in front of other people now where before the dashboard of my car was my only audience because he loves to sing too and I like to encourage him. I had felt like my creativity was buried so far down that it would take one of those ocean oil rig drills to find it. But since he responds so well to visual cues, I ended up kick starting my whole artistic flow again by drawing him little pictures of events to help him get through his day. I’m also not the most affectionate creature in the world, but Monkey is a hugging and kissing bandit, so I’ve learned to shrink my personal space boundaries a bit more. As much as he has changed for the better by being with me, I’d say it’s a two-way street. I can’t imagine who I would be if Monkey had never made it that day six years ago.

I’m not sure how other mothers of preemies feel, but I know I carry around a fair amount of guilt that my body failed to keep Monkey where he belonged for his own benefit. We don’t know why he showed up so soon, but he was in me and not someone else, so I feel a bit responsible for his early appearance even though I like to tease R. that it was her fault for asking if the baby could come out and play so damned often while I was pregnant. (The boy loves his big sister!) Feeling that guilt lends a different dimension to my relationship with Monkey than I am used to from my relationship with R. who was a normal pregnancy and easy as pie when she was an infant (really, if she hadn’t been so awesome as a baby we might not have had another). My connection with Monkey is different right now than my connection with R. I don’t love him more, but I’m more aware of how much I love him because I am just so thankful every day that we didn’t lose him when it was all too easy for that to have happened. And having felt helpless so often those first weeks of his life, I tend to take the initiative in getting the right help for his issues more (although that’s spilled over to R. too—I’m much more hands on with her than I used to be when she was a little kid at daycare and school) and speak up for things I normally might not have before. Because he is behind, I am over the moon for even the smallest jumps in progress. Going through everything we have together with Monkey has made me a better and stronger person.

I joke that because I spend so much time with Monkey he’s my best friend, but I could do a whole lot worse. There are many days I wish I could be more like him—more carefree, appreciative of others, and able to let the bad stuff roll off. He teaches me these things every day, and in exchange I hope to teach him to not lose those gifts that make him such a pleasure to be around.

I love you, Monkey-man and I’m glad you’re here. Thank you for saving me.  Happy Birthday!

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