Dear Son: The Moment When I First Saw You Gave me Life Under Calico Skies.
I can hear your giggles from all around the house. While you can be a grump, or cry when tired or hurt, you laugh five times more than anything else. Sometimes Daddy and I will be laughing at something and you look at us, having no idea what is going on and, “Hah! Hah! Hah!”, you give a good ole’ belly laugh, just because it is what comes naturally to you. The best thing? You make me laugh along, always. You get your silliness from me, sorry about that. You are doomed to a life of loving cornball jokes, don’t worry it could be a lot worse.
We giggle at each other all day long, as we play one game after another. You take my hand and say “‘mon, Mama!”, leading me to whatever it is that you have cooked up for the moment. I confess I am much more interested in you than in most of our games. Mama can only hurtle hotwheels down the hallway so many times before feeling like she is going to go comatose.
I have tried to keep you happy and engaged this year, I am good at coming up with crafts and whatnot, but the truth is a lot of times we go to a class or the library as much for me as for you. On days we stay in our living room all day, I feel as though the walls are collapsing on me by the time Daddy gets home. Luckily, you like to go as much as I, even if it is just to wander up and down the aisles at WalMart.
Sometimes I think you notice when I am not myself; that I am worried or even sad. Darlin’, this has nothing to do with you. You are the best thing that ever happened; not just to me, but to our whole family. You make me happy. You make everybody happy. Your one overwhelmingly dominant characteristic is joy. You have a countenance, a gift from God. A gift you share with us.
One has been a good year. One has been the year that made me not only love you, but like you as your own person. Your Daddy and I are always asking each other how two nerds like us (I did Model UN as an extracurricular, and Daddy had his apartment decorated in broken circuit boards.) wound up with such a cool little kid. I also think you are a kind person. I hope to be able to mold your manners and politeness, to encourage your kindness, while nurturing your generosity to others, all without dampening your energy, your spark. The responsibility I feel for you is overwhelming, you are so wonderful, I just want to keep you this way forever, and not screw you up. Your recent onslaught of “No Way!” and “Mine!” does concern me a bit, have I blundered already? I am just blaming it on being a toddler for now.
This year I started an online journal about our family. I am sharing a tiny piece of you with whomever happens across this blog. I do worry one of these days you will hate me for telling the world about your potty training, or any other embarrassing– but totally normal– and adorable toddler shenanigans. I am hoping you understand my motivations. The blog is my scrapbook so I can go back and look at all of your precious grins, and remember the day to day giggles, tears, and new words you have given me this year. Speaking of new words, today, on your second birthday, you said, “I lud you, Mama.”. This is not the first time you said that, but it is the first time totally unprompted, or without me telling you first. I love you too.
Happy Birthday Darling Baby. I know, I know, I know. You are not a baby, you are boy, but you are my baby, and I will hold you for the rest of my life.
It was written that I would love you
From the moment I opened my eyes
And the morning when I first saw you
Gave me life under calico skies.
I will hold you for as long as you like
I’ll hold you for the rest of my life
Always looking for ways to love you
Never failing to fight at your side
While the angels of love protect us
From the innermost secrets we hide
I’ll hold you for as long as you like.
I’ll hold you for the rest of my life
-Paul McCartney
Love, Mama
Filed under The Son | Comments (5)The Birth Rewind
By popular request, Time Warp Week continues. Fine by me, nothing very interesting is going on around here this week anyway. Today we get The Son’s birth…not day, but two weeks! A note: this is kinda graphic, so if you are squeamish, you might want to go somewhere else today.
August 17th 2006:
7pm: BIL and SIL returned from their Honeymoon in Honduras and brought with them recipes. We go over to their apartment for Honduran food and a swim, contractions start in the pool.
9pm: Start timing contractions while watching Project Runway. They are seven minutes apart, and are definitely not Braxton Hicks. Also? The designers on PR are all apparently on acid.
10Pm: Contractions are less severe and move to 15 minutes apart. Damn.
August 20th:
7pm: Contractions start again and are five minutes apart. We go to hospital. While contractions are still five minutes apart and spiking around 70 on monitor, I have not dilated at all. They send me home. I whine.
August 21:
7 am: When I step out of bed I fall down, baby’s head has pushed my hip socket so much I can barely walk and am in extreme pain. It is also 105 outside. Fun times.
11am: I make it to work and announce that there is no way I can do this anymore, I hate people. I hate the company. I hate talking to people about the company. HR sends me home on paid FMLA. I am glad that I did not quit for that government job.
3pm: Doctor puts me on bed rest and sets a date to induce me. August 31.
August 22-26:
I lounge about, read blogs, sleep, eat, and complain. People call every three minutes to ask if I am still pregnant.
August 27:
2am: Wake up having VERY strong contractions. Wake up Husband, They are fiveish or fourish minutes apart. Mucous plug is gone. Go to hospital.
3am: Nurse on duty announces that I am in labor, but not dilated, and that there are no “empty” rooms, gives me some sort of drug and sends me home. I cry and am convinced that baby is never coming out.
August 28:
9am: Back in hospital with strong contractions coming regularly, this time with Mom as Husband has already missed much work because of my capricious cervix. Hip socket fully pushed out of place. Still not dilated. Ultrasound shows very big baby. Doctor tells me to expect a c-section. Tells me to come on Thursday morning bright and early. Mom takes me for a pedicure, bed rest be damned. I choose a hot pink polish.
August 31:
5am: Alarm goes off, but I have been awake with contractions all night. I have been in labor for two weeks at this point and not dilated at all. Am having regrets about this whole baby thing.
6am: We drop off the dog with my parents, and head the now well traveled path to the women’s center. When we arrive we are informed that they have delivered 16 babies in the last 12 hours and have no room for inductions this morning. I cry and demand to talk to doctor. Nurse calls my OB, and finds that she had put me on the “Medical Necessity” list earlier in the week, so I am immediately given a birthing suite. I watch other fat and hormonal women get turned away and I gloat, then feel bad and compare myself to a rude Bethlehem inn keeper. (side note: 40 weeks before there was a major snow storm, and schools and businesses were all closed. 40 weeks later, our town sees the biggest baby boom in twelve years. Coincidence?)
8am: I change into hospital gown (ugly) and Husband and I have to give four generations worth of medical history to nurse. They hook me up to monitors and what do you know, I am having contractions 5 minutes apart and have not dilated at all. Is this sounding familiar? They give me Pitocin, and offer an epidural, I decline. I am either going to do this all natural or have a c-section–there will be nothing in between. Stubborn is just how I roll.
“That was a really big one. How high does that thing go?”
10am: Mom, Dad, and JHJ are at hospital keeping us company. We play Taboo, and watch just how high the intensity of my contractions have gotten. I am able to breathe through them, but no longer able to talk during them. Nurse offers epi again, I decline again.
10:30 am: I have still not dilated past 1. Doctor says there will be a Huckablog c-section at 1pm. They stop Pitocin drip, contractions are no longer as strong as they were.
12pm: Emergency C-sections have delayed my OB, my surgery moved back to two.
1pm: Nurse comes to shave my stomach. I tell her I do not have a hairy stomach, but she proceeds to shave away, and shaves much um, lower, than anticipated. (if that does not bring in new readers from Google searches nothing will)
2pm: Anesthesiologist comes in (late) to do epi. The hardest part was getting in position because of my hip and belly which is the size of a Swiss Alp. Epi does not really hurt at all (but I had also been in labor for a year and a half, so ya know, whatever).
2:15: Blood pressure starts to plummet. I mean really plummet. The Husband looks ashen, and Anesthesiologist keeps asking nurse, “How many bags did she have?” I start to panic thinking I had over packed and brought too many suitcases and what did that have to do with my baby and oooh, I am dizzy and AGG! What is going on? Turns out I should have had two full bags of fluids before epi and I had not had any. I panic (a recurring theme), Husband calms me down.
2:20pm: I am totally numb from chest down, and for some reason my nipples feel like they are on fire. I keep saying, “But my boobs hurt!” Nurse thinks I am crazy. I complain louder. Anesthesiologist says “whoops.” Redoes something that I cannot see at my back and boobs no longer feel like they are going to fly off of my chest. Blood pressure is still very, very low. They contemplate giving me some drug or another but decide to “wait and see.” I don a shower cap. And wait. And wait. And wait.
2:45: They finally wheel me into OR. I keep asking for The Husband, and am fuh-reaked out. Doctors argue over music, I feel secondary to the whole operation. I am moved to a scary looking table and my arms are strapped down. I do not like.
3:00pm Husband is in OR wearing something Big. And Yellow. He keeps stroking my head and squeezing my hand. Nurse gives him lecture about the dangers of looking “on the other side of the curtain”. I make a joke about the wizard that no one gets.
3:10: I feel extreme pressure, and can feel doctor pulling apart what I guess were my stomach muscles. It hurts, but not crazy bad.
3:14 (Pi!): I hear slurpy noise, a gurgle, and a cry. Doctor holds The Son up, says, “He has a HUGE head, there is no way you could have delivered him!” I see him for first time and say “he looks just like The Husband!” “He looks like a The Son!” Nurse agrees that is his name. Husband cuts cord, and follows baby to get cleaned up. They wrap The Son up like a burrito and let me just brush my fingers to his velvety face for far to short of a time. Husband holds my hand for a few minutes, and then goes with baby to nursery and to inform awaiting grandparents.
That is my hand you see there on the left.
3:16: OB shows me placenta per my request. It is gross, but apparently did it’s job well. The Son weighs 8 pounds 11 ounces and is 20 inches long. I feel them massaging my uterus. It hurts. A lot.
3:25: I am losing way, way too much blood, I smell weird smell, and tell them my oxygen is bad. Nurse laughs and doctor tells me it is a normal odor. It was really them cauterizing everything in sight I was smelling. I freak out when they start talking about transfusions. I feel alone and wish The Husband or my Mom were still in the OR with me. Doctors keep scaring me with medical jargon, I start to cry, they knock me out. Not sure if it was for me or them. Probably both.
Around dinner time: (time gets blurry here because of drugs): My whole family is in my room, they are chattering and I am way out of it, but no transfusion was needed. Nurse brings in baby, I shoo out everyone but The Husband and I get to hold The Son for the first time, I unwrap him and look at all of his parts and immediately latch him on. I felt tired, scared, and oh so very happy.
That was two years ago. It is so hard to believe because I still so clearly remember all of the sounds, smells, and excitement of that day. I hope I always will.
Filed under Uncategorized | Comments (3)Birthday Rewind
I love planning parties. I know it is overkill for a toddler’s party, but he will never remember them so really they are parties for ME! We are in full party planning tilt at TheHuckablog World Headquarters as we get ready for the big 2. I did not have a blog this time last year, apart from the imaginary one in my head, so I thought we would have a little time warp back to last year.
The theme (I love themes, lame I realize but they make planning so much easier) was Rubber Ducky, look who’s one. To say I had a few ducks at the party would be somewhat of an understatement. I used turquoise blue linens with white accents, plus, of course, yellow ducks. In the background you can see the ducky cupcakes “swimming” around in a galvanized tub. For food we had cheese and quackers, fresh fruit, ducky cookies, little weenie thingies, spinach AND cheese dips, “mallard”mars, and ducky cupcakes. I always only serve tea, lemonade, and water at parties because they are inexpensive, and look pretty in glass pitchers (are you NOW convinced of the OCD?) There were blue and clear balloons everywhere to look like soap bubbles.
This is the “smash” cake, made by my mom.
Cupcakes made by Cakes by Stacey, (ask for info and I will send it to you). She hand made those little almond bark ducks on top.
In the back yard I took blue tarps and made a canopy to cover the whole back porch, and then had tons of blue and clear helium filled balloons trapped underneath. I took more blue tarps, put them over blankets spread over the bricks, to create a soft surface, then added three blue kiddie pools with MORE rubber ducks. Do you see all of the children who attended his party? All ONE of them? We are hoping the kid to adult ratio at this year’s party is a little better.
More pools and balloons and slides and neighbors.
You can’t see it very well but his onesie says Lucky Ducky, I am One! From The Gap. I had the I am One added.
I could not find party favors I liked, so I made my own. I spray painted party hats turquoise, found stuff to make ducks in the scrapbook aisle at Hobby Lobby, and used stickers to put different sayings on each hat, then topped it all off with a shimmer top coat. Time consuming, but they turned out cute.
I was bummed at the lack of kids, so my Mom was a good sport and donned one.
I made the banner for his high chair, with construction paper, ribbon and more stickers. I can’t show you the front of the house for security reasons, but I painted big yellow duck feet prints coming up the drive, and had a sign on the door that said “Welcome to the Huckablog Tub!”
We had a good time and all the adults had a blast. I am not telling what all to expect for this year so you will be surprised, but I will give you a hint. I hope you like dogs.
Bridesmainia: a tutorial
Step One: Answer your phone when your friend calls from New Orleans to squeal “He PROPOSED!!! SQUEEEE!” Do not charge her for the required audiologist appointment due to her squealing.
Step Two: When your friend hems and hahs over that ever so important maid/matron of honor title, because the truth of the matter is that she has three best friends, just stand in order of height and know that you are all honored and loved friends.
Step Three: Listen patiently to all nine hundred phone calls detailing the intricacies between navy blue and midnight blue, and why all rentals must be nickel not just silver. Also, politely respond to each email obsessing over “But what if it rains?!?” (p.s. it will.)
Step Four: Wear what the bride wants you to. If that means you are now the proud owner of a floor length midnight blue chiffon overlay skirt with the matching top of your choice (and by your choice, I mean that you have a pick of one of the five that the bride has deemed appro.) Oh, and make sure the shoes are silver. Not clear. Silver. Also? When the bride gives you jewelry right before the wedding? That means you should wear it at the wedding. If you wear it again, great. If not? Not her problem.
Step Five: Go to all of her showers, oooh, and awww at serving dishes and decorative bowls. Make lists of gifts for thank you notes. Collect all ribbons to make a bouquet for the rehearsal dinner. Laugh politely when shower guests remind the bride that every ribbon she breaks means that is one more baby she will have.
Step Six: Hot glue gossamer til your fingers bleed. Or, string twinkly lights till your arms ache. Or, do the Mother of the Bride’s bidding without complaint.
Step Seven: When the Bride tells you the rehearsal dinner has a theme, smile and nod. And wear your lei proudly. Also, it is a good idea to not be five hours late. If you happen to be five hours late, let the bride continue to bring it up for at least five years.
Step Eight: Stay up late doing table assignments. This is of utmost importance. You know it is going to rain, making this a colossal waste of time. Do it anyway.
Step Nine: Start drinking early the day of the wedding. I would say noonish is about right. Keep the bride happy and occupied, and if you happen to walk into her room to bring her the phone while she is applying lotion ((nude)), keep your eyes heavenward.
Step Ten: Help fasten all of the buckles, buttons, zippers, and snaps of the wedding dress. Be done an hour before wedding starts, play Taboo or another distracting game to keep the bride from having a no sleep, holy crap I am getting married meltdown.
Step Eleven: Grasp the arm of a wooly mammoth or balding cousin and prance down the aisle on your silver shoes holding your forty pound bouquet (which must be kept held high, “No drooping flowers ladies!”)
Step Twelve: Keep drinking. More. More. There that should do it. Now Dance! Eat! Make toasts! Slosh through the mud, pass out flip-flops to party guests, eat wedding cake straight from the cake stand, light people’s sparklers, remove your um, foundation garment, and place it in a bush. Actually now might be the time to stop drinking. Or not. Sure why not drink some more.
Step Thirteen: Show up on time to wedding breakfast even though you are hung over. Be glad the bride married the love of her life so you do not have to do it again.
The best bridesmaids ever, who did all of this, without complaint and more. The Lovely Ang, Shoeshe, and Cat. I could not have asked for better, but I still kinda feel like one was missing.
They might have been just a wee bit tipsy in this picture.
Filed under Friends-All three of them | Comments (11)What a day, What a day.
I awoke to my phone singing “When I’m 64“. The Son was still asleep on his Daddy’s pillow next to me. We ignored it. Then the home phone started to sing at me, “Let me call you sweetheart“. It was obvious that he was not going to let us sleep in. I answered and feigned alertness. “Sure! I have been up for hours! Hang on.” I spit out my mouth guard I clench at night. The Son woke up, “Hi! Mama!” The Husband was not in the mood for adorable toddler chatter. “My car is dead.” Insert your four letter word of choice here.
It has been a good little car. One of the two of us has used it to commute 45 minutes each way for the past six years. Since February The Husband has nearly 20,000 miles on it with his new job. Our plan has been to drive it into the ground from which it came. Hopefully that is not today. We are kinda broke. The Husband’s tuition is due this month and we were having issues getting it together already. It turns out that last year (When I worked full time!) we made too much money to qualify for financial aid, and they do not care that The Husband is now the sole monetary provider for our household. You may again insert your four letter word of choice.
The Son and I skipped our usual Monday morning routine of the library and play group to wait around on The Husband to let us know how we should transport the poor, dead car home. So we waited…and waited….And waited. Finally just at the time The Son goes down for a nap, The Husband pulled up in my mom’s borrowed car announcing…let’s go! We drove to the busiest highway in the busiest part of our bustling capital city, parked on the shoulder while praying we would not be hit. The Husband could not figure out how get the little dead car onto the trailer. So we draped a quilt over the front end of TheHuckablazer and I gently drove directly into the rear of the little dead car. It worked! I was able to push little dead car up onto the trailer and then watched The Husband strap it to the trailer with gum and hair ties. Still no nap. Maybe you should choose a new four lettered word this time.
We were supposed be at a photographers at five to have The Son’s two year old pictures taken, since my photographer moved to Las Vegas. So to clarify, we were covered in car ick, The Son was extremely tired and cranky, and we were two and a half hours away from the photographers at 3:30. Anybody see where this is going? Crap is just not strong enough.
We came home and The Son was bathed, in PJs and asleep by 7:04. The Husband shoveled some food in his mouth and turned right around and went back to capital city for class. I am watching yet another SATC and catching up on my favorite blogs.
Filed under lexapro lexplains it | Comments (3)To Whom it May Concern: Blog Withdrawal
It started out so innocently. I was bored at Heartless cellular company. My manager told me to kill some time because I was making my teammates look bad by actually being productive. He gave me the password to be able to read blogs and chat boards from my work computer. I saw a post on The Nest that asked “what mommy blogs do you read?” Mommy Blog? What the heck is that?, I wondered. I was about five months pregnant and voraciously reading anything “Mommy” related. Dooce.com was the only one mentioned in the responses to the original post so I wandered on over to read my very first blog entry.
It was friggin hilarious. I read back through her archives and was enthralled. She had a post that listed the blogs that she reads everyday. I followed her cue to Finslippy, Fussy, and Mighty Girl. I was officially a hooked blog reader. I expanded and started reading blogs I found on my own, Amalah, Looky Daddy and more. I branched out from just parenting blogs and started to read humor, politics, and activist blogs as well. I am a crazy fast reader so I could spend 30 minutes a day and catch up on 10 blogs easily.
This is where you come in. You started your own blog. A Blog! From someone I know! That I can read everyday and it will be like an email just from you that shares your innermost thoughts and is funny and SQUEEEE! Breathe. I laughed, I cried, I was inspired with ideas for The Huckablog. And then your posts dropped from daily to bi-weekly, to weekly to oh yeah I should post something eventually. The whole time I faithfully added you to my blogroll. I directed others, friends and strangers to your site. I had faith in you, in your writing and knew you would entertain and motivate. I checked your site everyday. Then every other day. And now? I am thinking seriously about dropping you from my blogroll.
Please do not make me drop you. I rarely check blogs not on the blogroll anymore because I no longer have a boss that encourages me to goof off. My boss is much more demanding now. I have to sneak in internet time between naps, and early bedtimes. For the love of whomever will invoke you, post something already. It does not have to be perfect, it does not have to be particularly galvanizing; I do not have to be made to laugh or weep with every entry. You do not have to post every single day, I think two or three times a week is well within proper blogiquette. I can only go through one form of withdrawal at a time, so please just BLOG already!
Yours Sincerely,
Hey You Desperatelyseekingnewposts-Huckablog
p.s. A tweet does not equal blogging. Thank you very much.
Filed under Soap box, To Whom it May Concern | Comments (10)Hupdates
I am down to the teeniest tinest dosage of Lexapro possible and the ughs are back. Dizzy? Check. Nauseous? Check. Tired? Check. The computer screen is whirling around, so I went to post a really cute post I wrote ages ago about my bridesmaids….and it is gone. Poof, the computer gnomes ate it. So I was going to post pictures of our trip to the zoo….and I could not look at the screen long enough to re-size them for the blog.
In an effort to get some fresh air and try to clear out the cobwebs in my brain, I suggested we give the Olympics (The Son call them the Dum Dum Dums because of the music) a break and head outside. I know, a family project! How about we clear out the weeds over in our side yard. The Husband will chop ‘em down, and The Son and I will tote them to the curb. I knew it was bad when I heard him curse. My husband NEVER curses. Not even Damn. Or Hell. Or Bitch. (Obviously I have no problem with the aforementioned vernacular). As The Husband was cutting bushes around our air conditioner, he accidentally cut a wire instead of a branch. Damn! Hell! Bitch! We may be having a cool summer, but it is so not noneedforAC cool. He has been scurrying like a little mouse (a sweaty, pissed off mouse) from the attic to the garage to the yard to Lowes and back again. And….I just heard the AC kick back on. YAY! My Husband rocks!
So, that is why you are getting a cobbled together, barely coherent post today. Now, I am off to bed to seethe about the silver on the uneven bars. SO.FREAKING.UNFAIR. I need sleep, tomorrow The Son and I have to get up early to drive Grandpa to Capital City to get the bandages off from his corneal transplant he got today. Your prayers are most welcome.
Filed under Family-blame the DNA, The Husband, lexapro lexplains it | Comment (1)