And this little piggy went to the ER!
These pictures, taken months ago, have absolutely nothing to do with this post except to show how cute this kid is. It is a good thing too, or else I might have sold him to the gypsies by now.
Sometimes The Husband has to wear a hard hat when working on huge computer systems in new construction. Here is The Son in his daddy’s hat.
The Husband has been giving pennies to The Son to put in his piggy bank. When I help him do this, I always say “Let’s feed the piggy! Oink-Oink! ”
Yesterday, I was following exit polls online while The Son played in the living room. I heard him say, “Oink, Oink! I a piggy. I a piggy Mama!”
“Aww, that is nice darlin. Can you be a cow now? Mooo. Wait! What is in your mouth?”
“Oink, I a piggy Mama!”
“NO! We do NOT eat money. Spit it out right now! No more pennies for the piggy bank if you try to eat them all.”
“WAAAA! I be a piggy! Money back! Mama, money back, I a piggy. WAAAA!”
Just for the record, two might be a little bit kicking my butt.
Filed under Boy is my face red, NaBloPoMo, The Son | Comments (9)Just in case you were wondering who we voted for.
Updated 10:34 pm: There are a lot of things that make a person tacky. One of the worst? Being a sore loser. You have not heard me say I would move to Canada if Obama won, you have not heard me say our country is doomed. Did my guy win? No, but my country has not lost. I have faith in the checks and balances our forefathers had the insight to put into place. I have faith this is, and will remain the country I am proud to call my own. Congratulations to my Democratic friends, and family (that would be you, JHJ, you are the only one). My prayers have been for God’s will in our nation, and I have to believe He will use the changes that are happening for his purposes.
a close up of my shirt…..
I want to hold your hand.
“Mama?”
“Yes, Darlin’?”
“Mama, The Son’s sadow wikes to hold Mama sadow’s hand.”
“Guess what.”
“What Mama?”
“My shadow likes to hold your shadow’s hand too. ”
“Mama?”
“Yes, Darlin?”
“My sadow is a bee boy.”
“Your shadow is a big boy all right.”
“The Son is a bee boy too.”
“Yup, you sure are, Darlin’.”
To love and protect.
Um, yeah. This is not a fun blog post. It was hard to write, and is hard to read, so my feelings will not be hurt if you just pass right on by this one. It is in honor of National Domestic Violence Month, and all money made from ads here on thehuckablog for the month of October will be donated here, so feel free to click away.
Sometimes I wonder if I am protective enough of The Son. I always keep an eagle eye on him, but tend to err more on the side of letting him test his limits rather than helicopter over him. I let him climb, jump, taste things, wear what he wants, kiss the dog, play with other kids. I so do not want him growing up afraid, or wary of new experiences, or to be shy around new people. He looks just like The Husband’s side of the family, but the older he gets, it is becoming more and more obvious his personality is all me. He is bossy, he is chatty, he is loving and a cuddler, he is curious, he is pouty if he does not get his way, he can be manipulative, he gets obsessed with certain things, and he is brave. I do not want him to get hurt, but I also want him to experience life to the fullest. The hard truth is that if you are really living your life, sometimes you will get hurt.
I started liking boys around the fifth grade. I had my first boyfriend in the sixth grade and he was tall and lanky and had an identical twin. His name was Kris with a K, it was short for Kristian. When I was twelve, we sat next to each other in beanbag chairs in our GT social studies class as we watched Ben Hur, he leaned over and kissed me, it lasted exactly two seconds when our teacher looked over and made us separate our beanbag chairs. Kris with a K was the first in a long line of middle school and high school loves, we would pass notes, hold hands at the skating rink, later on we would go horseback riding or slow dance to Bryan Adams songs. Fun, but not serious. When I was sixteen my family moved to another state. It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school and I was-to put it lightly-pissed off about moving. We found a church right away and I started going to youth group. Now I am-and was-a good Christian girl, but the best thing about youth group were the boys.
I had lived in my new hometown for all of a month when I got asked out by Ryan. By the time school started, we were “going steady”. We had lockers right next to each other, and I would daily find little flowers or poems or presents that he had left for me. He declared his love for me, he showered me with compliments, he was jealous over other boys, and I was….overwhelmed. I never really made any close friends those last two years of high school because I would spend every waking moment with–or at least on the phone with– Ryan. I should say right from the beginning my parents were not too crazy about him, probably more because they did not want their sixteen year old child to be so serious about a boy than anything else, but they knew if they had tried to keep us apart, it would just drive me closer to him. Wise parents that they were, they did the opposite. Invite him over, sure he can have dinner with us, sure he can come with us on our family trip, at least that way they could keep an eye on us–let me test my limits while keeping an eagle eye on me.
We had fun, but slowly but surely things started to turn for the worst. Being a year older, he chose to go to college here in town because I was still in high school. We still spent every second together possible after he graduated, me barely fitting in the extracurriculars I was passionate about (I was a drama geek). It stopped being fun around Christmas of my senior year, he was just pissy all the time, he would yell at me, and then say how sorry he was we had argued, how much he loved me, blah, blah, blah. He would get mad if I excluded him to do something with my friends or family. Every now and again….he would grab my arm, or kind of pinch my waist during an argument. I obviously did not like it, but guess that I did not realize what a slippery slope that kind of (now I know it for its real name) abuse is. I think I thought we would break up when I went away to college, and just kept stringing him along until then. Would you all think I was the worst, most shallow person in the world if I told you I was worried about not having a date for my senior prom if we broke up? In the mean time the yelling, and possessiveness just got worse and worse, I knew something was not right, but did a good job of covering it up in front of my family. I would say if anyone knew what was really going on, it was probably my brother. I had developed this weird habit of inviting JHJ along whenever Ryan and I went someplace, partly because I love my brother and enjoyed spending time with him, but also because….I was maybe starting to be a little afraid to spend time alone with my own boyfriend.
I did try to break things off the summer before I went away to college, but he was so…heartbroken, and then would be so sweet and romantic that it never really stuck. He would always be back in my life before I knew it. In July he applied to the college I had already been accepted to and was accepted as well. He found an apartment from which he could look out the door of and see my dorm. I again tried to break up with him, but by the time school started, I was the new girl again. I did not know anyone, and he was an easy way for this social butterfly to not be lonely. He was working nights, going to class during the day, and spending time with me during the afternoons and evenings. It is amazing I can sit here and make excuses for him ten years later, but I still wonder how much sleep deprivation had to do with those final months of our relationship. Ten years ago this week, I became a statistic. I was not at home to have my wonderful parents watching over me. I was old enough to make my own decisions, and young enough to make stupid ones.
It was a gorgeous fall day, and I had been up bright and early to go to my eight AM class, World Civ, a class that Ryan and I had together. He did not show up, and I was royally ticked off. Why? I don’t know, I guess I thought I was never going to be able to break up with this guy and certainly did not want to be married to a drop out who was still working overnight at MajorRetailer. I marched over to his apartment, intending to lecture him and get him up in time for his next class. I just deleted this whole paragraph. I think it was good for me to type it out, but I do not want it out there for people whom I love to read, so let’s just paraphrase it and say that I take National Domestic Violence awareness month very seriously.
At one point he stopped and sat down on the couch and cried, saying, “Get out before I really do kill you”. I left and ran out into the parking lot and back over to campus. In my hurry, I left my bag, my phone, my keys and my shoes at his apartment. I scared the crap out of some girl going to her car, and told her I needed help. She called campus police who took me to the hospital, once I was there they x-rayed me, and made me talk to the police. While still at the hospital, I got a phone call saying it was my dad checking on me, I had not called my dad and figured the school had, I was pissed off I did not have a chance to break this gently to my parents so I called my mom from the hospital and rushedly told her what happened. She freaked and was mad my dad had not told her what he knew, so she called him. Turns out it was not my dad at all but Ryan checking on me. I was mostly fine, the only lasting (physical) damage was a broken finger that never quite healed correctly. The cops went to Ryan’s apartment and he climbed out of the back window, they never even tried to capture him. I later learned the Ryan was fired from MajorRetailer that same day because he had stolen a shotgun from the sporting goods department. That morning could have been so much worse.
I had to go tell the dean of students what happened, and the dean made me tell him the graphic details. Ryan was kicked out of school. He called many times a day for a couple of weeks to say he was going to commit suicide if I did not take him back, I secretly wished that he would. He had a spare key (NEVER GIVE OUT KEYS) to my car and stole it while I was at class. He then parked it in a deserted area, took a logging chain, put it around the back wheels and then called and told me to meet him and he would give the car and my key back. I called the police instead (using my brain for the first time in over a year) and they cut off the chain and kept my car at the university police headquarters. Ryan had the nerve to call the police station and ask if he could have his chain back.
He was not allowed on campus anymore, but one day he followed me from class and begged me to take him back. When I told him he could not come up to my dorm he pushed me really hard, and I fell and skinned my elbows–and ripped my favorite sweater. That was the last straw. I had been afraid to press charges because I thought he would get out of jail quickly, hunt me down and kill me. That day I called one of his out of state relatives whom I knew loved him, and whom he respected. I told her exactly what happened, every gory detail. I told her if he did not leave the state I was going to press charges. The next day she came with a U-haul and took him with her. He sent me a letter months later saying that he had gotten married two months later, and had joined the military.
Ten years is a long time. I am a different person than the college freshman, but I know I was shaped, in part, by that day. I was hurt, in every way–but my bravery and trusting nature is what took the biggest beating. I did not have a serious boyfriend for three years afterwards…but when I took the plunge to love, and trust, it was with The Husband. Nothing works as a salve on old wounds like love from the kindest man on the planet, the most patient, the most gentle. I know how good I have it, because I have seen the other side.
I want to be protective of the people whom I love, I do not want to see them hurt…but I also do not want them to miss out on the gifts this life can give us because of fear. I want to teach The Son the gray area between prudence and sheer nerve, a lesson I am not sure I have learned myself.
Filed under The Husband, The Son, lexapro lexplains it | Comments (11)The Poky Little Party
Do you know why it took me a month to post pictures of The Son’s second birthday? Because I thought it would be a good idea to give all of the little party guests dog collars with their names on them. That means I had to photo shop each and every one of the 200 pictures to blur out peoples names. Fun times. Now that I FINALLY finished, there was no way I could post them all here without boring the bejebus out of people who do not care about looking at that many pictures of a two year old’s party, so if that is all you want –skip to the bottom of the post and there is a montage for you.
We had two separate parties for The Son this year, and the overall theme for both was, “Your parents are poor.” For his actual birthday we had family only over for a Thomas the Tank Engine party. I spent exactly zero dollars on decorations. Okay that was a lie, I bought one mylar Thomas balloon that still has not deflated. I am giving it another week and then it is just going to disappear. I took a red sheet we already had and used it as a tablecloth, used a piece of blue felt as a runner, and then took a large toy train and used it as a centerpiece. I added blue and red streamers and set Thomas books and trains all over. Somehow not a single picture got taken of this, all we got were fifty shots of The Son playing with his new train table. (which, by the way, I got the best deal EVER on. I got it and all of the track for FIVE DOLLARS at a yard sale, I added it all up on Amazon and it is over $250 dollars worth of trainstravaganza. All I had to do was refinish the top and give it all a good scrub down. It looks brand new. This made buying the expensive trains much more doable.) I made the cake, and decorated it at 2:30AM, so it is good there are not really any pictures of it.
We had his real party a week later at a local park, which I loved, because I did not have to clean my house at all. Here are his invitations, the second picture is the inside obviously. I was all OCD about the invites, they took hours, but did turn out pretty darn cute if I do say so.
For decorations we made a dog house facade of plywood, and put it in front of a pop-up tent, then filled it with blankets and stuffed dogs. The kids LOVED this part.
I just used paper green tablecloths (would you laugh at me if I told you I returned the first batch of tablecloths because they did not match the grass in the book?) on the picnic tables, and put stuffed dogs on top to hold them down. I found tiny little silver dog bowls at the dollar spot at Target, and ShoeShe used a paint pen to write each child’s name on them. My original idea was to fill them with puppy chow (subbed soy butter for peanut butter so it was toddler friendly), and use them as party favors, but we ran out of plates(oops!) so they all got used for fruit and cake.
I also took parts of a playground that we recently tore down at church, and made it look like a picket fence, then posted signs identical to the ones in the book. This was so cute and FREE! The only other decorations were dozens of different shades of blue balloons that I floated in the rafters of the park pavilion to look like the watercolor sky in the book, but somehow there are no pictures of that either. For favors I took balloons and tied them to a stuffed dog, and the kids got those, their dog bowls, collars and dog ears.
My plan was as soon as the kids got to the party they would sit down and color their dog ears, these were pieces of white foam pre-cut that were then glued to cheap headbands. While they were doing that, I would be pinning on collars I made for them of foam and felt, I spent forever doing this and most of the kids left on the collars for just a couple of minutes. I also had planned to paint their faces like little dogs, but only a couple of kids would let me. Lessons learned….two is too young for a lot of party activities still.
They still looked mighty cute in their ears and collars.
In my plans, after they were all doggied up, everyone would eat (hotdogs, chips, dip, fruit, and puppychow), and then we would have story time. I would read the Poky Little Puppy, and then pull out all of the things that the puppies see and smell. (You should have seen how cute the grasshopper Shoeshe made was) The kids were interested for two pages. Then they started randomly pulling things out of the box. I stand by the idea of story time, I think if we had let them run off energy at the playground first, it would have worked better. I did not even bother trying to get them to play the games I had planned, they just wanted to run around. I had planned on playing Poky, Poky, PUPPY! (think duck, duck, goose) and red rover, red rover.
The cake, however, the cake was perfect. Look at this people, have you ever seen anything so cute? It told the whole story, AND tasted good.
My planned agenda may have completely fallen through, but it was still a great party.
Filed under Photography, The Son | Comment (1)The Wiggle on the Block.
There is a man in our neighborhood named Greg. He is a perfectly nice man, very good with children, in fact he has a toddler of his own. Everyday The Son asks to go see Greg. “Where Greg?” “I see Greg?” Occasionally when I explain that Mr. Greg is at work, we get “*Sob*, But I want GRREEEGG! MAMA, GO GET GREG! *Sob*.” We drive by Greg’s house and if his truck is not visible, The Son says, “Greg no there.”
Now, as I said, Greg is great, but I could not figure out why The Son wants to see him so much. At first I thought maybe The Son could not say his friend’s (Greg’s child’s) name, and that was really who he wanted to see. When I ask The Son if he wants to go play with his friend, he is okay with that, but still asks for Greg. Has Greg been slipping The Son chocolate or toddler crack when we’re not looking? We also try to get The Son to say Mr. or Ms. in front of any adult’s name, and he resolutely refuses to say “Mr. Greg.” It was not until the day Greg wore a yellow T-shirt and The Son flipped out with joy that we finally figured it out.
The Son thinks Greg is THE GREG of Greg the Yellow Wiggle fame. We have tried explaining it is not the same Greg, but so far he is still looking for Greg to trade in his red truck for a big red car.
Filed under The Son | Comment (1)I’m on your side when times get rough and friends just can’t be found.
See comments for details on photography.
When you’re weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all;
I’m on your side. when times get rough
And friends just can’t be found,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
When you’re down and out,
When you’re on the street,
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you.
I’ll take your part.
When darkness comes
And pains is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Sail on silvergirl,
Sail on by.
Your time has come to shine.
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine.
If you need a friend
I’m sailing right behind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
by: Paul Simon
Filed under Photography, Poetry, The Son | Comment (1)