for my uncle

My Uncle Gale passed away last night. He was diagnosed with liver cancer about a month ago, and while preparing him for chemo, they discovered that his cancer was much to far along and that there was nothing they could do for him. He died peacefully, at home, with his wife of almost 50 years by his side. I wrote him a letter on 13 November after I had processed the news of his illness, and I am going to post that letter below. My Uncle Gale was a really wonderful person.
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Dear Uncle Gale,

Do you remember how you used to tell me to be careful of the "boogeyman" that lived on your back patio? You would tell me I had to be careful that the boogeyman didn't get me. I remember I was old enough to know you were joking, and young enough to still half believe you. I remember spending so much time in your pool that the skin on my feet got so ripped up I had to wear socks in the water. I remember you letting me watch as you carefully mixed the chlorine and chemicals needed to keep the pool clean. I remember that part was fun to watch, but it was so disappointing that I couldn't just dive right into the water when you were done. Speaking of which, I learned how to dive off of your diving board. I remember being in awe of how much work you put into keeping that little patch of grass healthy for Sherie. I remember thinking it was so sweet that you did that so she'd have a place to go. The summer days I spent in Arizona are among my fondest memories, and I wanted to be sure you knew that. I need you to know how much those times mean to me, and I wanted to say thanks.

You have touched my life. Being your niece and goddaughter has been very special. My thoughts and prayers are with you and Aunt Dee, as well as Scott, Jill, and their families.

All my love,
Erika

happy thanksgiving!

The Babe painted a handkerchief in her preschool class. The teacher sent it home with a letter of explanation. Every Thanksgiving, before you eat, you pass the handkerchief around the table. The person who is holding the handkerchief has to list at least one thing they are thankful for, and then pass it to the next person. What a nice idea. I brought the handkerchief with me today as we traveled to a relative's home for the holiday.

I am thankful for so much. I have a list, but I am sure it doesn't include everything. It's like an Oscar speech... my apologies must go out in advance to those that I don't list.

I am thankful for:

• a healthy family
• a lovely home
• food and clothes and necessities
• my husband's job, even though it frustrates me; it's solving more problems than it's creating
• my job and the flexibility it allows
• my friends that I "met" on-line, who might just know me better than most people, even though they might not recognize me if they saw me on the street.
• my real life friends, who do actually know what I look like
• my parents, including biological, step, and in-laws. They all bring something different and needed to the table that is my life.
• my children, that they are spirited and willful, but also caring and gentle. That they love each other so much, and are sincerely concerned for the others' well-being.
• potty training, I could really stand to lose the diapers that I've had to lug around for the past 5+ years
• my pets
• The Babe's preschool teacher, who does such a wonderful job
• Good neighbors
• a good night's sleep at least once a week (hopefully)
• my husband, who after all these years can still make me giggle and is the first person with whom I want to share news, watch movies, talk politics, go shopping, eat meals, raise children, and live my life.

I brought the handkerchief to Thanksgiving dinner and I forgot to take it out of my purse. Maybe it's for the best.... I have so much to be thankful for that nobody would have gotten the chance to eat!

you snooze, you lose

The Babe had a play date today, so she and I went over to our neighbors house for the afternoon. The mom at the playdate had made brownies! How nice! Something I would never think to do just because The Babe's friend was coming over, but it was a nice touch, just the same. As we left our date, the mom sent us home with a foil package of a few of the brownies. Also very nice.

So for dessert tonight, what do you think I gave The Kiddos? I'll give you 3 guesses and the first two don't count. You got it already? Gosh, you're good. ; )

So, each of The Kiddos has a small brownie. The Boy doesn't quite "get" brownies yet, so he just kind of nibbled at his, not convinced it would actually be good. The Babe devoured hers and asked for another. I gave her one (they were really small!), and I left the room to go check on work.

The Boy comes into my office, holding a small piece of his brownie, and complaining about something. "Mommy! Dizzy take it! Dizzy take it!" He wasn't crying, but he was displaying a certain amount of urgency; so I got up to check what he was talking about. I asked, "what did The Babe take?" "My brownie! Dizzy take my brownie!". I look, and The Babe did indeed seem to have The Boy's brownie on her plate in addition to the one I had just given her. (3 brownies? She thinks she should have 3 brownies??)

Me: Did you take his brownie?
The Babe: I said I was sorry.
Me: You're sorry? So, it was an accident? You didn't mean to take it?
The Babe: I had to take it, it was just sitting there.

LOL! The Boy learned a valuable lesson today: You snooze, You lose. You are not to leave your brownie unattended. Luckily, The Babe hadn't actually eaten The Boy's brownie yet, so she gave it back. Crazy kids.

i have a problem...

...an addiction, you might say. Some people have shoes, and some people have coffee, some people have jewelry, some people have crack. I have purses. I am addicted to purses. It's getting ridiculous.

I don't know when it started. I used to be a reasonable gal, with a summer purse and a winter purse, plus maybe a cute evening bag. Now? Now you ask? Now I have a whole part of my closet loaded down with purses. I have some Coach, I have some Kate Spade, I have some mall brands like Nine West. I went through a whole diaper bag phase for a while there, and I have several of those; from small 'out for an errand' bags to larger 'out for the day and need a change of everything for 2 children' bags.

My latest addiction, though, is better than designer... it's handmade, one of a kind bags. Last winter I purchased a hand-knit green wool purse. It's knit in a cable pattern and has beautiful oval wooden handles. Then, over the summer, I purchased a custom silk brocade bag that is large enough to fit diapers and wipes, but small enough that it's not really a diaper bag. I chose the fabric, I chose how many pockets and where.... I loved it so much that I bought another handmade bag from the same gal for my "winter" version of the brocade... it's black corduroy which is embroidered with red and gold thread, a sequin here and there... I love the handmade bags. I get lots of compliments and I like to mix things up. It feels good to be different and not have the same bag as everyone else. I love my Kate Spade, but c'mon, it's not exactly unique.

So, my neighbor, a mother of a girl in The Babe's preschool, is starting a business making handmade purses. It's like the stars align and I am just meant to have an endless supply of handmade purses, LOL. So, this woman hosted an open house tonight, and I almost didn't go. I mean, I don't really need another purse. It's just that I have this addiction. So I went. And then, I almost didn't buy anything. Really, I almost got away. But then, you see, she had the perfect fabric, the perfect liner, the perfect handles... and it would be custom made, just for me.

Hi my name is Erika, and I am addicted to purses. It's been 20 minutes since my last purchase.

deep down

Today The Boy pushed The Babe off of a step stool she was sitting on because he thought he should be the one sitting there. The Babe hit the floor hard, and whimpered. I could tell she was actually hurt, it wasn't one of her dramatic "NBA player trying to get the ref to call a foul" moments. He pushed her, she fell, it hurt.

I immediately asked The Boy why he pushed The Babe, and he says nonchalantly "My don't know", as though it doesn't really matter. The important thing is now he is sitting on the stool and not her. I told him to tell her that he was sorry, and he declined. I told him he was to apologize or get a time out, and still, he declined. So, time out it is.

The Boy really dislikes time out. He acts like a total tough guy when you are threatening it, and even as you pick him up to take him to the time out spot. He'll look me right in the eye and say "take my away, mommy, take my away", as though it's a dare. As soon as he's in the spot and I turn to leave, though, it hits him. It's really time out. I have to sit here for 2 whole minutes! And the screaming and crying begins. Lately, it's "Mommy!!!! My scared!!!!" to try and get me to come in before the 2 minutes are up. This is how it was this evening; The Boy screamed and cried himself into a frenzy for his 2 minutes.

I went in, as I always do, when the 2 minutes were up. I sat next to him and calmly asked him if he knew why he was placed in time out, and told him he needed to tell The Babe he was sorry for pushing her the way he did. We were about to get off the sofa to go find The Babe so he could do just that when The Babe walks in the room. She is carrying The Boy's beloved blankie, his "babies" as he calls them. He looks at her, his poor face all wet and red and splotchy, and says "My sorry, Dizzy". She hands him his babies, which he eagerly accepts, and says to me "I wanted to make him feel better. He's so sad." The Boy had such a look of appreciation, and he leaned forward and hugged The Babe.

How is it possible that I have such a sweet and thoughtful little girl? He's in time out because he shoved her, hurt her, and refused to say sorry.... and she wanted to make him feel better because time outs make him sad. They really are sweet to each other, deep down. I know I've had a hard weekend, but moments like that really help me keep it in perspective.

I really do love The Kiddos.

how to freak your mother out

Dear Toddler Boys,

If you really want to freak your mother out, here is what you should do.

1. Wait until after the bath on a particularly difficult day (see previous post).
2. Walk over to your mother, while you are still nude, holding your hand over your privates and crying.
3. When your mother asks you what's wrong, just keep saying "hurt, hurt, mommy it hurts", and gesture towards your still covered private area.
4. When your mommy lays you down to have a look, don't be surprised at her look of shock when she sees what you've done.
5. Try not to laugh as she slowly discovers it's OK, you've just colored your whole private area (both the bits and the pieces) with red marker.

Seriously folks, this is what happened here this evening. I am still not sure if the whole thing was a trick on me, or if somehow, the act of coloring himself with red marker actually did make it hurt. Either way, I am grateful for washable markers.

the weekends

Hi. My name is Erika, and I am a great big giant baby. I'm spoiled rotten to the core, and have no business feeling unhappy or overwhelmed at all.

I wrote that as my starter to this post just so you all kow that I am 100% aware of how ridiculous I am being. But, since I can't really control my feelings I guess I just have to deal with them. So here I am, getting it all out. You can stop reading now if you are not interested in attending my pity party. I'll understand.

The weekends here are hard. My husband now works, which is a total godsend, something we've been needing him to do for quite some time. So, see? How can I complain about him working when he only started working again because of all my complaining? See the first paragraph of this entry for the answer.

You all know by now that I work nights, Sunday-Thursday 3:30 p - 12:00 a. Well, now my husband works nights (mostly), too. He works Wed, Thurs, Fri nights, Sat either day or night (sometimes both!) and Sun days. This is hard. It's hard because now I have no help at bedtime, because even when he works days he's not home for bed. I have no help for dinner time. I have less help during the days because on the nights that he works, he takes a nap in the afternoon so he won't sleep through his shift. It's hard in the mornings because I used to be able to sleep in, but now that my husband is home late, I'm the one who gets up in the mornings with The Kiddos.

All of this is very logical and makes sense. I can't and I don't fault my husband for his work hours, or the fact that he needs a nap in the afternoon to make it through. It's just hard. It's hard because he has to leave for work right at the time of day when The Kiddos become most difficult. It's hard because I have to deal with their end of day meltdowns with no backup, plus I'm supposed to be on the clock working myself. It's hard because usually he leaves for work either late Sat morning or early Sat afternoon and he's not home until Sunday night after bedtime. Every week. It's like he travels for business and is away every weekend.

The Kiddos know my buttons and they aren't afraid to push them. I lose my patience. I don't like the bickering and the fighting. I can't stand the way they expect me to resolve every dispute between them, and I have stopped doing that; telling them they need to sort it out. And then it's hard to listen to all the bickering that follows as they try to do just that. It's exhausting, and I feel overwhelmed by it at times..... all the while feeling stupid and guilty because so many people out there have it so much worse than I do, and how dare I let myself feel this way when it's nothing compared to what other families deal with.

I cried today. It's stupid. I cried because The Babe told me she wanted to go out to lunch, so I thought "OK great! We'll go out to lunch, get a few errands done, be out of the house for the day, and it will go fast, and it won't be so overwhelming just watching the time tick slowly by". So then it was time to go, and she's changed her mind. She doesn't want to go out, she just wants to drive through somewhere and eat the food at home. Well, no. I'm not loading both kids into the car just to drive thru McDonald's and come right back. We have food here. So, we had a standoff of sorts. I had gotten myself all psyched up to get out of the house, it had made all the difference to my outlook on the day, and now I knew that even if I won the battle and we got to leave, The Babe would be in such a mood about it that it wouldn't be a good outing anyways. She won, no matter how you look at it. Meanwhile, The Boy wanted to go out just as much as I did, so he's crying "go now, Mommy, go now!", while The Babe is pouting and shouting that she doesn't want to go, and has collapsed into a puddle on the floor, refusing to move. I cried. I left the room before I burst into tears... but it's so overwhelming.... I have no help, they always disagree, whatever my idea for the day was never works out.... and I have 2 whole days of this before my husband is home.

My name is Erika, and I am a great big giant baby. I'm spoiled rotten to the core, and I have no business feeling unhappy and overwhelmed at all. I know this... and yet, there it is.

loot

Oh! To be 5 years old again.... *sigh*

This was the birthday of all birthdays. This was an extravaganza! A week of presents! Utter craziness! My husband and I thought we were doing the right thing by forgoing the big family party this year. We figure, The Babe is 5 now. She'll have a party with her little 5-year old friends, and she can celebrate with the grandparents at whichever time nearest to her b-day that she sees them. It seemed so reasonable... last year she had a party with her little friends, AND we had the family over for another party, and that seemed to be too much... so this plan seemed so reasonable. Perhaps not.

The result:

• Sunday, 29 Oct: Gramma J and Grampa J come over to sit for The Boy. While they are here, they give The Babe her b-day presents from them, as well as the present from Aunt J. It was their intent to have The Babe open these gifts on her b-day, but I thought she should open them while she was with her grandparents so they could see how much she liked them. So.... a butterfly mobile, a new stuffed cat, a cool cookbook and personalized apron, and a Tinkerbell gift set. Wow.
• Tuesday, 31 Oct: Gramma L and Grampa D come over as Grampa D actually got a day off from work. 4 new winter dresses, new tights, new socks, and a new outfit for her build-a-bear, Emily. Wow.
• Wednesday, 01 Nov: Actual birthday. The Babe got a fisher price digital camera from her parents. She loves it. Good.
• Saturday, 04 Nov: birthday party. Too much to mention, I may forget some... a new Cranium board game that is a huge hit, tinkertoys, coloring books, puzzles, more build-a-bear clothes, a Groovy Girl doll, a ceramic bead craft set, a play-doh gift set. The Babe loves all of it and doesn't know what to play with first. Wow.
• Sunday, 05 Nov: Brunch with the last set of grandparents; Grampa A and Gramma I. More clothes for the build-a-bear, and more clothes for The Babe. Wow.

Now, on Monday, 06 Nov, The Babe actually asked me what she was getting today. I was surprised. Ummm... well sweetie, the week of you has ended. It's not your birthday anymore. Nothing. None. You have so many new things. And then.... a package from a different Aunt J arrives with a new stuffed bear (now named Smudgy), wooden letters that spell The Babe's name, and rubber stamps. PLUS - - her good friend, Q, arrived back in town today and showed up at our door with a whole Polly Pockets gift set that has a car and everything!

So, ummm yeah. LOOT. I cannot believe the amount of stuff! And, if something arrives tomorrow, I may just have to hide it in the basement until Christmas, or else The Babe will think she gets a gift every day for the rest of her life!

sidenote: Polly Pockets would have been right up my alley as a kid. I'm surprised how much I love this toy. I'm such a girl.

happy birthday, babydoll!

November 1 is The Babe's birthday. I am a day late with this post. I am late because I can't sort out what I want to say so that it might be coherent to anyone who might be reading.

Let's start with the obvious.... I love The Babe. I love her so much that the thought of not having The Babe around hurts me, actually, physically makes me ill.

I love that she tells jokes that make no sense and laughs as though it was the funniest thing in the world. I love that she will now eat asparagus, but only the tips. I love that she almost always wants a pretty dress, but doesn't seem to notice that her hair is a total mess. I love that everything takes turns with her: one night we wash her hair using the pitcher of water, the next time we can use the sprayer... tonight she will sleep with little cat in the bed, but tomorrow it will be puppy. She has a system for everything. I love that she believes me when I tell her that she can't or shouldn't do something, and then genuinely tries not to do said thing. I love that she dances like a total maniac and has no rhythym (just like mommy). I love that she will do these dances while her daddy plays the latest Tool song on his (not plugged in) electric guitar. Nothing like not realizing that Tool is total heavy ick music that mommy can't stand... I still love to see her dance. I even love that she will make herself gag when I am trying to get her to try a new food, as though pasta with actual (gasp!) red sauce will actually kill her. I love that she can be dramatic.

I love that she cares about other people's feelings. I love that she thinks about how what she does might make someone feel. I love that she shares. I love that she laughs. I love that she draws pictures for her friends before they come over and is so excited to give it to them. I love that she spends time teaching The Boy his ABC's and nobody ever asked her to. I love that she gives him a hug and kiss every night before bed. I love that she cheers loudest of all when The Boy goes tinkle on the potty. I love that she's daddy's little girl, and no one can make her smile the way he does, even though that one hurt when I first realized it.

I love her pretend friends, and the fact that one of them has a birthday at least once a week. I love that she doesn't realize that they all must be 25 years old by now.

I love that her favorite bear, Brown Bear, the one she's had since she was 9 months old and still sleeps in her bed every night... I love that Brown Bear has a hole worn right through him and lost his bead stuffing because "he got too much love". I love that every 6 months or so she picks out a new shape and color of fabric for me to patch him up with, because now the patch has gotten "too much love", too.

I loved her when she was a tiny baby. I've loved her every step along the way. I love her now more than ever, and I love the person that she's growing up to be.

I love you, babydoll. Happy Birthday....