Sparks and Butterflies

My mom went into the hospital again last night.  She hadn’t eaten in two days and kept vomiting old blood.  The pain was finally bad enough that she willingly went.

They drained a ton of blood out.  She had an endoscopy today, and they found food.  Food that was two days old, and just wasn’t digesting.  She’s feeling much better, now that she’s been on a lot of pain medication and they took the stuff out.  She’s having an upper GI series tomorrow to see if they can pinpoint whether there’s a blockage, or she’s just not digesting for some reason.

I kept fighting myself to go to the hospital.  I REALLY did not want to go, but I should. I didn’t have a clue as to why I was so reluctant.  And right about the time I was ready to go, the school called.  Joseph was sick, and I had to pick him up.  Mother’s intuition?  I don’t know.

I’ve learned in my decade as a mother that each and every stage has it’s own challenges.  It never gets easier.  Certain aspects get easier, but the job of parenting doesn’t.  Each stage is a tradeoff.

Poe and I will not be having any more children.  He was – er – snipped.  We decided that two kids with special needs was enough, and maxed out our emotional and financial reserves.  For one child, it’s a toss up if he’ll be a self-sustaining adult.  For him, we still have years of therapy and medication and doctors appointments and IEP meetings to get through.  For the other child, survival is of paramount importance.  For him we have years left of surgery medications anesthesia and doctors appointments.  So, we made the decision to just stop.

So for each “ending” stage, we realize it’s the last.  Although every once in a while someone passes me a baby.  You know…  The kind that doesn’t quite have their own personality yet, and smells of baby powder.  The kind who’s so young, woofling into your neck and a steady hand holding up the bum is simple paradise to them.  That’s one stage that I do miss.  The stage where you make everything right for this tiny person by simply holding on.

There are a few stages, though, that I’ve said goodbye to with joy.

Diapers.  The changing, the tossing, the necessity to be constantly prepared.

Toilet training.  The accidents, extra clothes, negotiation and head scratching.

Toddler danger where they don’t quite yet get what’s bad and dangerous and are constantly giving you heart attacks as they decide to investigate the stove.  Or street.  Or beehive.  Or howthehelldidyougetupthere place.

I do miss kindergarten though.  It was school but not school.  They didn’t have all the pressures of grades and homework, but you see their mind just expand.  That was fun.

We’re currently in a stage that I detest.  The elementary school years, where their not quite on their own with schoolwork yet, like high school.  I hate being pressured to do homework.  I detest it.  I have no patience for it.  And for crying out loud did you not listen to the instructions in class? What the heck am I to do with three triangles, a square, and no instructions?

Thank God no one has to make a volcano erupt yet, or I might just lose it.

In years to come, maybe I’ll look back with longing at these years.

Right now, we still have it simple.  Mom and dad know it all.  No is no.  We’re still in control.  Sort of.  I have to admit I’m not looking forward to girls.  Puberty.  Body hair.  Talking back.  Attitude.  Expose to language, sex, and drugs.  My oldest just turned 10 and I see these things hovering on the horizon.  I’m scared.  I’m scared to go from sleepless nights to talks about drugs.  Diapers to condoms.  Tantrums to groundings.  Kindergarten to college.

This parenting gig is kind of hard.  The totally cliche and sappy quote “Parenting is your heart forever walking around outside your body” is true.  I’m not a sappy mushy person.  But Oh, how it’s true.

No really, they did. We got married so fast that I lost a few friends who wouldn’t support me. And about 3-6 months into the marriage, our church family kept staring at my tummy, SURE that I must be pregnant. I mean, it had to be a shotgun wedding, right?

We disappointed them.  We got married because we loved each other, and knew it was right, and knew it was of God.  Period.  We ignored the naysayers, and did what we felt was right.

12 years later, we’re still together.  A little ragged around the edges, with worn out knees, and well placed holes, a bit faded.  But still here, still together, and still love each other.

Happy anniversary, Poe.  I love you.  Still.

Dear Teacher,

From the end of March to the beginning of May we are dealing with:

A kid on medication
Forms that MUST be done in person, because God knows a doctor’s office can’t deal with email, .pdf’s, or even a fax
3 birthdays, and one anniversary
all with no money considering my husband hasn’t worked in almost 14 months
a cold sweeping through the family
maintaining current clients, while gaining new ones
because that’s what’s keeping us in groceries while the unemployment keeps rent and electricity paid
while keeping sane during two separate spring breaks in two separate school districts who of COURSE can’t happen at the same time
while my dad just wanders through my house at odd times asking my husband to play online poker, planting tomatoes that he wants ME to take care of
while the plumbing implodes every other week
while making the decision whether my mother needs to go to the hospital
while helping my mother maintain through a failing memory and what I suspect are mini strokes
while volunteering for hours for your school
while my husband takes tests
that I have to quiz him on which SUSPECT is the right one to SHOOT
All while I maintain control in the household by paying bills, doing laundry, doing dishes, cleaning the house, keeping the children clean, fed, and alive.

So pardon me if the mother-effing report on the great white shark was effing late. He’s 7. Get over it.

Dear Joseph,

A couple days ago you turned ten. 10. A decade. Double digits. Your teenage years are just on the horizon.

This year you have gone through more than any child should. Bullying that wasn’t stopped. Adults that wouldn’t listen. Police. Hospitals. A school change. All on top of the challenges you already face.

You’ve come through it all intact, with integrity, doing the work, and I am so very proud of you.

May the next decade bring you more growth and lessons you learn from, ease in yourself, knowledge of love, and a kernel of wisdom.

I love you.

Mom

P.S.  Clean your room.

*Disclaimer:  This is an experiment in thought and “what ifs.”  I have no interest in creating a “movement.”  I am not currently part of a movement.  I am a registered voter with opinions.

As with most Americans, Poe and I have been very political minded the last 2 years.  Election, Democrat, Republican, Independent, Libertarian, health care, etc. are all words that have been bantered about between us of late.  Late one night in bed, we were falling asleep.  We had just watched some political TV programming we are fans of.  Sleepy, but minds churning, we started mapping out the following scenario.

What if we split the country in half?  Two Americas.  United States of Western America, and United States of Eastern America.  The states themselves would remain intact, so it would be a jagged line up the middle.  The western half would be the right side of the political spectrum, the eastern half would be the left side of the political spectrum.  You have 30 days to decide which side of the spectrum your personal beliefs fall into.  You are to choose freely, but you MUST choose.  After your decision is made, you have 90 days to get you there.  There would be relocation centers to help you find jobs and move, should your choice take you to the other side of the country.  Once the move is in place, federal responsibilities would be split in half.  The national debt?  Halved.  The US Treasury?  Halved.  Current military?  Halved.  So on and so forth.  Federal taxes would obviously go towards support of your new half of the country.

While communication and travel would be freely shared (with passports of course) nothing else would.  You could not work over the national line, you must work and have residence in your own half.  No bartering, trade, services, utilities, natural resources, etc. could go over the national line.  The governments would choose how to run their own government.  They would decide their own foreign policy, foreign debt, immigration laws, participation in organizations like NATO and the United Nations, defense strategy, military, etc.  There would be a treaty in place that no fighting happened over the line.

The experiment stays in place for 20 years.  Short enough to turn back, long enough to get some data.

What happens?  Who keeps a republic?  Who keeps the Constitution?  Who enters wars?  Who solves international peace situations?  Who has a better unemployment rate?  Who has a higher median income?  Who has cleaner streets, less crime, safer lives?  Who is free?  How has artistic endeavors evolved?  Who has less debt?  Who has better health?  Who has a better education?  Who has better transportation?  Who has evolved further technologically?  Do the two countries come back together as a whole, or do they work better as separate entities?

If you start thinking about specific personal issues, specific personal lives, and take the current system out of the equation it starts getting interesting.  If you could start a brand new country, what would it look like?  How would it work?  How would it evolve?

I haven’t been around the blog in a while.  I keep avoiding the issue.  I keep saying to myself, “I don’t want to whine about the same old stuff.”  That’s bullshit.  I’m censoring myself.  It’s a combo deal.  I found out some family is reading.  I’ve been concentrating on work stuff.  And I have wanted to avoid politics after the spanking I received from some people via email during the election period basically saying that I was entitled to my opinion but that my opinion was wrong and therefore I’m an evil person.  SO.

I’m going to be making a concerted effort.  I’m going to write.  Even if it’s due to a manufactured prompt.  I won’t cross certain lines – mainly some familial lines.  But if politics is pissing me off, I’ll say why.  Because this is my journal and I don’t have to be fair.  I don’t have to show impartiality.  I do not claim to be a journalist.  I write.  I am a writer.  I’m earning my living writing.  But I don’t claim to be a journalist.  If something is cropping up, and my religious beliefs (and therefore many of my morals) start blinking little red *danger* lights in my head, I want to say something.

I’m tired of being scared of others’ opinions of me.

I’m tired of being scared that someone will be mad at me.

I’m tired of being scared that someone will be mean or call me names.

Another blogger wrote some things that were very clarifying for me.  When I get my act together in some sort of comprehensible manner, I’ll write about it, and her post.

I need to consider this a fresh start.

This probably means I’m going to redesign the site.  Sigh.

Poe was handling the morning carline this fine Friday (thank God) morning.  His conversation with a mother (in the actual carline):

Mother:  Hey!  Aren’t you Mr. X*?

Poe:  Um, no?

Mother:  Really?  At Club Midnight*?

Poe:  Um. No.  Nononono.

Mother:  Well…  You’re a really great dancer.

Poe:  Thank you?

What he wanted to say was “And were you a good tipper?”  But he didn’t.  Although he should have.

Of course this comes on the heels of Girl Scout Cookies, hugs, lots of “Thank you Mr. Wilcox,” “Mmmmm those are great tattoos!” And my favorite, “It’s so nice to have a big strong man on the carline.”  (And really?  WTF?)

I’m going to have to start going to carline myself to protect him from the wimmins.

*Dancer and Club name completely made up because Poe couldn’t remember the names.  DOESN’T HE KNOW HE NEEDS TO REMEMBER THIS STUFF SO CAN BLOG ABOUT IT?

St. Patrick’s Day is right around the corner, and it’s not the luck of the Irish that will keep the roads safe… it’s planning now for a safe and sober way home.

Are you headed out with friends after work this Wednesday to celebrate the holiday?  No?  Well when you and your family are on the road headed to choir practice, a t-ball game, or coming home from school, you may be sharing the road with those returning from a fun St. Patrick’s Day event.  It’s time to spread the word about the dangers of buzzed driving and to remind people that Buzzed Driving IS Drunk Driving, and the best way to stay safe is to plan ahead.

Let’s remind everyone about the importance of remembering to:

• Designate a sober driver before you leave for your event.
• Be ready to take alternate transportation such as a bus or taxi. Have the phone number of a taxi service stored in your phone before you leave for the party.

Even if you will not be celebrating this St. Patrick’s Day, keep in mind that in 2008, 1,179 people in other vehicles were killed in crashes involving alcohol-impaired drivers.  And for those who don’t plan on over-indulging – a buzzed driving crash looks the same as a drunk driving crash.

Global Influence is working with the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) and the Ad Council as they continue their efforts with the “Buzzed Driving is Drunk Driving” PSA campaign.  Buzzed drivers drink and drive, but do not consider themselves a hazard on the roadway because they have had “only a few” drinks. The campaign hopes to educate people that consuming even a few drinks can impair driving and that “Buzzed Driving is Drunk Driving.”

We need your help in keeping the roads safe for everyone this St. Patrick’s Day by spreading the word that buzzed driving IS drunk driving.

To learn more about the impact buzzed driving can have on a life, please watch this important video about the financial and personal repercussions of getting a DUI.

Remember: Buzzed Driving IS Drunk Driving. Plan ahead and ask your loved ones to do the same.

For more information, visit Buzzed Driving Is Drunk Driving on Facebook and Twitter (@Buzzeddriving).

I have been editing the school newspaper for years.  This is my 5th year, actually.  It’s hours of my time, involving PTA Presidents, Communications VP’s, printers, and deadlines.  I get thanks from the President, usually, which is really great – it’s sincere.

Poe has been doing the Carline for two weeks.  Poe gets hugs and free Girl Scout Cookies.

Something’s not right here.

And yes, I want a cookie.