Godspeed

It's bad news about Shelldon.

 

He made a strong and seemingly full resurgence yesterday only to meet his maker last night when I wasn't looking. 

And believe me, I was looking lots.

After panic purchasing new bedding, drapes, and furniture for him from Petco yesterday I had full faith (of a moron) he could pull through his ordeal the night before.

But after rinsing him off and reluctantly putting him back in the new digs, he seemed paralyzed with indecision. It was like watching my brother Eric pick out new shoes.  Shelldon was definitely shopping for a new shell but wasn't willing to drop his money without considering every angle.  Twice.  Worse yet, every time I checked on him, he had a little piece of something (bark, sand pile) stuck to his midriff which either caused him to back out and abandon ship or caused me to grab my tweezers and remove it from him like an invisible surgeon in the dark.   

(By the way, I did know better than to set his bare bottom in Cypress mulch but the sand was absolutely killing him. He seemed in no way willing or able to rinse himself off so I figured avoiding bark pieces might be his only hope. I figured wrong.)

So it is finished.  He is gone. For real, for real this time.  I'll spare you details but let's just say we wouldn't want him to return in that state if he could.

The kids said their goodbyes over a brief  and anything but solemn toilet flushing ceremony. Grayson was on one side harking, "FLUSH HIM! FLUSH HIM" like an angry Roman as Abby banged little crazy fists on the toilet lid in Keith Moon fashion.  I'm pretty sure they cycled through their grief already.

We wished Shelldon Godspeed just like we did yesterday.

Maybe that's what did it.

And the Nominees are...

We take this break from resuscitating Shelldon to let you know I'm in my first blog contest you guys! It's not to gain readership or to make money. Which is fitting because I don't do either up in here. It's strictly for recognizing a little ole mommy blog for having an inspiring family.

Our family trials may be small and our tribulations minuscule in comparison to who else is nominated so don't be disappointed (Mom) if we don't rank many votes; there are some incredibly inspiring blogs there. My favorite is nominated and if you don't find us particularly awesome, please go check Nella, Lainey, and Kelle out at www.kellehampton.com

So, if any of you have ever felt inspired by our little family of four, (Five with Sadie. Six as of now since Shelldon is making a seriously impressive comeback.) please feel free to click the button here below. You have to scroll down (a lot...we are number 71) until you see a pic of Abby stomping in mud next to the title of this blog: One-Sided Paw Paw. Just kidding. Seeing who is still awake. One-Sided Momma is our name, aiming to entertain is our game.



Or go vote for Kelle Hampton's blog: Enjoying the Small Things as I happen to be obsessed with her entire life. She deserves the votes based on Nella's edible cuteness alone.

Thank you all for reading any of us. All of us. Two of us and The Huffington Post. Whatever. Thank you.

Now, back to check on the Comeback King who should hopefully be moving into a new shell and shopping for draperies.

Three Day Weekend and a Funeral

My husband is proceeding with a hermit crab memorial service as I type.

Shelldon, Grayson's hermit crab ....OMG YOU GUYS he is still alive!!!!

Andy just picked it up so the kids could say goodbye.  And he moved!  He is still miraculously alive and I am completely freaking out.  Tears streaming, arms helicoptering, just-saw-a-hermit-crab-ghost freaking out!

We have been watching this poor thing run around naked inside a tank that obviously is missing a life sustaining factor.  I've tried every combination of hermit crabby things and still, it is without shell, weak and needing the key ingredient  I am not providing.

Andy and I watched last night as Shelldon fell upside down in his water dish in what seemed like the Titanic's last breath.  Andy pulled him out of the water per my shrieking demands request and set him gently on his climbing tool otherwise known as Grayson's Spiderman toy.

What I cannot express enough here is that this hermit crab was D-E-A-D last night.  I checked on him every 30 minutes or so (because I'm crazy) just to see if maybe perchance he hadn't just kicked the bucket but he wasn't moving at all.  I mourned the loss of him in my own way.  Which is to say I cried in my pillow like a four year old after everyone else fell asleep (because I'm crazy).

I canNOT believe we have a second chance!  He is back and needing me to get my sh*t together.

So Sadie and I are on our way to the pet store to try everything we can to save Shelldon.  Anything, and I do mean ANYthing that holds on this long has got some reason to be here.  Far be it for me to assume he's not the next hermit crab to discover a cure for sponge mold.

I jest but my heart is beholden to this little purple clawed creature.  I am its only hope.

Wish me luck, you guys.

Godspeed, Shelldon.  Unless that means die.  That's not at all what I want to say.  I really should Google that.

My St. Theresa

"There are dog people and there are those other unfortunate souls." - Author Unknown

For a couple of days, I've been under the weather.  To protect myself from public ridicule and my own self loathing I will not admit to you what kind of weather I've been under.  One clue is that I am currently looking into glasses.  Even though I still have 20/20 vision.
 
So despite what kind of thing has ailed me, I have had one stoic reminder that no matter how idiotic I am, I have a constant caring soul who watches over me.

Her name is Sadie.

 

Sadie doesn't pick favorites.  She is devoted to whomever needs her.  This is evidenced by her letting Abby ring tutus around her neck and apply pink mango blush to her ears.  And I do remember a certain canine fixture on Grayson's bed after his surgery in the summer.   

Knowing this, I can only come to understand I was the one who needed her the last two days.

 

She didn't leave my side to go play outside with the kids and Daddy who came home early.

She didn't flinch when the door chirped with her family happily bounding inside.

She didn't even get up from her spot on my bed when it was her dinner time.  Even though I could hear her stomach growling.

 

I shared my dinner with her and gently kissed the top of her sweet compassionate head in thanks.

If she were a people she'd be a nurse, a doctor, or a Mother Theresa.

But I'm so glad she's a Sadie instead.

P.S.  Please forgive the blurry pictures.  I couldn't see to focus well.  There, I said it.  I couldn't SEE.  HeyZeus, I need a good ophthalmologist referral in the DC area.  Also please note the silver gum wrappers under my bed.  Not until downloading these pics did I discover Grayson's hiding spot for my (very much stolen) gum.  Little Rat.  Wonder what else is under there.  Probably a city of candy wrappers or a small village of plastic Tic Tac containers.  I shudder to think.

Impulse

As grown ups we tend to think.

And think.

And think some more about everything.

• Should we go organic?
• Should open up the house, it's like spring out there today. Ugh, spring cleaning.  No yard sale this year.  But maybe Craigslist?  Ew.  So stalker-ey.  I saw that Lifetime movie about crazy Craigslist guy who murdered girls and hid evidence under his own (marital) bed.  Yeah, I'm just going to donate.  
• I really need to help Abby move beyond pink. Red is her new pink.  But blue is good too.  Green.  Blondes looks great in green. She will never go for green.
• When's the last time we ate pears?
• Does Andy travel this week or is it next week?
• This hermit crab is giving me an ulcer.  No more creatures that dwell in naturally opposite environments.  I'm sorry you're naked again, Sheldon.  I cannot figure out if you need more pools of water, misting, or a long drive off a short beach pier. 

And so on.

But on Saturday I didn't think.  I just went for it.

And by "it" I mean chopped off all my hair.  Or the five and a half inches it took me over one year to grow anyway.

It didn't turn out exactly how I'd hoped but I'm neither a hot blonde nor 18 so the picture I took into the hairstylist may have put her at an immediate disadvantage.

 (Yeah, no  I turned out nothing like this little vixen.)

Don't worry, it'll grow back.

This time I won't dye it, blow dry it, flat iron it, or talk about it behind its back.  I want it to be healthy long, not angry emo mad damaged long.

I'm taking prenatals to help it along.  And Super B12s. Avoiding caffeine, alcohol, and stress too.  It's like I'm trying to have a baby without all that business about an actual baby at the finish line.

In the meantime, I will be chugging folic acid and leafy greens hoping to inspire some quick growth to at least cover my very chilly neck.

Playground Crew

Choppy happy scattered talks

Go round and round around us.

Playground chats all week soak in

to settle light and steady.

We've made it here to this fine place

Sharing mother duties.

I wash yours, you pick up mine

We've sewn affections into time

We've squeezed the lemons into wine

And now I'm strong and ready.

Thank you for feeding me

Your kind words, your beatnik tea

Your fresh cut Costco strawberries

(Your everyday offerings.)

It's good to be together.

B12

Since Abby was born my body has never regained the energy it once had.  I just began to spell the word "once" with a "w" so it is leeching brain power as well.

Because I eat well and am not sedentary, I chalked this slump up to hormones changing and sorting themselves out.

It's been 3 years.  Hormones done changed. Hormones done sorted.

It was time to investigate why all the slothy slothiness.

 

 (Maybe someone should throw away all the sleepy gray clothes?)

Many of you may not know this about me (or care) but I'd rather write a 1,500 page paper instead of take pills.  Even little slippery coated pills.  Hate it.  My throat closes, stomach heaves and before I know it I'm having flashbacks of Studio 54.  Just kidding, I never dry heave.

But all the foggy tired was seriously getting on my nerves.

So I killed my inner pill hater and tried B12s.

Nirvana.

Just like that, I'm alive again.

Not sure what's in those things but you will see me on Dateline chasing down those B12 underground societies should the FDA ever decide they're naughty.

I'll be the blurred out shadowy figure saying, "I know it's wrong but....you have children, you understand, Chris Hansen...I need them. My family needs them."

For the record, I'm also working out three times a week and I'm sure that's helping too but I noticed the biggest difference immediately after taking the B12s.

I wonder what's next.   Zinc?  Iron supplements?  Fish Oil?

Nah, I'm feeling so good these days thanks to my new little yellow friends that I think we'll stop here for now.

Why tweak the perfect recipe?

Pushing Forty

When I was in high school a friend invited me to his party. As I showed up at the door a girl I didn't know very well was right in front of me. She insulted his dog; called his dog smelly and old. My friend (and owner of dog) did not miss a beat. "Oh yeah?" He asked through a big hungry grin, "He lives here. You don't. Buh bye."

She called him an a$!hole on her way out the door.

I was lost in a love bubble ready to propose marriage.

The beauty of this friend was that he really was an a-hole sometimes but he didn't care because he knew what was right by him and those he cared about. I loved this quality about him. He had a bravado and confidence I wouldn't know myself until two decades later.

Now that I'm pushing forty, I have it.

If someone insults my kid (or yes, my dog) I don't over explain and give our personal accounts or history, I simply show them the door. If someone insults my intelligence I don't blather on using big words, I will cut to the quick in five small words or less.  If someone makes false assumptions about me based on their limited knowledge, I let them.  In my younger years I would've done back flips and cartwheels so they understood where I was coming from.   Now I walk away knowing that kind of work for that kind of person is a huge waste of time.  I think it's understood if we meet as adults we are coming to each other as a history of evolving traits and characteristics not static personalities written in cement.


The beauty of pushing forty is that the veil is lifted.  There is more reason to get to the point quickly and openly because there isn't an infinite amount of time in front of us to waste   It's right for me to speak honestly while cutting through the bullsh*t.  I wish I would've taken my friend's lead years ago. 

Getting older is a necessary evil. And sometimes I've discovered, so is being an a-hole.

Bamboozled

I've been bamboozled.

You see on the days I pick Grayson up after soccer he is spent.  I usually get a nice quiet afternoon because he immediately needs to recharge.   He doesn't typically sleep but it's so rare this child is physically depleted.  I freaking love soccer class.

Today I asked him to recharge in the store while I shopped for tops that don't make me look like a caterpillar (all cotton Ts) or six months pregnant (the rest of the things I own). 

He went for it at first.  A shirtless Abby next to him (Don't ask, we're hoping Hooters gives scholarships.) agreed to shop too.  Of course I had to bribe them with a promise of a new toy but hey, I will be happy to spend two dollars on a plastic aircraft carrier with a busted up Captain's chair.  We were on our way to the thrift store.  I know, lucky kids.

Three streets away Grayson decides he is just too tired.  Major sleepy award winning yawns.  Can he take a rest in the store?  Will there be a chair on which he may rest his weary head?

You know of course the peanut gallery has to concur.  She is suddenly so very very tired and must also find a bench on which to rest her weary weary head.

I'm sure Sadie would've chimed in with a heaving sigh of exhaustion too had she been...well...awake.

(I should probably test my car for radon.)

I give in.  Thrift or not, this adventure will not end well if I force the constituents to participate against their will.  And plus, who am I to argue about a little nap action at 3pm?

I should've seen it coming.

Nobody slept.  Grayson did a Yeoman's job of pretending until I heard some sort of galactic showdown complete with soapy puddles in his bathroom.  What the hell goes in in a boy's bathroom I will never know.  My mom always said I would be surprised at how filthy a boy child can make a bathroom with nothing but a washcloth, Matchbox cars, and his own devices.  She was right.  Absolute domestic mayhem up in there.  I honestly did not clean it up.  Forced him to cease fire, retreat and close the door behind him.   

Abby did rest somewhat though and we will all rue the minute I allowed that to happen come 9pm or so when she is doing a back handstand on the kitchen table screaming, "Give me Nonie crackers or give me death!"

Next time, we are going to the thrift store.

I will not buy the B.S. they are selling and I may just throw in a trip to the post office for screwing with me today.

Little baby manipulators, I fear you not.

You may be clever but I'm on to you now and will smell your performance chops a mile away.

Tabs

Tabs are back on my radar.

I will try to update them more often than the every five month schedule I've been rocking.

If you have no idea what this is about, I'm sorry.  I don't know the technical blogish name so I call them Tabs, Pages, Clicky Linky Things, Sh*t I've Ignored Out of Sheer Mental Fatigue, etc.

These Tabs can be found right above this post and are entitled:   "He Said, She Said," "I'm Just a Girl,"  "Picture This," and "Song du Jour" in the exact opposite order I just wrote them.  Bedlexia.  Too tired to fix.  G'night!

The Marine's Daughter

Daddy is home and he is giving me ten minutes to myself.  In Parent Speak that means I'm in Time Out because it's Friday and I have spent Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday using my nice person voice while the other person resurfaces spitting, cussing, and waving a pirate flag of crossbones and skeletons above her mohawk.

So while The Daddy bathes Abby he is also (simultaneously) checking on Grayson who is downstairs face down on the couch.   Why face down on the couch, you may ask?  Let me set the scene:

Tonight at 6:15 pm -

Husband knocks on the door. (He has a key.  It's middle age flirt.)

while...

I open the door Pretend Sexy Ghost style which means I'm hiding behind for no apparent reason. (Again sadly, middle age flirt.) 

 while....

Abby runs of course butt naked toward the door yelling "Dadeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" at the tippy top of her lungs.

while...

Sadie runs break neck speed down the stairs like a herd of ninety small children trying to catch the Ice Cream Man.

where...

Grayson is sitting on the stairs and gets whapped in the face by Sadie's tail.

This is where I psychotically giggle while writing the words, IN THE EYEBALL HE WAS WHAPPED YOU GUYS.

and...

Pretend Sexy Ghost runs upstairs to her safe blog place where nobody: has scraped corneas, cries, runs around butt naked (exceptions please hush your mouth), needs me to cut up the chicken they won't eat anyway because somehow they are living off the gift of speech and pixie dust.
 

So Abby's now in the bath and I hear her say, "Daddy, I have to go potty.  Daddy, I have to go potty.  Daddy, I have to go potty."  Apparently, three times the charm because Daddy came a running back to the bathroom to lift her to the potty. (Remember he was with the exorcist writhing between couch pillows downstairs.)

Back down to the moaning groaning Grayson he went.

A few minutes later from the bathroom, I hear:  Daddy, wipe me!  Daddy wipe me!  Daddy, wipe me!  

Nothing.  No footsteps.  Even I was rivited.  Where was The Daddy?  Who will have to wipe her?  Will Pretend Sexy Ghost have to resurface and do the dirty deed?  Will Grayson ever blink his eyes in time to avoid certain peril and Sadie tails?  Will Madonna body surf everyone at Superbowl halftime show?

Then I hear this:  Daddy, will you wipe me?  Daddy will you wipe me, Daddy will you wipe me please now, Sir? 

And the man came running.  

Hoorah, Abby.   You have figured out the impossible.  You have figured out how to get a Marine to wipe your bum.  Good job, Baby.

Geriatric Ruby

Abby and Grayson are being forced into mandatory rest time today. I do this every couple of weeks to recalibrate them since neither one naps anymore.

Somehow Grayson got roped into telling stories about Max & Ruby.

Let's just say the macabre apple did not fall far....

Click here for what is my son's last go at story telling.

Do Over

Ugh, that last post made me feel all black boots and heavy eyeliner.

Sorry about  morose overdose.

Want to leave you with this image instead.

 There, you can spend the rest of your day at work counting my fillings.  Someone ate lots of chocolate bars in her early years.  Well worth the lead, let me tell you.

We'll start all over tomorrow with our usual giddyup mundanities.

Playing Hookie

I attended a funeral service last night.

Had planned on attending the memorial service this afternoon but decided last minute I needed to go to the funeral service first.

I'm so glad I did.

It was for a mom of three children, all under the age of five.  She was battling brain cancer and had been cleared from her doctor as "all good" just Thursday.

She died Saturday of an undetected blood clot.

I don't tell you this to depress you.  I tell you this so I can understand whythefreak things like this go on in a world that seems to otherwise make pretty good sense.

I ran into this mom two weeks ago at the kids' preschool.  Wrapped my arms around her shoulders and whispered "I'm so glad to see you."  By her smile I could see she knew I really meant it.

Two weeks later I'm staring at a slideshow of her life in a funeral home filled with forced smiles and wet eyes.

How is that even possible?

Our boys were friends in preschool last year. They played together with another little boy every other day.  I knew his mom was sick last year and often prayed for her to a place I hope has powers stronger than I can imagine.  I even wrote about it here but didn't publish. 


She was so sick last year.   But two Tuesdays ago?  Not at all.  I mean, not one speck of it filled her vibrant face and hopeful smile.

Why wait until she's so healthy just to take her away?

Why give her husband, her sweet gentle giant of a husband, the dream of more anniversaries, birthdays, Saturday mornings, an entire lifetime of summer family vacations just to have it all come to a horrible sudden crashing stop.


Just like that, she is no longer here to strap her kids in their carseats.


She's not here to choose or not choose a hot lunch for her son who starts kindergarten in the fall.

She's not here to hug her mom on Christmas.

She's not here to yell at her husband for coming home late when the kids are sick.

She's not here.

She's not here.

She's not %*#& here.

It infuriates me.

I stood and shook and shook like a disturbed volcano in the hallway of my kids' preschool when my friend gave me the news. I was shocked and so angry at the fact that she didn't even get to know what happened.  All the preparing and knowledge of someone's passing doesn't make it easier but somehow, when kids are involved, it seems like it is the better option.  She didn't even get to say goodbye.

Then I stewed on that for a while and thought, why would that be better?

We are the ones to build fairness into the equation.  That's not at all what the world gives us.  It's what we do in reaction to the world around us so we don't bump elbows or nuclear powers.

We organize time in minutes, hours, years, calendar pages to make sense of all the given chaos. These intangible files we make to organize memories are not given to us by the universe, and certainly not God. It's our own human language. In that respect, of course our system is flawed.

The way people die may seem inconceivably hard to process through a person's perspective but maybe, just maybe we are meant to squander in the limits of our own imaginations because the alternative is our reward.  What happens when our bodies expire and our energies rise is beyond beautiful, amazing, open, immense, awe-inspiring, and too grand for our pattern of earthly thought to comprehend.

Or we witness nothing, are stopped completely, and dissolve into an air and space continuum like the steam above a hot spring.

Because energy doesn't just go away, I believe in the former.  We will see when we get there what all the fuss is about.

It has to be. 

Today I am keeping Grayson home from school.

 

 

 

For no other reason than to spend time with him and with Abby. 

Time discovering clouds that look like Abe Lincoln pass over our heads.

 Time finding tree fairies hanging out in the woods.

Time watching her watch him.

And when the shadows become larger than the sun? 

We will try to work that to our advantage too.

Wild Woman

"Oh Baby Baby it's a wild world....

 

"...It's hard to get by just upon a smile,"

"...Oh, baby, baby, it's a wild world,"

"I'll always remember you like a child, girl."

Eye Can't Believe It

Apparently we are a house of slow blinkers.

Grayson got the slow blinker gene from his mother.  

He and Andy are in an Urgent Care right now seeing about a scratched cornea.

I wish I were kidding.

He is doing fine.  Just can't move his eyeball or else seering hellfire bumblebee stings make him curl up into the fetal position.  I remember that feeling all too well.  If you've ever scratched your actual eyeball then your toes just curled at the mention too. 

It happened last night.  Grayson wasn't tired so was playing around in his room but happily so.  He must've primed a plastic popper thingie (imagine half a rubber ball with no center) and then peered down on it to check its popping status.

Status ready.

Only things went awry and the thing popped up right into his face.  His scream let both Andy and me know he wasn't joking.  Seconds later out scuttled a freaked out Grayson clutching at his eye like an injured matey..

Ahoy vey.

Needless to say his parentals did what they always do.  Andy paced back and forth while manically crunching on the rest of his bedtime snack.  I Googled my ass off trying to find an open Urgent Care so as not to subject anyone to the ER.

One warm washcloth and three pep talks later, he was asleep in our bed.  We thought maybe we dodged a bullet and it was a near miss afterall.

Until he woke up this morning.  More hellfire and angry bumblebees.  Poor thing.

They should be in the waiting room now.  I'll give you an update later.

Grayson strongly recommended McDonald's pancakes on his way to the Urgent Care so I'm pretty sure our winky pirate is going to be okay.

Sticky with syrup but okay.


*Update:  Grayson is okay!  Our mighty Popeye does not have a scratch on his eyeball.  The doctor said it looked good and probably had a little one that healed overnight.  Andy said the drops they gave him in the ER made him buck like a bronco but took the sting off and he is now happily munching on pancakes on his way home.

Mercy.

Oh I Love a Rainy...Afternoon

My bunnies are asleep.  That's what I call the little hela monsters when their eyelids are closed.

It was one hela-va week (boo! Back to my day job).

 

 It snowed just enough to get rosy cheeked and brush burned.

  

Not to mention assaulted with a blunt object.  Stuff like this happened every 5 minutes or so.  I swear our household thrives on an unhealthy abundance of bipolar convictions.  Everyone's happy as possible one second then BAM!  Abby gets hit on the noggin with her favorite babydoll.  (Guess who threw it.  Don't worry, he received a Masters Degree after listening to Abby's dissertation on being nice to his "big sister" and not throwing AbbyDoots.)

 

 They made up over curbside snowcones.  Delish.

I'm trying to get used to the ups and downs of raising young children but I swear this is why I quit teaching.  Too much stress to keep things leveled all the time.  Not one of my strong suits.  I remember spending many a weepy hour in the office of the staff developer when I taught Special Ed, trying to get out of my contract.

Do they have mom developers?  Did I sign a contract?

No?  Oh well, I will just walk around and take pictures of pretty things instead:

 Something pretty?

Something slightly out of focus.  

Something left of center.  Heh.

Something sweet but ohso sneaky.

Something purple.

 

 Something pink!

Something with which to romp and play...

...to include arm nipping as I took a turn on the toboggan.  Still unclear if she was trying to save me or ride shotgun.  

And finally, one slightly disturbing view of things that should not be outside (Look away, Nonie).

All the while, Pop was a consummate rockstar. 

I don't know how he was able to keep up with our chaotically active schedule and smile through it like he was getting paid.  He was, if you consider stealing all his M&Ms and Swedish fish payment.  Somehow, I believe he does.

 

 

But enough about Pop.

Just kidding.  I won't embarrass him too much because he's been known to grace the Internets but I will add that today we are mournful he is not downstairs in our kitchen stirring his tea.  His 75th cup of tea.  I think he was cold here.  I think I'm cold here, I'm on number 12th cup or so.   It's so hard to say goodbye to any one of our parents when they come to visit.  Hell, I'm pretty sure I get a little choked up when the Stanley Steamer guys leave. Attachment issues. Detachment too, evidenced by all the sad when I see brake lights headed away from here, the House of the Rising Delinquents.

So the bunnies are sleeping and I get to kick back and enjoy their presence without being their bellhop, take out chef, or referee.

 Oh I love a rainy afternoon.  It makes the bunnies so sleepy.