life with WE

A closed window in an open garage.

A robin is stuck in my garage this morning.  The garage door is wide open, but this robin insists on trying to fly out a closed window.

Dude, I can totally relate.  Sometimes I am that robin - trying to go the wrong way when the right way is totally within reach and clearly obvious! 

(Also, I should totally learn to hold that flip camera steady.  Maybe it was the pre-coffee shakes?)

A cast somehow requires a talk about reproduction.

It should not be news to you that Warren is a talker.  I think I've mentioned a time or twenty.

And when he's nervous, he talks more.  Asks more questions.  Doesn't listen to the answers and keeps on talking.  He's been a bundle of nerves since his injury and it's just this morning calmed down.  Shweh.  But the past two days have been filled with random questions and statements like:

• I think another word for deaf is hearless.
• How do you sweat?  This was followed by: you know I don't know what a gland is.
• If you take the catcher out of the game because he is hurt, can he come back in later in the game?
• When can we go to Canada?  I really want to go there.
• I think the cast stuff smells kind of strange don't you?
• How are they going to cut this thing off and keep the bottom of it?
• Isn't it weird that it was wet when the put it on and now it's hard and scratchy?
• What's a stag?  Is it like this picture?
• It's so not hard to draw a sling.  Want me to tell you how to draw one?

There was more, but at this moment, I can't remember it. What I DO remember though is that Monday and Tuesday brought us our first chats about the birds and the bees.  For real.

Monday night while Warren and I were in the ER the TV was on the Disney channel.  (And that was only because I would not let him watch Total Drama Island on Cartoon Network.  "You're so mean.  Other kids my age get to watch it, it's not inappropriate!")  Well some show was on and a mother of three was having a fourth baby.  They weren't showing anything other than her in the hospital with contractions while her family came in and out of the room.  Warren turned to me and asked, "how does a mom get a baby out anyway?"

"Uhhh..."  Crickets began chirping.  I swallowed and sucked it up.  "Well, a baby comes out of the mom's vagina."

"Huh.  I thought they came out of the belly," he answered.

"Some people have to have them cut out of their bellies, but most are delivered through the mom's vagina," I responded. 

His thoughts?  "That's weird."

Damn straight it is.

And that was that.  For Monday at least.

Tuesday I got him out of school to go to the orthopedist and get the cast.  Elaine had gymnastics at 5, so I took him with and we sat in the observation area on bleachers surrounded by other parents and kids.  The surrounded part?  That's important.

A half an hour into the class and this is our conversation...

W: So how do babies get here anyway?

Me: I told you.  They come out of mom's vaginas.

W: No.  I mean how did the baby get there in the first place?

Me: Um.  Well, I will talk to you about this, but how about not in public?  Let's talk about it later.

W: Why? Why not now?

Me: Fine.  Well, it takes a man and a woman to make a baby because the man has sperm and the mom has an egg.  They do something called having sex, and sometimes it makes a baby.  The baby grows for nine months and then the mom has the baby either through her vagina or cut out of her belly. 

W: Did you say sperm?  Is it spelled S-P-I-R-M?

Me: No.  S-P-E-R-M.  (I cannot believe I am having this conversation.)

W: How does the sperm get out?

Me: Through the man's penis.

W: That is totally weird.

Me: Yes.  Yes it is.

And then he went back to watching the gymnasts and telling me how dangerous gymnastics is and did you see that girl on the bars?

People.  Can you believe I pulled it together and used the right words and didn't freak out?  I WIN!  I recap'd the story for Mike last night and he was impressed.  His comment?  "Look at you!  The girl who used to say hooha instead of vagina talking about the birds and the bees.  But next time, tell him EVERY time people have sex they make a baby.  Let's start scaring him now."

Noted.

And of course this is how we will enter summer... now with updates!

Last night I spent 2 hours in the emergency room with Warren.  What happened?  Well, here's the backstory.

Saturday we spent the day at a Boy Scout Camp with our Cub Scout pack.  The kids played in the creek, shot of water bottle rockets and hiked.  On the hike, Warren fell - it was muddy and slippery and uphill and rocky.  He hurt his elbow and busted his knee open.  I walked back down with him, iced his elbow and fixed up his knee.  He wouldn't move his arm at first but after about 30 minutes it was all good.  Full range of motion, no tears and he wanted to stay.  The rest of the day and night were good.  Sunday, good.  Monday at school - field day - good.  Monday night he had a baseball game.  Not good.

His first warm up throw to the coach brought him to tears.  We got back in the car and the elbow was swelling. 

Ah yes, Jenny returns to the ER with a damaged kid.  Good times.

So Warren and I went and here's mad props to the Progess West Children's ER.  Love them.  Xrays, consults, splint and sling.  At the moment it is undetermined if it is a tendon issue or a fracture.  Doc thinks tendon, radiologist thinks fracture.  We have to follow up at the orthopedist.

Regardless, what I have now is ONE DEPRESSED eight year old boy.  The same boy who generally can't stand his mom but desperately needed her last night.  He'd cry to me as realizations came to him.  "P.E. is my second favorite thing and now I can't do it............"  What's his first favorite?  Kickball and recess.  I broke the news to him.  He still thinks he stands a chance of playing in his Wednesday baseball game.  Ugh.  Never mind that he hasn't thought of the baseball camp he's registered for, or the Cub Scout daycamp or a summer of swimming....

One step at a time.  We have to get to the orthopedist first.  So cross your fingers, say a prayer, send good juju - whatever. 

I am in for yet another kick ass summer.  UGH.

***UPDATE***

So long story short, he has a broken radial neck. The radius is one of the two bones in your arm that runs up to your elbow.  The part nearest the elbow is broken and/or fractured.  It doesn't really matter.  The treatment?  CAST.  Ah but of course.

Can you even see it?  I mean it's camo for Pete's sake! 

It is NOT waterproof.  It will be on for 3 weeks.  During these three weeks he cannot: run, jump, swing, ride bikes, ride scooters, trampoline, kickball, PE, recess, climb, and basically anything outdoors that seems fun.  After three weeks they will cut it off, leaving the bottom half to make a splint.  He still cannot do any outdoor business but at that point he will be allowed to swim.  Swimming will be encouraged to loosen the elbow.  Therapy exercises will be done inside our house. 

So seven weeks total of boo.  That leaves us three weeks to cram in our adventure type things before school starts.

Who's crying?  Because I am.  On the inside.  My zoloft is too darn good to cry on the outside. 

Stranger danger in the bread aisle of the grocery store.

We rounded the corner into the bread aisle, with Elaine hanging on the end of the shopping cart.  Warren dragged himself along behind me complaining about grocery shopping.

"That's a fancy hood ornament you have there," said an older gentlemen who was searching for bread.

"Thanks," I replied, "don't even think about getting one like it."

"You can steal ours, " Warren answered.

Elaine lifted her head up, "hey!"

I looked for our bread, why is it always moved?  And the gentleman began talking to my kids. 

"Hey, come here" he said.  And they went.  Without a thought.  He told them if they could find the dime they could keep it.  He proceeded to do two tricks, pulling the dime out from each one's ear at the end.  They laughed and giggled.  I announced that it was time to leave.  "We have to go pay so we can get home and make dinner," I said.  They moaned but came along with me.

While we loaded our things onto the conveyor belt I tried to bring up stranger danger.  "You know guys, since I was in the bread row with you, it was fine that you talked to that man.  But, he was a stranger.  You know that right?"

Elaine looked confused.  Warren answered with a "yes".

I proceeded on.  "And if I was not near you when he talked to you, what would you have done?"

Elaine still just looked confused.  Warren said, "um, say I was looking for mom and not talk to him."

I told him that was pretty good, but what I wanted him to know is that it's not okay to go up to strangers without a parent.  I turned to Elaine to drive that point home, as she is the one who is more likely to talk to anyone.  "Elaine.  Even if Warren was with you, it's still not okay to talk to him when I'm not there.  Do you understand me," I asked?

Warren chimed in, "well, if I was 10 it would be okay if I was with her."

"No.  10 is not an adult.  People still like 10 year olds Warren," was my response.

I have a lot to teach these kids about strangers.  But doing it without scaring the shit out of them... that's the challenge.

Ruby will be missed.

I have written before about my dear childhood and highschool friend Cindy.

This morning, her mother lost her battle with ALS.

I'm so sad.  For Cindy, her children, her brothers, her father, her husband...  You name it.  Ruby (her mom) was a wonderful woman.  Full of love and life.  She was kind to a fault, and was a fabulous mother.  She was a natural, and made it look so easy.  She was down to earth, and easy to talk to.  I spent so much time at her house and her farm house during my life, I feel that at various times I was part of her family.

Did you know she used to make me the very best homemade sub sandwich ever on my birthday?  And she'd send it to school with Cindy for me.

Did you know she's the one who contacted my mother when I began my anxious/depressed life?  She did.  Because she cared.

Ruby will be missed.  And this morning, I grieve for her and her family, especially my dear friend, her husband her four children.

I dare say it.

So things have been better here lately.  Dare I say, good?

The peeing problem?  Has disappeared. (Knock on wood!)  I'm not sure what brought it on or what took it away but it's gone.  Thing seem to be a bit calmer around here.  Sure, the kids still fight.  Sure, I still snap for no reason.  Sure, we are running around like maniacs at times. 

But all in all, it seems good.  Better. 

For instance, this morning, after the kids ate breakfast, they unloaded the dishwasher AND started a load of laundry.  Together.  Without fighting.  WTF? (Why the face?)

I'm sure that's not going to be an everyday occurrence, but hey, I'll take what I can get!

This past weekend we all went camping with a group of friends.  This has now become a biannual experience.  (Wait, does that mean every two years or twice a year?  Because I mean twice a year - spring and fall.)  We all had a great time.  We managed to avoid the rain but not the ticks.  Sunday was spent doing laundry and removing ticks only to have two left on Elaine that had to be removed at school Monday.  I'm sure the clinic at her school just loves me. 

Maybe it was the camping that reset my family.  Perhaps a dose of fresh air, campfires and ticks was just what we needed!

Our favorite hike destination - the waterfall.  Sometimes it's really flowing.  Also as an added bonus you can see bats hiding under the cove and tons of bat guano.

Elaine chooses the road more traveled.

Warren contemplates a rock skipping strategy and generally avoids camera eye contact.

If you can reach him, Mike the life sherpa will answer all your questions.

It's the little things. Really.

Dearest Marketing People,

I love to be lazy.  Therefore, I love it when you give me something with one less step.

Example.

Do you see that?  WE WASHED IT THREE TIMES SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO.

I will buy anything that ends with the statement, SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO.

I love you guys.  Hugs and Kisses!

- Jenny

And while we were sleeping, my Dora turned six.

Happy Birthday Elaine Grace!

Today you are six.  Six years old.  Although you asked me just yesterday why you couldn't turn 6 1/2 on your birthday so you would be as old as your friend Erin.  Don't rush it goofball.  Enjoy six before you are six and half and it's all over...

Sometimes I think you are six years old going on thirteen.  You love to sing and dance, especially to all the teeny bopper Nickelodeon and Disney stars.  OMG the Jonas Brother!.  OMG Selena Gomez!  OMG Justin Bieber!  OMG Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus, Sterling Knight etc.  You ask me to buy all their songs on iTunes and then put them on your MP3 player.  Promptly you put in your headphones and sing along, dancing your little heart out.  Thank goodness your father and I have kept you well rounded, listening to additional stars like Jay-Z, Rhianna and Green Day.  I mean really, what would you do without us?

Unfortunately, I think that you are more into TV than ever.  There are shows you simply must watch and report to me about.  "Today on Suite Life of Zach and Cody, Cody said something and it was so funny.  And then London said..."  I have to remind you that those shows aren't real.  Just like I have to remind you that I cannot get you an honest to goodness real magic wand like the chick from Wizards of Waverly Place.  Also, I do not need the things from every infomercial you see.  Kaboom - doesn't really work.  No, you do not have unwanted hair on your legs.  They are NOT hairy and you do not need the purple thing from TV that gets leg hair off.

You are still into all things girly.  Barbies, dress up, make up and the princesses.  You love to bring your baby dolls outside and build forts and houses with your friends.  You also are a very active girl - loving to jump rope, ride your bike and scooter, bounce on the trampoline and hang upside down on the swing-set.  You've started gymnastics this year and I'm shocked at how strong you are.  I had no idea you had so many muscles until I saw you in action!  Ooh and you are a master of the staring contest.  That's you and your dad's favorite thing to do.  It's quite a match up.

Although at times you act like a thirteen year old, there are other times you are still my baby girl.  You love to snuggle with me.  When you get home from kindergarten each day, you eat lunch and then ask to snuggle me for a minute.  It's more like 10 minutes, but I enjoy it as much as you.  You need affection constantly and you are my only child left that willingly holds my hand on occasion.  I can't get your brother to do that anymore!

You still sleep with your buddies Little Guy and Mermaid every night.  Little Guy has been around since you were 7 months old.  That poor thing has been peed on, puked on, drooled on and God only knows what else.  He's your most loyal companion.  I wonder what age you will outgrow him.  You love your family.  You love your relatives.  You love your friends.  This however does not stop you from fighting with any and all of them.  Nor does it stop you from tattling on them.  I'm trying to hardest to make that tattling stop - you just don't seem to get it.

My daughter, you are definitely giving me a run for my money.  You challenge me at every turn - sometimes in great ways, other times in not so fun ways.  You ask tons of questions about what words mean and how to spell things.  That's great.  The not so great?  You like to test your limits - sneaking, lying, pushing it as far as you can.  Not so fun for me.  You are pokey pokey pokey and getting you ready to go anywhere is quite the exercise in patience.  And let's be honest, I don't have a lot of it.  Of course, adding to this pokiness is your desire to wear girlie dresses all the time even when you have PE and I forbid it.  You need your hair done just so.  (And on that topic?  I'm sorry to tell you that your hair is thin and straight.  Always will be.  No amount of sponge rollers or curling irons is going to change that.  Sorry girlfriend, welcome to my life.)

Happy Birthday my dear Dora.  You bring so much to my life and to our family.  There is never a dull moment when you are around.

I love you daughter. 

Love, Mom

On pee, lies and faking it.

Do you believe that you can fake it till you make it?

For instance if you were unhappy, could you fake happiness until you became happy?  Does it work?

Because I need to fake that all is fine with me and Elaine when in reality I cannot fight back this anger and disappointment I have over our current wet situation.  Wet as in wetting the bed on a regular basis.  Wet as in can't stop playing long enough to pee so she pees in her pants.  Oh and not just the wetness but the lying about it.  "These pants are uncomfortable so I'm going to change them."  And as she backs away from me, not turning around I realize she's hiding the wet spot on the back of her pants.

People. She will be six tomorrow.

I should be excited about her birthday.  I should enjoy shopping for her present, buying her cake and balloons.  And yet?  In all honesty, I'm not that excited.  I'm not gonna lie to you.

But I am going to lie to myself and present an excitement tomorrow.  I do love her.  Love her more than I could put into words.  Love her with every fiber of my being.  Would do anything for her.  And she's often frustrated me and kept me on my toes - that's not new.  But this round of peeing and lying and more peeing and lying is just.. well, it's taking it's toll on me.

I honestly don't think there is anything physically wrong with her.  And I would be willing to chalk up the occasional night accident to growth or dead sleep or something.  But the DAILY accidents due an unwillingness to stop playing?  ON MY LAST NERVE.  I see her hold herself, tell her to go pee.  "I don't have to."  Moments later, wet.  Everything I read is about not shaming them.  Not punishing them.  But she herself has not one ounce of shame about it.

I'm not yelling at her, but I'm not ignoring it either.  I tell her it is not okay and that it's gross.  I'm making her change her own sheets and launder them.  When she pees her pants, she has to bring them directly to the laundry room and wash them as well.  None of this seems to bother her.  She's absolutely willing to accept it and seems to be fine with it.  No embarrassment.  No tears.  Nada.

And they lying?  Well that's a 'normal part of a 5-7year old's intellectual growth'.  And most examples of disciplining lying involve rectifying a situation that involves a third party.  This time the third party is me and the lie is about hiding pee so how do we punish that?  I've told her when she lies I can't trust her, but how do you define trust to a six year old?  It's so abstract.

Positive reinforcement?  Tried that to.  "I know you can make it through the night without peeing.  If you have to go potty, you're going to get up, follow the night lights and go to the bathroom, right?  I believe in you!"  Yeah, she peed her bed.

I'm the adult here.  I should live in the moment as she does, deal with it and move on.  But it's there, in the back of my head and I can't get it out.  This worry, this wonder, this concern.  What have I done wrong?  Is something wrong with her?  When will this stop?  How many more accidents will there be?

So I'm going to fake it until I make it.  I'm going to quit talking about it (starting right after I post this) and move on to a six year old birthday celebration.  It's gonna be great. 

Right?

This too shall pass.

Right?

Right!

A random not so good memory that appeared in my head from out of nowhere.

I was 7 years old and my parents were out for the evening; leaving Jessie, Jackie and I at home with a babysitter.  Our favorite babysitter was Melissa, but that evening Rhonda was our sitter.  She was a teenager - my guess is 15 or 16 - and lived on our street, and was our back up sitter.

While we played in the living room, she got on the phone in the kitchen and chatted with her friends.  At some point, she let three boys in our house - one of which was our neighbor, Phil.  Phil had always creeped me out.  He was older than me, shady looking, and never had much to say.  (For the record, I also didn't like his younger brother.  Both boys would eventually steal Christmas lights from our house.  My dad began wrapping wire around each bulb to outsmart and deter them.  They undid the wires and took the lights anyway.  My dad retaliated by taking their bikes, which were always in their front yard, and locked them in our garage.  The resulting negotiation swapped bikes for returned lights.  Brilliant.)

Phil and Rhonda must have been dating and began to have a spat.  As the volume of their discussion escalated, Rhonda reached for the phone.  In an instant, Phil grabbed a butcher knife and held it to her throat.  He told her to put the phone down and that he would leave.

Instantly I took Jessie's hand (she was three years old) and picked up Jackie (she was a baby).  We went into Jackie's room and closed the door.  I calmly changed Jackie's diaper, remembering to be extra careful with the diaper pins so I wouldn't hurt her.  Jessie was unaware of the chaos in the kitchen but I was terrified.  By the time I had finished the diaper change, Rhonda came back in and told us the boys were gone and it was all fine.  She laughed it off like it was a joke.

I can't remember the rest of the night - I'm sure it went off without incident.  But the following day I told my mom that I didn't want Rhonda to babysit us again, I only wanted Melissa.