Reflect

I've never been a huge fan of New Year's. When it comes down to it, it really is just another day. Resolutions are made. And inevitably broken. Gyms become flooded. And then desolate. But maybe there is something to be said for reflecting on the year that was, the day that is, and the future that lies ahead.
This year was beautiful and ugly. Exciting and stressful. Wonderful and miserable. All wrapped up into one messy package. Such is life. Especially mine.
I've come to believe that whatever package life comes in, it's a gift. My life has always been especially charmed. whatever issues I may have, they're nothing compared to the pain and suffering others face. I'm lucky. I know this. There are mothers who wrote obituaries for their babies. Lovers who signed divorce papers. Children who went hungry. Soldiers whose flags were folded into boxes. Life is hard. It sucks. But the difficulties we face make the positive that much more beautiful.
My son is healthy, beautiful and smart. He makes me smile, makes me laugh, makes me scream, cry and dance. He makes me see life from a child's view. And that view is pretty damned good. Juni makes me proud. Basically, raising Juni makes me feel every human emotion, every day. It's a roller coaster. And it rocks. My husband is successful, loving and forgiving. My family is supporting, happy and ultimately hilarious. Comic relief is always welcome. My friends are understanding. the people in my life hold me up when I fall, wipe my tears when I cry, and hold their stomaches when we laugh so hard it hurts.
My body is relatively healthy, and my mind...well, I'm making strides. I envy people who live their lives, make their decisions, and don't look back. I envy people who don't take pills every day to keep their minds in check. I envy people who have unbreakable faith. I don't understand them. But my self-described borderline-insanity is what makes me who I am. Mental health is a challenging bitch sometimes. But I'm taking steps toward mind renewal. Life renewal. Relationship renewal.
Everything takes work. Relationships, health, happiness. It all takes work. Simply surviving takes work. For me, I'm working toward a healthier mind, feeling more comfortable in my skin and brain, and what I want out of my life. I'm trying to lift the fog and see the path in front of me. Make decisions instead of just walking blind. It's a journey, and I'd like to be present. It's a beautiful, ugly, exciting, stressful, wonderful and miserable journey, and I'd like to genuinely experience every second. Not just exist within my head and world, but contribute.

My Proudest Moment

Each year before Christmastime my parents helped my sister and I organize our toys into two piles: keep and give away. It took us an entire afternoon to find each piece to each puzzle. Each card to each game. Each outfit for each baby doll.
A truck driver from my dad's borrow pit would come and pick them up, beaming from ear to ear. We helped give another child Christmas. And it made us feel good.
I tried to find time to sort Juni's toys for weeks to no avail. Life just got in the way. So the day before Christmas Eve, I found myself with a few extra hours to kill. I told Juni the plan, and tempted him with an early Christmas package to tear open. The deal was on.
Three hours later, Juni had boxes upon boxes of toys. I'd venture to guess he decided to give away one-third of his toys. We made signs, and drug them all to the end of the driveway. I felt bad that I didn't have time to take them by the CHKD thrift store, but I figured they wouldn't make it to the shelves in time for Santa.
Juni began to pick his present, and we heard the dog barking. Someone was at the end of the driveway. Juni dropped his gift and darted to the window.
"Mommy! This is going to be the best day eber (ever)!"
"Why, Juni? Because you get a present early?"
"No, Mommy. Because another boy will get my toys on Christmas and play with them and love them."

 I hear parents say they take pride in their children every day. And of course I am always proud of my son. But I can honestly say I've never felt the pride that entered my heart that day. It was like the Grinch...my heart grew 10 sizes.

Tree Trimming Tears

I think it's safe to say I'm a highly emotional person. Especially now. My life is one giant ball of stress. And it's the holidays.

I usually decorate the house and tree the day after Thanksgiving. Juni had other plans. He just couldn't wait to set up the tree. So we woke up Thursday morning, and began trimming. And I began crying. Each ornament brought memories. The Grinch that reminded me of my Grandad. Granny's old ornaments. Ornaments from my childhood, my engagement, my college. It was endless. Finally, Juni asked "Mommy! Why you crying?" The only thing I could think to say was "I have no idea, Juni. Your Mommy is a mess today!" Juni answered with "Yep. You a mess every day Mommy."

This one actually didn't make me cry. I made it from a goose egg, and I love it.

I took piano lessons for 10 years. My teacher gave this to me one year. She was extremely patient with me, her least-practicing student.

I made this one from sand and shells I found on my honeymoon in Turks and Caicos. I created it during Hurricane Isabel while watching Hokie football. I cried because my honeymoon was wonderful, and Tech lost that game.

This one makes me cry because it smells. Jasen insists on putting this lobster tail on the tree year after year. Yuck.

Juni's hand from school last year. Of course I cried...who wouldn't?

One of my Granny's ornaments. I cried because I miss her every day.

This one started the whole crying spree. I made it for Shelby when she was a puppy.

One of my Mom's ornaments hung underneath one of Granny's. And you guessed it...more tears!

I'm assuming my Mom made this one. It's from forever ago.



Christmas Decorating at the Norge House

Napping after a morning of chasing cats.

As of this morning, Christmas has officially puked in my house. It's nice out, so the front door is open. The dog is chasing the cat. The kid is chasing the dog. I'm sweating. And bleeding from an unfortunate snow globe incident in which the snow globe won. There's dust everywhere. And glitter. And pieces of fake green stuff that the mice chewed and spit back out. And insulation from the attic itching my feet. Oh...and did I mention the incredibly sappy and sad Christmas music playing? Yep. We're talking balls-to-the-walls decorating festivities here at the Norge house.
How the heck am I supposed to find the one friggin' bulb on this strand that doesn't want to work? You have got to be kidding me. A job saved for Jasen. As is dragging the full-sized tree from the barn, adding the extra lights and fighting with those.

We decided on a fake tree last year after six years of me picking a tree that was too tall for our living room and leaving sap trails on the white ceiling. I miss the smell and experience of picking the perfectly too-tall tree, but not the needles, watering and ceiling stains. Which, by the way, can only be removed by a new coat of paint. Which I haven't performed yet.
Juni, Sadie, Max the Cat and I were so busy decorating that I forgot to eat lunch. So by 12:30, my blood sugar plummeted, I began to shake, sweat more, and dry heave. Excellent.

My Hokie Tree

I'd love to decorate the outside of my house, but honestly, I just don't have the stomach for it today. I realize when the chaos of finding every decoration, hanging every bulb and checking every light is over our home will be cozy and warm. But right now, it's just plain hot in here.
If you don't hear from me, it's because Christmas kicked my ass before I could even make it to Thanksgiving.

Me and Juni

The Upside of Stress

I've learned something over the past few weeks. An overload of stress is a great way to loose weight. I've been trying to loose a bit before the holidays, and I squeaked away with a 13 lb loss just in time to gain it back in turkey and stuffing. So I'll take that and smile. Any upside to stress is welcome at this point...

A Revelation

I watched Evie, my nearly 2-year-old nice, for my sister yesterday. Let me start by saying that Juni and Evie are absolutely awesome together. Evie trots after Juni all day while he protects her like a mother goose. It's wonderfully adorable. Here's how I have a new-found respect for multiple-children families, and came to my newest revelation...

Evie showed up at 9 a.m. We had a playdate at the park at noon. Somehow I'd managed to NOT get dressed, brush my hair, or my teeth. And Juni was still in sleepy pants. No biggie, you'd think. And just like me, you'd be wrong.
I  began brushing my teeth, and heard the Lego tub being dumped onto the floor in my bedroom. Beautiful. Every three seconds Evie toddled into my bathroom, asking "Oh No! Where's Mommy?" So every time I'd answer "She's riding her horse, Evie. But Aunt Frances is here, and we're going to have fun today. Once I get dressed, we're going to the park!"
After 30 minutes of this routine, she just started calling me mommy. Which made Juni jealous. And remind her that her mommy wasn't here. In which case she responded by saying "Oh No! Where's Mommy?" And stick out her adorable bottom lip in a false-pout.
It took me close to an hour to get dressed, between Jasen calling 3 times to see how things were going...and asking me to haul two kids to Home Depot to look at a new fridge. Excellent.
Juni knows he has to pick up his toys in my room before we leave for the day. And at least create a path in his room so I don't bust my butt over a tractor.
Juni was so proud of how he and Evie cleaned his room. But apparently, Evie wasn't finished yet. And Juni was. So two minutes later, I'm finally putting on clothes and Juni says "Mommy! I did it! I cleaned my room, and Evie can't get in!" I reply "How'd you do that, buddy?" Juni says "I locked the door and closed it!" and so I ask "Ummm...Evie's not in there, is she?" Thank God the answer was no.
But...crap...I have no idea how to get into his room. And Juni realizes this, begins crying and asking about his clothes, his toys, and how long the fish can live without food. If Juni cries, Evie cries. So I know have two crying children. So I explain that Daddy with find a way in, and that we have to to clean up and get the heck out of the house, or we'll miss our playdate at the park. Because now, we don't just have to get lunch a go...we have to make a decision about an over-priced refrigerator we don't need, but Jasen wants because he doesn't like our ice maker anymore.
I go into the bathroom to turn off the light just as Evie flushes the toilet...full of, legos? Maybe. Toilet paper? Definitely. The water is threatening to pour over the side and soak the floor. Excellent. But it's also something that will have to wait...at this point, we're definitely running late.
So I get the kids downstairs, stuff all of their crap into bags...and Juni alerts me that Evie stinks. Bad. Of course she does! So I hold my breath and gag while Juni laughs. Fun times.
NOW I'm ready to go. Except that Juni wants to bring his bike to the park, because his friend Landon is bringing his bike. Which means I have to figure out how to reattach his training wheels, because there is no way in hell i can run after him and carry Evie at the same time. With tools I don't understand, two dogs hovering over me, and a toddler who doesn't like my two dogs, I'm trying to rig this bike so that my kid doesn't end up in the emergency room this afternoon.
I get the wheels half-ass on. Luckily I circle my car around the back (because otherwise his bike would be a crushed pile of metal) and get down the road. Without his helmet. Three-point turn it is.
Half-way to Home Depot, Juni says his tummy hurts. I'm guessing Halloween candy. Throwing up is definitely a possibility, and Evie is back to asking "Where's Mommy?"
Hitting my limit here! We're late. The kids are hungry. And loud. And Evie thinks kicking the back of my chair is frigging hilarious. She's also babbling about shoes, and a book she keeps dropping on the floor for me to barely pick up with my arm. I'm drowning, here. Seriously, seriously drowning. I'm just about to have my breakdown from just too much chaos.
And then it happens...my revelation. I'm white-knuckling the steering wheel, eyes bulging, heart racing, and I pass the little cemetery by our house. And there's an excavator digging a grave. And you know what? I'm alive. I'm not six feet under. I can breath, and feel the sun on my face, and soak up the sunshine around me.
So I laugh. And turn on Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer" louder than the kids. And even though our day is pretty darned stressful, it's a wonderful. Because we're alive, and breathing, and smiling.

Body Comparisons, Juni Style

I laughed until I almost wet my pants today. Here's why: Juni's best friend came over today while his mom was at work, since school was closed. The boys absolutely love each other. They played at the swings and in the sand pile. They created a bird's nest out of leaves, sticks, acorns and mud, and then used even more mud to glue it to the back porch handrail (thank you for that, PBS) They took the dog for a "walk" and visited what they call Mud World. Mud World is really just the ditch behind out house. But believe me, the name fits.
The two mud daubers trotted up to the back door and stood in my kitchen, dripping with deep, dark, gray goo. They were stripping off their clothes with grimy hands, and laughing hysterically. Completely naked, covered in mud, and laughing.
I grew up behind a borrow pit, which is basically one giant mud hole. I couldn't get mad at them, but I also couldn't hose them down, either. All I could do was laugh.
I put clean socks on one, and carried the other straight upstairs to the bathroom. The second the water began filling the tub, it turned brown.

While the tub filled, Juni's best friend's mom showed up to take him home, and we searched for Sadie, who apparently still had her leash attached. It's unlike her to not come when called. But I found her, drenched in mud, pouting in the front yard, still attached to her once hot-pink but now completely muddies leash. Poor little pooch. As a side note, I have no idea how she managed it, but she came inside later that night, completely clean, dry, and smelling nothing like mud. Amazing.
When us mommies returned upstairs we found the boys, 85% clean, and towelling themselves off. And this is when the fun really begins...
Juni "Mommy...he has a little bellybutton, and I have a big bellybutton."
Friend "Yeah! I like my belly button."
Me "Yes, Juni. Everyone is made different. And both of your belly buttons are adorable."
Juni (pointing to his friend and examining himself) "Mommy...he has a short, skinny pee pee. Mine is long and fat."
Friend "Yeah! And mine is fat right here (lower belly)."
Other mother and I: Absolutely, positively speechless. Not because we couldn't think of anything to say, but because we were both laughing so hard it was physically impossible to speak a single syllable.

Hands down, the best Wisdom Teeth Story Ever

I fully intended to spend tonight making fun of Jasen for being completely terrified of getting his two wisdom teeth pulled today. I've spent the last three weeks explaining to him that it's really not a big deal, since they've been fully erupted for years. Not to mention there are women who have babies literally cut from their abdomens. And heart transplants. And colonoscopies. I mean come on, I had my wisdom teeth dug out of my jawbone. And developed dry socket a whopping three times.
You'd have thought Jasen was facing each of these procedures. In a single day. In a third-world country.

But in my conversation with my sister this morning explaining that I doped Jasen with Xanax just to chill him out, I was trumped. Big time. Her wisdom teeth story is the most hilarious, disturbing tidbit ever. I actually had a hard time driving straight while listening, since I laughed so hard I literally cried.
My sister's husband reminds me a lot of Jasen. He's just so sweet. He's country, handsome, funny, and just a great guy. He had his wisdom teeth taken out several years ago. Apparently, his dentist presented Jamie with an envelope containing said teeth. I personally think that's absolutely disgusting. Reminds me of a serial killer keeping trophies. But to each his own.
The point is, CeCe had no idea that her husband had kept his teeth. Until one day a few months ago.
My niece is adorable. She's almost two, and just the cutest girl in the world. Seriously. She's smart, she's curious, and she has learned that when anyone puts an open palm in front of her mouth, she is to immediately dispense the contents of her cute little mouth into said hand. She is, after all, a toddler.
So when Evie trotted into the kitchen one morning, she wore that look on her face that means she has something icky in her mouth that needs to come out. CeCe held out her hand, and out clinks four gigantic wisdom teeth. Yowsa. I actually asked my sister if she'd just made up that story. Nope. Completely true. And completely insane.
I'm pretty sure CeCe was more than a little freaked out. I mean, seriously. Evie could have choked to death on her father's wisdom teeth. I'm pretty sure that would be a first. And I can't even imagine the headlines. But I digress, as usual. She called Jamie, and asked why the hell anyone would want to keep their teeth. His answer? "They're my teeth. I want them."
And so now, like any good wife, CeCe has kept Jamie's teeth in a more toddler-safe place. On her desk. Again, gross. But whatever.
Jasen was actually pretty disappointed when he realized our dentist didn't send him home with two souvenirs. Then again, I don't have as strong of a stomach as CeCe. If Evie put Jasen's teeth in her mouth, She'd spit the teeth in my hand while I vomited in the other.

Twinkle Toes

I am such a girl.

I remember in grade school having a closet for school clothes, a.k.a. dresses, and a drawer full of play clothes. I wanted my hair in braids every day. And Barbie polish on my nails.

Even now I have play clothes. And I like to braid my hair. And I love makeup. And shoes, when they don't hurt my bunion. And of course I love anything that sparkles. Diamonds, glitter, and apparently, shoes.
Every time I buy Juni a new pair of shoes I notice these adorable little gems winking at me from the little girl isle...they're called Twinkle Toes (I think). They're too cool...flowers, glitter, sparkles on the toes. And they're not heels, so my bunion could be nice and happy. Bunions suck for girls who loves shoes, by the way. But I digress. Twinkle toes are just plain adorable. All of the fashionista preschoolers in Juni's class have them.
And now...so do I. I know. Laugh if you must. I pray it's not a mid-life crisis, because death at 64 would just plain suck.

I'm a 32-year-old woman, and today, I'm sporting my new Twinkle Toes, thanks to the geniuses at Rack Room that decided you're never too old to remember you're still a little girl. You're never too old to spot something shiny and say oooohhhh....pretty.

Is it just me, or is Halloween just plain stressful?

I love Halloween. It's my excuse to wear too much makeup, false lashes, and (when I'm not feeling like a tub of lard) show more skin than any respectable mommy should, unless she's standing on the corner waiting for her john.

But here's the thing I learned this year...Halloween is friggin stressful! First, my sexy Dorothy costume made me look like a stuffed sausage. Let me rephrase that. My size LARGE Dorothy costume made me look like a stuffed sausage. I realize I have curves. Some good, some bad. I am not a stick figure. Therefore, I ordered a large. Am I plus-size? No. Do I shop a Lane Bryant? No, even thought their clothes totally rock. I did everything humanly possible to shove myself into this costume. Snipped the sleeves so I could raise my arms past my shoulders. Shoved my extra tire into the tightest, highest pair of Spanx in my secret drawer that Jasen isn't aloud to snoop in. Added an underskirt to hide some of the cellulite. Short of a girdle, it just wasn't happening. So I opted for an impromptu cowgirl. Turns out, it was a good decision.

Juni went as a tractor. I'd estimate a good 15 woman hours went into the Case International creation. Of course it was huge. He could barely hold it up at the school parade. Jasen said "Hey baby. How about next year you use more duct tape, make it bigger, and make it heavier?" My response, of course, was "bite me, jackass. How about next year you stop bossing and bitching and actually help?"

So I was up for 3 hours that night cutting the entire costume in half, trimming away width, length and weight, and re-duct taping the whole thing together.

I will say this...my kid's costume was cool. It had working headlights. The candy went into the gas tank. And on Halloween, he totally rocked it.

The problem for me with Halloween is that we don't live in a neighborhood. So the first stressful decision is always where to go. My vote? Juni's 81 and 86-year-old great-grandparents' home. Sure, the neighborhood is full of old people. But it's completely safe, they refuse to drive at night, and let's be honest...they deserve it. They raised their son, and all three of their grandchildren.

So my mom (aka Spongebob), her husband, my dad, my sister, my brother-in-law, my niece (aka devil in disguise), my mother-in-law, her boyfriend, my husband, Juni's best friend and his parents all walked through the neighborhood. My parents and step-parents are SUCH troopers. They just go with the flow...even if Mom had to waddle around as a giant Spongebob complete with makeup to make Juni smile, and Dad toted Evie when she got too tired.

My son in 4. And he's not an idiot. He realizes it's just not worth it to get the crap scared out of him for a Snickers. I can respect that. But Kyle's poor mom was literally run over by a Case Tractor when he high-tailed it back out of the scariest house I've ever seen. We're talking smoke, music, larger-than-life monsters, lights, the whole nine yards. And I'm guessing a few thousand bucks, too.

After that it was strictly the benign houses, and me keeping my cool when some of the adults joked on my kid because he's not a fan of fright.

Then there are the pictures. I have a great camera, and manage to work it pretty darned well. But of course, and understandably, everyone wants a shot of Juni. In the dark. With the anticipation of free candy waiting for him. Needless-to-say, it ain't gonna happen, folks. Let the kid do his thing. So there I am, appeasing everyone, saying that yes, I will send pictures. And that no, there's nothing I can do to make a $100 camera take pictures like my semi-pro get-up. 

And then there's what direction to take. And which kid gets tired when. And if it's too cold. I remember just about sweating to death on Halloween. It's 60 degrees outside, he's wearing two shirts, jeans, boots and 10 pounds of duct tape encased. And he's running. And probably sweating bullets.

Me, I'm the type of person that must make everyone have a good time. But I decided something this Halloween. It's not about me. It's about my son, and my niece. If they're happy, I'm happy. If they're puking chocolate 3 hours later, I'm cleaning it up. Fun times.

A Juni-ism I just have to Share

Yesterday afternoon Juni got a mad splinter in his heel. This thing was one for the record books. I'm sure it hurt. And of course it took 2 hours and a lot of bribery for him to let Jasen finally dig it out. Before Jasen removed the infamous splinter, Juni had a hard time hobbling around the house...

Mommy...I need a crotch.
A crotch? Really?
Yep. A crotch. (Juni then grabs is stick horse, turns in on its head, and begins using it as what we would call a crUtch.) See? I need crotches. I need lots of crotches, Mommy.

My sister was there picking up Evie. First thing out of her mouth? "Yep, Juni. So does your Daddy."

Zoo Boo: Fantastic and Craptastic, all wrapped into one

Last week Jasen said he wanted to take Juni to Disney World some day. After our outing at the Zoo Boo today, I'm beginning to think we may not be the Disney type of family. Here's why:

We waited to get into the parking lot for 20 minutes and bitched the entire time. What we didn't realize was that the parking lot was full. People were parking in the field and walking to the zoo. We're not a fan of crowds. Or lines. The day was not looking good.

We faced a 10-minute walk to the entrance gates. Within 30 seconds I stumbled into a hole and tweaked my back.. Lovely.

We waited in line to get tickets. More bitching. But Juni and Evie danced in circles the whole time.

We waited for the costume contest, and, you guessed it, more bitching. At this point Juni had grown tired of his tractor costume and decided to join the bitch-fest. We'd brought a wagon, thinking we could pull him in his costume. Nope. Juni didn't win the contest, started to cry, and I realized the judges couldn't even see him with the fat-ass standing in front of us.
I have a confession: I may have wanted to win the contest more than Juni. I'm an adult, I can see my faults. Ridiculous competitiveness is one of them. And I still believe Juni's costume totally rocked out more than the mailbox that won. Seriously...a mailbox?

We decided to see the zoo. With Juni in the wagon, and me toting an over sized Case International tractor costume made out of multiple cardboard boxes and four rolls of duct tape. Was it cumbersome? Absofrigginlutely. Was it light? Nope.

Juni spilled his juice in his wagon and sat in it. Lucky for us he really didn't care that his left butt cheek was soaked in red sugar water.

Jasen pulled Juni in the wagon most of the time. At one point, he turned around, began walking and made roadkill out of Evie, Juni's (almost) 2-year-old cousin. She wasn't hurt, so we all laughed. Of course Evie cried out of embarrassment. And Jasen grovelled to get back into her good graces.

Juni wanted to go on the train ride. Of course we had to wait 40 minutes. At this point Jasen was so over the situation that he hiked back to the car. And called 23 times wondering why it was taking us so long. After the 2 minute train ride, Juni and I headed to the front gates.

Of course Jasen couldn't pick us up in front, so we started walking. Less than 100 yards from the zoo, Juni announced he had to pee. Bad. I laughed. I couldn't help it. My feet were aching from my boots (part of my cowgirl costume), I had a headache, I was starving, and just generally whipped. We made it to the car and made an emergency stop at Wendy's.

We hit more traffic in Norfolk and, yep...more bitching. I decided I needed Skinny Dip frozen yogurt. But here's the thing about dressing up with your kid. If they decide to ditch their costume, you're left looking like an idiot dressed like a cowgirl with pigtails in her hair. Wonderful.

I got home, cut the grass and began renovations on Juni's costume. I basically had to cut the thing in half, take out some width and length, and use another roll of duct tape to put it back together. I actually liquid-nailed the wheels to the side. At this point I don't care how tired Juni gets tomorrow night. He's wearing the friggin costume. I don't care if I have to hog-tie the kid into his wagon and pull him myself up and down the streets. He's wearing the costume.

I realized we truly are not the Disney type of family when my sister Cece made an observation about my Redneck husband and I. She said we were fine apart. Laughing about the crowds and people not watching where they were walking. But once you put the two of us within spitting distance, we fed off of the other's frustration.

The thing is, the day wasn't that bad. Sure, we waited around. And sure, I could not have possible made a larger costume for Juni (as Jasen pointed out continuously the entire day). But all-in-all, Juni and Evie had a blast. They danced, smiled and played.
Jasen asked why anyone would enjoy something like the Zoo Boo. My answer was simple: Because their kids enjoyed it. And that's really what it's all about. The smiles on Juni's face. And hopefully, that's what we'll get tomorrow night. As long as he wears the friggin tractor costume, I'm all good.

My Finger-in-the-Cheesegrater Story

It's seven years ago. Jasen and I are newly married, and I'm still in that perfect wife mode. Our friend David was over for dinner, and they guys were in the garage drinking beer.
I decided to make a carrot cake. From scratch. I know. Ambitious. But keep in mind, this is before Juni.
The batter is made, the oven is preheated and it's time for the carrots. I pull out the oldschool cow bell-shaped contraption, and get to some serious carrot grating. Unfortunately, I tend to not pay complete attention while I'm cooking. Knives are constantly slipping and I'm always burning myself. On this particular night, it was my index finger versus the grater.
The wedding gift grater pulled my finger in so far that the skin literally became lodged in its razor-sharp holes. I was stunned. I couldn't get my finger out. Shards of thick, clear skin were peeking through the underside of the grater.
I ran to the garage door and told Jasen, completely calm, that my finger was stuck in the grater. And then I looked down to see the trail of blood and steady flow of bright red drops plopping on my newly mopped white kitchen floor. It was like a scene out of Dexter.
David pulled my finger out while Jasen help my arms steady. I made it to the bathroom before turning pasty white and dizzy. I remember running water over my finger and seeing the skin fall through the grater.
And then I tumbled to the floor. The next thing I remember is Jasen wrapping my finger and holding a cold cloth to my forehead. I have no idea who cleaned up the blood, but I'm pretty sure David cleaned the grater and finished the carrot cake.
It was a damn good cake, considering the circumstances. The grater met its final destination in the trash bin the next day. I am definitely not the type of person who can be left alone with sharp instruments.

Up at 4:45 am because of the Fire Alarm

I despise our smoke detectors. I realize they serve a very important purpose. Jasen's childhood home burned to the ground because its renters drank a case of beer and left the grill on while they made a run to 7-11. But despite their purpose, our smoke detectors drain 9v batteries, and only beep that ear-piecing ring signaling a dead or dying battery in the middle of the night. Of course I never remember to stock 9v batteries since the detectors are the only devices that use them, and we end up listening to the beep for half a day. I thought that was bad. Until yesterday morning.

The smoke detectors went off full force.At 4:45 a.m That's right. It was still dark outside. I woke up immediately, and gave Jasen a swift slap to the side to wake him up. The alarms screeched for about 30 seconds and then stopped. Huh. We still can't decide if it was one or all of the alarms, but at 4:45 a.m. it not only doesn't matter where that sound is coming from, but I also did not possess the consciousness to differentiate between such possible origins.
Both of us sat straight up in bed and began to climb out just as the alarms quieted. Curious. They beep once every 10 minutes when the battery is weak. And if there was a fire, you'd think they'd scream for more than a half-minute, considering the repercussions. After a few minutes of debating its source and reason, the alarms sounded again.
This time, Jasen popped out of bed and began to walk toward the bedroom door. They stopped again. Jasen, naked as a jaybird, now stands underneath the fire alarm, his hair standing straight on end, eyes bloodshot, and the sound of his stubby fingernails dragging across his hairy legs as he scratched himself irritating my ears like wet sandpaper to skin.
I couldn't help but laugh. It really was a sight. A sight to see, now that's debatable. But nonetheless a sight. Jasen peeked in Juni's bedroom and found him still sleeping soundly. He then tapped the guest bedroom doorknob (like they teach you in elementary school) to see if it was hot. I keep this door strategically closed because inside lays a massive disaster of crafts in progress.
The alarms keep going off every few minutes. Jasen pulls on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, trudges downstairs and checks every room and the outside perimeter of the house. There is definitely an absence of fire. I'm laughing so hard tears are streaming down my face when I point to the attic.
Jasen stomps outside to get the ladder, waking Juni into a terrified screaming fit. The only thing I could think to do for him was to cover his ears with my Hokies ear warmers to muffle the sound. He's now yelling "Daddy! Don't get burned in dat attic! Dem loud fings say there's a fire!"
So now Juni is wearing earmuffs and yelling about his Daddy burning in a fire, Jasen is flipping through the fire detector instruction manuals, and I'm asking if we should call the fire department. I realize there's no fire, but I also realize these alarms are hellbent on ruining my morning and I'm honestly out of options and ideas at this point.
And then the noise stops. Just like that. Crisis over. Charred remnants of house averted. The alarms blasted one more time at 8:45 a.m. and Jasen changed the batteries that afternoon. They've been silent ever since. But I still bought 16 9v batteries at Home Depot. Just in case.

The $1600 Duck

My husband owns the reputation of driving incredibly slow. I'm sure that's partly due to his vehicle - an F450 dual-wheeled, diesel, extended cab, flatbed truck. It's basically a tow truck with a full backseat. Doesn't get much slower than that. But it's also due to the fact that my husband is a tight-ass. He doesn't want to spend his money on anything intangible. Which I tend to agree with.
Jasen rarely gets speeding tickets, and I don't think he's ever had an accident. I, on the other hand, have dings along my car and have racked up a few tickets through the years.
But the $1600 hunting ticket my husband and brother-in-law both received a few years back wipes the slate clean. Even at two speeding tickets a year, It'll take me a good 5 years until he can bitch. And that's not happening any time soon, especially considering the $200 I just paid for him speeding back to work last month.

Jasen insists on keeping a gun cabinet filled wit shotguns in the living room. I hardly remember it's there anymore. Neither do I think about the gun propped next to our bed. Jasen rarely shoots anything. He began to think twice about hunting after he shot a raccoon in our barn, and then noticed her babies. He came into the house that night with tears in his eyes. He'll shoot an aggressive snake or annoying bird periodically, but beyond that he's relatively docile. And I am simply not a gun person. They scare the hell out of me. And I'm fairly certain that if I ever did decide to shoot a snake on my own I'd end up with one less toe.
For whatever reason, he and my sister's husband decided to go bird hunting last fall. Of course neither of them thought to actually buy a hunting license. Or the federal bird stamps. Or the lead-free bullets. Or check to make sure their guns were up to code.
He and Jamie drove to a friend's farm and proceeded "to shoot at everything that flew by," as Jasen explained. They killed a few ducks, two geese, and then realized the game warden truck at the end of the dirt path near Jasen's truck. Not good.
My brother-in-law took his spanking like a man. My redneck husband, on the other hand, apparently chucked his gun in the ditch and turned around. This did not please the game warden. Again, not good.
It's important at this point to explain my impression of some game wardens. They think they're badass. They're like animal control, with guns. Barney Fife would be proud.
This particular game warden decided to smack my husband with every charge he could render. Hunting without a license. Hunting without a federal duck stamp. No plug in the gun (Jasen decided to take that out for some reason), and using lead shot. Brilliant.
In addition to the charges, the game warden decided to subpoena Jasen to court. In Richmond. On a weekday. All because he chucked his gun in the ditch, and I'm sure used some choice words to describe his impression of Mr. Fife.
Jasen missed the class on temper control, so it was up to me to get him out of the court appearance. I'd rather pay the fine than pay the bail. I called the Virginia Department of Hunting and Fishing to get the whole story. The warden wrote in his report that Jasen ran from police.
Ummm...yeah. Again, something else important to note. My husband does not run. Under any circumstances. I've seen him walk through a hurricane, walk to the house when I was in labor, and walk to me when I got my finger stuck in the cheese grater.
I explained this to the prosecutor. I also explained that my husband and brother-in-law do not possess the best judgement when together. And that he probably did give the game warden lip. And that I would punish his crime with more vigor than any judge in Richmond.
The prosecutor agreed. He signed off and allowed me to pay the fines without Jasen appearing in court.
The $1600 ticket is well worth the price. Unless I find myself in a high-speed chase with the police, it's pretty unlikely I will ever rack up enough moving violations to compete with the 45 minute hunting trip.
The ticket makes for a wonderful ace in my pocket. And with a husband like Jasen, that's priceless. And just in case you're wondering...no, we did not have duck or goose for dinner. The game warden, I'm assuming, did. I hope he chipped his tooth on a nice leaded shot.

Dr's Orders

I love my psychiatrist. He gets me. He's a tall, fat, balding older man who has seen and heard everything, and nothing I say or think could ever surprise him. He literally yawns at least 10 times during out sessions. Which only last about 15 minutes.
During the last visit he asked about my marriage, and I mentioned that, like all couples married for more than 23 days the romance was a bit lacking. Our sex life is wonderful, our child is wonderful, our life is wonderful. But I said I'd like to be wooed every now and then. He laughed. And then he gave me advice:
Dr. Y "Well, every marriage is different. Men, in general, are not big into romance. They're visual. But, if you give him a bit more of what he wants, odds are he'll be more willing to give you what you need."
Me "Okay."
Dr. Y "Some couples have a night where one goes to the male strip bar, and the other goes to the tittie bar. (yes, my highly respected, expert-in-his-field doctor said tittie. I'm blushing just writing the word, and I'm sure my mom is, too). It's imperative to have boundaries, but that can spice things up a bit."
Me "Ummm. Yeah. that's not gonna happen. No way do I want my husband looking at perfect women and then coming home to me."
Dr. Y "Well, that kind of thing isn't for everyone. What about a trip together to that store, Banana Boat?"
Me "Ummm, yeah. I'm thinking you mean the Pink Banana? You've met my husband. He's a redneck, remember? Not really his kind of place."
Dr. Y "Understandable. What about spontaneity? Pop in a movie for the kid and invite him into the shower."
Me "Okay. That may actually be do-able. I'll give that one a try. Thanks for the advice. And can we never talk about tits again? I think my cheeks are going to catch fire."

So...tonight was the night. Juni was watching Tom and Jerry. I'm taking a shower, and Jasen pops his head in to see how long I was going to be.
Me "Not much longer. Wanna join me?" Jasen "Are you serious? Hell yeah!" It's not like this is the first co-shower we've taken. But since we've have a child, things change.
He tried to get out of his boots and pants so fast he almost fell on the bathroom floor and broke his nose. After what happened next, that may have been the better route. He gets in the shower, wets his hair, and then blows his nose. In his hands. You may need read that again. He BLEW HIS NOSE. IN HIS HANDS.
Let me make this perfectly clear. Jasen blowing his nose sounds like a goose being goosed. And showers echo. There are literally snot rockets flying through the air, landing on the tile. Dripping from his fingers. And I'm sure in my hair. And he's smiling. Proud and what his nose has produced, I'm sure.
I say "are you friggin kidding me? What the hell, man? This is supposed to be sexy! And you're friggin snotting on me? Seriously. If you ever do that again...I don't even know what I'll do. Vomit, probably."
He replies "But babe, that's what I do in the shower! I have to clean out both sides." "Yes, honey, I realize this. I have to scrape your buggers off of the tiles every morning. Thanks for that, by the way. But don't you think it's possible to break the routine for one night? I mean, seriously, honey. Snot in the shower? Really? I'm a woman. not a tissue."
Before I can finish my thought, he's emptying the other nostril. Snot rockets abound. I'm dumbfounded. And pissed. "Okay. Seriously, Jasen. What the hell is wrong with you?"
I was dried and dressed 39 seconds later. Spontaneity my ass.

Granny's Diamonds

My Granny had the most beautiful, amazing collection of diamonds I have ever set eyes on. Perfect clarity. Perfect sparkle. Perfect color. They were priceless. There were too many to count. I miss them every day.
Granny's diamonds were the reflection of the sun on the Little River, where she and my Mom's dad, Grandad at the River, lived in Weeksville, NC. Every time we visited Granny and Grandad at the River, we admired her diamonds.
She said she didn't need expensive jewelry, cars or vacations. She had her diamonds on the river. Not a day goes by that I don't think about and miss my Granny, and her diamonds.
My Granny was wild. She was awesome. In high school, my friends and I would make the hour-long drive to visit her and my Grandaddy to fish, swim and relax. It says something about my grandparents that high school kids wanted to hang out with them.
Granny's house always smelled like food. A lot of food. A lot of rich, fattening food. It's a wonder why I wasn't the poster child for childhood obesity. Every time we visited it was an almost unimaginable amount of food. Prime rib. Peach pie. Macaroni and cheese. Pecan pie. Gelatin mold salad. Candied yams. Greens. Lobster. I could go on and on. She made everything from scratch. Right down to the buttery-crisp waffles for breakfast. My grandfather had an amazing garden, and much of the vegetables came from right out the back door.
I still remember the smell of her skin, slick and soft after she smothered it in cream before bed. I love that smell. It brings a smile to my face and lump to my throat.
Granny could sew anything. Her style was always ahead-of-her-time. She didn't know it, but she's definitely my fashion icon. She had jet black hair, pink cheeks, an infectious smile and fuscia lipstick. She insisted on driving a red Volvo too fast. And high heels. Always high heels or shiny leather boots. And hats! Not just at Easter, but any day.
She loved the Golden Girls. And when my family spent the night. She found pleasure in just living her life day to day. In watching her diamonds, planting her flowers and cooking her meals. She dressed up to "go to town" for flowers and turned heads everywhere she walked.
Her yard bursted at the seems with color. Flowers so healthy and so fragrant it made me dizzy. I don't quite have her green thumb, but I definitely have her love of flowers. And I actually have many of her irises and ginger lilies in my yard.
My Granny sang and danced while she cooked. She dove off of the dock in her seventies. She could water ski and jet ski. She fished, and she painted.
I have dozens of her paintings, several framed and hanging on my walls. I love them. They're amazing. Giant flowers with color bursting in thick oils.
I hope I'm feisty like my Granny. She wasn't afraid to be different and stand up for herself. She lived her life the way she saw fit, and didn't give people's opinions a second thought. She emanated self confidence, and with good reason. She was absolutely stunning.
It's difficult for me to describe just what made my Granny so special. I can't put my finger on it. There was just something about her. She was wild, smart, innovative and artistic.
Without a doubt, she was my most influential grandparent, and I miss her daily. My best dreams revolve around Granny. I love dreams where I'm at her house. I wake up with a smile on my face and the smell of her face cream in my nose.
My Granny passed away while I was in grad school. When my mom moved the hospital bed into the house, she made sure to face Granny where she could see her diamonds in her last days. In the end, that's all she wanted. To see her beautiful, perfectly gleaming diamonds on the river.

Just like my Mom

My mom rocks. She's the best mother I know,and my parenting hero. She embodies PTA. Was the star parent in every classroom, cooked every night, built the best indoor forts, threw the best birthdays and had carted our friends around. She was SuperMom. I strive, everyday, to strive to her example. With one exception.

I was young...maybe six or eight. We were walking back from feeding the horses at the barn in the pitch black night. "Mom, look! And owl!" "No, Frances. That isn't an owl. It's too big. It's just part of the tree, honey." "No, mom...I think it's an owl. It even has horns!" "No, that's not an....ahhhhhhHh!"
It was in fact an owl. A very large, horned owl. And it was flying straight toward me.
I use the word me purposefully, because my SuperMom literally ran me over in the gravel driveway to get to safety. She ran over her daughter. And I've never let her live it down.

Thankfully, I have a 50/50 chance of Juni not remembering me trampling his Monday afternoon in the park. We were walking in the woods with Juni's friend Kyle and his mom Grace. Of course we were all totally unprepared, wearing shorts and flipflop. So when I stepped on an unsuspecting green snake, he proceeded to wrap his slimy, slithery body around my ankle.
And that was it. I was out. I squealed, and the next thing I knew, Grace cam hobbling out of the woods balancing a boy on each hip.
"Did you see the snake, Juni?" I asked. Grace laughed and said "I'm thinking no. The only thing that kid saw was the dust from your flipflops. You left him so fast he had no idea what was happening!"

History once again repeated itself. I ran over my child. Hopefully, history will again repeat itself, and Juni will think of me the way I think of my mom...SuperMom.

A Redneck Wedding

Jasen and I took Juni to his first wedding this weekend. It was perfect. Here's why:

Dallas is a redneck. He's an extraordinarily brauny man that climbs and cuts down trees for a living. A real live lumberjack. I would not want to face him in a bar fight. Dallas' heart is just as big as his physique. His bride, Adele, keeps him in line. She's fiesty, strikingly beautiful, and exceptionally grounded.
I first knew this wedding was going to be unique when I first asked Dallas about the dresscode. His reply was "If you're wearing clothes, we'll let you in." Alrightly then! Sunday best it is.
Jasen insisted on bringing a tie, depite my reassuraces that it was unneeded. He would have looked like an idiot. Espcially considering most of the men were in shorts and flipflops. A few of the women were, too.
The wedding was outside, on the Currituck Sound, and absolutely breathtaking. And not just because the groomsmen were beside the house smoking. The weather could not have been more perfect, the sound of the water and wind mixed with the smell of roses was amazing.
So was the fact that just about everyone had a beer in their hand. During the ceremony. It was absolutely hillarious, and only got better.
Adele's oldest brother performed the ceremony. The newlyweds officially tied the knot Wednesday, so this was just for show. And a show it was.
I have decided I absolutely adore Adele's brother. He wore black pants, a white shirt, and shiny, metallic-esqe royal blue jacket. Did I mention the folded printer paper with words to repeat? Yup. He pulled out a piece of paper and recited it, almost word-for-word. When he digressed, Adele had to remind him that she, too, got to repeat after him and place the ring on Dallas' finger. Priceless.
The reception was again outside and on the water. Dallas' dad cooked barbecue, and we ate off of paper plates. The wedding party drank out of altered wine glasses ... wait for it ... the stem resembled a candle stick and the cup ... this is great ... was a mason jar. Absolutely wonderful. The glasses were from the couple's favorite local bar.
The kids danced the entire night, ate pigs in a blanket, and played at the stocked kiddie table. The adults drained the self-serve bar and laughed at Juni while he cut the literal rug placed over part of the grass as an impromptu dance floor.
I absolutely loved this wedding. And not just because Juni had such a blast and the people watching was impeccable. I loved this wedding because Dallas and Adele stayed true to who they are. They didn't fall into the trap of spending too much, inviting too many and letting the whole ordeal take over.
This wedding was about love. Not about how much money the father of the bride dropped, or where the reception was at or "who" the bride was wearing.
It was refreshing to see a registry where the most expensive item was a $150 set of pots and pans. I loved that the newlyweds arrived at the reception via their pontoon boat.
This was a wedding I will never forget for many reasons. Juni danced for hours and passed out on the way home. Jasen and I spent the night watching and laughing with him. But it was more than that. Juni's first wedding showed him what a wedding should be about - two people wrapping their lives together. Two people taking an awesome risk with each other. Two people that will stand together and fight with and for one another, hopefully forever.

These two people didn't go into debt just for one day. They celebrated their relationship by letting us in on the party. And the wedding was just as beautiful as they are, and as beautiful as their marriage will be.

Car Conversations

Juni and I spend a lot of time in the car. That's what happens when you live on the outskirts. We rock out, we roll the windows down, and we talk. Some our best conversations take place in the car. Questions abound. "Mommy, what my finger made of?" "Mommy, when I gonna get bigger?" "Mommy, you do dat when you a girl?" "Mommy, you know daddy when he a boy?"
Some questions are better than others...

Mommy.
Yes, Juni?
Everybody die?
Yes, Juni. Everybody dies.
(short pause) Mommy.
Yes, Juni?
Everybody die when they get old?
Yes, Juni. Everybdy dies when they get very, very old.
(longer pause) Mommy...Nanny and PaPa very, very old you know. They gonna die aday (today)?
No, Juni. Not today.
(pretty long pause this time) Mommy...when you gonna die?
No time soon, baby. Mommy's not old yet.
Mommy...you old, you know.
Thanks for that, son. Seriously. I'm not old.
(a minute later) Mommy...Shelby die, you know.
Yes, Juni. I know.
I miss her, you know. I love my new puppy Sadie, but I still miss my old dog, Shelby. I miss playing with her, you know.
I know, Juni. I miss her, too. (now I have a lump in my throat)
You ran ober (over) her with the car, you know.
Okay! Enough talk about death. Seriously, son. At this point, I'll talk about anything else. Politics? Religion? Where do babies come from? Take your pick.
Mommy...I already know where babies come from, you know.
Um...Okay.
Mommies get big bellies and den (then) poop dem (them) out. Just like the chickens poop out eggs and cows poop out baby cows.
Um...okay. who told you that, baby?
Daddy did. Mommy...when you gonna poop out your baby?
Excuse me? I'm not pregnant, Juni. I'm not pooping out any babies any time soon. Can we maybe talk about death again?
Alright, Mommy. But you do have a big belly, you know.
Thanks, Juni ... Okay! Unbuckle your belt...we're here! Thank the lord...

Stretch Marks

I've had stretch marks since puberty. They're light an faded, or so I though. Until today.

I'm weeding in a pair of shorts, bending over and feel something tickling the back of my booty. I, realizing it's not a curious bug, jolts and yelps : "Juni! What the heck, man? That tickles! And it's actually a little inappropriate."
Juni says: "I not mean to tickl you, Momma. I just lookin'. Momma. What dem lines on your legs?"
Me: "Huh?"
 Juni: "You know, dem scratches on your legs."
Me: "Juni. What in the world are you talking about?"
Juni, touching my legs again: "These, Momma! Cat scratch you?"
Me: "No, Juni. Those are stretch marks. Thanks for noticing."
Juni: "What stretched your legs, Momma?"
Me: "You did, son. You did."
Juni: "Oh. Okay, Momma. Sorry I did dat."

I hate my legs, but I absolutely love my kid.

Waffles, Bacon and a Rotten Egg

Sunday mornings are nothing short of glorious in our home. Juni plays trains while Jasen cooks breakfast, and I sleep an extra 15 minutes.
Jasen always concocts something amazing. This morning he presented Belgian apple waffles, bacon, omelets and a rotten egg.
The rotten egg put a serious damper on our morning.
Jasen and Juni pick the eggs. Occasionally, they forget one. Which is fine. As long as the egg isn't refrigerated, it won't go bad for quite a while.
Apparently, one of the eggs Jasen decided to put into his omelet somehow turned bad. Very bad. Green, actually. He cracked it open, and immediately began gagging. He threw it in the trash, and realized he needed to take the entire can outside to rid our kitchen of the rancid smell. Even that didn't work. He's running the dishwasher, with the omelet pan inside. Wiping the counters. And gagging. Every few minutes he darted out the porch door yelling he was going to puke.
All I could do was laugh. And hide. I've never smelled a rotten egg, and decided that it was completely possible for me to take one whiff and never eat another poultry produced protein morsel in my life.
I screamed at him to spray some air freshener. But of course he was too busy with omelet number two.
Jasen eradicated the kitchen of the green egg (feeding it to my now very gassy and smelly pup) and sat down to eat his omelet.
And smelled his fingers. Not good. He ran from the living room, gagging and diving for the sink. Three washes later, and he still dared me to sniff his pinkie. No way. Today I learned that one negative to having fresh eggs is, every now and then, there is bound to be a rotten one in the bunch. The rest of the carton is still sitting in our fridge, awaiting its fate. Apparently, the smell was so bad that Jasen can't decide if he wants to risk a nasal disaster again.

Juni-ism

I love the honesty in children. From day one, they make no excuses. If they're hurt, they cry. If they're tired, they sleep. If they're hungry, they eat. That honesty amazes me daily.
Juni is beautifully, brutally honest. Like the time when he said "Mommy...I love your big fat belly. It's just so warm and soft. Mmmmm."
Thanks, son.
Yesterday, my grandmother Corky asked Juni if he had to potty, since his hands were grabbing his crotch. "No. I just scratchin' my balls."
Excellent. Thank God my Corky didn't hear or understand him. She's the most uber-conservative, ultra-mannered woman I know.
Juni is slowly learning social etiquette's, which makes my job less embarrassing. But at the same time, it makes me a little sad. He's learning to not be completely honest at every moment. He's learning not to speak his mind every chance he gets. He'll learn the cool dance moves instead of moving his toddler body so freely to the music. In short, he'll grow up. Which is wonderful and sad mixed together. But at least he won't be telling his grandmother about scratching his balls.

1 Day

Every morning Juni darts down the hall, climbs into my bed and and asks for chocolate milk and Tom & Jerry. He then proceeds to ask me "Mommy. What we doin' today?" ad nauseum until I answer him with an itinerary for the next 18 hours.
Some days I have a full day of activities scheduled, other days it's errands and work, and occasionally it's just lounging around the homestead. Regardless, Juni wants to know. So I decided to randomly pick a day and record just what I did, so Juni can some day get a feel for what his life was like at 4-years-old.
Juni snuggled into my bed at 6:15 this morning. Yep. 6:15. Not really my time to shine. But by 6:30 we were downstairs, sippy cup filled to the brim with chocolate milk, Tom and Jerry barely audible on the television, and me stirring three heaping spoonfulls of sugar into my coffee.
By 8 am Jasen had made his daily morning call, reminding me of everything he and I had to do, and asking me to do about 10 more things. I did what I do every morning. Tell him I'm tired, I'm working on it, and that yes, I will do whatever favor you need if you will just not call me for another few hours.
By 10 a.m. the house was clean, Juni dressed and me finally awake.  I'd also invoiced a job, printed out the financial report to date for the company, checked my personal email and answered the business emails. I'd also built a train track with Juni, helped him feed his fish, changed his sheets and convinced him to not build a train table in the middle of my bedroom, but instead to drag two tables next to Jasen's side of the bed. It's the little things, really, like watching Jasen have to crawl to his side of the bed that give me the most pleasure.
The heat index was in the mid-90s, so I shoved my thunder thighs into the longest pair of shorts I could find, pulled my hair up and headed to the barn.
I found myself wrestling a full roll of silt fence into the back of my 4-runner along with 5 heavy-as-hell and even more awkward bundles of wooden stakes. I was also regretting the sandals and white shirt I wore, and constantly expecting a snake to lunge out of the grass and scare the crap out of me. I fought about 100 yellow flies, and lost the battle. Five got into the car, and I'm thinking about 13 got a great brunch off of my ankles. I also noticed a pumpkin patch from last year's discards and am pretty stoked about the gigantic pumpkin I'll get to carve.
An hour later and I pulled up at the site. Jasen and Mauricio were drenched in sweat and hungry for lunch. Unfortunately, loading the materials meant the seat next to Juni had to house the 34 pounds of pure junk that was resting in the back. Jasen and Mauricio were too hot to move any of it, so I drove down the road with Jasen next to me, Juni in his carseat, and Mauricio in the very back. The entire car smelled like fresh sweat. Not a bad smell, but not real appetizing, either.
The best part of lunch was seeing the smile on a man's face when he heard Juni answer me "yes, ma'am." Point Mommy.
After lunch it was off to the local art store for supplies, the ice cream store (more for me than Juni) and to Juni's great-grandparents house, where I proceeded to try and force 24 hours worth of food down their throats in 3 hours.
Jasen's grandparents are 86 and 81 and completely hilarious. I spent the afternoon begging Buddy not to look for the scissors for another minute, explaining to Gang-Gang that she gets her hair done every week and that yes, I did remember who and where the stylist was, begging Juni not to jump off of the couch and break a bone, and listening to both of them tell me the same stories over and over. I love it.
Their house smells like grandparents. My Granny and Grandad. I took a little cat nap on their couch, and dreamed about Granny and Grandad's house. It was wonderful. With the smells of old people and bacon in my nose it was almost like being at Granny's again. But I digress.
I left their house at 3:30, picked up a payment, deposited it in the bank, called Jasen to tell him that yes, they did underpay us yet again and that yes, they know it and yes, honey, I'll stay on top of them. I picked up toiletries for Jasen and Juni, some candy for Vans care package and lollipops or Juni, since the bank didn' have any.
Juni fell asleep in the car, so I woke him just in time to pull into the parking lot at his Tae Kwon Do class. Mom met us, which was a nice surprise. I spent the next 45 minutes watching Juni spar with a kid 6 inches taller and two belts higher than he, and felt that familiar churn in my tummy. He loves karate class. I'm not so much a fan of the punching and kicking, but I get it.
That night I sliced okra, bathed Juni, cleaned the kitchen, found the cool Thomas You Tube videos, fixed a boo-boo, helped with yet another train set, and guilted myself for not recording more of Juni on DVD. I also figured out exactly what line items our check was short on, sent an email to the company, explained the financial printouts to Jasen, and worked on a project I'm creating for my sister.
After a little Project Runway and watermelon, I'm here, trying to type quietly in bed, and regretting the watermelon choice. I've also just remembered what I forgot to do today: find account numbers for the financial planner, answer some of my personal emails, order some things online, call the estate attorney, contact the corporate lawyer, begin my letter to the DBE and put away the laundry. Damn it.

Bird, Mouse and Cat: Three Doomed Fish

Juni didn't sleep more than 45 minutes at a time until he was 9-and-a-half months old. To describe those months as exhausting would be a gross understatement. There are no words to describe. At one point I thought he had some terrible stomach disorder. Nope. Reflux. I tried a vibrating crib. One of those bears that emits a heartbeat and sloshing sounds like the womb. I wedge to elevate his head. Then pillows under his crib mattress to elevate his entire top half. Nothing worked.
He slept in his swings for the first six months of his life. And when I say slept, I basically meant cat naps in between screaming fits. At the urging of his pediatrician, we Ferberized him at 10 months. Pitiful, but he did learn to fall asleep on his own, and would stay that way. For approximately 2 hours. And then I had to repeat the process.
I'd fall asleep sitting beside his crib, on the floor, so that when he did scream it wouldn't wake up my husband. I'd fall asleep nursing him in the rocker. I'd fall asleep while he played on the floor. I'd fall asleep just about anywhere.
Even now, at four years old, Juni rarely sleeps through the night. He wakes up screaming for me, saying he's scared. One week it was deers. the next it was the blinds on his window. Or the little closet door. Or just nothing. He'd wake up because his overnight pull-up leaked. Which isn't just a quick kiss and back to bed. It's changing clothes, sheets, pillows. All at 4 a.m.
Sleeping in the Norge house is miserable. Even though Jasen doesn't get up with Juni, it still wakes him, and I have to hear about it in the morning.
Three weeks ago I hit my breaking point. I was falling asleep in his bed again, in the middle of the night. Which just plain sucks. The kid sleeps like a crazy person. I'd wake up, sweating from his plastic mattress cover, his feet lodged in my spine, me tinkering on the edge of the mattress clutching Beary. Sucked. Big time.
And so I resorted to bribery. I am now a full-fledged, card-carrying supporter of bribery. It's amazing, really. One day after the aquarium Juni asks for a fish tank. That night, I bribe him: "you sleep in your bed all night, without screaming your head off, and you can get a fish tank." He's definitely allowed to come into my bedroom if he's scared or doesn't feel well, but screaming like someone's stabbing him with a butter knife is out of the question. As a child who suffered from night terrors her entire childhood, this troubled me a bit, but I also realize how rare night terrors are, and work hard every day to not project my anxiety onto him.
My point is, the bribery worked.The first night he woke up once. Ran into my room, sounding like an elephant, but no screams. I led him back to his bed, and within 2 minutes he was snoring just like Daddy. Friday made three weeks with no screaming. Jackpot! So we headed to the locally owned pet sore.
Three fish later, and we were ready to roll. He named them Mouse, Cat and Bird. Adorable. He fed them, decorated their little tank. and stood on the same wooden stool I stood on as a child, staring at them and talking to them.
It was wonderful. My plan had worked, bwahahaha.
And then, disaster. The yellow fish went belly up. "Mommy...what wrong with that fish? He sleeping?"
I figured Juni could handle it. He's seen dead chickens, cows, snakes, unfortunately, he even saw me run over my dog, Shelby, and reminds me of my murderous act at least once a week.
So the kid understands that animals die. So I told him the truth. "Okay. I get a new one? Not a yellow one, though. They no good. I want a guppy. A whole family, so they can have babies. Alright?" Alright, Juni. I'll go back tomorrow and get you a while guppy family.
And then as I snuck his sleeping body into his bed, I saw it. Three floaters. Damn it! I had single-handily murdered Bird, Cat and Mouse. They were stuck in the plastic plants. They looked like they were sleeping, so I went with it. Told Juni they were so tired from the trip.
I was so upset when I got into bed, Jasen actually sat straight up at one point and said "F*** the f***ing fish! They're f***ing fish for Christ's sake! Jesus! Just go to bed. You didn't mean to do it. He'll get over it." And then has he laid down, rolled over and closed his eyes I heard him grumble "Damn f***ing fish."
Okay. I get it. It was like a cheezy sitcom where the hamster dies and the parents run out, looking for the twin to said hamster. Something I never thought I would ever do.
And yet, first chance I got, I snuck out of the house, found said twin fishes, and bought them. I spent $15 on water conditioners, including one with live bacteria to make their home the perfect fishy habitat. Then I bought two gallons of spring water, just to spoil the little buggars.
And so now, what began as a $30 bribery is now up to $50. But this morning, Juni woke up, asking to see his fish first thing, and I didn't have to lie and say there were napping. They were alive, happy, and waiting to be fed. It's amazing what we'll do for our children. We don't want to see them hurt, even if it is over a f***ing fish We want to see them happy, rewarded, and succeed. And with the newly named Cat, Mouse, Bird, C and J fluttering their happy little fins, I can officially stand at the top of my stairs and shout "Victorious!" I have made fish live! For more than 12 hours! Woo. Friggin. Hoo, baby!

Accountability

Not a day goes by that I don't complain about my weight. It's like this giant, looming number ready to ruin my day. I don't remember the last time I stepped on a scale.
I also don't remember the last time I stepped in a gym. I get in these spurts where I'll exercise, eat right, lose weight. But I'm friggin hungry! So inevitably, I break down. And eat. And eat. And eat.
And then not a day goes by that I don't complain about my weight. Especially during the summer. Bathing suits are my nemesis. So are shorts. I hate my legs. Always have, always will. And I've got this tire that refuses to deflate around my midsection. Then again, I'm not doing anything to help it go away, except complain, and eat more crap.
I admire those people who are accountable to themselves. They write food diaries. They have a workout partner. My sister has asked me several times to go to the gym, and I honestly don't feel like it.
Today I downed last night's dessert for breakfast. I know. Gross. But soooo good. And then I decided to do sit ups and leg lifts. On the bed. But I do them on the bed for a legitimate reason...my back. My back won't fuss at me if I do them on the bed.
A friend of mine recently made herself accountable for Art Every Day. It's an awesome blog. I look at it every day. I definitely create art every day. It's just in me. But I don't move every day, or eat healthy every day.
I complain every day, but that's pretty much as far as I get. People tell me I don't need to work out. "You have an active toddler. Running after him is enough." But that's just it. He runs circles around me. I don't run with him.
So I've decided to be more active. Sit less. And at least think twice about dessert for breakfast. I'm not quite ready yet to record weights, food intake and exercise, but I'm thinking about it. And at least I've made a conscious decision to move. That's got to be better than nothing, right?

And I haven't forgotten about my commitment to write about my grandparents, either. Each one deserves the best. And I'm at my writing best when I'm inspired. And lately I've pretty much only been inspired to eat dessert for breakfast. But I'll get there...

Mind Games

I've never been big on mind games. But what my mind does to itself it just plain ridiculous. Anytime I feel boated, or get the slightest nauseated, or feel anything even the slightest bit like what I felt when I was pregnant, I psych myself up into thinking I'm preggers.
And that's not a good thing. The panic sets in, the shakes, the sweats, the not being able to breath. Today I didn't eat enough breakfast before taking my morning pills, and that can upset my tummy. So of course, right before lunchtime I get hungry, and my tummy doesn't feel so good. So I spent the last hour fighting the panic attack. Once I began to sweat and get scared because Jasen isn' home, I realized it was time to take my medication. My doctor lets me decide the dose, up to a certain amount, so I took what I thought would be enough to knock it out. And the medication dissolves on my tongue. Forty-five minutes later, the panic attack has passed, and now the meds are working SO well I'm thinking another baby would be cool.
Today I hate my brain. I know it's impossible for me to be pregnant...birth control, timing, everything is just perfect for no mistakes. But still. I couldn't talk myself out of it. And that's absolutely infuriating to me. I have a master's degree, and can't rationalize and reason with my own brain? What the heck is that?
About and hour after taking my panic medicine I crash, and desperately need a nap. So hopefully, I can snuggle up in the chair with and just catch 20 minutes of sleep. And since he just climbed into my lap and yawned, that's my cue to get the heck off of here and try to rest. I'd just like tell my brain that I'm sick of its mind games. They're not fun. And it's just not playing nice.

Grandaddy at Blackwater, aka Big Dan

I spent today in the boat with Jasen, Juni, my dad and his wife Kim. I absolutely love the smell of the brown water.It's earthy, fishy and fresh, all at the same time. I love the wind in my hair. As a child, I'd perch in the bow and howl like a wolf into the air.
Today reminded me just how much I miss all of my grandparents that have passed. I think about each of them almost daily, but even more so on days like today. And so I decided to write a little something about each one. This is the first installment about my Grandaddy at Blackwater, as we called him. My Dad's Dad.
Grandaddy was called Big Dan for a reason. He was big in every way. Tall, fat, boisterous. A truly larger-than-life personality. The man had giant hands, like my Dad's, and gave the best bear hugs you
imagine. He would hug me so hard my shoes would lift off of the floor. And he had huge cheeks - jowls, really, that blushed when he laughed.
He had bright blue eyes and delicate silver hair. He used to love it when my sister and I would fiddle with his hair while he drove the car.
My Grandaddy loved his family, food, and life as a whole. I have the feeling he was a little wild in his youth - he was a moonshine runner, drinker, and rumor has it he once took a bullet to the belly.
He worked hard as a young adult, built a hugely successful business, and retired early. Grandaddy took risks. He bought property, played the stock market, dreamed of developing.

Here are some of my favorite memories:
Seeing Grandaddy squeeze himself into my freshman dorm room at Tech. He said it felt like a jail cell, and he started to sweat. "How can you stand it in here, girl? The walls are cinder blocks! And I can hardly turn around in this room. I need some air. Let's go get some dinner."
The way he looked when I graduated college. He wasn't hard to pick out of the crowd, not only because of his size, but because of the enormous smile on his face. I was the first in our family to ever graduate, and it meant the world to me that he made the trip.
Riding in the boat. I felt so safe and secure, even though he drove way too fast with motors way too big. We took Jasen out when we were first engaged. Jasen grabbed the console so tightly his knuckles turned white. "What's wrong whitcha, boy? Scared?" I'm pretty sure only the prop was in the water at that point.
My 13th birthday, when he let 25 newly-dubbed teenagers spend the night in his Shop (which is a house with commercial kitchen, Jacuzzi and pool table). He stepped on grapes the next morning on the floor, and found Elizbeth's very frozen bra in his freezer. "What the heck is this, girl? A band aid?"
His chitterling parties. Women, thank God, were not allowed. Jasen and his grandfather went to the last one he threw before he died, and burped pig guts for 3 days. Grandaddy loved to entertain so much that he put in a commercial kitchen in the shop. I loved t watch him cook. He had huge steamers, pots, knives. It was like being in a restaurant. And the more the merrier.
Being driven to high school in his Rolls. They never drove that car. But he drove me to school in it, and picked me up a few times. They also drove it to Tech once, and I'm pretty sure he just about had a heart attack when he saw the on-street parking.
Spending the night at his house, and having a weekend-long panic attack. I couldn't sleep, so he and Corky would take turns rubbing my head and back all night. When it was Granddaddy's shift I'd know it, because his giant fingers would beat against my head rather than scratch or rub. He also snored. Loud. Even during naps in his over sized La-Z-Boy, the man snored.
His stories. Just talking to this man made me happy. He was loud, with a unique accent, and had the best stories.
His hugs. The best ever, hands down. I could never get my arms around him, but I did manage to snap his red suspenders every time I saw him. He was a financially successful man, but wore a pair of blue overalls all the time, with tan shoes.
His diamond. He bought some crazy diamond - it's over 10 carats, I believe. He kept it in a safe along with some other jewelry that he'd take out and show me sometimes. I remember seeing all of his perfectly pressed clothes and thinking I'd never really seen him in any of them.
When he was sick in the hospital, and I told him I was engaged. "You've picked a good boy, girl. He's a boy that can take care of you." He then turned to Jasen, tears glistening in his eyes, and told him he loved him. I asked him if we could get married on the water at his house and have the rehearsal dinner in the Shop, and we spent the afternoon planning the food. I love that he got to see my house, and know I was going to be well taken care of. He knew Jasen would work hard and provide for our family. He passed away unexpectedly from a massive stroke 4 months before the wedding.
Holding his hand when the doctors turned off the machines. It was definitely a Steel Magnolia moment. All three of his granddaughters were by his side. I remember trying to imprint on my brain just how big his hands were, and how strong his body was. It was a moment I never want to relive, but am so grateful to have had.
Seeing his picture propped above Jasen's head in the gazebo where we were married. A hot tear rolled down my cheek.

I inherited many things from Grandaddy. His bunions. His blue eyes. His round head and pronounced cheeks (Juni is a spitting image sometimes). I even inherited his insatiable appetite and love for food. I love entertaining like he did, and family.

Anyone who met my Grandad never forgot him. You couldn't, really. He was just that cool. I'm sure there are countless other memories I have hidden somewhere in my little pea-brain, but to be honest, I'm getting a headache from controlling my tears. And my face is beginning to burn from the salt. I just hope he knows how much I love him, and how proud I am to be his granddaughter. Big Dan was definitely one of a kind.

As if going to the GYN wasn't uncomfortable enough...

I love my OB-GYN. He's hilarious. And thorough. His bedside manner is spot-on, and I'm comfortable talking to him.
The problem is, so does everyone else. He's always late. Hours, sometimes. And that annoys the crap out of me. Like my time is worth less than his because I'm not a doctor. But whatever. Doctors are always like that.
My yearly exam is not something I look forward to. Poking, prodding, paper clothes. Stepping on the scale. It all sucks. Big time.
But as if going to the GYN wasn't uncomfortable enough, my dear doctor decided to put a television in the waiting room. And not just any television. This television is one big infomercial for STDs, sexual dysfunction, pregnancy and any kind of discharge you can thing of.
I realized the addition when I sat down in the waiting room, next to an expecting couple. They were adorable. And then the woman on the tube began talking about the signs of Chlamydia. In men. I never knew something could be so disgusting and graphic with no pictures. This poor couple and I turned 14 shades of red. It was horrible.
The television made it's way through every possible sign of every possible STD. Fun times. Then it turned to self-exams for men and women, annoyances during pregnancy, and random sexual issues.
Don't get me wrong. I'm all for education and openness. But in the waiting room? Seriously? Whatever happened to setting out a stack of brochures? I felt like I was in the middle of Crazy Town. Like there was a camera on me, waiting for me to just bust out laughing.
I'm pretty sure everyone else in the waiting room felt the same way as I did. We were all staring at the floor, feeling our cheeks burn, and giggling like a middle-schooler in sex-ed/