Tarred. "She's just tarred." That's how we say "tired" in the deep south. My kid woke up this morning and couldn't breathe. First of all, that is freakin terrifying. My hub was all, "It's okay little guy. Just calm down. It's gonna be okay..." E was scared--eyes like saucers, trying to cry if he could catch his breath. Little ones are not/should not be familiar with that sensation. So there I am, cradling him in the cruddy, comfy rocking chair as Nick runs down to tell the bus driver that we are not going to school today. Fast forward through taking my sweetie-pie to work with me for 2 hours, an ugly doctor's appointment, buying an inhaler/ Flonase, and the general fatigue that comes with Mondays. Did I mention there are 3 days left of school and I'm slightly stressed?

Warm play-doh on the stove smells like, well, warm play-doh on the stove. Flour, salt and oil combine over low heat when you stir and stir and stir. Add some blue food coloring and or glitter and there you go. THOSE are the times I feel like a good mama. Letting a four-year-old add drops of food coloring to anything allows you the title of greatest mom on the planet, at least for 45 minutes. Most of the time though, it's a bit tougher to find those moments of maternal bliss. 3:45 on a Tuesday afternoon is tough. My little guy is tired, his mom is tired, he wants a third packet of fruit snacks. I have said, "NO" definitively, he has asked again...sigh.

Losing it "mom-style" has many layers. The 1st of these is usually done while stirring something on the stove. It's light-hearted and funny, "Well I guess those Trashies (small, plastic trash monsters of questionable origin) are gonna have to stay lost until I finish making dinner, babe...."

Stage 2 is similar to stage one, except mom is very aware that her heart is starting to pound a bit and her breaths are a little shallower (perhaps she's had a rough day at work and on top of that her jeans are feeling tight), "I can't help you find a shovel right now. For one thing, we are not outside and do not need a shovel...."

Stage 3 usually occurs outside the home--probably the check-out line after shopping: "Nope, we're not buying "Madagascar 2" at the grocery store, babe. That movie is on Netflix anyway. Sheesh. What? No, mommy doesn't care that you are "frustrated. I can show you frustrated. " Sympathetic cashier's glance.

Stage 4 involves alot of tears from both sides. My stage 4 freak outs involve immediate danger and out-right kid defiance: running in a parking lot, opening the door to a stranger, eating the damn Doritos secretly in his bed after I've told him not to touch any kind of food before dinner. Those orange fingers tell all. After a stage 4 freak out and cool down, I usually find myself hovering over his bed after he goes to sleep. Those sweet, small breaths--mouth open, tummy up, take my breath away and make me feel like a monster. Even when you know you are right, there is no redemption after, " I am about to bring a world of pain, mister!"
Happy Mother's day to me.

 

almost.

Blerg. I suck at keeping a blog. There is Play-Doh embedded in the friggin carpet, Eli ate around all the meat in the spaghetti tonight and helped me "work out" this afternoon by commenting on how big my muscles were during squats. Also, I should not buy pre-made garlic toast because I inevitably cook 4 pieces when I need to only cook 2. All these things are true. Letting almost a year go by without up-dating this thing is unforgivable. Life marches on.  School is almost out for the summah. I always hit an all-time low this time of year. My thoughts are amplified and fuzzy. My words are confusing and usually punctuated with, "What do you think, sweetheart? Are your pants REALLY on fire?" My family is pissy and tired and we need a break. Nick and I are putting way too much stock in our daily Jeopardy battle. "What is Mount Makushin?" What indeed. We have had almost an entire year at E's inclusion school--very good for the most part. I am still incredibly overwhelmed by his IEP and all the jargon that goes with it. Apparently I have to be a crazy mom in order to get all the services my son requires. I don't want to be a crazy mom. I want to be the cool mom that cruises into school in  jeans and a vintage Pink Floyd tank top to read the kids "Miss Nelson is Missing." I' m a teacher too. It's hard. Very hard. Eli's made incredible strides. I thank God everyday that he can communicate with us now. I have got to focus on those feelings and not the terrified mom ones. Maybe this summer...

Summer of 2013: Eli says, "Thank you mama, that's very nice." Sobbing mama. Elated mama. Good grief, it's been hard.

rainy night....

  Summer shines a great big 'ol light on all the stuff that scares the hell out of me. Lazy mornings of sleeping late morph into rapid screeching sessions of "why can't you just tell me?" Because I know he can tell me if he wants to--or so I think. He (my little one) has two band aids--one on each arm where he got his shots last week. He refuses to take them off. I was even terrified for him to get the shots. All of the hullabaloo about autism and who the hell knows what else created a sort chasm of irrationality in my red-head. Luckily they require innoculations to attend school. And attend school he will! After a battery of tests (I just love saying a battery of tests) we now know that he may have something called MERLD (mixed-expressive-receptive language disorder). But he also may not:) If I'm understanding correctly, MERLD, like autism, is on a spectrum. I think Eli falls somewhere in the middle. He likes to repeat himself...I think just  make sure that we're grasping the importance of what he trying to say. We grasp the importance. Really, Eli, we do. Seriously.

Second City rut....

I told my husband that we need an eradicating, bone-chilling improvizational challenge every Wednesday night.

Whoa. True crime shows kinda rock. My poor dear, dear husband must contend with a slightly warped (but she's cute) wife that could watch any SVU, CSI, ColdCase marathon happily munching on Doritoes. I would not only do it, but enjoy and relish every moment. We have come to a secret agreement that I can only watch these sorts of shows while he and E are not in the room, preferably not in the house. If you've ever seen Patton Oswalt talk about his wife's obsession with crime shows, you will sympathize with my guy's plight. I have learned how to watch these shows while simultaneously making pitying sideways glances at my husband.
"I'm so sorry, baby..."
Oooh blood samples......

So yeah. Fall approaches, thank you, sweet Lord. Today was Sunday. We ALL got monumental amounts of sleep.. Eli got a free pass to sleep in our bed last night. I was awakened by, "Hi, mama. You asleep?"( kiss kiss).  sigh. In these days on the cusp of autumn, I find myself aching for wind, for leaves, for the death of all insect life. I dragged my poor guy home this afternoon and MADE him let me mow the lawn. We have been, um, slightly, home-bound this summer. The mosquitoes have been horrific. IF we ventured outside, we headed to the pool. Eli's amazing swing set has been deserted and covered in spider webs. Today, at a whopping 80 degrees, we braved the yard and tried to combat some of the damage of this past summer.

My Eli has started talking more and more. He is three. He is very bright and loving and physical, but has been hesitant to talk to us in sentences. In the last month, his little mouth has opened and the words have started to pour out.

In a little while from now....things get complicated. I entered the 12th year of my marriage and the 3rd year of motherhood amid a bit of chaos and worry. Our little guy isn't talking as much as he should. He's brilliant and perfect and the apple of our eye. But we're teachers and we know about strange random things called benchmarks and milestones. So when he didn't start using as many words as we thought he should, we started to worry. Then as we moved toward those awfully fun tests and questionnaires, we really started to worry. We had already enrolled him in pre-school and I felt the need explain my sweet one's inability or lack of desire to speak in sentences. I over-compensated--as usual. My precocious bear is a force of nature with a mop of unruly dark blond hair and bright blue eyes. He has blue specs (his glasses) and a little dent in his chin. He is constantly chattering away and has now begun to string those little thoughts together. When I don't understand him, he becomes frustrated. I become frustrated. I can only grab him, hold him and wait for him to try again.

Tonight I haven't been a good mama. I've been very cool, but not good. It is my last night of summer vacation, as I return to work the day after tomorrow. But alas, tonight we had grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner and Zebra Cakes for dessert. My little one continues to play with my wisks--brushin his har, and I gave him a Coca Cola Classic in a bottle with a straw. Nevermind that I/we are watching the fantazmagoraphobic film "House of Haunted Hill" with Vincent Price. He is less impressed than he should be, but I was a weird kid. Tonight we forget that fall approaches with school and work. We brush our hair with mom's whisks; we drink REAL Coke.

Post Christmas Grace

My little one is standing in front of the tv in dinosaur stretch-pants and a baggy green Gap sweat shirt that has ridden up so that it hangs over his little, flat bum. Christmas Break is coming to a close. Nick has gotten he tree outside. The front room is a Christmas murder scene.

Super fast forward; Eli is 2.5 and a force of nature. He started pre-school and I freaked out. He is still working on speaking and I freak out. But most importantly, he is happy and profoundly adored and likes to puts things in order--his dinosaurs and balls and blocks. Lines are needed and requested and enjoyed.

This year at work I have an all boys class. 11 Of the sweetest, loudest little human beings on the planet. My voice is literally obliterated by the end, and I say, " Listen to my words!" like 47 times a day. I know alot more about construction workers who wield swords and dinosaurs that "eat your face." I have learned to instruct my guys to say "excuse me" when passing gas and burping and popping each other in the mouth--accidentally, of course.

I'm trying to lighten up. I can't agonize over every possible possibility. I can't make every lame, lazy person give a crap about their contribution to society. It's not my job to be every body's friend or even tolerated for that matter. Deep breaths and careful words are going to be my weapons of choice.

school days...

Excuse the sentimental lament. But I'm a teacher and I not only relish summer's arrival, I also feel the gentle tug at my heartstrings when I know a child or 16 is about to leave my room and head off into sunburns, mosquito bites and kool-aid moustaches. The end of the year is usually so tumultuous that by day's end on that final day of schoool I am so completely exausted that the reality that these kid's don't "belong" to me anymore has not fully smacked me in the face. My tears are brief--if at all. And only on that long ride home can I fully reflect that I have spent and entire school year getting to know these little humans. From the first two weeks of school, when I question my career choice, to fall's arrival when I am feeling so completely in love with the outside world that it can't help but spill over into the classroom, I have to reflect and feel the utter amazement that I was allowed that much time with such an amazing a group of little personalities. It's April now. Teacher's like to joke and count down the days until summer. I'm not going to tell you that inside it's a different story--inside we're "torn apart." We're not. We love the little guys and we'll miss them. But like the passing of a torch, we know that we're getting a fresh batch in the fall. We'll have few tow-heads, maybe a red-head here or there, and even a future astro-physicist. I will have a few thousand colds, a few parents that need more than their share of reassuring pats on the back, and a couple of hundred cookie cakes.

It's been a while. Those infamous words have been quoted by bloggers far better than myself. I feel completely clogged, stifled. I'm dreaming in sesame street stereo. There are cheese puffs on the hearth, duct tape on the couch, and the sky is gray and threatening the un-mowed lawn with another rainy assault. Friday night. Go and grab a drink because the air is thick with possibilities.

This girl needs an outlet.

Hmmm. January is the cruelest month--April be damned. Our Great room is a menagerie of pain--pine fronds cover the floor, decapitated snow globes, and the remnants of Christmas 2010 lie strewn on the stained carpet. Can you say, "This stinks?" I am always torn by how completely blessed I feel after Christmas (the spoils, the love, the food) and how utterly I hate the late winter. utterly. hate. it. The gray skies of fall are somehow different in February. I find myself NOT completely revolted by the Valentine aisle at Target on December 28th. I mean, sure, I need that purple and red, glittered heart wreath right NOW....

blerg.

Fights make me sad. They make me angry and stupid and irrational. Even when I feel like I'm right, I can't concentrate. I focus on everything that makes me right and everything that makes him stupid.

It's been fo-evah since I blogged. It's Christmas time. It's cold...for Georgia. My little man is sick: crusty nose, no fever, general BAD mood. He is tottling around the house screaming at his comfy chair, his super ball blowing toy, and of course me. I'm waiting on Nick to come home from work. I have laundry in the machine waiting to be dried, Christmas cards in need of stamps and addresses, and ALOT of shopping. I am not motivated to do any of these things. I AM motivated to sit on my patuckass and watch bad tv. Merry Christmas...

Flaming Moe....

"Oh, the shark has, pretty teeth dear, and he show's them pearly whites"....and my kid has my cell phone. I am wondering when it will become imperative for me to get my phone back--considering that the kid ain't crying. I'm crying. But the kid ain't. Summer is wandering around the block and is almost home again. I my shins are scraped and I have a load of mosquito bites--metaphorically speaking. I started to clean out my closet today and became so depressed and the number of black shirts that I own, I had to stop. I remember explicitly each purchase of said shirt and each excuse made to dignify said purchase. But it still sucks that I feel the need for 12 black shirts in varying styles. But somehow I do/did.

SUMMER, people!!!

You know what, folks? I'm home for 2 months. It's been about 3.5 weeks and I'm ready to head back to work:) I know. Pathetic. I have been sleeping extraordinarily late--as has my young padawan. Going back to work is going to be a b)&^$.

Watching "About Last Night" for the 1st time and noticing that Elizabeth Perkin's hair is kind of bad. Frizzy perm. Bangs off to one side. Ugh. Pants are also very high up. Sweaters are flipping huge. In 1986 I was 8. I wasn't allowed to listen to secular music, as my mom called it. So I stuck my clock radio under my pillow and cranked up Z93.0. "Walk Like and Egyptian" and "Kharma Chameleon" soothed this little girl sleep. Wow, Rob Lowe is a skeeze. And Demi is Fabulous in her pale gray cardigan. This girl needs to go to sleep.

The end is nigh....

Holy mo! I am so close to the end. I am searching for the inner strength to enjoy these last few days with a perfectly sweet class of Pre-Kindergarteners. We're just all so tired, folks. TI-Red. I'm sitting right on the edge of summer and sleeping late (even with a little rugrat running around). Tomorrow is graduation and then the infamous end of year party--imagine the wildest kegger and then take away the kegger and add some sort of pinata/dangling donut game and ....cupcakes. There are always cupcakes--usually Publix cuz they rock. It's a tornado of bye little Mikey, give me a hug, (now there's icing on my dress), no wait you forgot your yearbook--oh, that's Donovan's yearbook because he sneezed on it yesterday--right, "Have a great summer!," deep breath and do it again fourteen times...Whoohooo!