Friday, August 26, 2016

Makes no mistake


National Dog Day you say? So how many wishes does that mean I get?
I'm not sure if it works like that, Foz.

Hot fudge sundaes?

Well, you did get some rice with your dinner.

So you are telling me that there is a national day to celebrate me...

...And other dogs...

Whatever. And you think some lukewarm rice counts as festivities?

You did eat it.

True. So, at the very least, can you stop referring to my pooping near that pile of stuff my boy had packed for school as an "accident"? I assure you, that was exactly what I meant to do!

It's a deal, Foz.

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Right to the Random

Let's just get right down to this before I run out of steam or get distracted by something dusty. (Seriously, this place needs to be cleaned so badly, there is nothing shiny.) So we were away, and despite having a bit of vacation brain, luckily my son and I both realized that there was a chance fanny packs had really not made a comeback in the real world AND even if the rage was coming, this was still not a bargain.
Rule #1 of road trips, pack good snacks. I blame the heat for my blatant rule breaking and the fact that this was all I was able to forage the night both kids needed something chocolate!
Hmm, they might have each gotten two chocolate covered almonds if I hadn't eaten one, and thank goodness for that leftover cookie from the car ride. I am sure you can imagine the gratitude received when I appeared with this offering! Points for presentation and fine knife skills?

Somehow I let the coupon fliers back up to the point where some had expired. Lo and behold, there were some gems to be found though!

Perhaps as a prelude to creepy monkey season (fingers crossed that it is coming again soon), the Hamilton Collection has sent the "long paw of the law" to keep us in line.
As if anyone needed ideas of ways to make Chihuahuas look more dapper when they dress them up. Just, no.

Yes, there are worse things Rizzo could do...
...like be a Precious Moments figurine. I know Rizzo had a less often seen, softer side, but for reals? I can't even see her hickey!

And now...finally, FINALLY...
What? Oreo Churros? Why? Who was waiting for this? Who was thinking "You know how I love to eat some Oreos right out of the cupboard, so yummy, so convenient! Well what if I had to get them out of the freezer and do something to prepare them first? Wouldn't that just add a ton of fun to my desperate snacking?" Apparently the current flavor sensation overload and identity crisis (I'm looking at you red velvet) Oreo is undergoing cannot be confined to the snack aisle and they must spill over into the frozen section. (No offense to you cookies and cream ice cream.)

Time to tame the dust bunnies!

Thursday, August 18, 2016

The Art of Letting Go...

...looks to be eluding me once again!

When I picked up my son from college back in May I had the rough makings of a plan. A cartwheel to let him know how excited I was, some favorite foods, general enthusiasm, but also a conscious effort to reign myself in. I did not want to frighten him away with my smothering, just a calm cool and collected "glad you're here, please enjoy yourself". (Oh my gosh, please enjoy yourself or you won't want to come back and then what will I do? I miss you already. Good grief, dial it back woman!)

The space he occupied in our home was huge upon re-entry, and not just because of the piles of stuff he brought with him, or the freshman fifteen extra pounds that found their spot with him on the couch. He had tales to tell about his classes, friends, and then his new summer internship. My boy had grown. I finally started to feel less longing for the days that had gone by, instead more proud and excited for his next adventures. I started to pull back, finding comfort in watching him manage more things on his own.

I can run through the series of events as they unfolded the night my son called to tell me he had "messed up his leg". It started with the thought that he was describing what would amount to nothing more than a bruise over the course of the next few days, quickly morphing into something that needed my undivided attention as I scrambled to change out of pajamas and get to the car, while making a series of flailing hand gestures to rally my husband and reassure my daughter. He wanted me to stay on the phone with him because he believed it was helping to keep him calm. So the often anxious, sometimes neurotic, worrisome woman was to be the rock for this incident? Perfect.

As we pulled into the parking lot of the trampoline park, I saw the flashing lights on the ambulance, so much brighter and alarming knowing my son was inside. Deciding where to park felt beyond any decision making capability I had left, but somehow managed to get the car in park and my feet in motion. I climbed into the front seat of the ambulance, almost comforted by the realization that the situation was truly beyond my control, and there were actual qualified people helping. 

"Mom, they want to give me morphine. What do you think about that?"

I silently pondered how awful I thought that sounded, then a nod from the ambulance driver as he said "Oh, he's going to need morphine" brought me back.

The ER, the hospital room where we tried to get some sleep that first night, the waiting for a surgery time, the tears as the team wheeled him out of pre-op, waiting for word from the OR, waiting for him in his room...I still was fighting a mental battle with myself to accept that he was an eighteen year old "adult", who luckily had been admitted to the pediatric floor, trying to follow his lead as to how close to get, trying to stay out of the way. Then there was this...
My mom brain was brought to its knees. The years vanished as I watched him sleep, my baby. Those stuffed airplane toys still with their magical comforting powers. There were times during that second night when he woke, pointed to me, smiled as I pointed back, and drifted back off to sleep. We just kept reassuring each other that we were there. 
Remember how this story started? The part about how I planned to back off a bit? I am fairly certain that plan did not involve holding the urinal jug.

When we got home, I felt as ill-prepared to care for my son as I had when he was a newborn. How was I deemed qualified? Setting an alarm for middle of the night painkillers, the way I had once set an alarm for feedings when they were supposed to be every two hours around the clock due to jaundice. Feeling equally as helpless in the middle of the night, when he was clearly uncomfortable and upset. I found myself suggesting he turn the television on for a distraction, the same way I used to turn music on for him to make myself, and him, feel like I had done something to help. Days of grabbing his clothes, anticipating his needs, drinks, food, helping him bathe...smothering him. Yep. 

Did I spoil him? Probably. Do I regret it? Not at all. I know how fleeting the years have been, so I was well aware that the weeks of his recovery would also go by in the blink of an eye. I could not hold him at arm's length just because I knew how hard it would be to let go again. No, instead I had to make the silver lining the fact that we got share these precious moments, slowing down to just sit around and all enjoy each other's company. I had to remind myself to not take it personally when his recovery reached the point where my assistance was less needed, as that was the goal.

So here we are, thirty-six hours before the loaded car pulls out of the driveway to head back to college. Bags are packed with precision by which room they need to land in, lists have been made and only a few items remain without scribbles. However, my plans and thoughts that there was a graceful way to mentally prepare for this were flushed awhile ago. My last five peanut m&m's were eaten yesterday. 

So with regard to there being an art to letting go, if by "art" you mean scribbled crayon with those unintended wax flakes on crumpled paper with jagged scissor cuts, then yes, I am nailing it!

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Random ribbit...

Hey friend, can we talk for a minute? Get caught up on things?
You say it's still summertime and you are pretty busy? I get that. I'll just hang out here with my own personal watermelon (the thing was for sure a sharing size) waiting for things to slow down!

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Random reassurance?

Maybe if there was some sort of sign that things are going to be okay, the world wouldn't feel like such a crazy and scary place. How does that work though? I mean do we go out looking for signs, or sit quietly on the porch eating peanut m&m's to soothe ourselves while we wait? Hmm...maybe the trick is to just keep our eyes open and minds alert at all times so we don't miss anyth.......
OH SWEET CREEPY MONKEY!!! In real life!!! As in, I could have reached out to touch it, if I hadn't been so terrified. Jumping, singing AND on clearance (with a hefty price tag still, I must say). I know this was a sign, but have yet to determine the tone of the message. Seriously, don't look directly into his eyes.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Random rejects

Sometimes you just need a minute of peace. Just enough of a break in the day to take a few deep breaths...

Maybe this can be done while you wait to give your peg legged son a ride home from his friend's house...that is unless the calm is interrupted by a freaky feline pouncing on the hood of your car, scaring the bejeebers out of you. Peek-a-boo!
Maybe you can fill your lungs with a fresh breeze, you know, fling all of the windows open in the house and just close your eyes and inhale. You hear the words "there's a bird on the window" so very calmly uttered that you half expect to see one of Cinderella's sweet animated bluebirds looking to help with housework...that is until you wander over to take a photo of the spectacle and see that the bird is very real, very yellow, and wants in. Hello Goldfinch and slight hole you're working on!
Another gorgeous day without a speck of humidity in the air, and you may even forget the avian adventure from the day before. The tin foil on the front porch is holding its own, so what could there be to worry about. Cleansing breath in through the nose, out through the...what is that scratching sound? What. The. Hell. Hello greenish bird I am too lazy to look up in my bird book, or maybe I just don't really want to know who you are, because I don't think we need to be close first name basis friends.
Sure, the daily regiment of peanut m&m's helps maintain a balance for me, but sometimes it helps to have a more potent elixir on hand. I treated myself to one of the new core flavors from Ben and Jerry's. I was giddy, and salivating, with anticipation (deep breaths) as I saw my daughter open her carton of brownie core to reveal such a core-riffic splendor. Then I opened mine...
...um, hello? Where was my caramel core? Where was my moment of sanity? Are you freaking kidding me? I dug down a little bit to see if the salted caramel gooeyness was just shy...nope. Yes, of course I contacted Ben & Jerry's via their online comment link, letting them know I had been rattled to my core by a lack thereof. I considered opting for snail mail so I could include this sad photo, but the extra step of printing it might have put me right over the edge. (Hey, I wonder what would happen if you sent letters to companies you loved to praise them, or even let then know when issues were found?)

Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? How about an old standard?
As you can see, I did not lay out the big bucks for a full pint, as I was still feeling the scorn and longing for my missing salted caramel. I also thought an actual single serving size was a better idea than calling something much larger a single serving. Cute? Yes. Totally satisfying? Hmm...

Don't forget to breathe...in...and out!

Friday, July 15, 2016

Foz-zie-man Go!


Poke-who? You see a Bellsprout where? On my what? How do I get rid of it? This is ridiculous!