Oh, hey! Thanks for stopping by, let's see what I can offer you from the photos on my phone this week...
I found this telephone and sign to be such a funny thing, but am having a hard time putting into words exactly why. Of course, that is not going to stop me from trying! Friends at the one-day surgery center, back off, as this is a family matter...
It also may not be for you, so don't make things awkward. Was nobody answering the phone before the sign went up because permission had not been formally granted? Don't just look around at the corners of the room, not making eye contact, because you don't want to hog the thrill of picking up that funky fun phone. Remember though, to only answer it "if it rings". And what if THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE?!?!? And now I have the Wonder Pets theme song in my head!
I do not know what the hell happened to the sale price tagger in Target this past weekend causing him/her (seriously, do we have to debate which gender would leave this mess) to flee the scene, leaving it in such disarray...
"Can't. Take. Pressure. Too. Many. Signs." Maybe that employee should have grabbed a Snickers, from right there in the snack aisle, to tame the hunger issue?
Lower your expectations on this option though...
The Reese's Pieces Big Cup. Do you already see some slight disappointment in that photo? Yes, it was delicious, as far as a Reese's peanut butter cup goes, but I needed MORE! I had been hiding this package in my sock drawer for back to school time, and instead of an uplifting party in my mouth with mini Reese's pieces guests, I got shell fragments.
Speaking of snacks, please stop trying to make watermelons out to be a personal serving kind of thing.
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.
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!
...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!
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!
