Your Kid Makes Fun of My Kid

It's been forever since I posted, but something has been on my mind, and, well, this is the place I decided to put it.

My oldest child will turn 12 later this week. I find this hard to believe because I'm pretty sure I just had him a few weeks ago. He is honestly a great kid: smart, funny, loving, genuine. He is also unlike any other 12 yr old I know.

My son has never been on a sleepover.

My son has been invited to one birthday party in the past 3 years.

My son has never gotten a social phone call.

My son hasn't been asked to go anywhere with a friend in over 2 years.

My son cannot tell me the last names of anyone in his class - or the first names of many.

If he forgets his homework, I have no one to call.

My son cries when he has to leave the house.

My son cries when he has to go to school.

My son got kicked in the genitals at school last week.

My son wants to have a birthday party, but I am afraid no one will come.

And, here's the part you may not believe.... Your son makes fun of my son.

I know you think your child is a good kid. I know you are raising him to be nice to others and understand that some people are different. That's all very good. But I know your son makes fun of mine, because I've seen him do it. It's subtle, but there. He whispers to other kids and points in his direction. He derides him for not knowing anything about sports or girls. He rolls his eyes at him and gives the other boys a nudge. He calls him a nerd - or worse.

I'm sure you taught your child not to stare at people in wheelchairs. I'm positive your child would never tease a child with Down Syndrome or limited vision, for example. But, because my child's disability is not so visible, it's like it doesn't count. It makes him fair game. He's just weird, nerdy, different. Actually, he's a kid with Asperger's. And, while it may be hard to see, it's very real. It will never go away, but it will get easier to deal with as he gets older, I hope.

But, you see, it shouldn't matter that he has an actual disability. Because he has the right, as does everyone else, to be as weird as he wants to without having your kid tease him. He should not be left alone because he has Asperger's, he should be left alone because he's just a kid. A goofy, prepubescent boy - not so much weirder than the rest of them. And, as parents, we need to remind our kids that laughing at someone, teasing them, excluding them - all of that diminishes them as people. It makes us less human. It makes life harder for everyone.

Last week, when he came home with a bruise on his groin after being kicked on the playground, he told me what happened. He had gotten in an argument with another kid. It started when my son sat on a bench near this boy - and the boy slid all the way down to the other end after making some kind of gagging sound. D asked him what his problem was and called the kid stupid. The kid had some choice words for D and ended up kicking him. I'm sure there was more to it, but none of it merited a kick that had him crying on the playground and unable to get on the bus home. As we talked about it, I told his little brother this: Bullying doesn't affect just the kid getting picked on. It affects a whole family. He saw the tears in my eyes. He heard his brother crying. He promised me that he would never do such a thing. He promised me that he would reach out to kids who seem lonely. I believe him. He gets it.

Please, don't misunderstand. I don't think your kid is a monster. I think he's just goofy and confused and trying to fit in, like most kids. He just needs to try to see things from the other side. He needs to know that picking on someone else will never make him feel better about himself. He needs YOU to teach him that. If laughing and pointing is ok, then kicking and punching aren't so far away.... Instead, wouldn't it be great to be the one that stood up for someone?

Like you, I did not give birth to an angel. I know this. Raising my son is frought with unique and complicated challenges, but I know I have it easy compared to some. My son will very likely grow into a smart and talented adult, but I have to help him get through middle school first. I just don't think it should be so hard.

And now to plan a birthday party and hope for the best....

I'm Talking, and I Can't Shut Up!

I talk a lot. I know this. And, if I didn't know already, enough people have told me that I should take the hint. The thing is, I just can't shut up.

Talking is a defense mechanism for me. I always talk the most in an uncomfortable situation. My goal is to make people laugh. Once that's accomplished, I feel so much better. If no one laughs, I just keep going. Sometimes, even when I'm doing it, in my head I think "STFU!" - but it just gets worse. And then, I just know that, when I leave, the people whose ears I just assaulted are talking amongst themselves about me! "That crazy woman who never shuts up."

I think there are a few reasons for this. I am the youngest of 4 kids, and we all fall into the stereotypical birth order thing. When I was little, I can remember sitting at the dinner table and feeling frustrated that no one was listening to me. They even used to play this "game," including my parents, where they interrupted me every time I tried to say something. Everyone else probably forgot about that. Not me. At my dinner table, all the kids get a turn, and they are NOT allowed to interrupt one another, even if their stories get a little nonsensical. That's how much I remember that "game."

The other reason I talk so much is that I have the world's loneliest job. My days are filled with toddler talk. As a social person by nature, it is amazing that I can spend the whole day without speaking to another grown up until my husband comes home. Most days, the only people I interact with are the grocery checker or, if I am very lucky, my 76 yr old next door neighbor. I tell everyone that the UPS man drops my packages and runs now because he doesn't have time for me. I have had long conversations with my cleaning lady as well as the man who cuts my grass. My husband is "treated" to a constant stream of chatter when he gets home, which thrills him, I'm sure. My best friend is much quieter than I am, which hopefully means she doesn't mind my ramblings too much.

My mother was also a talker. We were good for each other like that. I remember how hurt she was the time she overheard the receptionist at a doctor's office say, "That crazy lady is on the phone." She called me, close to tears, and asked me if people thought she really was a crazy lady. The feeling she had then is exactly how I feel now. In the past couple of weeks, I have had more than one person make some kind of comment about how I talk so much - the passive aggressive way of telling me to STFU, I'm guessing. Those comments always bother me and make me even more self-conscious. I really TRY not to talk so much. Honest.

I've been thinking about this a lot, lately. Why can't I shut up? So I decided that all this talking, blogging, Facebooking - maybe it's my way to keep from being invisible - keeping connected to the world when I rarely leave my house some weeks. Maybe it's my way of finally being heard at the dinner table.

So, bear with me. I promise not to bore you to tears if you promise to let me tell you a funny story now and then.....

Instant Karma's Gonna Get You.....

So, last night I was thinking that it was about time I got outside and got my fat middle aged butt some exercise. I get up fairly early anyway, so maybe I could take the dog for a walk before Toad leaves the house. It's not hot, so the threat of sweat is minimal. The neighborhood is safe, and there are lots of dog walkers out early.

Then I remembered that those dog walkers all carry around these little plastic bags. Sometimes, when I drive down the street, they give me the obligatory neighborhood wave with little baggie in hand - sort of a "dog poop salute" if you will. It seriously lessens the warm fuzzy feeling from the wave when it's done with a handful of dooky.

"I want to walk, but there is NO way I want to get that up close and personal with my dog's doings," I thought to myself. After all, these other walkers have little yippy dogs - probably much like cleaning a cat box. I have a Golden Retriever. That's more like mucking a horse stall - with a Wal-Mart bag..... I was pondering this quandry as I drifted off to sleep, wondering if my dog poop gag reflex was going to keep me from ever walking my beast.

And then, Karma. I was awakened by a bright light and a lumbering man exclaiming, "Well, THAT'S not good." Thankfully the man was Toad, who was up at 4 am to get ready for work. However, what he saw was my undoing. Dog poop. Everywhere. On the carpet. In my bedroom. At 4 freaking a.m.

I cursed loudly and repeatedly. Then I got out my Wal-Mart bag and got to work, one breath away from losing whatever was left of dinner.... Toad says of the dog, "Do you think he's sick?" "Yes," I say. "And I hope it's fatal." Cruel, I know, but it was a LOT of dog dooky. I decided I was done just in time to start waking the hellions up for school. Yippee.....

So, now the carpet needs to be cleaned; the dog should probably go to the vet; and I know I need a full sized garbage bag if I ever want to do my own neighborhood "Dog Poop Salute."

Ain't Karma a bitch?

So Much More Than Just a Game

It's game day here in New Orleans. I realize that it's game day other places, too. I don't care about them. Our game days are special - especially this year. We are the home of the New Orleans Saints, perhaps the most maligned team in the entire NFL. And, today, we are undefeated, an indication that hell may very well be freezing over.

I was never a huge sports fan growing up. My dad could watch football anytime, anywhere. Sometimes I'd even catch him watching high school football when he couldn't find anything else. In my opinion, many a Thanksgiving was ruined by the blaring of some stupid game in the background. But the Saints were different.

Here in NOLA, we don't care about your hockey team, or your baseball team. We don't care who wins the World Series, and we don't really care about those guys who drive around in circles for hours on end. We care about basketball a bit more than we used to. That's been a sore spot ever since the Jazz ran off to Utah under cover of night all those years ago. Really, the Utah Jazz? There's a phrase that never has made much sense. But then the Hornets came to town and Chris Paul and David West and we thought we might could love us some basketball. This year, however, the Hornets may as well be playing in Timbuktu, because it's all about the Black and Gold.

The Saints started out playing in Tulane Stadium, and I remember going to those games with my Daddy. I must have been about 5 or 6 - small enough to ride in on his shoulders. I'd sit on the wooden bleachers and watch him have a few beers with his friends, trying to figure out when to cheer. I remember watching the Superdome being built - it was the biggest thing I'd ever seen at the time. I remember going there to see the Saints play for the first time. In high school my family had Saints season tickets and Tulane tickets. That meant we went to the Dome twice each weekend. We watched Tulane lose on Saturday, and then watched the Saints lose on Sunday. Those were the days of the people with bags over their heads, the 'Aints. Traitors, every last one of them!

But, you see, in New Orleans, we are a stubborn people. We are used to being a bit disappointed and still managing to smile. Katrina came. The levees broke. The Superdome became a symbol of something awful and tragic. Our Saints had to play in Baton Rouge and San Antonio. The players themselves had lost so much, and yet they still played - and lost. And, at the same time, people around the country had the audacity to suggest we were whiners because our city had been virtually washed away. Some even said we shouldn't rebuild at all - as though ours was a place that should just be shuffled off to anywhere else....

And then, something amazing happened. While we all worked on putting our lives back together, the Dome was being put back together again. And so was our team. And when that day came, when we all watched the Saints, the new and improved Saints, come into that Dome and kick Atlanta's butt - there wasn't a dry eye in town. It was about so much more than football.

We have a winning team. A group of overpaid men in tights who get the crud knocked out of them every weekend, and keep coming back for more. Players who make the news for good reasons, who believe in this town and actually do the right thing. They are fighters - just like the people who cheer them on every weekend. Many thought they were done - too wounded or washed up, not good enough. And many thought the same about this town. And they were wrong on both counts.

We have invested in this team - all of our heart and soul. We have been trying to show the rest of you that we are for real. We deserve respect. We are strong and resilient. We are proud to be from here. It is who we are. New Orleans is as much a part of us as we are a part of it. It means so much to this city - with its corrupt politicians, buffoon of a mayor, abandoned houses and pothole-filled streets - to have something we are proud of. Laugh at us for living below sea level, for getting nervous every time it rains, for being dependent on levees to keep us dry, for our ridiculous crime rate. But, if only for this season, respect us for our team and for all of us who have always BELIEVED.

It is, indeed, so much more than just a game.

Where the Hell Have You Been, Young Lady?

OK, I'm giving it another shot. I like my blog. It's fun to write, and I hope it's fun to read. But, you'll have to pardon me when I don't check in for long periods of time. I can't let blogging interfere with my Facebooking, and, well, I'm supposed to be parenting, too. I'm sure there was something else I needed to do tonight, but Farmville made me forget it.

Anyway, not much has changed lately. I made it through the whole summer with the family intact, which at times did not seem such a certainty. Big D is surviving 4th grade gifted in NEW school even though I'm pretty sure he has never turned in a single assignment that my hands haven't touched at some point. Dubya actually won an award for exceptional behavior, but I didn't quite believe him until I saw it published in the paper with his picture and his name spelled right. His teacher also insisted that he get tested for gifted classes, which makes me wonder where his hidden twin hides when they get home. And, P3 is just, well, she's 2. She talks more, but I am still the only one who understands her most of the time. She's learning how to use the potty just well enough that I put her in big girl panties. Of course, she then promptly pees on the floor. I love potty training.

So, anyway, I'll try and write more often if you promise to read and leave me a comment now and then. I'd like to think my husband isn't the only one reading this - because, if that's the case, I can just walk in the other room and tell him everything. It would be faster, and he'd probably pay just as much attention either way!

Happy thoughts!

Big D's 7 Things.....

It is actually not really fair to give him 7 things. While there are a TON of things about him that drive me crazy, he is also REALLY sensitive and won't see the humor in this one bit if he reads it - which he will - because he's nosy.

Well, there are the first two:

You're too sensitive.

You're REALLY nosy.

Actually, to get a list of the 7 Things That Annoy Me About Big D, follow these instructions.

Go to Wikipedia - look up Asperger's Syndrome - read the symptoms - there's my list.

Big D has a very slight touch of Asperger's, which makes me feel a huge amount of sympathy for the moms of kids with full blown Asperger's. In D's case, AS means he takes everything literally, likes to monologue on his favorite subjects at great length, is currently obsessed with Guitar Hero, is a little uncoordinated, WILL NOT be interrupted, refuses to eat a huge variety of foods because of their texture, talks like a 30 year old, has the handwriting of a kindergartner, has trouble reading social cues and basically wears a sign on his forehead that says "make fun of me" to all the "friendly" kids at school.

On the plus side - he reads constantly - and almost 5 grades above level, is oblivious to the fact that he's a little quirky, is wicked smart, fun to be around, can actually talk to me about a variety of subjects many adults have a hard time with, has a beautiful singing voice, is full of love for his family, and could very well change the world one day.

He is terrible at baseball, but loves to play. This makes it interesting. Like when an over eager dad said, "Does he need some extra practice in the oufield? I don't think he's ever played before." I am pretty sure he didn't expect me to say matter of factly, "Oh no, he's played before - he's just not very good." And, as long as he doesn't care if the kid on the ballfield called him a retard, I'll try not to care either (although I do reserve the right to trip the next kid who does.) In D's literal world, trying to make him feel stupid is so ridiculous, it's not even insulting. As in, "Well, Mom, I'll just tell him that since I am in gifted classes and test 2 standard deviations above the norm, there is certainly no way I am a retard." Yeah, babe, that oughta shut him right up. And let's not even get into the discussion I had to have about use of the word retard at all. I just love elementary school!

He is innocence and wisdom rolled into one. He is undefinable. He is shy one moment and confident the next. He is well-known at school for reasons both good and bad. He is at times my greatest joy and my most difficult puzzle.

So, that's my D in a nutshell. My oldest child, full of heart and love and quirks. And, while he does, indeed, make me crazy sometimes, I confess I wouldn't have him any other way.

And I promise not to let him read this until he's older.

The 7 Things I Hate About You..... Dubya's Turn

So, in the interest of fairness, I now present Dubya's version of the 7 things.... quirks, habits, annoyances, idiosyncrasies....

1. You change your clothes more often than Kate Moss during Fashion Week. It's not the fashion, so much. It's an itchy tag here, a sleeve too long there.... You make me need to buy stock in Tide.
2. You were born in 2003, which means you began to talk sometime in 2004. That's at least 5 years of hearing your voice - non-stop. You absolutely never stop talking. There should be a Guinness World Book entry for this, but I don't think there is.
3. All that talking? It's done at a decibel level that could rival a Metallica concert. When you try, you can break glass with that voice. When you're not trying, you're still loud. One day you will understand why I spend so much time playing the "Whisper Game."
4. You rarely spend an entire night in your own bed, which is probably the only reason you and your brother have managed to share a room this long. You always crawl in with Dad and me. And then you shove your icicle feet under various parts of me to warm them up. Talk about a rude awakening!
5. The icy feet belie the real you. Sleeping next to you is like sleeping under a moving electric blanket. Lately, I've been waking up in a sweat. I thought it was early menopause, but then I realized you were next to me each time. Of course, it might help if you did not wrap yourself around me in a full body nocturnal hug.
   
6. I am not allowed to throw anything away, especially anything your hands have touched. You actually dig through the trash to make sure no masterpiece has slipped through. My fridge is often covered with crumpled up Dubya artwork that you have rescued after it "accidentally" got in the trash. By the same token, I can only throw broken or old toys away when you are not home. The sound of clanking plastic alerts you to a possible infraction on my part. You are positively apoplectic at the thought of our impending garage sale.
7. And, lastly, you love to sing, but I am pretty sure you are tone deaf. You also love to dance, but I'm pretty sure you have your father's sense of rhythm, which means none at all. This is not particularly annoying, except when you try to play the drums on Guitar Hero. I am always reaching over with my hand and hitting a drum to the beat so that y'all don't get booed off the stage. I mean, I'm sure you're mine, but this trait definitely did not come from my side of the family.

Phew! I feel better. You are my crazy, funny child. My biggest challenge in many ways, and my sweetest reward. You have an incredible future ahead of you, Sweet Boy - but it's definitely not on American Idol! Love you, Mom

The 7 Things I Hate About You.....

Look, having kids is an adventure. You really never know what to expect every day. You have one kid, and you think you know what the hell you're doing after a while. Then, perhaps, you add to the chaos by having more. It is at this point you realize you have no earthly idea how to parent. I mean, who knew they'd all have personalities and differences and preferences and be, ya know, INDIVIDUALS? I mean, give a mom a break! I can't remember how I like my own latte at Starbucks, much less which kid likes Wendy's chicken nuggets, but not their fries, or that one kid likes his clothes a little on the small side and another wants to swim in his.....

So, sometimes, they annoy me. The quirks and quibbles. The things I call "idiosyncrasies" when I am being generous. It's easy to make list after list of things I love about them, but today - after 10 days of Spring Break which, for me, included NOT ONE SECOND ALONE, I give you....

The 7 Things I Hate (or strongly dislike) About You - the P3 version

1. For whatever reason, you refuse to remain clothed, especially when company is over. Please tell me this is not a harbinger of your future profession.
2. You tell me at least 20 times a day that you have pooped when you haven't. And it's usually in your emergency voice - the one you would use if napalm were burning your butt. Of course, there's rarely anything there.
3. You like to pull your brothers' hair - a lot. And, rather than just pull, you grip their hair in your fat little hand and hold on like a pit bull on a shih tzu - all the while grinning like something out of The Omen.
4. When you are finished with anything in your reach, you throw it - HARD. Sippy cup, bowl of spaghetti, spoon, cell phone, remote control. Once this week you just barely missed a poor old lady at Chili's with your spoon....
5. You have the same unintelligible word for like four different things. Deciphering what you want at any given time can leave us both like quivering, whimpering pools of frustration.
6. You like to sing yourself lullabies while we rock to sleep. However, you do this at the top of your lungs, thus eliminating any calming factor it might have. LA, LA, LAAAAH!! LA, LA, LAAAH!!! If I close my eyes, I see you at a long table, holding your beer stein high while swaying back and forth with a couple of old guys in Lederhosen....
7. And, lastly.... Your favorite phrase.... "AHHH DOOOO!" This means you want to do it yourself - no matter what. And, while I recognize that this is a normal and essential developmental stage, you simply cannot drive yourself to the grocery to get your own juice. Having a meltdown about it will not change that. It's the law!

I love you, Little Bit. Everything. Always!
Mommy

Lies Your Mother Told You.....

OK, OK. First off, I am very sorry to the three people who read me on a regular basis. I have not posted for a long time for a whole bunch of reasons -none of them serious and none of them particularly good. However, I am back, for better or worse.

And, so, here am with some more of my random thoughts.....

As regular readers may know, my mom and I were very close. She was not perfect by any means, but she was a good mother. Only now am I able to understand her better as I try to raise these kids of mine!

Before she died, I was aware of some of the lies she told me, but now I know even more. These were all lies that were "for my own good," but I share them with you here to save you the trouble of figuring them out yourself! Some are big, some just little white lies, but I think we deserve to know the truth:

• If you swallow gum, it will not form a ball in your stomach and stay there for seven years. Ditto fingernails.
• If you marry an ugly man, he is not necessarily nicer to you because "he is more grateful."
• You are not necessarily beautiful to others because your mother says so. You are probably beautiful to her, but I am not guaranteeing it.
• You were not a perfect baby.
• If you cross your eyes, they will not stick that way.
• Your mother loves you all the time, but there are many times she didn't like you much.
• She always wished your father would be more involved with you.
• No matter what she said, there were times she questioned whether motherhood was the right choice for her.
• It does NOT get dark at night so that all the flowers and trees can sleep, too.
• There are not 365 good ways to use ground beef, no matter how broke you are.
• She did not want the burnt piece of toast every time.
• And, here's the biggie.... she did not love all of you the same, and she did have a favorite. The thing is, the favorite changes constantly and the amount of love is the same, she just loves you all for the different ways you are. Well, unless you're a real jerk of a kid, in which case all bets are off.
  

And, for the record, Big D is usually my favorite to hang out with, but lately Dubya has been a whole heap of fun. I love all of my kids, but each one in a completely different way. And every day there's a different favorite, and I just hope it all evens out in the long run.

Happy Birthday, Toad!

I know you think you are getting old, but we all disagree. Smile and be happy today! I love you. Your kids love you. Life is so good in our 40s. Who could ask for more?

Hope your day is fabulous.

Love,
K

Why My Job is Harder than Yours.....

OK, I know all about the whole "working mother" vs "stay at home mother" controversy. I have been on both sides of this argument, and I am taking a stand. I officially announce that, for me, staying at home is a lot harder. I know I may get some people annoyed, but, as I said, I have seen both sides of this coin.

Let's take, for example, your boss. I have had some really crappy bosses, including the one who was functionally illiterate and asked me to write all of her correspondence so no one would know about her poor skills. She also made comments about how great it was to walk around with all of her male managers because they were so good looking. There was the one who told me that, even though we didn't get paid but minimum wage, working for such a great company was its own reward (doesn't pay the rent, sister). Then there was the one I worked like a dog for during a whole pregnancy, including a whole heap of really physical stuff, only to get FIRED three weeks into my maternity leave for reasons I still don't fully understand - nor really care about, actually. But, really, who in the hell fires someone on maternity leave?!

So, suffice it to say, I have worked for some serious losers - none of whom read this blog (so it's not any of YOU!). As bad as they were, they weren't as tough as my current bosses, my children. And here's why:

• Your boss has never hit you. Yesterday, I was hit with shoes, little fists, a plastic baseball bat, and a plastic bowl. I was also kicked in the nose.
• Your boss does not sleep in your bed. I cannot remember the last time I did not wake up to find a kid in between Toad and me.
• Your boss makes their own meals and snacks. I am the sole provider of all food related items to a household of 5 people and 3 animals. They would all starve if not for me, except perhaps my husband who can indeed microwave a hot dog.
• Your boss gives you a set work schedule with federally mandated days off. I know you may work long hours as my husband does, but there are days when you don't have to go. And generally speaking, there are stretches of time when you are "off." This does not happen to me. My job starts when the first kid is up, usually by 6 or 6:30 am, and it ends, well, I'm not sure when it ends. Usually I am caring for a child for about 15 hours straight. It's not always the same child, mind you, but still. If the baby takes a nap, I get about a 30 minute break. When they are all asleep, I do household stuff for an hour or two. There are no days off, no weekends off, and my bosses come with us on vacation.
• No matter how mean your boss is, you can call in sick. If I am hospitalized, perhaps, my husband may be able to take the day off. We do not use this option for colds, flus, etc.
• Your boss lets you get a lunch break. If you are really lucky, you get to do this away from your office and with other people. I usually eat lunch around 2:00 or when my hands start shaking, whichever comes first. It is never in a restaurant and must always be shared with one of my bosses. I remember my working lunches and what a relief it was just to get away for a little while!
• You may have to figuratively kiss your boss's butt every now and then, but I know for a fact you don't actually have to wipe it. 'Nuff said about that.

When I was working, my kids were in daycare. It was hard, and I really missed them. However, I had conversations with adults, had a little down time every day and filled our time together with as much fun as I could. In the meantime, at daycare, they were potty trained, weaned from a bottle, learned stuff, and got really tired! I remember the stress of trying to do it all while working. But, now, the stress is even worse. I'm not sure why, really. All I know is, this is definitely the hardest job I've ever had.

That said, although my bosses are all really demanding, they all kissed me goodnight last night and told me they love me. And, this week, I got my very first unsolicited kiss and hug from P3. In the end, the pay may stink, but the rewards are still pretty good. I am glad I am able to be here for them, day in and day out. I am proud of the little people they are becoming and know I am a huge part of it. But, if you see me walking around town looking a little frazzled, why not invite me out to lunch?!

Story of My Life.....

No additional comment necessary....

Happy Talk, Keep Talkin' Happy Talk.....

That's a line from South Pacific, in case you were wondering. If you are not familiar with the movie/musical South Pacific, then stop reading now, go over to Netflix and put it in your queue, and then come back.

OK. Done? Let's move on.

I know my last post was a big old downer, and I apologize for being so depressing, but I sure feel better having written it. Of course, if you are expecting Pollyana, you have so clicked in the wrong spot. I can't help you there. But, I must share that we are now approaching my favorite time of year.

I love New Year's because it's such a cathartic thing, full of hope and excitement, kind of a tabula rasa, if you will. (Told you I was smart...) I love turning the page on the calendar to January and planning out things for Mardi Gras leading into Spring. I love that my calendar must always be a real paper one that I can write on with just the right pen. No one else is allowed to mess up my calendar.

Our first event this year will be Toad's 40th birthday, an occasion he is loathe to celebrate. As I mentioned before, he thinks he'll be old at 40, which doesn't help me feel better about turning 44 in February. After our birthdays, comes Mardi Gras, for which we may have visitors this year, which should be great. I love to show off my hometown, warts and all, to first timers. And, then comes March!

I may have neglected to mention this, but all three of our children have March birthdays. I have no idea how this happened really, but all three were born at least two weeks early, and all landed in March. I just know I have never had the misfortune of being pregnant in the Deep South in the summer, and for that I am grateful. Anyway, I am excited about planning some kind of birthday party or parties for them. Because the weather is usually great at that time of year, we have a lot of options. My kids are just lucky to have me, I swear. They better pick a really nice nursing home in my old age....

And, as for resolutions, I have made a few, but I like to keep it simple.

• I will strive to lead a healthier lifestyle.
• To that end, I will let go of my stress. I am going to learn to breathe again....
• And, with that, will come the ability to enjoy my children more rather than get all riled up about the messes they make - and the noise.
• And, I will organize one annoying closet or space in the house each month. And finally get all the Katrina crap out of the garage because it still smells like mold.

And, so, I wish you all a very Happy New Year! Stick with me, it's going to be fun!

If It's Tuesday, I Used to Be.....

an optimist.

It really pains me just to write that, because it's just not true anymore. I've done a lot of reflecting in the past couple of days because I joined Facebook. And while it may be the most addicitve thing on the internets EVER, it has allowed me to reconnect with a whole slew of long lost friends from my happier and carefree days in Orlando working at Disney World. Each one asks me what I've been up to, and it's just so hard to explain in a short little response how different life is now.

I was young(er), totally free of most responsibility and full of laughter almost every day. Each obstacle seemed a breeze to overcome. My mantra was always, "It'll all work out." Such feelings can be so fleeting, however. The worst thing that happened to me in those years was a truly disastrous marriage, but it was thankfully short lived and I recovered with the help of all of those friends around me, who were really like a huge family. In fact, I rarely even think about it. If not for the really nice photos, I might even convince myself it was a dream - or nightmare.

After my time at Disney, I married Toad and we kept moving closer to New Orleans to be near my family. We eventually landed in Jackson, Mississippi, where our first child was born. My mom and dad were there to welcome him. All was still right with the world. And then, the tables began to spin rather than turn. Oh, I was still an optimist, but reality began to seep in. My mother - my rock - was diagnosed with cancer. Our daily phone conversations got longer and sadder. I will never forget sitting in my cubicle at work with my crying mother apologizing to me for being sick. I promised her that everything would be ok, because I refused to believe anything else. And, actually, my mother beat cancer. She had surgery and a lung was removed - and her cancer was isolated to that one spot. She needed no chemo and no radiation. It seemed like a miracle - a new lease on life. I got pregnant again, and she was thrilled, although she was really hoping for a girl this time!

However, she was having lots of trouble with atrial fibrillation and the medicine she was taking made her miserable. And miserable to be around. The stress on my dad and siblings was awful. She could no longer drive. Her personality had completely changed at times. But she was still my best friend. I invited Mom, Dad, my sister and nephew to my house for Thanksgiving. I thought it would be easier for her than trying to do it at hers. My brothers also welcomed the chance to not have to go to two dinners. Mom and Dad stayed at a hotel near my house and came over every day. I could tell mom didn't feel good, but Dad said she was often that way. Actually, my mother was dying. By that Saturday she was in the hospital. By Sunday, she was no longer responsive to us. She died that Tuesday. She had sepsis, probably from a urinary tract infection. I was 6 months pregnant. I sat at her side and begged her to come back to me - to wake up and tell me what I should name the baby - to not leave me. And, then I just sang to her. I sang "Be Not Afraid" because I knew she was. And so was I. The last lucid thing she said to me was, "Gee, I hope I get to see the baby." "Of course you'll see him. Don't be silly," I said. I was, after all, an optimist.

My mother's death impacted me in ways I never imagined, and it was months before I could wake up in the morning without my first thought being, "Mom died." And, you can be as optimistic as you like, but when someone is dead, they stay that way no matter how hard you wish or pray it isn't so. Mom's death was also the first in a series of tragedies in our lives that have changed us in ways both good and bad.

My dad did not deal well with my mother's passing. They had been married for 50 years, after all. He began to drink too much and sleep too much. And then, he said he was going to marry her best friend. No, no, I'm going to marry this other person instead. He was so lost, and I was so angry that he wasn't grieving like I thought he should. It took a while, but we made some peace. We decided Toad and the boys and I should move down closer to him. We found a great little house right near Mom and Dad's, quit our jobs and planned to move. We closed on the house on February 11th, 2005. My dad was there because he lent me the downpayment as we hadn't sold the other one. It was a new beginning and he couldn't wait to spend more time with the boys.

The next time I saw my dad was a week later. He had suffered respiratory failure while visiting his fiancee in Lafayette. He was in a coma with brain damage. My brother removed his respirator as we all waited outside. When we came back in, my sister quietly sang Amazing Grace as he drifted off to sleep. And all of a sudden we were all orphans. It was a shock and frankly surreal. A funeral in the same church, with the same priest, and the same mourners, a burial in the same place - just all two years later. I am pretty sure the last full mass I attended was my father's funeral. I felt like God had some explaining to do.

Life went on, albeit in a haze. We moved into Mom and Dad's house for a couple of months to help clear it out while our little house was fixed up and a fence built around it for Daddy's dog. I loved our little house and couldn't wait to move in. The irony never left me, though. Here I was, finally home - and they weren't here. Finally, in May of 2005 we moved in. I was thrilled with my little raised Acadian with the enormous bedrooms and tiny kitchen. The boys loved playing hide and seek because there were so many closets! And, ever the optimist, I thought maybe everything was going to be ok.

When we first heard about Katrina, it was all the way in south Florida. My Ohio born husband was getting worried, and I told him - say it with me now - everything is going to be ok. Well, when the monster enveloped the entire Gulf, we caravaned with my sister to North Louisiana. After all was said and done, Toad found 5 trees on and in the house and the whole thing flooded from a busted pipe in the upstairs bathroom. We never spent another night in that house. We stayed evacuated in Jackson for months until we figured out what to do. Big D started his second kindergarten. I frequently pulled over in random parking lots to cry hysterically. The stress was incredible. My hands shook all the time. A therapist told me I had post traumatic stress disorder. I believed her. Not just my house, but my brother's, and my entire hometown had basically been destroyed. Every couple of days, I would look at Toad, pleading, "Honey, please tell me everything is going to be ok." "It will work out," he'd say.

I cannot describe what it's like to have no idea where you and your family are going to live in a month. To tell your kids they can't have Halloween decorations because "I'm sure we'll be home by Halloween." To not buy Christmas presents because you don't know where you'll be having Christmas. After about 5 months, we bought a second house in Mandeville, Louisiana and moved in 3 years ago tomorrow. I told Toad we would not ring in the new year as evacuees, and we didn't. We eventually hired someone to fix the other house. It took two years and over $100K. We paid two house notes all that time. I sold it 2 weeks after it was listed. I have never seen it again.

In the big scheme of things, I suppose it all worked out. But, my oldest child went to 3 kindergartens and still gets nervous when it rains. He came away with some serious emotional issues that we still deal with today. As in, "Mom, why does everyone I love have to die?" Of course, his other grandfather died this year, and I just waited for him to lose it. He did ok. And, when we evacuated for Gustav, Dubya asked if we would be moving to a new house when we got back.

So, you ask, Kelly, what have you been up to all these years? Well, I have been in the depths of a great grief and come back again. I have fought and clawed myself out of a hole so deep, I was afraid for myself and my family. I have lost a lot of innocence. I have updated homeowner's insurance. I worry much more than before. I often find myself waiting for another shoe to drop for no reason. When I get mail I don't recognize, my stomach drops in anticipation of bad news. When my sister tries 3 or 4 times to call me, I panic until I reach her because I think something's wrong. I am able to miss my parents and love their memory without tears. I have made a stable home for my now 3 children. I know my husband will stand by me through anything. I am no longer an optimist - maybe a realist? I am better - but, you know, for whatever reason, I still can't drive by that damned house?

If You'd Like to Make a Call, Please Hang Up and Try Again....

We used to have a regular old house phone with three extensions. None of these was in a particularly convenient place, so they traveled a lot. I mean, if I am on the phone, I am generally not stationary, so the one next to my bed will probably end up in the living room, or, I confess, the bathroom. I promise I try really hard not to talk to anyone in the bathroom, but at times it can't be helped. Eventually, they would all make it back to their little cradles at night to sleep and recharge their batteries.

And then they began to disappear. P3 has always loved to play with the phone. Thankfully, I have some very patient friends who are not completely annoyed by the sound of a blabbering baby coming from the phone. She played with my cell phone so much, she finally broke it. It did not survive the afternoon swim in the dog's water bowl, which was ok because I wanted a new one anyway.

One day, I realized I was down to one phone in the house. I just could never find one! Finally, I enlisted the help of the boys - yeah, right. They went on a re-con mission to find the other ones. Big D says nonchalantly, "I think there's one in our bathroom." "Well, go get it, honey." He brings it to me and says, "Baby J dropped it in the toilet one time when she followed me in there, but I got it out." "Well, honey, did you try to get the water out of it?" "....Uh, no. Was I supposed to?" And there went phone #1. Phone #2 was the office phone, and it's been MIA for so long, we gave up. And, phone #3, the last of its kind, lost its antennae in an unprovoked random act of baby violence.

I decided that today was the last day I was going to run from room to room trying to answer the phone, only to get totally pissed when I found out it was the Fraternal Order of Police asking for money. I am not allowed to buy things with cords on them, so Toad and the whole crew had to go out in search of a new house phone. He chose one - with 3 extensions. And, now all I have to do is have him build some super high shelves to keep the baby from calling Singapore again!

I mean, truly, people without children don't realize how hard kids can make the simplest things - like answering a freaking phone! This is not supposed to be difficult!

There - I feel better now.

And the Winners Are.....

Well, despite all of my efforts, not every gift is always a home run. Some early favorites have emerged, however:

Toad seems to like both of his - the cool Sony iPod deck with the sub woofer. I knew he would like this because I already have one at home, and he picked it out himself. He also liked his Magic Bullet, and I look forward to "drinking his milkshake" soon.

Big D must be the only kid I know who gets books on Christmas and stops opening presents so he can sit down in the middle of the floor and start reading. He got the first 3 books in the Redwall series. He also loves all of his Playmobil Romans.



Dubya is super easy to please. He loves everything, but especially his Bendaroos. Since he had a "Very Lego Christmas," he's spent a lot of time building. He does a damn good job at this, considering he's only 5. He built the whole Lego Service Station basically on his own.

And, P3 loves everything. Right now she's cracking up at her Little People Theme Park. But she's also spent a lot of time pushing a dolly in a stroller and trying to ride her new trike. The My First Dollhouse has also been a big hit. The boys play with it, too, but don't tell anybody....

My sister in law called me yesterday to tell me that she was cleaning her wedding ring in the cleaner I gave her. She was a little dismayed at the color of the water, though, and decided that her ring was a lot dirtier than she thought. I may pick up one of these for myself - or maybe my sister can give hers back to me, since she already had one!
And, as for me, so far I've only tried out my new perfume, Ralph Lauren Notorious, which smells lovely - and Toad picked it out all by himself, which makes it so much better. He also got me my big huge Kitchen Aid mixer, which I haven't opened yet because I need to find the counter space. We have now almost replaced all of our kitchen appliances lost in Katrina - except for the electric carving knife we never used much anyway.

Well, I Survived....

But I'm not really sure how. It must be another Christmas miracle. I am so tired I can hardly see straight. Princess Poopie Pants is playing with a new doll house. Big D is playing Boom Blox on the Wii. And Dubya is busy building a Lego Service Station and raiding the kitchen for leftover cake.

Toad is at work listening to his new iPod speakers.

Must have been fun.

And, I am SO glad it's over. Now we can move on to prepping for my real favorite time of year, Mardi Gras and SPRING!

Is it too early to take down the tree? .....Just asking.

If It's Tuesday, I Used to Be.....

A traveller.

There are those times when filling out some survey or something when you come across the blank for "Interests" or "Hobbies." In my past life, this was easy to fill out, and "travel" was always one of them.

In college, I majored in European Culture and Language, which was my excuse to study all the things that interested me and avoid high level math classes. It also meant I had a good reason to travel every summer. My destination of choice was always Europe, naturally.

My first trip to Europe was a high school graduation gift from my parents. I went with a bunch of other Catholic high school senior girls and a very experienced and proper teacher of ours. Even though it was one of those totally annoying bus tours, it was great for a young girl of 17. There were a lot of senior citizens on our tour, and they enjoyed having us around to add a little spark. The only thing I hated was the total lack of flexibility, but as a Catholic school girl, you're kind of used to that anyway.

I spent a couple of summers on summer programs in Austria, always with a whole lot of travel to other places mixed in. It seems for a while, I went to Europe almost every summer. I was a self-conscious over-protected young adult, but still managed to find my way through the capitals of Europe many times.

I once went to Europe with my mom and dad - just us three. I left with $20 in my pocket and came back with $100. My dad said he was taking me along as his translator, but I am pleased to say that I know it was because my parents just really enjoyed my company. We took advantage of a shared interest and had fun on a trip that means so much more now that they are gone. The last time I went to Europe, it was when I was working at Disney World. They sent a crew of us to Paris to help during the grand opening of what was then called EuroDisney. Nice work if you can get it, I say.

I have also been to Mexico and Victoria, British Columbia. I've been to lots of places in the U.S., but, oddly, never to New York or Chicago except to change planes. I've always wanted to go to Budapest, Prague and Berlin. There were trips planned for those cities, but they were cancelled for one reason or another.

Fast forward to today. It is not so easy to go anywhere with the little SaidSos. They require lots more planning than a backpack and a train pass. We have managed to make the necessary trips to Disney World. They have seen snow in the Smokies. They have visited their grandmother in Ohio. They have been to Tampa for their grandfather's memorial service, where we threw in some time at Busch Gardens.

Sadly, my passport has long expired. I miss those days, but not so much that I would change a thing. I often say that one of the advantages to having children later in life is that I had the opportunity to live a really full life before they came along and made me whole. Sometimes I dream of taking the whole family to Vienna for Christmas or Venice for Carnival and showing them some more of the world, and one day it will happen. I will share with them something that is such a part of what made Mom who she is. Until then, we keep our feet planted on the ground and our adventures not too far from the nearest bathroom.

P3 Meets the Big Guy......

She's met him once before as a baby. But here she was at my sister's Christmas party. She was surprisingly unafraid this time and kept crawling back in his lap and asking for hugs. This, of course, makes me think she will go off with any creep in a red suit at any old time. The look on her face has more to do with all of the other people than Santa. There were a lot of ooohhhhs and aaaawwwws when she was there. This is because I am the only person in my family crazy enough to have such young children, so they dote on them. Theirs are all way too cool for Santa.
Dubya joined in, too. But Big D was busy playing football in the backyard, and I think he missed him altogether.

A Sure Sign of Christmas......

Four out of five family members are sick. Yippee!

Never seems to fail. I picked up P3 from Mothers' Day Out on Wednesday, and they said that someone in the class had RSV. Then Dubya comes home from school Friday with a note saying someone in his class had head lice. Well, we have thus far escaped the parasites, but it seems we may have been tagged by the RSV.

Dubya and P3 have been coughing up various internal organs for a day or two, and Dubya has some fever. Of course, T and I catch everything because sick children feel the need to be in constant contact with one or both parents, thus facilitating a steady exchange of nasal secretions. And Dubya's inability to sleep in his own bed doesn't help.

Big D has one heck of an immune system because he almost never picks this stuff up. This is especially amazing to me considering that his diet consists mainly of peanut butter and jelly, yogurt, pancakes and Cocoa Puffs. Maybe I should try it. What on Earth are they fortifying that cereal with?! Actually, I'm pretty sure it's because he spent so much time in daycare when he was younger. He built a little fortress in those years that the germs just give up on. After all, Dubya is just a few feet away, and he's any easier target.

Anyway, let's hope they get better soon - and that I can keep being the family elf long enough to pull this holiday out of the commode at the last minute!