Just an average day

The 13 year old featured in my entry today is about to turn 23 in a few months, this is a (now) happy memory from a decade ago. 
 
Why, why, WHY do my children have to be Olympic quality patience testers sometimes?

Let me begin by saying the removal of a beer by a 13 year old from the kitchenette we have in our master suite was only a point of light on the milky way that has been my whole darn day.
We've had a LONG day--starting with my being called in to rework a flip flapping report that my new manager decides, after 153 weeks of the OLD way of doing the report, that he wants it completely redone a new way. And done by 5 p.m. Sunday. Oh, and this lovely nugget of information was shared with me 30 minutes after I finished the weekly report FOR SOMEONE ELSE this last Friday.  Joy.

Okay, so I drive uptown, drop Jackson at the state chess tournament (whole other story for another day!), work for several hours, contact EVERY lead who hasn't signed and hasn't told me to jump in a lake to let them know about all the great things happening at IRW since I last spoke with them (I am LOVING this as a reason to contact them, BTW), realize I am BARELY going to make it to the appt I have with the new events coordinator at Michael's and have to light fires under Nick and Carter to get them out the door.

You may be asking yourself, 'She seems bright enough so WHY would she take a cranky teen (the pod people brought the original version back a few weeks ago!) and her husband with her? Because the plan I devised and CAREFULLY reviewed with them THREE times was for them to go sports equipment shopping (truly, I'd rather have a root canal done!), exchange my mixer for the new color, go to the batting cages and then come back to get me, go have a lovely bite to eat and come home and watch a movie and wait for the chess coach to bring Jackson home.  

That was the theory, here is the actuality.

Went to Michael's and had an EXCELLENT meeting--the woman was SO TOTALLY into every idea and class I was pitching to her. I had to look closely to make sure it was not my own mother in theatrical make-up! Truly, I think I could have said we were going to set fire to the store and this woman would have said "Glorious, just glorious. Shall we have marshmallows for the spectators?" She was just LOVING me and I was LOVING that!

My time with her ends and I tell her I'm going to start with new class projects right then and there. She, of course, is LOVING this idea! I pull whatever I want from the shelves (truly, I had to pinch myself!) and got to work. Two altered tins with handmade inserts later, thank you very much, I look up to see Nick in the doorway. "Is your meeting over? Why haven't you come out? We've been in the car forEVER."

I remind him that forever is not contained in the sum of 93 minutes, which is EXACTLY how long I've been in Michael's and ask how long they have actually been waiting and why, if they were done with everything, had they not come in to get me.  "Daddy came in and couldn't find you."  Okay, so I'm thinking a 35 year old man can't find me so he sends a 13 year old boy to do it instead? Honestly!  So I tell Nick I am going to need 10 minutes to clean up and then we can head out. "Fine. I'll go and tell him you are here. See you in the car."

Get out to car and Carter is pouting. Full on, lip showing, pouting.  I see the wrong color mixer in the car.  I realize Nick's clothing is clean and utterly sweat free. I ask why they haven't been to the batting cage or Williams Sonoma.  "We've been out here waiting for you for the past 93 minutes." WHAAAAAT!?  I inquire as to the change of plans and both of them look at me, utterly incredulous. Carter finally says "Well I didn't think you meant actually go and leave you here without a car. I didn't think you'd be very long."  Ah, yes, I will put in a call to the telepathy helpdesk immediately as my mind-reading powers are CLEARLY out of order today.  I mention that I was in the same classroom I am always in at Michael's and don't know why Carter couldn't find me. "Well, I didn't look in there. I looked in the store." Suspicious, I ask where he looked. The answer? "Well, you weren't in the first two aisles of the scrapping stuff, so I thought you went to Bed, Bath and Beyond to look at the clearance stuff. But you weren't there."  Clearly.

Okay--so I realize that now I get to go run all over creation on these additional errands. Fun, FUN, FUN!

So I take into consideration that a hungry, recently been waiting Carter is a grumbly Carter and that Nick should probably eat before practice at this point--so off to the Chinese restaurant we go. Enjoy dinner, come home, Carter has to attend to the dogs and decides he is too pooped to pop--but of course there is still popping to be done.  So back into the car with Nick, head to the batting cages, find that his gear from last year when he was merely 5'11" tall and only 190ish pounds is now MUCH too small for my 6'3" 258 lb. son.  And his 2 pc. catcher mask/helmet is now 'illegal' for anyone under 18 to use in sport and he has to go with the integrated hockey style. And his bat needs to be upgraded. And he needs a new catcher mitt. Chest pad is WOEFULLY too small. And he needs new pants. And he really should have an impact resistant batting glove.  And his Knee-Aids are shot.  The only thing that still works for him is his cup. The 10.00 item. Not the 200.00 mask. Not the 279.00 bat (and that IS the sale price). Not the 119.00 mitt. Not the 89.00 chest pad, not even the 35.00 batting glove. Nope--the 10.00 jockstrap still works fine and ding dang dandy.  

Big whoop. 

So we come home and Jackson is in tears because the worst possible thing has happened and he can barely get it out, he is sobbing so much.  Carter says he can't understand at that frequency...Jackson was so shrill he sounded like a hearing aid that had gone berserk!  Finally I learn the horrible news. He was beaten, BADLY, in the 3rd round. By a lower ranked player. And a girl. Who is only a 4th grader.  Truly, for a pride-filled and highly competitive 5th grade boy, it doesn't get any worse than this without having your pants pulled down in front of a large number of people who know you and are taking photos while pointing and laughing. Truly.
So I tell Carter that either I get to go up in my office and have some computer time or I am going to run away from home for a day and he says fine, he'll get the boys in bed.  

Not 5 minutes later there is a knock at my door. Nick wants to come in. He wants to relive the excitement of his purchases.  He tells me not to worry about his upcoming birthday.  I take this to mean that he is wanting his baseball gear as an early gift.  I say "Nicholas Alexander, you are my first born son. I am not going to simply count this equipment as your birthday gift! For heaven sake--you'll be getting a gift from Daddy and me."  He looks at me with such an incredulous face that I almost wonder if there is a meteor hurtling towards me, visible in the window behind me, ready to crash and burn in the next nano-second.  "Oh gee Mom, I would never think you'd not get me (note the plural) gifts.  I was thinking you could just not worry about mailing my invitations on Monday, I asked Daddy to do it."  Ah, yes. 

How silly of me, it is ALL about a 13 year old boy and NOT the hokey pokey, as I was lead to believe growing up.

So after I bid him goodnight he says he is thirsty, and could he get a Fruit2o out of the fridge Carter and I keep bedside, stocked with little treats.  I say sure, why not. And shut the door behind you when you leave.  I hear him fiddling in there and finally I get "You are out of what I wanted, I'll take a Newcastle out of your fridge. Is that okay?"

Now this is when nearly 14 years of parenting pays off. My antennae are about to visibly pop out of my head--this is a critical moment. It could be a tug of war that will subtract 5 years from a mother's life, or it can be a moment to make the kid go "HUH!?".  I choose the latter.
"Sure thing, just make sure that bottle makes it into the recycle bin." 

"Mom, are you not even listening to me. Newcastle is a BEEEEEER!"  Shocking, amazing, I've been buying a 6 pack a week for as long as I can recall and NOW I know it is beer. Thank you oh great one!

"Yes, Nick, I am clearly in the know that Newcastle is, indeed, beer.  If you really want one, go for it. I don't think you'll like it and once you open it you have to finish it, you can't be wasteful and Daddy won't want one this late, so it is up to you."

He pokes his head around the corner and I can JUUUUUUUUUUUST see him out of the corner of my eye. I will myself not to let him think I can see him.

"Mom, seriously, that would be the stupidest thing ever. You can't let me drink a BEER, it could stunt my growth! I don't even think I'd like it. Gee...you are no fun tonight." YIPPEEE! I wasn't going for the fun factor, I was going for the 'your Dad said he'd put you to bed and clearly thought simply saying go to bed equated getting you IN BED!'

So he put the beer back, takes a diet Pepsi and says "Goodnight Mom, if that really is who you are. I'll see you in the morning."

I was thinking that would be the last of him...I was wrong...not 5 minutes later he is back. "You really wouldn't have let me drink that would you?"
"No Nick, I really wouldn't, but you made the decision on your own to put it back, not really knowing WHAT I would do, huh?"
He smiled, came over to hug me and said "Hey, before I go, do you have 20 bucks on you?"
"GO!" and he left and I heard him laughing in the hall as he headed to his room and called out a sweet goodnight to the two other chromosonally challenged members of our household and shut his door.  

I wonder when he'll stop having that boyish laugh that makes me giggle every time I hear it. The laugh he's always had. His voice is beginning to change, and like my brothers, I know he'll develop a deep laugh to go with that soon to be deep voice--but I cherish that sweet little boy laugh he has so much...hearing it is like an amazing trip in the WayBack machine--I can actually see him in freeze frame flashes; 10 months, 2, 4 and 7 years in my mind's eye.  

I guess you never know when the last of something is, until it isn't any longer.

The days my boys were born

NOTE: Some writings I had done in earlier years, and shared on a smaller scale, have been requested to be posted on my blog. So I am going to do a bit of older posting, the time scale will seem off of some, so I want to be clear this is from many years ago.

 As I sit here and listen to the joyful noises that are filling my home as my son celebrates his 14th birthday with friends spilling out from every room downstairs I can't help but think back about the celebration that was quietly had in 1992.

I had gone to the hospital after laboring at home for a full night and day and expected to hear that I was nearing the finish line when I checked in around 3 a.m. on Tuesday March 31.  I walked in the ER, fully ready to deliver my baby by lunch, maybe even by breakfast, that same day. I had the swagger of a woman who comes from a long line of big babies being born without a c-section.  I felt untouchable by the scalpel…my biggest concern was would I have an episiotomy or not. The ultrasound tech had, on my due date 8 days prior, estimated a baby of about 9 lbs in size. A shrimp by the standards of my family and I was convinced that once I got to 10, a good hard sneeze would eject Nick from my womb and into the world.

When I got to the maternity floor I was taken to my L&D room by a nurse who was clearly looking forward to the end of her shift.  She handed me the standard issue items; gown, bag for my clothing and box filled with sheets of loofahs masquerading as tissues.  My room had a large bathroom adjacent to it with a whirlpool and commode. I actually wondered if my labor would be long enough to allow me a quick soak in the whirlpool. I adore a good soak in a tub and nothing relaxes me quite the same way.

The nurse showed us how to use the phone, operate the head/foot of the bed and call for assistance. She then said “Go ahead and remove all your clothing and slip into this gown. I’ll do an exam and see where ‘we’re’ at.”  Oh how nice, she’s going to labor along with me. It’s ‘we’. 

I glance around the room and ask “Where do I change?”  She blows out every bit of air from the depths of her lungs, rolls her eyes a tad and says “I’ll step out and give you a moment.”  As the excruciatingly slow closing door makes an arc behind her, I hear her call out “We’ve got some serious privacy issues in here.” I imagine her jerking her thumb towards my room and again rolling her eyes as though she had been solidly caught in the head during a Vegas prize fight.

Carefully I removed my clothing, folded them and placed them in the bag.  Put on the gown, wondered what sort of design contest gag had resulted in these being in every hospital throughout the US, and put the bag on the table beside the bed.  I climbed up and waited for the nurse to return to be checked. I was downright giddy, knowing that I was so close to delivering my baby boy. 
The nurse returned and after checking me said I was at 4.  Nearly ½ way, I couldn’t contain my happiness!  She told me to walk as much as possible and to be back every 45 minutes to be checked for progress. I was convinced that I’d be at 10 in no time!  I was checked by approximately 4.8 million people during my labor, some of who were misdirected dental professionals and felt exams should include a molar check, too.  At the beginning I insisted upon a full drape and no superfluous personnel in the room during the exams.  By hour 16 or so, if the Los Gatos High School Marching Band and Flag Team had come to watch, I’d have made sure they all had good seats.  My ‘privacy issues’ had gone out the window and high-tailed it to parts unknown.

At 3 a.m. on Wednesday April 1 I was at 4.  In 24 hours I hadn’t progressed at all! Pitocin drip, prostaglandin gel, being walked like a post-Derby Thoroughbred and denied anything more substantial than ginger ale for 24 hours.  I walked into the hospital saying I wasn’t going to use any drugs and certainly not a c-section.  That was on March 31^st.  

April 1^st, I was begging for drugs like a junkie on a street corner.  But I had to hit the magical half way point. I had to get to 5 cm.  It was hellacious. It was torture.  It was seemingly never ending.  Nurses came on shift, went off shift and returned to work and I was still there—no different than when they’d left.  Well, crabbier and desperately in need of a shower and deodorant, but no different progress-wise. 

When my doctor came in as the sun was rising on April 1^st I begged him for something—ANYTHING—to ease the pain. They gave me an injection of Demerol and it was awful. Didn’t help, just made me feel odd and out of sorts.  When Dr. Montgomery returned at noon I begged him to just give me my car keys and I’d cut the baby out. I was becoming delirious with pain, with lack of sleep and with utter hunger.  He decided that yes, a c-section was called for and I’d have the baby around 2.  The anesthesiologist was paged and I greeted him with a brilliant, high-wattage smile most often seen on the runway in Atlantic City while Bert Parks sings.  It took him 4 attempts to get the epidural seated just the way he wanted.  I recall him asking me if I could feel him touching my feet and legs…but then I fell into a blissful sleep.

When I awoke it was after 5 p.m.  I wondered if I’d had the baby. No—he was there, kicking away and doing the swirl he’d perfected months earlier.  Apparently the entire pregnant population of California was in line before me for ‘emergency’ sections. I had to wait.

Finally at 7:30 I was wheeled into the surgical suite and at 7:50 p.m. on Wednesday April 1, 1992 Nicholas Alexander came into this world with a head full of strawberry blonde hair, 22 inches in length and 10 lbs. of sweet baby.
They told me he was indeed a boy and that they’d bring him back to me when he was cleaned up and I was stitched up.  There is a photo of me holding him when he was about 30 minutes old.  My hair is an utter mess, my face is greasy and my nose looks wide and flattened.  I am holding him and looking down on his sleeping face.

I truly have never felt as beautiful in my life and when I see that picture I am overcome with an incredible feeling of partnership with God. I am holding a miracle in my arms.

Fast forward 3 years, 3 months and 10 days.

I am checking into the hospital in Charlotte to have my scheduled induction 17 days before my due date, and have my 2^nd child.  I have done everything I can to ensure a VBAC delivery and I am so ready to find out if Nicholas is going to have a brother or a sister.

That morning I got up and showered, ate a HUGE breakfast and put on my favorite maternity outfit, a pale celadon flax and linen jumper with an ivory silk shell and of course (and later thankfully!) maternity panties.

We walk through a series of doors and after going through one marked 411, the nurse hands me the same series of standard issue items I was given in 1992; a bag for my clothes, a gown to change into and a box of those exfoliating tissues.  I have been there, done that with the entire maternity scene. I feel like I can handle it. I reach down and grab the edge of my jumper, pull it over my head and bring the silk shell with it. Standing there as pregnant as can be with nothing but panties, bra and sandals on the nurse smiles and says “Hon, you can do that in your room. This is the hallway.”

Oh what a difference 3 years can make, huh?

All is not quiet in the night

NOTE: Some writings I had done in earlier years, and shared on a smaller scale, have been requested to be posted on my blog. So I am going to do a bit of older posting, the time scale will seem off of some, so I want to be clear the yesterday mentioned here was many yesterdays ago. 
 
If someone had asked me yesterday if my house is silent while we all slumber, I would have answered yes without batting an eye.  If that same question were posed today, I would have to say "NO!"

I awoke at 3:45 and found myself unable to get back to sleep. Truthfully I didn't work too hard at going back to sleep since I have to take an extended nap this afternoon in preparation for an overnight shift at work (those are SO hard for me!) this evening.  I got up to check on the boys and marveled, as I have since the day they were born, at the relaxed and worry-free beauty in their faces as they sleep.  Even my often truculent teen has the soft, sweet face of the infant I sang to in the middle of the night nearly 14 years ago.  Nick wasn't snoring, but had a soft trilling in his sleep breathing. I stand there in the doorway to his room and will myself not to go in and stroke his sleeping brow, I marvel at the depth of his sleep and how I used to creep noiselessly for fear of 'waking the baby' and now it takes a brass band to rouse him from his slumber.  Amazing what can happen in what seems to be no more time than the blink of an eye.

Across the hall in Jackson's room I found Bailey, our 90 lb. yellow lab, with his head on the pillow and snuggled under the covers with Jackson.  There is a boy and his dog combination that was divined in heaven and is being lived out on earth.   Bailey falls into an exceptionally deep sleep and has an adorable snore.  He was not even the slightest bit disturbed by my opening the door and the shaft of golden light that spilled in from the hall, directly onto him.  Jackson slept soundly as I stood there and watched him for a few moments.  Sleeping so peacefully and yet looking like a crime scene chalk outline artist would be stopping by any moment to record the odd position his body had fallen into.  Jackson goes and goes and goes and when he finally lays down at night, it almost appears as though he has been flung on the bed--not at all in the curled up, prepared to rest, purposeful position that I, Carter or Nick utilize. Jackson appears almost to be in motion, even in sleep.  Other than having one arm flung over his beloved and faithful Bailey, he appears to be utterly unaware of anything as he sleeps.  

Downstairs I go, avoiding that 4th step that tends to squeak and check on the animals. Our conure, Ziggy, sleeps on his back in a soft bird hut and he randomly chirps out, even in his sleep. The cockatiels remind me of Sesame Street's yellow feathered resident--a whiffling snore shared by the two of them, huddled together on the lowest perch.  The finches are in their little hut, and I can hear the rustle of their feathers as I stand beside their cage in silence...aware even of my breathing as I try to listen to the sounds of the house.  

Down the main hall I hear scritching and scratching--one of the bunnies is up and moving their bedding around. I find Mr. Bunny fast asleep, I have to look and be certain I see his belly rising and falling in the cadence of breathing to be sure he's not expired in the night-so still and so motionless in his cage.  Mrs. Bunny and her daughter, Butterscotch, who share a multi-story dwelling are pressed tightly together on the lowest level and are looking at me with large, glossy eyes, but also motionless.  The Goose's Sister is up and about, clearly getting a start on what is going to be a busy, busy day for this bunny.  She is moving her bed, food dish and toys all over her cage. She likes to redecorate more frequently than the others, but I had never realized she was up at night...I think we need to change her name to Martha!  And finally, McGregor Superior BunBun. He is a helicopter eared blue-eyed white that only has true lop ears when he is fast asleep--and he is curled into a loose ball, ears flopped completely down, in his grass mat bed and apparently in a dream where there is great activity, his front paws are moving, moving, moving--I hope it is a happy dream. 

Around the corner are Mackenzie Marie and Trixie Belle in their crates.  Not quite 20 lbs of Shih Tzu combined, the two of them are asleep, appearing to be tiny balls of knitting yarn atop dog beds.  Mackenzie, ever the playful, pops her head up and cocks it to the side as if to ask if it is time to go out. Deciding that my motionless response does not equate to it being truly morning yet, she shuts her eyes and returns to doggy dreamland.  Trixie never bats an eye as I watch, but continues to snore in the same rhythm and pitch that I would swear was my own mother if I closed my eyes!

Back down the hall I pass through the kitchen...I can hear the hum of the refrigerator and nearly jump out of my skin when a new load of ice dumps into the door dispenser--I had never heard that before even though it makes ice all the live long day, but in the night I am acutely aware.  The downstairs furnace clicks on and I can actually hear the flames as it fires up, I open the furnace room door and peek in.  I had never paid any attention to the dancing flames before, never realized they actually make a sound as they heat our home.  

After listening to the snuffles and whiffs off the downstairs, I crept back into my bedroom and found that Riley, our 96 lb. black lab, has gotten up off his giant round bed and instead has taken up residence on my side of the bed, snuggled up to Carter.  He looks at me as if to say "Oh please don't make me move, I am sooooo comfortable." and almost as though they are colluding, Carter moves his arm to cover Riley in a sleep hug.  I wonder if Carter realizes it is the dog he has drawn closer to, and not me.  A slight smile plays on Carter's face and he makes the little sounds I've learned to utterly tune out while sleeping, but am absolutely aware of as I stand and watch from the doorway.  

Heading into my office to turn on the laptop and check emails and such I am aware of the sounds on the street--the crunching sound of the tires from the paper delivery person as he rounds the cul-de-sac and the quiet 'thump' of the paper as it hits the driveway.  I realize that we left a window open in the office and go to shut it, but think better of it and listen to all the things I've never noticed. I hear traffic from the main road a few miles out, I hear the breeze rustling the tender new leaves on the corkscrew willow.  Even the hum of my 'silent' laptop seems amplified in the night.  

It is though I am in on a secret, hearing all these marvelous soft sounds, and it makes me think I won't try very hard to go back to sleep in future nights when my body doesn't realize there are still a few hours of sleep to be had.  I believe I will wake and sit in the upper hall and listen to the symphony of sleep.