"Mommy, how do you spell B!#$%??

Conversation with Colin Bear earlier...

Colin "Hey Mommy...How do you spell B!@#$?"
Me  "I'm sorry...what did you say Bear??"
Colin  "How do you spell B!@#$??"
Me  "That is not a very nice word Colin Bear?? Where did you hear that word??"
(Sadly, knowing full well that I am sure I have said it at some point in front of him)
Colin  "You know, B!@#$.  Like the thing you sit on outside..."
Me  "Ohhhh, you mean bench.  Like a park bench.  Got it.  That is spelled B-E-N-C-H."
Colin  "OK Mommy..."
Me  "You have to be careful bud.  There is another word that sounds a lot like bench, but it isn't very nice.  Mommy thought you were saying that one."
Colin  "Nope, just bench..."

(audible sigh of relief...)

The election according to Colin Bear...

   Let me go ahead and state at the beginning of this post.  I don't do political discussions.  Please do not read into anything that is said during this post.  I do not wish to spark political debates, and I am certainly not interested in upsetting friends and colleagues.  This is purely a funny story about my son, and a 4 y/o point of view about the election.  This is my disclaimer...now for the funny story.

   The Colin Bear is frequently full of wisdom.  He is a smart, observant little dude.  So I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me at the beginning of the month when he attempted to engage me in a discussion about the election.  We don't really discuss politics around here.  Mike would love too...I, however, not so much, so I was a little surprised that my son even knew that the election was happening.  He frequently comes home with handouts from school, and he brought out a handout about the election.  He showed me pictures of both candidates, told me their names, and then he told me about some of their favorite hobbies(as shown by pictures in the handout.)  I was pretty impressed.  And then he sat down on the couch and thought about it all...He noodled it for a bit, and he says
Colin "Hey Mommy, it's Wednesday.  Which guy won?"
Me  "Well little dude. Barack Obama won."
Colin  "Oh...(wanders off to play with his Angry Birds for a few minutes, returns to continue the conversation)
Colin  "Mommy, I am really glad Barack Obama won the election."
Me  "Really, why is that little dude?(I am totally curious what reason he might have)
Colin "Well, I am glad Barack won because, Mitt is a really funny name..."
Me  "Because Barack Obama just rolls off the tongue..."
Colin  "Oh, and Barack Obama(yes he used his full name the whole time) is a boy like me."
Me  "Really?  How old is Barack Obama?"
Colin  "He is 6 y/o.  Mitt Romney is old.  He is like 100 y/o"
Me  "ahhh, I see.  Well I am glad you are satisfied with the results of the election little man."
Colin  "Yep, I like Barack Obama."
 
     He wandered off to play with his Angry Birds like this was completely normal conversation to have at the age of four.  I have the distinct feeling that I might have two men in my house attempting to engage me in political discussions later in life.  Fabulous.  Just what I need, two political junkies.

Life happens...and apparently gets in the way of my writing

   Slowly but surely, life seems to have gotten in the way of my extracurricular activities.  Well, primarily my writing...but here goes nothing.  I have been suffering from a severe combination of writer's block and exhaustion.  Sadly, when I have had a few "extra" minutes to myself, sleep has seemed to win out over writing every time.  That, and watching Dancing with the Stars :)  I mean, who doesn't need a good dose of attractive men dancing shirtless for two hours.  In fact, Mike asked me the other night while I was watching, "What is with all the shirtless men?"  My response, "Why wouldn't they??"  I mean, if I looked like those people on the dance floor, I would probably walk around half dressed all of the time.  Sadly, this is simply not the case.

    I have hit yet another low with my weight loss struggle.  I have fallen off the wagon yet again.  It wouldn't be so bad if I just fell off the wagon.  Instead, I leap off the wagon, screaming at the top of my lungs "I love food, I love food!!"  I have rarely hit the gym this month.  I am starting to have those "why am I even paying for the gym" thoughts going through my head.  I have to push through this.  I need to lose some serious poundage at this point in my life.  I am back to really hating the way I look, and that is never good for anyone.  I can chant things like "size is just a number, it doesn't define me."  But the negative thoughts come creeping back.  If only I was one of those people that didn't eat when they got depressed.  Instead, I reward myself with food, and continue the vicious cycle.  Ahhh, well...what are you going to do?  Back to counting calories, and pushing myself at the gym.  Hopefully, I will see some results.  Results would be nice to see.  Perhaps if I could locate some self control, that would be useful as well.

    Moving on...Now for the funny stuff.  Done with the emo crap for this post.  So, Molly has developed quite a fascination for our sweet, old, more than a few fries short of his Happy Meal, cat Jerry.  Jer Jer, as the family affectionately calls him, has spent the last 4.5 years hiding under the bed until 9 pm.  The kids have scared the crap out of him, and rightfully so.  My mom used to tell this story about me when I was three.  I desperately wanted to hold the cats.  I chased them around the house, and carried them haphazardly under my arms, so very proud of myself.  My mother tried to show me over and over again how to hold the kitties the correct way.  She would say, "Heidi, put one hand under their belly, and one hand under their tail.  Then they will feel secure."  She reminded me frequently about how I proudly walked into our living room saying "Look Mommy, I holding the kitty the right way."  Of course, I had the poor feline by the neck and holding his tail.  I suppose her instructions flew right over my 3 y/o head. That picture of myself holding a cat by his neck and tail still makes me giggle to this day. She was amazed that the cats never scratched me.  Now, I get to watch my sweet daughter chase my old, decrepit cat around the house.  She just wants to hold and snuggle the poor guy, and to his credit, he lets her.  Thinking back to my mother's story, I have tried to show Molly how to hold the kitty the "right" way.  Poor guy has gotten slow enough that she can catch him.

   Molly rounded the corner into the living room, and I just had to laugh out loud.  Poor Jerry...She had him hanging upside down, her arm wrapped around the midsection of his body, butt and tail in the air.  "Look Mommy, I am holding Jer Jer the right way..."  Oh my, how history repeats itself.  I am amazed by the patience most animals have with small children.  Although, I will say our dog Abby still gives me the "Do you see what your puppies are doing?" look.

   Both kids are at such a fun age right now.  Funny things fly out of their mouths all of the time.  They love to play together, play pretend, and they simply amaze me with their development and progress everyday.  I finally have them to a point where they can both play in another room, and I don't have to hover over them.  They are potty trained, praise God, and both children are verbal enough to tell me their wants and needs.  Life if getting a little easier in many ways.  Of course, they also love to fight with each other, Molly still gets into plenty of trouble when Mommy isn't looking, and whining is often the official language spoken in the house.  I have actually resorted to whining back at them, and having my own temper tantrum occasionally.  It frequently sounds like "Well, Mommy would love a margarita and huge piece of cheesecake, but we don't always get what we want..."  Needless to say, this happens in a weak moment...Of course, my favorite mommy quote of the day came from my friend Wendy as we were leaving the park.  I overheard her telling her son "No Connor, you can't have your whistle in the car, because Mommy might have to stab someone in the eye before we make it home..."  She heard me giggle and said "Well, it's true.."  So true Wendy, so true.

   Every day is still filled with laughter, love, hugs, kisses, tears, tantrums, illness, and occasional insanity.  So basically, nothing has changed here in the Bryan house.  I suppose I will continue to survive the way all parents survive the day to day struggles.  With plenty of stimulants and depressants.  God Bless Coffee and Wine.  They are gifts put here on Earth from God himself to make parenting a little bit easier.  So, on that note, I am off to pour a glass of wine, snuggle with my husband, and enjoy a few brief moments of silence while the kids sleep.  Then...to bed.  Because it all starts over again first thing in the morning.  And I promise to do a much better job of getting all of their funny stories posted before they leave my brain.  I have learned that I just need to stop everything and write immediately when I think of a funny post.  If I wait, the whole thing is lost...

Hospice fired my grandfather...

   Just a couple of months ago, I rushed down to Pensacola.  My 92 y/o grandfather had fallen...again.  This time, the prospects looked grim.  The doctors were not encouraging.  In fact, I had to rush down to assist in the decision to turn him over to Hospice.  It was a sad day.  I could hardly believe the time had finally come. I had almost begun to believe this man was going to live forever.  Well, as a medical professional, I knew this day was coming, but this is one stubborn old man.  He has burned through at least 8 of his 9 lives, as one would expect of someone in their 90's.  Approximately 7 months ago, this cantankerous old man fell in the parking lot after bowling.  Yep, you read that correctly, he was out bowling with his buddies.  He fell in the parking lot, and he managed to break his neck.  C1 and C2, decent fracture.  The fact that he was alive and breathing, let alone walking since then is a minor miracle.  But this guy loves to prove doctors wrong.  In fact, I think he lives for it, forgive the pun.

    Shortly after surprising everyone, he was discharged from a rehab facility, back to his assisted living facility.  That week, he fell again.  He further fractured his neck that is now permanently in a neck brace to attempt to keep him alive.  The doctors recommended Hospice for palliative care.  He will never survive surgery to repair the injury, and most of his medical conditions are worsening.  He has congestive heart failure, history of a stroke, history of a heart attack, quadruple bypass, horrible lung fibrosis both from years of smoking and as a side effect of a cardiac med he was on for his A fib, and of course some kidney failure and diabetes.  Seriously, what wouldn't be failing after almost 93 years??

   He was admitted to a Hospice floor of a local hospital on 10 L of O2 via high flow nasal cannula.  I left my sweet babies with their father for the second time in the last few months, and headed down to spend some time with my Grandpa.  By the time I got there, my grandfather and the Hospice minister were looking up his island from WWII on Google Earth on an Ipad.  Ok, so this man is dying...got it.  I sat down to visit, and picked up a pretty little box on his bedside table.  Inside were sweet little notes from the staff with hospice related bible verses.  I set it back down without saying anything.  My grandfather pipes up with "Yeah, I have no idea what that is all about.  Isn't Hospice last rites kind of crap??  I am not ready to die."  I laughed even more as I reviewed his current meds with the nurse on shift.  His nursing diagnosis, Adult Failure to Thrive.  Even his nurse said "Well this is odd, my failure to thrive patients are usually not sitting up and arguing with me."  Yep, that is my grandpa.  I was grateful to be his family, not his care provider.  At some point, the nurse practitioner told me that I should take him by the shoulders, and let him know he is dying, and that it is OK to let go.  I laughed a little and said "I'm not so sure that he is, and maybe it is better if it takes him by surprise."

   Low and behold, he was released from the Hospice floor to a rehab facility, and then back to his assisted living facility.  Hospice continued to follow him, and visit weekly.  Some where along the line, his doctor finally broke the news to him that he was never returning to driving.  He had been fully convinced that he would be able to drive again once he recovered.  Of course, he hadn't driven in almost 2 years, but who is counting.  He called me, and informed me that Santa had come early.  He graciously offered me his car as a gift for my family.  So off I flew on Airtran on Monday morning on a one way flight to Pensacola for a short visit.

     I immediately went to visit my grandfather after a brief visit with my step uncle and his partner Rob.  These two are awesome. They handle everything for my grandfather, and they aren't even blood relations.  They take him to his appointments, handle his bills, and take him out for an occasional field trip.  They even host our family on our visits in town.  Upon my arrival at his little apartment, I can tell I am in for it.  He is in a mood.  This could be fun...For about 45 minutes, I let him yell at me and vent.  I didn't mind at all, in fact, I think it would be natural to be a little pissy and angry at this point in your life.  Our interaction went something like this

Me  "Hello Nant(affectionate name), how are you feeling today?"
Nant  "Well, not great.  This getting old thing is horrible.  I don't understand this whole thing of people taking things away from you before you die."
Me  "I don't have to take the car Nant.  If you aren't ready, I can leave it here.  No big deal at all."
Nant  "It isn't the car, it is the fact that I can't drive.  Why shouldn't I be able to drive until I die, and if it is what kills me, then so be it."
Me  "Well, we aren't actually worried about you, we are worried about everyone else on the road.  What if you killed someone else??"
Nant  "Well then, they were in my way, and it was their time also..."
Me  "Nant, I know you don't mean that..."
Nant  "Not really, but I know I could still drive.  I could pass that test."
Me  "You are in a neck brace and have to have oxygen constantly to stay conscious.  No one is going to let you have a license...I'm so sorry.  I know it is incredibly frustrating."
Nant  "Oh, and about this Hospice thing...I never approved this.  I don't need them.  They come by every week and bring crap like this(throws small handmade pillow and quilt in my general direction).  What am I supposed to do with this?/"
Me  "Some nice little old lady made this for you to make you feel better.  She was just trying to be helpful the only way she knew how."
Nant  "Well she could keep it...I mean, how is this supposed to make me feel better about dying.  Why do they feel the need to stop in every week to remind me that I am dying, and that they aren't going to do a damn thing about it.  I am 92, I have been well on my way to dying for a long time.  This is not news, and I see no need to remind me that you aren't going to stop it."
Me "(extreme laughter) Well, I guess you have a point.  I have never thought about it that way.  Do yo want to go out for some contraband ice cream?  It always makes me feel better."
Nant  "Yeah...that might be nice.  I am sorry for yelling at you.  I am not mad at you."
Me  "I know you aren't.  Sometimes you just need to say things out loud, and then you feel better."

   Needless to say, we had some wonderful ice cream, and a great visit.  I think I learned more about my grandfather and laughed more with him in that 24 hr trip than I have in along time.  Yesterday he called me to inform me that Hospice discharged him from their care...I am not surprised at all.  In fact, I am proud of him. I hope I can be as independent and feisty in my elder years as he is.  What a fantastic role model, even if he is quite a grumpy old man that sounds like Foghorn Leghorn.

A squirrel stole my Mcnuggets...

    Sandra and I decided to hit a playground after car pool for a lunch/play date for the kiddos.  Being the fabulously prepared mother that I am, I fixed a well balanced picnic lunch for the entire family...or I might have just pulled though the drive thru at the McDonalds near the playground.  Ok, let's just admit it.  I definitely hit the drive thru for some nuggets and fries, and a Coke Zero for myself.  Sandra had to take her son Jack for a hair cut, so we were on our own for a few at the park.  I sat on a bench, and ate my craptastic lunch.  Well, part of my lunch.  Molly had a few of her nuggets, a couple of fries, and hit the swings as usual.  Mommy reporting for swing duty...I put her into one of the swings, and started to push.

    After Molly swings back and forth a few times, I hear her say, "Hey, No, no squirrel.  That is my lunch."  I look over, and sure enough, there is a huge squirrel eyeing our bag of fast food.  I walk over, and shoe away two squirrels from our stuff.  They quickly return, and I chase them off yet again.  The big one...He has a bad eye.  Pink, gross, looks infected.  Icky.  I think of a line from Sex in the City when Carrie says that squirrels are just rats with better accessories.  He may have a bad eye, but something tells me this guy is used to Mcdonalds leftovers.  I mean, every animal at this park is well fed, but this guy is particularly fat and slow.  I roll the bag up, move our drinks a little closer to us.  Now back to pushing my daughter and helping my son pretend to be a Ninja Warrior.

    I managed to keep our food clear for the first 15 minutes or so.  Then, I dropped a fry on the ground when I went over to sneak a little snack.  Our little one eyed friend was waiting for it to hit the ground.  He might not have perfect vision, but he knew when the goods were within reach.  He snatched up the fry and looked at me with triumph.  I shook my head, and figured he earned that one.

    I don't know if they were working as a team, but next thing I knew, Colin was playing "Chase the Squirrels."  I was mildly amused by the fact that they were all fat and slow enough that Colin had a decent chance of catching one.  While his friends were busy distracting us, One Eyed Willy had snuck over to the remains of our lunch.  By the time I had noticed, the little sneak thief had taken a fry and a nugget.  He ran by, stopped right in front of me, and waved them both in the air.  It was as if he was rubbing it in.  Damn Squirrel...Well, at least he spared me from remaining fatty calories in the bag.  Try to think positive Heidi...So I go over to grab my Coke Zero.  And then I see it.  Insult to injury.  There is a squirrel running across the playground with my straw in his mouth.  He stopped, and used his little arms to wave it at me.  Now that ticked me off.  I can live without cold chicken nuggets and fries, but dude stole my caffeine refreshment, and he totally did it out of spite.  And I thought the geese were annoying at this park.  Don't ever piss off the squirrels...

Privacy Please...

   Many, many moons ago, when I was a child living in my parent's house, I can remember interrupting my mother during "bathroom time," frequently.  It sticks in my brain that most questions and problems seemed to arise while she was "occupied," shall we say.  I don't know if it was Murphy's Law at work, or if it was simply a lack of respect for my mother's personal space.  Either way, I would like to take this chance to apologize to my mother.  I would like to say I am sorry for barging into the one room where we should all be guaranteed a little quiet, alone time.  Even though I have fond memories of sitting next to the tub, giving my mother the "post game wrap up" from my day at school.  I am sure that she would have preferred to hear about my day...about ten minutes later in the living room, once she was dressed.
   
    Some things are difficult to appreciate until you realize it has been almost 5 years since you have been to the bathroom by yourself.  Not only do the little people accompany you to the bathroom for #1 and #2.  They frequently provide commentaries and state opinions about the current bathroom trip.  They let you know if it stinks, if you are taking too long, and will even ask you to let them see the product of the bathroom trip.  They watch your every move in the shower or the tub.  They ask why you are shaving and ask questions about body parts you simply aren't prepared to answer.

    So nothing surprised me more than when my daughter started kicking me out of the bathroom.  She requested I leave, and I was caught off guard.  I clarified, and she confirmed she wanted me to "go!"  She said "Mommy, I need privacy please."  She shut and locked the stall door.  As I stood staring at the locked door, I couldn't help but state what I was feeling.  "Seriously kid...I haven't pooped alone in five years, and now you are kicking me out."

   I can only hope that if I respect this new rule of her's, perhaps the favor will be returned.  Maybe, one day in the near future, I will be able to use the bathroom alone.  And then I remember my long chats with my mother, sitting on the edge of the tub.  As odd as it sounds, we did some of our best talking over those bubbles.  Maybe, one day, Molly will bring me a glass of wine to the side of the tub, sit down, and open up about some teen girly problem.  Maybe we can plan the perfect science project or perfect term paper? Until then, I suppose I will have to deal with my mini stalkers that not only watch the activity at hand in great detail, but feel free to comment about the results.  Because, if my memory serves me right, this is not going away anytime soon....

I am "that" mom...

   Yep, that's me.  I am "that" mom.  For the last two weeks, Molly has turned me into the crazy woman saying her child's name repetitively, while the child continues on her way, with very little response.  I feel like I am trapped in that Bill Cosby sketch.  You know the one, where he is on the plane, and by the end of the trip, everyone knows little "Jeffrey's" name.  By the time we have left anywhere over the last two weeks, I am positive everyone knows Molly's name...well, with the exception of Molly of course.
 
     This morning, while I was following her around the mall, calling out her name, I came to a possible explanation.  I walked up to Molly, picked her up, and I asked her, "Molly, did you change your name, and not tell Mommy?"  I mean, what else could possibly explain the complete and total lack of response that I have been receiving?  Her response, "No, Mommy...My name is Molly. M-O-L-L-Y..."  I put her down, and within seconds, she was right back in "Molly World."  There really is nothing more infuriating than talking to someone who has become selectively deaf to the sound of your voice.  Well, unless it is multiple people that have become seemingly deaf to the sound of your voice.  Husbands and partners are also excellent examples of this behavior.  You begin to doubt your sanity at times.  Well, actually I frequently doubt my sanity.  I think I was sane before the children...pretty close to crazy, but sane prior to bringing children into this world.

   I have decided that she is convincing Colin to join her in this behavior.  They are conspiring against me while I am not looking.  I think they have agreed to ignore me until I reach the full "mommy is having a temper tantrum in the corner," point.  They love to wait until Mommy starts twitching and screaming their names at the top of my lungs.  Why do I get louder? I am not sure.  I can tell it doesn't seem to help in the slightest.  In fact, I am almost positive it is the equivalent of talking louder to someone who doesn't speak English.  I recognized the "look" from both of them this past weekend as I attempted to herd them through a pumpkin patch.  It is that glazed over, confused, with their heads tilted to the side like a puppy dog, look that they give me.  Like I have four heads.  Like they can't imagine why I am so frustrated with them, even though I have been saying their names for 5 solid minutes, and they have yet to acknowledge me.  By the end of our trip to the pumpkin patch, I was ready to sit down and cry.  I had two 40 pound toddlers, who were not listening to me, a 20 pound pumpkin that we had picked out to carve, a back pack full of stuff, and I had no idea how I was going to make it to my car with everything intact, including my sanity.  I rarely get flustered, but I did on Sunday.  It is not often you realize you are completely at their mercy, and that there really is nothing you can do to make them follow you to the car.  Luckily, I have awesome friends who circled the wagons, threw my pumpkin in their stroller, and helped me herd my uncooperative children out to my car.  I hate feeling like an incompetent mother.  I know we have all been "there," but you still want to tuck your tail and hide when it is your children.

    Hopefully this phase with Molly will end soon.  I would love to enjoy a few years before she hits puberty, and starts to ignore everything I say all over again.  Sometimes, I wish I could spend a day inside her brain.  Molly takes her time.  She  enjoys life.  She checks out everything along the way.  I wonder what it would be like to be that free.  I also wonder how she could be so oblivious to the crazy lady saying her name 5,000 times in a row...Just acknowledge me kid...at least a little nod in my general direction.  I am beginning to wonder if I am even talking out loud at all.