boo

thoughts and happeniings

1. Annabelle had a book character parade at her school today, and lucky for us, her pippi longstocking costume from last year still kind of fits, so there you go.

2. It rained really hard yesterday and today and we were worried trick or treating would be rained out. There is a neighborhood nearby that has Halloween the night before to avoid truckloads of kids from other neighborhoods. Other less desirable neighborhoods. There is something about this, one of the isms or ists, that H and I, while not liberal people by any means, don't like and so even though we were invited to participate, we opted to take our chances with the weather and go today. It turned out great. Tallulah was Cinderella and corrected you if you called her Tallulah. "no, you mean Cinderella." Annabelle opted for Froehlin Maria from the Sound of Music. She was very specific, and wanted to be in the costume where Maria arrives at Captain Von Trapps home in the ugly dress carrying the guitar. Thanks to Ba Noi and Grandma for making the costume and H for his superior crafting skills--he made the guitar case out of foam. And thanks to the crazy mom who invited us to a safari birthday party a couple of years ago where the favors were straw hats.



3. I will not eat one piece of Halloween candy this year. So far there have been reeses peanut butter cups in my house for 11 hours and I have not eaten one--did I mention that when I was a junior in high school and sick for an entire year the only thing that I wanted to eat was reeses????? I totally love these things, so this is a Halloween miracle. Thank you O Great Pumpkin.

4. The problem with not being a liberal non-racist or non-elitist is that you must remain a beacon of calm, smiling and non-judgmental light, when a 10 year old child shows up at your door and tells you she is dressed up as a stripper.

5. H should have his PhD in pumpkin carving. This is freehand.



6. I taught Annabelle and her bff the 80s classic "trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat, if you don't I don't care, I'll pull down your underwear." That one is like a fine wine. Just gets better....

7. My mom called this afternoon and asked me if I remembered what we were doing this afternoon last year. She was here caring for me during my post acl repair time. I couldn't remember, but she did. We were at Target trying to find candy and I was in one of those motorized carts for the elderly, crippled, infirm and obese. And it went really slow and we had to get another one and there was almost no candy left because we waited for the last minute. She remembered how much fun we had passing out candy and how much fun we had dressing up the girls. I remembered how annoyed she was with me for using Tallulah's birthmarks for her puppy dog spot eye and then I found myself thinking for the first time "thank you God, for my acl tear, because it meant my mom got to come over here and do so many fun things with the girls for almost a month, although she almost never bathed me during that time, and that would never have happened without that tear, so thanks. But, please, don't tear my other one."

The Lord works in mysterious ways, especially on Halloween.

Help me I'm on a bad date

Help. This is real time, people. My date is watching the baseball fame rather than paying attention to me. Baseball. He just asked me who I am texting. I am ignoring. We are at shepherd park because he is too lazy to take me somewhere good. Pizza crust is not pretzels and our fried ravioli look like hot pockets and smell like fancy feast. I look like ass because I don't care about my appearance any more. My attempt to engage him on conversation, by asking him where the worst place we've ever eaten has failed. I say Pho tau by. The little roaches. Little roaches. Of course he won't agree, because of some kind of nationalistic pride. Thomas BBQ. Squirrel gristle sausage. Yeah that was bad.

We can't go home. They are showing Mary poppins and we want no part of that.

And to add insult to injury, my buzz is wearing off.

Shut. I might proofread this. Might.

Hotel California is playing. Ok. That's ok.

Complaining about children's birthday party that he had to go to this morning. Don't care.

There are some really ugly guys here. No one with a bald spot should ever wear shorts after 6 pm

My date wants to see nary poppins. Shit. I mean, no thank you.

I just ordered another glass.

Everyone here is ugly. I should go. Despite my mom jeans, I don't fit in.

We agree that this place sucks. We agree on everything, that's why we are so boring.

My date is the best looking man in this bar and he is wearing an orange swatch so you know he is cool.

There is someone really short behind the bar. Really really short. Damn.

My date is making a grocery list with his new app while I blog. Agh. We are those people.

I have a scab on my hairline.

We are full on tattoo nation. Dreadful. Maybe I should just get a tattoo like every other person.

A man with a willie nelson pony tail and cut off shirt just sat down at the bar. He had long earrings, tats and a potted face. Where the f does he think we are? The montrose? Who the f does he think he is? Tiffin?? We don't like people with personality here in GO. Where is my ugly bald friend????

My date just nudged my foot to show me this man. See? Perfectly in sync. Boring.

I am ready to kick my knees up and step in time.

Tommy and Tallulah

Last year, during her dog obsession, which continues through this year, Tallulah received a few stuffed animal dogs for her birthday and Christmas. Most of them had a spot on one of their eyes. She named her favorites, Tommy, Snoopy, and Strawberry. She played with them off and on and when it was time to combine the girls' room, she, of course, needed them, along with about 10 other stuffed animals on her bed.

Shortly thereafter, she noticed that tommy had a small-ish, brown-ish stain on his underside. This presenteda problem because this is a child who won't use a napkin with a stain, who tells on her sister when she is looking for socks and dumps the sock bin on the floor "and now my room all messy." This is a child who is somewhat anal retentive. You can decide if that needs a hyphen or not.

She announced that tommy had poop on him and she didn't want him on her bed. Actually, she didn't want him in her room. But, I made her feel bad about it and told her it was not poop, it was probably chocolate. "Okay mama, it not poop, it just chocolate, but he sleep on de flu-owa now." This has continued and almost become a game for me --when I make her bed, I put tommy on it, and always hear this indignant bellow later in the day, "who put tommy on my bed???"

She is unhappy with Miss C_____ who has come every other week to help us clean our house since my acl tear, and of course, now hyphen is in love with her and we can't let her go. Grrr. She tries to tell her not to put tommy on her bed, thankfully, miss C______ doesn't understand this impudence, and I don't translate.

But she couldn't quite get rid of him altogether. Annabelle told her, "you are mean to tommy, if you won't love him, he can be mine, I will take care of him." No, she decided to be abusive rather loving and letting go. So we were back to our old game, her trying every which way to not have him anywhere near her stuff. Did I mention that this is my child that actually throws away her starburst wrappers, rather than keeping them for "my candy wrapper collection."

Today, however, we had a breakthrough. "If tommy mine, then I can do whatever I want with him, and I want to give him to Annabelle." She said it defiantly, like I was trying to force their relationship, which in a way I was. Now he lives on Annabelle's nightstand, next to her bucket of rocks.

Cue odd couple music now.

Bereft

It's that time of year when the days are shorter and the leaves change and when Annabelle coughs until she vomits. And tonight, after a rousing game of hot potato, where everyone's antics had us all screaming with laughter, she started coughing. And then her face got all red and her stomach puffed out like it does when this happens and then we were in the bathroom, with me holding her hair back while she threw up. We are pros at this. The other night, we were able to get just a small amount on our bed before she made it to the bathroom. There were a couple of years where we weren't so lucky.

It's asthma, it's allergies. It's whatever. It doesn't mater really. It will go away by April and she will run around and ride her bike and perfect her boogie boating skills over the summer before it come back again in September.

It's still no fun to watch and so, in the way of vain people everywhere, I turned my attention to studying myself in the mirror, at my elbows specifically and how terribly wrinkly they are. My face may seem youthful to some, but my elbows? Pushing 50, not 40 . I started to draw the bath water, and stared at my daughters' perfect skin, smooth, peaches and cream. Milky. milky is the word my friend, a woman from my church, used to describe her baby's skin. My mind has been drifting toward her for the past week or two, ever since her baby was rushed to the hospital after he almost aspirated at home. What was wrong with him is too complicated for me to explain, but it involves early infantile seizures, an underdeveloped trachea and jaw, and an inability of his brain to tell his lungs to breathe.

Was wrong. He is gone now.

She was generous enough to post his journey home on caringbridge. You can see it here http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/ourtinymystery. The part that got me the most was when a minister from Dallas, who had been following her trauma, drove down to comfort her and told her to imagine placing Andrew into Jesus's arms.

I am sad, I am angry, I am grateful, I am being a better mother. It has united us in prayer. That's what we are all saying and it is true, people from all over the world were praying for this child and my neighborhood, my parish, my community, we are all bereft. It is all that anyone is talking about.

But to be honest with you, I wish we weren't united. I wish we were all as self centered as we always are and she were at home with him, swaddling him, changing his diaper and wishing she could get some more sleep, the way mothers of two month old babies are supposed to be doing. I would trade that for united in prayer. I don't feel united. I feel untied.