Hi! My day job is a CMA in the Precertificiation Department (I work with insurance companies). I'm a mom to two young men. I've been married to the same man for 34 years. I have a lot to say about nothing. Lucky you.
For those that don’t know, GD just turned 16. And next year, when he’s a junior, he will be asked to make some pretty serious decisions about the type of classes he wants/needs to take and prepare for the SAT’s and ACT test so he can get into college.
We’ve talked, at length, about what he might like to do. We haven’t pushed him, but we’ve certainly planted a seed or two.
It’s a great reminder that though our kids might LOOK older, even ACT older on occasion, they will always be our children and they can always come to us if they need us.
Always.
BUT
I can’t help but wonder if encouraging him to come home is encouraging him to quit when the going gets tough. I mean, don’t get me wrong – if my son was depressed, sad, scared, frustrated, and heart broken, I would be the first to open my arms and welcome him back home. I certainly would never do anything to endanger his mental, or physical health.
BUT
I’m not so sure encouraging him to give up and come home after only month in his new life is the way to go, either.
I don’t know. So much would depend on the individual and the circumstance but I definitely think I would be more concerned about those things than if the rent he paid up front was going to waste.
I guess you could classify me as a walker. We have a treadmill and I’m not afraid to use it …
often.
But there’s a price one is forced to pay when you’re a walker – it’s a terrible punishment on your feet. I have calluses where calluses probably shouldn’t be. I have corns from wearing too tight shoes. And I get so many blisters (because I go through walking shoes pretty quickly) that they don’t even bother me that much anymore.
In short? My feet are BUTT ugly. Seriously. Long, crooked toes, bunions, corns and well, they’re just nasty. It used to really bother me to wear sandals/flip flops – actually, I never used to wear sandals and flip flops …
But when you get older and it’s more about comfort than style, you don’t give a monkey’s banana what people think.
So, what I’m trying to say is, when you’re a walker (and I’m sure it’s the same way, perhaps even worse, for runners), you deal with the ugly feet. It’s a necessary evil to do what you love to do and stay in shape.
But now … something has happened and I was forced to limp around for several days.
And the kicker is? I don’t KNOW what happened. All I know is I’ve bruised my big toe – big time.
The nail is a pretty lavender color. Not black and not black enough to worry me. I pinched my pinky in a folding chair before and bruised it so bad that the nail turned black and fell off. So I know what that looks like.
No, this nail is a, well, pretty lavender color. It doesn’t look angry, it looks irritated. Like someone just insulted you and your cheeks turn a light purple because you’re upset, but not upset enough to blow your lid.
Anyway, enough with the analogies. It hurts. It hurts like a mother focker. The only thing I can come up with is that I wore some different chunky shoes (Sketchers, I believe) and ever since then, my toe has hurt. And walking? Only makes it worse though my sneakers aren’t rubbing against it … much.
It hurt so badly that I couldn’t walk on it for several days – well, exercise walk, not the normal walk around life thing.
It’s the weirdest thing. I suppose I’ll wait and see what happens and endure the discomfort. Hopefully, it’ll heal quickly.
Have any of you ever bruised your toes? If so, how did you do it and how long did it take to heal?
This is the post I mentioned yesterday and it was originally published on my self-hosted blog, February 6, 2008.
Yesterday disturbed me. In fact, it’s safe to say that yesterday was one of the worst parenting days I’ve ever had.
And I’ve had some doozies.
It all started with the rain. We had had unusually mild weather for February, in fact, we broke a record high the other day, 71 degrees, which was set back in 1860. This makes me wonder – did we have Global Warming back in the 1800’s? After all, how does one explain the unusually high temperature nearly 150 years ago?
But I digress.
I was talking about my no-good-very-bad-parenting day.
It began raining about noon. I sat and watched the sheets of rain compete for an audience for nearly ten minutes before I heard it – the dripdripdrip of water. I froze. That’s not necessarily a sound one wants to hear in the comfort of one’s own home.
I turned my head and noticed that our fireplace stones were bleeding water. This sounds dramatic, and actually, it was. There is really no other way to describe it; the stone’s pores were oozing water. And the water was making a broken trail down the side of the fireplace and finally dripping off the mantel and onto the rocks below.
I sighed. This occasionally happens when the weather changes. I grabbed an old towel and began patting the stones dry while tucking a portion of the towel against the mantle to soak up the dribbling moisture.
I had just finished this thought, “I really hope it isn’t raining this hard when it’s time to pick up the kids,” when the phone rang. I stared at it. There is an ongoing family joke that if there is a sales call to be had, it will happen when I answer the phone. And this joke is rooted in truth for indeed, I’ve been ordained by the gods to be on the receiving end of every phone advertising campaign out there.
So, I ignored it. But I felt this funny little sizzle at the back of my neck. Sort of like touching bacon shortly after removing it from the microwave; it stings but isn’t necessarily painful.
I stood stock still and jumped when the phone rang again. And this time, I knew it wasn’t a sales call for who would be bold enough to irritate a potential customer twice in five minutes?
I answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Mom?”
My heart immediately dropped to my female regions. “Hey kiddo, what’s up?”
“It’s early release today, mom.”
It perhaps took me less than a second to digest what he was telling me. And in that half second, I looked at the clock. Early release meant two hours early – the kids got out of school at 2:45, it was now 12:58.
And in that half second time span, my eyes shifted to the torrential downpour outside and my mind immediately went to the two older boys that were most likely standing out in the rain, waiting for me to pick them up.
A lot of brain activity occurred in that half second.
“I’ll be right there!” I yelled and slammed down the phone. I rushed to put on my sweats, had the presence of mind to grab several towels, stuck my feet into my shoes and raced out the door.
I screeched out of my driveway and floored the accelerator. Keeping one eye on the road, I reached into my purse and yanked out my cell phone. I turned it on. No messages. I had expected to find a message from my oldest son sounding quite irate and very wet asking me where the hell I was. Having no messages was somehow worse.
I raced down the street, cursing my stupidity and praying the boys wouldn’t be scarred for life because mom forgot about them.
I had to slow down two times because OF COURSE, there were not one, but two cops waiting like patient predators for stupid people like me to be in a hurry and breaking all sorts of laws.
After making several life-altering deals with God to not be stopped and given a speeding ticket, thereby pouring salt into my wound and making me even more late, I reached my youngest son.
He was standing on a street corner, his small hands wrapped around the umbrella rod, his little body shivering, his shoulders hunched over. Even from a distance, I could tell his lips were blue.
I’ve never hated myself more than in those few seconds.
I punched on my hazard lights and pulled over to pick up my son.
“What the heck!” He yelled as he threw in his backpack, collapsed his umbrella and fell into the car.
I didn’t even wait for him to buckle up before I sped off once more.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I totally forgot about early release today. I’m a bad mother. I should be hospitalized. You have my permission to put me in an old folks’ home. I deserve it! I deserve sitting in my own drool and smelling like pee!”
I couldn’t help but feel just a wee bit better when my son sighed heavily. “It’s okay, mom. It happens.”
Not to me, is what I thought. I hadn’t thought I was a bad mother. Sure, I occasionally yelled at my children when I’m tired or hormonal, but I always apologized afterward. I didn’t baby them too much, but I always made sure they felt safe and secure. And I had never forgotten them … until today.
My self-loathing was interrupted by my cell phone. I knew who it was without even looking.
“I’m on my way!” I yelled.
“We’re standing in the rain,” a deep, man voice said into my ear. “We’re soaked.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. I forgot about early release. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in five minutes.” I paused to breathe in a shaky breath. “Go stand by the building. It will give you a little shelter.”
“It’s raining,” said my son. He sounded both stunned and wounded.
Somehow, I kept my voice firm and ignored the tears running down my face. “Five minutes. Seek shelter.” I snapped my cell phone shut – the sound triggering the closure of my esophagus; I couldn’t breathe.
Traffic was bad. I began cursing people’s stupidity. It was RAIN. It wouldn’t KILL you. Move your ASS. My son and his friend were COLD and WET! The boy’s mother would be furious with me for being so careless with her son’s care. I ground my teeth as I got stuck behind a truck. We crept along at 20 miles an hour.
Nearly ten minutes later, I pulled onto the street that would take me to the boys. I released a sigh of relief and scanned the area for them. I saw them huddled together, just over the bridge and up next to the building. They were trying to act tough; they looked cold, miserable and young. My chest hurt with each beat of my heart.
The person in front of me wouldn’t turn left. I needed to go right. The person in front of me chose to ignore several opportunities to turn left. Finally, I had had it. My nerves were close to snapping and if the person in front of me didn’t move soon, I would get out of my car and grind them to a pulp. I laid on my horn.
As if awakening from a deep sleep, I could see the driver jerk in surprise and the next second, his car jumped into motion. I screeched around the corner and finally, reached the boys.
They got into the car, their teeth chattering, their hair matted to their heads, beads of water dripping into their eyes.
I cranked up the heater and tore off as soon as they were settled. I had to drop the friend off at his house before his little brother got home or he would be stuck outside, in the rain, wondering why his safe, secure little world was crumbling around his ears.
Traffic was backed up and bumper to bumper, but it allowed me plenty of time to beg for forgiveness. The boys didn’t say anything – I would have preferred they yelled at me.
We finally reached the boy’s house. We had beat his little brother home and I sighed with relief. I kissed the boy’s feet, told him how incredibly sorry I was for being such a poor excuse for a human being and waited until he had safely let himself into his house before we headed home.
My oldest son didn’t talk to me for quite some time after that. I threw their clothes and shoes into the dryer and tiptoed around the house, feeling dirtier than the floor behind the water cooler. It wasn’t until I heard my oldest son throw his books and papers across the room and curse that I knew the ice was broken. His school papers were soaked. I blew them dry with the hair dryer. I apologized, yet again, and helped him right his world.
We all learned a valuable lesson that day: I learned to make myself notes and pay more attention to the world around me.
And my sons? Learned that mom is human after all.
Christmas song #10 A Wonderful Christmas Time by Paul McCartney
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Though this day has been short, it’s been busy and it’s been strange.
The boys got out of school early today – they’re already home with me now. Short days totally knock me off kilter – it’s like my entire day is on fast forward.
And I have to make a note of early days in my Outlook AND write sticky notes all over my desk AND chant to myself over and over again, “early day, early day” so I don’t forget the kids.
I confess, I forgot them one time; they were forced to wait for me in a thunderstorm, without umbrellas (because boys who carry umbrellas are wussies, apparently) so that by the time I got around to picking them up?
They were drenched to the skin. They have NEVER let me live that one down.
Bad Mommy.
In fact, I wrote about that no-good, terrible day on my self-hosted blog – I’ll post that here tomorrow.
MK got up on his own this morning. This is the first time in weeks I haven’t had to wake the boy up. The first thing the boy does when he wakes up is make himself a bowl of cereal – he LOVES cereal – he’d LIVE on cereal if I let him.
I’m working on my computer, as is my habit in the early mornings – I update the school websites for the day – when MK walks into the family room (that’s where my computer is) holding a bloody paper towel.
“Wow, this thing is really bleeding,” is what he tells me – his voice as smooth as glass.
Some moms would have freaked out – not me. I have a tendency to just sort of go in focus mode when something like this happens. I don’t panic, I simply react.
Since MK wasn’t screaming and I couldn’t see any blood on his body, I simply arched my brow and said, “Where did that blood come from?”
He opened his mouth.
Ah, the elusive baby tooth. The same eye tooth that has refused to budge for the past several months even when the permanent tooth got impatient and grew in front of it.
I thought I was going to have to take him back to the dentist because it simply wasn’t loose. And MK refused to work it – which really annoyed me. When I asked him why he wouldn’t work on it? “What’s the point,” he says, “it’s not loose.”
*sigh* He’s so stubborn sometimes.
The only reason he started working on it this morning was because it was squeaking against his bottom teeth whenever he ate and it was annoying him. So, he started working on it and it started bleeding.
Big time.
I don’t know about you? But I COULD NOT and CAN NOT watch when my boys work their baby teeth loose. Watching them twist, turn and tug on their teeth sends shivers down my spine. It’s different when it’s me, or when I’m the one tugging/twisting, but when they do it? I squeal like a little girl.
But this tooth? Would not come out and MK was starting to panic. I think he was afraid it wouldn’t come out before he had to go to school today and it would fall out at lunch, in front of his peers, and they would make fun of him and he would come home traumatized …
So, he came to me for help. The bloody tooth was dangling by whatever it is that keeps teeth from coming out.
Swell. I swallowed the bile in the back of my throat, washed my hands, grabbed a paper towel and positioned my fingers around the tiny tooth. I gave it a tug or two, testing to see how MK would react. When his screams of pain died downhe didn’t collapse onto the floor writhing in pain he seemed to be okay with what I was doing, I tugged harder while wriggling it firmly back and forth.
*SNAP*
We both heard it. Something snapped and before he could react, I had the tooth in my fingers.
That sucker bled out for quite some time. But the boy was able to suck it up and eat the rest of his (soggy) cereal before school.
See that funky tooth sticking out from the others? (You can click on the picture to enlarge but honestly, I wouldn’t. It’s gross close up, hence the reason I posted the smaller version here). His baby tooth was behind that tooth – that’s why it’s sticking out so far. Our dentist assures me it’ll work its way back to the correct spot – we’ll see.
I finally made it to the post office today to mail the Bass Pro Ornament and the Christmas ornament for my Christmas ornament exchange person today. Ladies, if you’re reading this, you should be receiving your packages very soon.
Today has been really ugly. The day started off at 52 degrees – we’re currently at 34 degrees with snow in the forecast. *sigh*
It’s been raining/misting all day, so it’s pretty wet. Considering GD and J (the boy I take home every day) walk about a block from the school in order for me to pick them up, they are walking through a lot of wet grass and mud.
Usually, I remember to tell the boys to remove their shoes before coming into the house …
Today, I forgot.
I now have to wait until the mud is dry before I can start cleaning it. Considering I’m usually pretty careful about this sort of thing happening and I’ve never had to deal with this before, I Googled how to clean mud from carpets.
It’s about KILLING me to wait for it to dry. If anyone has any suggestions on how to remove mud from light-colored carpets, let me know.
In the meantime, I’m avoiding that room at all costs. At least it didn’t happen on our brand new carpets – we plan on ripping the carpet up from this room soon and putting in hardwood floor. GD feels pretty bad about tracking in mud. I was pretty calm (I know my mom is curious to know my reaction) – which is saying a lot for me because I usually fly off the handle about this sort of thing. But the boy didn’t do it on purpose. I’m pretty proud of keeping my cool, thank you very much.
I’ve come a long way, baby.
OR, GD is just lucky I’m not hormonal right now. 😀
So, it’s already past 3:00, I haven’t gotten nearly the things I need to get done, done, and yet I feel like I’ve already squeezed 48 hours worth of life into these past nine hours and other than muddy carpets and one missing tooth? I don’t have a lot to show for it.
Found this gem over at Pensieve – thanks for the reminder, Robin!
Actually, this is the first Christmas that we’re not going hog wild on each other, I’m happy to say. The hubs and I are only buying a few gifts for each other and the kids are scaling WAY down than in previous years.
We’re also buying gifts for two Salvation Army kids in need, we donated money to purchase a child three outfits and a winter coat, and my youngest son is playing his saxophone next Saturday at the mall as part of a community project through his school to try and persuade people to drop some money in the Salvation Army bucket.
So, how are you spending less and giving more?
Romans 12:13 — “Share with God’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.”
Christmas song #9 A Mad Russian’s Christmas by Trans-Siberian Orchestra
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But now … something has happened and I was forced to limp around for several days. 
I stood stock still and jumped when the phone rang again. And this time, I knew it wasn’t a sales call for who would be bold enough to irritate a potential customer twice in five minutes? 
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I totally forgot about early release today. I’m a bad mother. I should be hospitalized. You have my permission to put me in an old folks’ home. I deserve it! I deserve sitting in my own drool and smelling like pee!”
