Category: Life

It happened.

I read about it on other blogs. I formed my own opinions and “what if” scenarios in my mind wondering how I would handle the same situation if it ever happened to me. I judged those bloggers based on their decisions and how they handled it.

And now it has happened to me. Karma has come to bite me on my dimpled butt.

I signed onto my Facebook account yesterday to see what my family had been up to.

And I was surprised to see I had a friend request.

From an old boyfriend.

*sigh*

My very first reaction was “oh cool! Look who it is! Wow, he’s changed!” Because we all have this image stuck in our brains of people from our past being the same young person from our past.

It’s a bit shocking when we see that that person from our past? Is no longer young. Or the same.

At all.

Then the very next reaction was dread. We didn’t exactly end things on a positive note. In fact, our relationship had deteriorated to the point where I couldn’t stand this guy’s guts.

We started out as friends. I’ve mentioned before that I didn’t have a lot of girlfriends when I was in high school because I simply couldn’t stand most of the girls in my class. I’m a very impatient and grounded person. I didn’t do the head games. I didn’t do the girly stuff. I was simply … me. A few girls accepted that, most did not.

But whatever. I honestly didn’t care. I had plenty of boy friends to keep me company. And boy friends as in guy friends, nothing romantic. I guess you could say I was tomboyish in nature. I just got along better with guys than I did with girls. I knew how to joke around with them. I didn’t take their crap, in fact, I dished out more than my fair share of crap back to them. In return, they had a sort of grudging respect for me, I guess.

In short, we got along. They tolerated me. I tolerated them. It worked. *shrug*

We met on the streets. This was back in the days when “cruising” was a hot past time for teenagers and was allowed. Now, cops will bust you for cruising up and down a strip. But back then, it was tolerated. And I remember spending quite a few nights driving up and down Kearney street in my smokin’ little silver ’72 Monte Carlo and showing off my dorkiness to hot guys. A group of us would congregate on a parking lot and exchange BS for a bit before we got back into our cars and cruised around some more.

What can I say, there wasn’t a lot to do back in those days. And gas was cheap. And we were bored. And it kept us out of trouble (most of the time *ahem*).

So, I’m out cruising. And I see a group of people in a parking lot. When I recognize a few of them, I pull over. And that’s when I met him.

He didn’t go to my school. He went to a rival school and I think that is what initially caught my attention. He was off limits. He was dangerous. He was a new face.

We started talking. And I enjoyed his brusque, rude, and obstinate attitude. He was quickly elevated to “challenge” and that, my friends, is something I rarely turned down. A challenge to match wits and exchange barbs, with a guy.

I became interested.

We started hanging out. And I got to know him better. And the more I got to know him, the more impatient I became with him. He was a Downer Dan. He never had anything good to say about anybody or anything. He was always grumpy. He had a permanent scowl. He never saw the positive side of things and in short, was one of the biggest pessimists I’ve ever encountered in my life.

I became quite cynical around him. And I slowly started turning into this … person I didn’t like around him. I treated him like crap, and yet, he continued to hang around me. I took him for granted, but he continued to bend over backwards for me.

I felt powerful. And when it became obvious that this guy was starting to have feelings for me, I felt claustrophobic. And I started to feel guilty for treating him like crap. So, my attitude toward him started to subtly change and he took that as encouragement.

He suggested we become a couple.

I refused.

But he was persistent. And I was lonely. I was a senior in high school and every other girl in my class had a boyfriend. And I wanted to experience the hand holding, the soft kisses, and the inside jokes. I wanted to wear someone’s jacket. I wanted to wear someone’s class ring.

So, I grudgingly agreed.

Our friendship turned sour from that point on. My heart simply wasn’t in it. I simply did not feel that way about him. And I started to feel guilty. I didn’t want to hurt this guy’s feelings. He had helped me out of quite a few, er, situations and I owed him.

I stuck it out for about a month until I simply couldn’t lie to myself, or to him, any longer.

The relationship became stressed because I was picking fights and being a pain in the arse hoping that the guy would simply dump me and I would be out of the relationship. But instead, it was like the guy thrived on my unhappiness and it was at that point that I knew, not only was our “relationship” over, but our friendship was over, too. I couldn’t be around a guy like that. He wasn’t healthy for me.

So, I broke it off with him, cold turkey. I don’t remember exactly how I did that, but I do remember being really mean to him.

I feel so bad about that now. But I was a kid. And I was feeling trapped. And I think I panicked.

Life went on and I lost track of him. And then I forgot all about him. It wasn’t until years later that he somehow found an old email address of mine, one that I hang on to for some strange reason even though no one contacts me through it anymore and the only mail I get through that account is spam mail.

But he found me. And he emailed me. And his name caught my attention one day as I was going through my spam folder. Actually, he hadn’t emailed me directly, but I was on his friends/family list. I reluctantly opened the email and saw a link to his My Space page. I clicked over and read up on his life. Military – married – no kids.

I was happy for him. I hoped he was happy. But I didn’t contact him. I had no desire to open that can of worms again. And really, why should I? I had a husband, a family, a life. There was really no REASON to begin a friendship up again. Where would it lead? I wasn’t interested.

I think a part of me knew, a deep, dark, little secret part of me knew, that it wasn’t quite over for him. I sort of suspected that if I contacted him, he might want to try and worm his way back into my life causing strife, stress and certainly sorrow. It’s hard to explain, but I think he might still have feelings for me. It’s just a weird feeling I have and I hope I’m wrong – but it’s there, none the less.

And if you will recall, I don’t DO drama. I simply refuse to put myself in a situation where there might be drama. I like my life. I love my family. We’re happy. We’re content. I have no desire to expose my family to a part of my past.

So, I ignored him.

And now, he’s found me on Facebook. I’m sure that the unease I’m feeling with this guy is all me. He’s probably just some nice guy looking to add more friends to his Facebook account and when he combed his past, there I was. I’m sure he’s happy and has moved on with his life. I’m sure I’m just being paranoid and egotistical in thinking he even still thinks of me like that.

But when I read portions of his My Space page and detected just a bit of “attitude” toward his life and some of the things he said … I don’t know, I’m a pretty good judge of character and it just didn’t sound like something someone would say about their life if they were happy. Again, it’s hard to explain, it’s just a feeling.

But all of that really doesn’t matter. The bottom line is, the contact with this guy wouldn’t be appropriate given my current status: happily married. I mean, let’s put the shoe on the other foot for a minute. How would I feel if my husband’s ex-wife sent a friend request to him?

And he accepted?

I’d go ballistic, that’s what would happen. I’d always wonder if they were exchanging secret messages or he was flirting with her (or vice versa). Their history is just that, history. There is no room for her in his life. None. A friendship is out of the question, given their history.

And that’s when it dawned on me – I can’t accept this guy’s friend request for the same reasons.

It would be opening up a can of worms and in the end, would it be worth the strife it would cause in my life? Absolutely not.

So dude, I’m sorry. I truly am. But I have a life, a good life. And you have a life. And it’s just not feasible, practical, or WISE, to intersect those lives.

I have no choice but to ignore you.

________________________

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It took me a long time to admit this, but something was wrong with MK.

We’re a very healthy family. I think the last time I went to the doctor was … three years ago? And that was for a sinus infection, which I used to suffer from at least once, sometimes twice, a year. But ever since I discovered nose spray, I haven’t had one sinus infection.

Go figure.

The husband hasn’t been to the doctor in … forever. I think the last time he went he had a wart burned off.

The only time GD has been to the doctor in the last ten years was to either see his orthodontist or to get his booster shots.

And before this picture (he looks like he’s about 10 in this picture, he’s now 13), MK hadn’t been to the doctor since he was a toddler.

So, we’re healthy. And we plan on staying that way because we trust, and believe, that God will help us maintain our health. Period.

MK’s “problem” began when he was three years old. April rolled around and suddenly, MK began sneezing – a lot. Like about ten sneezes in a five minute period.

And then the coughs started. It would start with a little *cough* and before long, it graduated into a *COUGHCOUGHHACKSNEEZECOUGH*.

I couldn’t figure out what in the world was going on with him. He had been perfectly healthy up to that point so I treated it like a cold, giving him children’s Tylenol or cough syrup. But these medications did absolutely nothing for him and he just got worse. So much worse, in fact, that he couldn’t take a breath without coughing.

The edges of his face began to turn gray and he would complain, “Mommy, my chest hurts.” I’m assuming from all the coughing, poor little guy.

I tried everything I could think of but nothing I did helped him. I grew frantic and when it got to the point where he couldn’t breathe anymore, I got scared. Really, bone-freezing scared. I rushed him to his pediatrician and was told that since I didn’t have an appointment, they couldn’t see him. Even though she could CLEARLY see my child was in distress. I honestly think if I hadn’t been so worried about MK and hadn’t been holding him, I would have jumped through that little window in their glass partition and strangled the smugness right out of her.

I left, cursing her under my breath and now REALLY SCARED. Though I was out of my mind worried, it never crossed my mind to take him to the emergency room. I think now, thinking back, I thought that if I took him to the emergency room, I would be admitting that something was seriously wrong with my little boy and I just wasn’t ready for that.

So, I took him to walk-in clinic.

They were very nice to us and saw us right away. MK was coughing so badly by this time that they had to give him a breathing treatment first before they could even examine him.

Once his coughing was finally under control and he was loopy from the drugs he was breathing, he slumped against me in exhaustion. A portion of my heart broke for him and I vowed I would never allow this sort of thing to happen again. My son was looking to me to take care of him and I wouldn’t let him down.

They began their examination and their conclusion? He was allergic … to something. They couldn’t tell me what but what happened was, some allergen attacked my son and he went into the normal process of trying to expunge it – the sneezing, the coughing. Only, his reaction graduated into a full-blown asthma attack, hence the reason he couldn’t breathe. The passageways in his lungs had narrowed in order to try and protect itself from attack.

I was calmer. Now I knew what I was dealing with. Every April when his allergies began to flare up, without fail, I treated him with OTC allergy drugs and years went by with my being successfully able to ward off future asthma attacks by keeping his allergies down.

But then, we had an unusually wet spring and MK’s allergies just sort of exploded out of the gate. Usually, I could detect the first warning signs and head them off at the pass with allergy medicine. Not that year. One day he was fine, the next *WHAM* we were all hit up alongside the head and the dreaded coughing began.

As a mother, you instinctively recognize when a cough is dry because of a tickle, or wet and breaking up after a cold, and when it’s a consistent, I’m not going away any time soon sort of cough.

I prayed it would go away. I prayed we wouldn’t have another mind-blowing coughing spell like when he was three-years old.

But it happened anyway.

I was calmer this go-around. I sort of knew what to expect and I was smart enough to not allow it to escalate into the red zone. I took him back to the clinic, they gave him another breathing treatment and even allowed us to rent a nebulizer.

Which we used off and on for about two months.

After the season passed, I admitted defeat. I knew he was allergic to something, I just didn’t know what he was allergic to. The not knowing? I don’t do so well with that.

The husband went to an allergist years ago and found out he had some food allergies. So, I got the name of that doctor and we went to see him.

MK endured a very uncomfortable (and painful) session of being pricked in the back about 30 times with various allergy triggers. He kept a stiff upper lip, until the doctor and nurse left the room to give him time to react to the testing and he started crying. The silent, it-breaks-my-heart-to-see-him-like-that, tears.

It couldn’t have been 30 seconds after the doctor and nurse left us that his skin began to bubble – really, really bubble in quite a few places. He was absolutely, definitely allergic to something – actually, quite a few somethings judging by the look of his back. I wish I had had the presence of mind to take a picture of it but I was so shocked to see the reaction that it never crossed my mind.

He began to squirm because it started to itch, like I’m-going-to-die-if-I-don’t-scratch-very-soon sort of itch. I had to work hard at distracting him before the doctor came back because he wasn’t supposed to scratch at them until he got a look at them. The doctor finally came back (though he was gone for only a few minutes, it felt like hours, you know how that feels) and his eyes widened when he saw how MK had reacted.

He had several good-sized bumps, but there was one in particular that bubbled to the size of a dime. Even the doctor was shocked by the size.

I know this because he said, his eyes wide, and just a little surprised, “Wow. Look at the size of that one.”

He consulted his chart. The culprit? Oak. MK’s body HATES oak. It hates other kinds of trees, too. And even some grasses, but oak is the one it hates the most.

Guess what? The neighbor across the street? Has three HUGE oak trees standing guard in her front yard. Virtually right outside of MK’s window.

Great. Just freaking great. And this made sense to me because when he was at school? His allergies weren’t that severe. But the minute he came home? BAM! We got slapped in the face. And that would be why, because the oak trees were blooming and spitting lethal pollen practically in his face.

The doctor prescribed Singular during the day and Zyrtec at night to help keep his allergies under control. And he even gave us a prescription to the medicine you use in a nebulizer just in case we needed it (because we bought our own nebulizer – you think I will be caught unawares next time? I don’t THINK so).

MK has endured the last few springs relatively easily. I’ve had to make sure he was good and drugged, but overall, he’s handled the allergens pretty well. I took him in to see his allergist last May for a check up and to make sure the Singular/Zyrtec combo was working and he gave me another prescription for Singular and some sort of inhaler (which I hope we don’t have to use but it’s nice to have it as a backup, just in case). Zyrtec is now available OTC so I don’t have to worry about jumping through doctor visits to get my hands on that drug.

After that last visit, I forgot all about MK’s allergies because the rest of the year, he’s perfectly healthy. But now that January has rolled around and spring is coming, it’s uppermost in my mind again. I went and picked up another season’s worth of Singular this past week because I like to be prepared for these sorts of things. I can handle ANY crisis, with a military precision, IF I know what I’m dealing with.

And trust me, MK’s allergies will never catch me with my pants down again, let me assure you.

When I paid for MK’s Singulars, I was shocked by the amount – it cost us $35.00 for 30 pills. I’m pretty sure I had never paid that much in the past so I asked the gal if our insurance paid any of it?

“Oh sure!” She said with a nervous giggle. “They paid $100 of it. Here, you can see how much they paid right here,” she said while pointing to the “your insurance paid this much” total.

Again, I was flabbergasted. Singular now cost $135.00?! Are you kidding me?? Thank God for health insurance! But I suppose that is what the drug companies are counting on – because if you have health insurance, do you really CARE how much it is? All you care about is how much YOU have to pay.

It sickened me. What about the poor people who didn’t have insurance? No wonder people can’t afford to get healthy, it’s a sick scam!

And though this realization angers me, even though it makes me angry at our system, at the drug companies, in the end, it doesn’t matter because in the end, I know, and the drug companies and government know, that we will pay and/or do anything it takes to make our loved ones well again.

Scary, isn’t it.

Okay, so the whole “walking the son” thing.

I hate to admit this, especially since ya’ll will probably form an unjust opinion of me after hearing it, but … Hi, I’m a helicopter parent.

Yes, I’m one of those annoying mothers who hover too close to her children. I always have. I used to sit at the table and read while they did their homework so I would be readily available whenever they had a question. I checked their homework over to make sure it was right. I stressed over their bad grades and rejoiced when they did well.

I’ve since learned to BACK OFF of that hovering thing. The boys are now in middle/high school, they don’t want, or need, mommy breathing down their necks.

But I still make sure the lid on their Gatorade has been loosened so they won’t be embarrassed in front of their chums at school when they have to struggle to get it off.

I make double sure that their gym shorts are below their knees because God forbid, they fall at, or just above the knee (those are short-shorts, don’t you know) so their chums won’t make fun of them. (Hey, kids are tough enough on each other – if I can help cross off some of those teasing triggers, by golly, I’m going to do it).

Though I don’t hover anymore, I certainly pay attention to them. I’m pretty in tune with their every mood, their shift in body language and their facial expressions. True, I don’t know what they’re thinking, but I can take a pretty good stab at it.

I watch them because I love them. I watch them because I don’t want them to get hurt. I watch them because I’m their mother and that’s my job.

For instance, I can tell if my boys are tired. I can tell when they’re frustrated. I can tell when they need a hug. And more often than not, I’ve acted as their buffer to this cruel, nasty world.

Yes I know this not always a good thing. And I’ve been working, very hard, to let go of them in the past several years. You can ask my mom, I’ve come a long way, I truly have.

But I still watch. And I’m still sensitive to their needs.

Let me jump the tracks a bit and go off topic.

My boys are pretty sedentary kids. They are hardcore gamers (so my boys tell me), and they are computer geeks. They sit, they sit a lot.

They aren’t interested in sports. In fact, they LOATHE sports of any kind – even sports’ video games. They won’t touch them. They don’t like to watch them. They think that jocks are dumb.

What am I trying to say? They’re not active. Period.

When we prepared to go on our Colorado Rockies vacation last summer, I made sure the boys walked on the treadmill. Why? Because I KNEW that if they didn’t build up a little endurance, our hiking expeditions would be limited to exiting our car and making it to the trail sign. Period.

I made them walk for their own good. Because I wanted to ward off a problem. Because I wanted them to enjoy themselves without having to gasp for air. Because if we’re going to drive 1300 miles out of our way, we’re GOING to enjoy those mountains.

And it worked. We had one of the best vacations we’ve ever had. And though the boys didn’t come right out and say, “Thanks for making me get in shape, mom,” they appreciated my foreknowledge.

Now, let’s get back to present day. The first semester ends this coming Thursday. This means, that second semester begins next Tuesday.

And that means … P.E. for GD.

P.E. for GD last year was … scary. The first week, he stumbled to my car after school (he had it last period of the day) because he was weak and shaking. His whole body was soaked in cold sweat and his face … good Lord he was so pale I really thought the boy was going to pass out on me.

When we got home, he collapsed onto the couch and wouldn’t move for a good thirty minutes until he felt like himself again.

In short, it was torture on the poor boy. It was so hard on him because he hadn’t been active. And the coach started the kids out running the mile right off the bat. GD simply wasn’t used to so much activity.

So this year, I’ve vowed he wasn’t going to go through that again. And that means, I’m walking my son.

He has grumbled quite a bit about my making him walk on the treadmill (it’s not THAT bad really, he can watch TV after all), but he’s also grudgingly admitted that he probably needs to do this so he doesn’t feel like death when P.E. starts.

So … he’s been walking.

And I’ve been watching out for him.

Because that’s my job.

(And I wish he would do something with that hair. *sigh*)

Something died at our house this morning. Don’t worry, it was nothing in the physical sense of the word but rather the joyous, happy spirit of carefree souls. Today was the day that the husband and both boys had to go back to work/school and none were too happy about it.

The morning started out as usual, hubby got up first and his clanging around the kitchen getting his breakfast woke me up. I slithered out of bed, turned on my computer and poured myself the requisite cup of coffee. I ran through my emails, updated some websites, updated my blog and toggled through Google Reader to see what my favorite bloggers had been up to.

Six fifteen hits and it’s time to begin the arduous task of getting the boys out of bed. I turn on MK’s light (because that’s all it takes to wake him up) and then I walk into GD’s room. I flip on his light switch, pull back his cover, tell him good morning and click on his radio (to country music – BOY that makes him cranky – hehe).

I get back on my computer, surf around to my favorite websites, finish my coffee and then when the clock hits 6:35, I get back up and stand in GD’s doorway until he forces himself to sit up in bed. If I don’t wait for the boy to sit up, he’ll go back to sleep.

In the meantime, MK is up and eating breakfast. He’s my early bird.

The next thirty minutes zoom – clothes are being thrown across the room, hair is first matted down with water (because God forbid it LOOKS like they might have done anything with it), trappers are dug out of the closet and the sound of zippers reverberate throughout the house.

I pry my lazy butt out of my computer chair and make the boys’ lunches.

After the lunches have been made, I go out and start my car so it can warm up, come back in and make beds. MK is ready to go by this time and is on his computer.

GD, who got up later, ate his breakfast later and is about five steps behind the rest of us has just enough time to watch a few YouTube videos before it’s time to get into the car.

The time is now 7:20 a.m. and if we don’t get going then we’ll get caught up in the HORRENDOUS traffic by GD’s school and we’ll be reduced to crawling only a little faster than a snail and our lack of progress to get close enough to the school so that GD can jump out and sprint to class (as if he would do that anyway HAHA!) will stress GD out and make him crankier (than usual).

Both boys are in the car and we turn on the radio because I have learned, long ago, that trying to talk to the boys in the morning is hopeless. GD is sitting next to me, MK is in the back seat.

It’s so quiet in the back seat I have to turn around to make sure MK is still breathing. His eyes are glazed over and his mouth is so droopy it’s nearly touching his chest. It’s not that he’s tired, it’s that he has to go to school.

A fate worse than shopping for clothes, don’t you know.

I bite my tongue, after all, there is absolutely nothing I can do to cheer him up, short of turning the car around and heading back home and that’s NOT happening. Are you kidding me?? The kids are going back to school! Yippee!

I contain my glee knowing instinctively this reaction would not go over very well.

We arrive at GD’s school. I dutifully navigate my car into the cattle, er, car line and we inch our way through the winding parking lot until we finally reach the door that GD needs to enter.

“Have a good day! I’ll see you later,” I say.

“Humpf,” he says.

Some days, I don’t even get a grunt but am rewarded with a dirty look. Yay me!

We leave the congested lot and head toward MK’s school. By this time, morning traffic has picked up and it takes sitting through several red lights before we really get going.

We pull up in front of MK’s school right on time.

“Ok bud, have a great day! I’ll see you later!” I say with a false lilt in my voice. MK just looks at me with dead eyes and rolls out of the car. I watch him walk toward the doors to hell and grimace. His shoulders are slumped and he’s walking as if he’s 90 years old.

Anyhoo, my guys are back in their respective “salt mines” (as hubby *affectionately* calls work) and I’m left to my own devices. Which today means heading to the university library and writing something suitable to submit to this place.

ADDED: Which didn’t happen. I got bombarded by emails from the schools so didn’t get a chance to do any writing. But that’s okay, there’s always tomorrow.

And our lives resume a mundane schedule.