So anyway,

Where was I? That's right, bitching about all things insurance related. I'm still on that roll, but I'll spare you the details. Suffice it to say, house rebuild? Not started. Yes, I know it's been four months. Moving on before I cry from frustration frustration because the insurance people won't come out of the phone so I can wring their necks


I believe it's time for a seasonal Silas update. Dude is getting tall. I'm only 60 inches tall and he's already 46 at 6 years old. It's just not fair. Everybody's taller than me.


He decided to play his violin in his Academy's talent show. He didn't seem to mind that he doesn't know how to play it. He was content to just stand up there and saw away. So my bestie Google and I figured out the first four lines of twinkle twinkle and taught him that. He put on his fancy clothes and knocked em dead.



please note the boots. They are a point of pride.

We're also halfway through baseball season. It was supposed to be the pitching machine this year, but for some reason the coaches keep pitching. Which I guess is better than the kids pitching. That just doesn't sound like a good idea to me. In other news, is this a killer action shot or what?

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The smoke monster! Behind his head!

Someone should pay me for this stuff. or not, because I don't want to take pictures of anybody else's kids and they won't pay me for pictures of mine (but they should)


Speaking of getting paid, I'm thinking of taking a job as administrator at Silas' school. Thoughts? What do you mean I dislike children? Not all of them. Mine are cool, I can stand yours. It's the rest of them that make me felonious. But! Good news, as administrator, I just administrate. No chirruns! Only paperwork. Paperwork I can do. I can push paper with the best of them. Push it right off my desk into the circular file.


So I got an ipad. I'm going to quit rambling and go play with it.


Loves,

Sad :( ...then - Happy!

I had to lawyer up on my insurance company today. This makes me sad. Let's suffice it to say that I didn't feel they were really 'on my side' anymore. Our loss date was 1/28/10. What's left of my house is still sitting, stripped down to its shell, with nary a new board or nail in it. Nothing has been done. I had to threaten legal action to get the preliminary payment for my contents. I won't bore you with the details, but it's been one hassle after another to get what is due, especially the additional living expenses, such as rent, dog boarding fees, etc.

So it appears we'll be living here in plantation central for more than the initial six months. It's a lovely home, but it's so BIG. Which you'd think would be grand, but there's a problem with big. Someone has to clean it. That someone would be me. And I don't like to clean. Especially when it involves several flights of stairs to complete one load of laundry. It's a long way from the third floor down to the basement laundry room! But it's farther back up, believe you me.

On to the happy! When I went to New York to fetch Lucy from her movie premier, she told me that she had made some valuable contacts. I figured she was just trying to justify the trip, which was really mostly for pleasure. Turns out, she was right. She wasn't home three days before she got a call to report to a shoot in Baton Rouge, La. A feature film! This will look fantastic on her cv. Her second day was today and she got promoted to Director's assistant (not to be confused with Assistant director). I'm so pleased for her. The highlight of her day, of course, was meeting Samuel L. Jackson (ahem, Sam to us in the know) and Daniel Kim, who will forever be Jin from 'Lost' to me.

Perhaps I'll have her film a documentary "A small town woman's fight against a national insurance company to get her house rebuilt". Would you see it? How about if Johnny Depp plays the evil adjuster?

First Day

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Mah baaybehh! He has gone to school.

For the whole day.

As in 8 whole hours away from me.

I don't know what to do with myself right now. I've spent the past six years with this child velcroed to my side. Sometimes by choice, sometimes not.

I'm sure once I get accustomed to having some free time, I'll find ways to fill it. Hopefully with something that doesn't involve mindless shopping to fill the void that is my broken heart.

At least someone is happy about it:







Here he is on the steps of his little academy. That's what it's called. The Academy. My heart. I can't take it.




Here he has to sign in. All by himself. Without me helping. I feel so superfluous.





And here is the sign that I'm putting up right down the street from the school. It reflects my mood wonderfully.

So here I sit. I've finished the post. I guess I'll go clean the house.

sigh

Photographic evidence that I shouldn't be allowed to have children

livin the thug life

Yes, that's my five year old. Why yes! those are itty bitty teeny tiny bling filled brass knuckles*. They fit him perfectly. And he is wearing aviators. and a bandana. Right now he's standing in the front yard flashing gang signs to the neighbors. They're all hiding behind their blinds, quaking in fear of the thug next door. Soon, he'll put away his bling, hop on his scooter and come in for a glass of milk. But until then, you best be steppin careful, yo.

*They actually go on a chain for a real (pretend) thug to wear as a necklace. He found them at the beach while I was looking at purses.

A wounded heart

I may or may not have mentioned before that we had a little Jack Russell terrier show up on our porch about four months ago. We let him sleep in the garage while looking for his owner. He had a collar but no tags and he wasn't microchipped. (CHIP YOUR DOGS!!!) I put up posters and contacted all of the shelters within a three state radius with no luck. Soooo....guess who moved into the house with us? Just let me state that had I known I was going to keep him, I would've come up with a more original name than 'Jack'.


All went swimmingly with Jack, even though he regularly tormented poor Gus, who is too big and dumb to defend himself. (Actually, he's just a really sweet dog who didn't want to hurt the little one, but it's more fun to call him big and dumb). He even slept at the foot of the bed with Betty Boop. Until last night. Last night, completely unprovoked, he did this:

Silas was sitting on the floor putting his shoes on when Jack attacked him. We are so lucky that there wasn't more damage. The thought of those disproportionately long teeth that close to my baby's eyes makes me cringe. Silas did the right thing by covering his head and rolling over as soon as the attack started. It breaks my heart that my little boy, who loves everyone and everything, had to use inherent survival skills in his own home. That I knowingly exposed him to harm. How could I have known, you ask? I dreamed it the night before. And my dreams always come true in some form. So I knew he was going to bite him, but I thought I had time to place him in a rescue. I gambled and Silas lost.

Jack has been taken by animal control. He has to be quarantined for ten days and then he'll be euthanized. There is no other way, the law will not bend on this. I just wish he didn't have to die. Even though I could've killed with my hands if I hadn't been tending Silas. But since we have no history on him and don't know if he's had his rabies shots or not, he must go.

This is the wound this morning:

It's the wounds to his heart that worry me most. He feels so betrayed and hurt. This is the first time he's ever been hurt by something he loved. I wish it would be the last.

I took the picture before we left for the ER because I knew animal control would need it. NOT because I'm an awful mother exploiting her kids injury. but since I had it anyway.....

Funny.....

I don't remember a romantic liason with Javier Bardem about six years ago.

Or Buster Brown, for that matter.

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Pumpkins & cider & hayrides. It's Fall!

Finally! I didn't think it would ever really feel like fall. It's still been hot during the day and only cooling off a little at night. Today was the first day cold enough for a jacket, and now that it's night it's cold enough to turn the heat on.

Silas had his fall field trip with his school on Friday. It hadn't cooled off yet so we were all in shorts and tees. It just doesn't feel right being at the pumpkin patch in shorts. Wah wah, boo hoo. If it was freezing, I'd complain about that too. He had a great time and we were both worn out at the end of the day.

I was trying to apply some of the techniques I learned in photography class over the course of the day. Actually doing it is a little harder than learning it, but I tried. I didn't do too bad for a point and shoot camera. I'm hoping Santa puts a dslr in my stocking.

And how's this for a random picture? This is painted on a concrete tower down by the river. It's just not what you'd expect to see amid all the graffitti and tags.

Of course, anyone who likes Johnny Cash is ok with me, vandal or not.

I should have been a dentist

SweetieDarling has been suffering for days with a toothache. She finally decided to tell me about it two days ago. I sent her to the dentist hoping she could get a filling and be done with it. Oh no. No no no. Couldn't be that simple. She needs a root canal and a crown. Or she must have the tooth extracted. Now, I know we live in West by gawd Virginia, but I cannot have my 18 year old daughter running around missing a tooth. Even if it is one in the way back that wouldn't affect her beautiful smile.

So she's referred to an oral surgeon who specializes in these things. Do you know how much a root canal costs? Well sit down, because you're about to be shocked. $985!!!!! Do you believe that? That's ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!! I was absolutely gobsmacked!!!! I hope I don't run out of exclamation points!!! Because then how would you know how dismayed I am?!!

When I set up the appointment for the xrays, I asked the scheduler if piercings were a problem. See poppets, my SweetieDarling, she's a bit of a goth child. You know the ones, black hair, eyeliner, nailpolish, lipstick. So many piercings they look like they fell face first into the tackle box. The ones you either point at or run away from at the mall? That's my girl. And I didn't want her to go for the xray and all that metal in her head melt together and fuse into some kind of terminator/robo cop hybrid mask. Apparently, since the rays are centered onto the tooth only, it doesn't matter.

It's a good thing her mouth is sore and she can't chew. After paying for this, there won't be food around here for the rest of the month.

We have confirmation...

...that I am a total goofball. There is absolutely nothing wrong with his eyes, just like you said. (you are soooo wise!) It was decided amongst the professionals that I have a bad case of the google-itis. I've been advised to abstain from any and all medical websites for the rest of forever.


He was looked at by his pediatrician, who, just to shut me up (because I was all 'you're sure, absolutely positive, swear on your mother', etc....), sent us over to the opthamologist for a little look see. She dilated his pupils and had a good look around. He's peachy and he was thrilled to get to use the cool "look through" machine. I was entertained all afternoon as he stumbled around into things because his pupils were dilated.


That picture shook me up. Probably a combination of having always been a little worried about his eyes (he can move them independently and it skeeves me out), having read a novel a few months ago about a little boy who had that disease, and then reading the msnbc article two days before I downloaded that picture. It was like the perfect storm I tell ya. All the factors needed for a complete mommy meltdown.

So thanks for being kind and patient and only rolling your eyes when I wasn't looking. I do appreciate it. You (and my good friend Ms. Xanax) helped me get some sleep when otherwise, I would have paced all night.


Now that we know Silas' eyes are fine, guess what I need? BIFOCALS!! You'll notice the capitalization, bolding AND italics? I can't believe it. I'm only 29. (With 12 years experience) At least I can get new glasses now, and keep them on instead of only needing them to read and then not being able to find them because they're on top of my head and who would think to look there? (see, good side to everything)



Awkward change of topic:


Saturday was my 10th wedding anniversary, and also my 41st birthday. If you've been around here any amount of time, you know that neither of these events inspired much of a celebratory atmosphere. We went to Olive Garden for dinner and I had a glass of Sangria. Did you know Sangria has alcohol in it? I did not. until it mixed with my prozac and I passed out. I didn't wake up in a panic attack on Saturday night, no sir. I wouldn't have awakened if you had burned my feet with a poker.


Because my Sunday night recap/update haven't decided what to call it yet post got pre-empted by my meltdown post, I'll leave you with the funniest pic I saw this week. Peace out, poppets.

Please tell me I'm crazy

Poppets, your mission for this day, should you choose to accept it, is to tell me that I'm mad as a hatter. A few sandwiches shy of a picnic, that I have finally, after putting up a heckuva fight, lost my tenuous grip on the last vestiges of my sanity. If you could do that for me, I would appreciate it, because I have managed to freak myself completely out.


I have always thought that my son was too good to be true. Always. After what I went through to get pregnant with him when he was finally here I couldn't believe my fortune. When he turned out to be the easiest baby ever, I was elated. After failing my first three children in every way imaginable, and having to live with that guilt, I thought surely that this chance to redeem myself was just to good to be true. When he practically weaned and potty trained himself, taught himself how to get dressed, and was just generally the best kid ever, I couldn't believe my luck. I know I'm making him sound like the second coming but he's just that great. I could go on for pages about his accomplishments, how smart he is, blah blah blah, but couldn't we all? My point is I've never felt that I deserved him, and I've been waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me for five years. Because the rug always get pulled, or at least bunched up enough to trip me.


Would you please tell me that these two pictures look nothing alike? Pretty please? Because the first picture is of a little girl with retinoblastoma, which is a cancer of the eye. It was found because of that reflection in the picture.

Can you see why I'm freaking out? I can assure you that we'll be at the pediatricians office when they open in the morning, but maybe you guys can help me at least sleep tonight. Of course, that'll be after Dr. Google has his way with me.

Trophies & Birthdays & Parties, Oh My!

Whew! What a week. It was quite a whirlwind.

Tuesday was awards night for the tennis program. As I've mentioned a million times once or twice, Silas won the tennis championship for the six and under set. This is the look that trophy inspired:

Then Wednesday was his fifth birthday. He woke up convinced he was two feet taller and ten times stronger because now he was a "five guy". He's going to chop the firewood and mow the lawn later. This is the first glimpse of him as the newly awoken five guy:

His day at school entailed him being 'helper of the day', which is like being the pimp daddy of the preschool set, and then having birthday cupcakes for snack. When he got home he got his gifts from mom (new scooter and helmet) and from dad (new fishing pole and tackle box).

Sunday was his birthday party at a local arcade/waterpark/golf course. That place rocks! They have waterslides, bumper boats, splash zone plus the inside stuff. They had a blast. Even got to ride a train during which the "conductor" gave them each their very own train whistle. I'm putting pins into his voodoo doll as we speak.

So that's where I've been this past week. You can rest easy now that you're caught up. (a bit of facetiousness there, lest you think I'm serious) I'll probably spend the rest of this week trying to figure out why my pictures are falling out of their frames up there.

The most dangerous chemical in the world

Silas will be five next week. What is it with five that makes an adorable, sweet little tyke turn into a fit throwing, door slamming, pseudo-swearing little tyrant? After being made to finish his chores (which involved much wailing and gnashing of teeth), I went with him up (it's all up here on the mountain) to his swingset. He's recently learned to swing under his own power and, as with any new skill, wants to do it constantly. Since it's just not as much fun without an appreciative audience, I must go along and provide a running commentary about height achieved, speed reached, and how no one else, EVAR, in the history of the world has swung so high or so fast.
We have cushioned the playground with a very thick layer of finely shredded mulch. When he tumbles from the overhead ladder (and he will), we prefer he land on some cushioning. Because his parents are owners of real excavating equipment (loaders, backhoes, dozers, etc), Silas is the proud possessor of quite a fleet of Tonka dump trucks and equipment. Bear with me, I'm going somewhere with all of this drivel, I promise.
Anydigger, after the swing session is over, he starts to play with his loader and dumptruck. He's happily scooping mulch, hauling it around a little road he's carved and dumping it in the truck. He asks if I'll play with him. Um, no. No, I won't. Firstly, mama don't do crawling around in the wet mulch. Secondly, who would hold my coffee? Thirdly, it's hot, buggy and I'm outside. That's all your getting. So I tell him that I'm the supervisor. That I'm here to make sure he does his work right and to make sure he doesn't slack off. He scoops two more times, looks at me and says "you gonna pretend you a mister? Misters gotta be the bosses."
What?the?fuck??? Did my son, who has spent his ENTIRE life being hauled around to construction sites by his mother, (who is the boss) just tell me that the bosses had to be misters? Where did this notion come from? How did it get into his head? He doesn't watch television other than Spongebob (because I like it, shut up) and I don't read him fairytales where the prince saves the damsel and I even explained that Mary Jane is a useless waste of skin because all she does is sit around and WAH WAH WAH Save me Spidey and still, he has this notion.
He doesn't watch violent movies yet he will take a stick and wage war with it, whether it be a sword, a rifle, or, in one particularly imaginative instance, tied a balloon to it and made a mace. He will take his dolls, or "action figures" which are dolls for boys but good lord don't call them that, and they will beat the hell out of each other. This from a child who has never been struck in his life. Nor has he ever seen anyone struck. This violence, this hardness, this boyness. It's the testosterone. The cause of world wars, schoolyard fights and everything in between. The most dangerous chemical in the world.

I must be doing something right

Look at the joy on that face. That alone is worth it all.





Also, may I present the Jefferson County '6 and under' tennis champeen? Because here he is, cheesin it up for ya'll. In order to avoid sounding like a "tennis mom" I'll leave out the part about him only being FOUR. (I'll also leave out how it really comes down to which way the wind is blowing at that age)

Here's some random creepiness that just skeeves me out. This is what happens when you just don't care whether your son covers up his sandbox or not: tadpoles, then frogs. In plague amounts. On the plus side? No flies.

Creeped out yet? Glad I could share.

It's a circus around here!

Piglet and I went to the raising of the circus bigtop this morning at the ungodly hour of 7:00.
He rode a pony:



Got his face painted:


And I met my new husband:

He's very European and stylish. Unfortunately, he has a significant other:

So we are sad:

We go home and distract ourselves with mindless computer drivel to mend our broken heart.

The actual circus is tomorrow. Our heads may very well explode before then.

Take me out to the ballfield

Piglet's first day of T-Ball was Saturday. He's four. We're lucky if he can walk from the bathroom to the sofa without a monty pythonesque montage of pratfalls.

It was 45 degrees and windy, but none of the kids complained. The parents however, we cried like newborns, huddled in the dugout over a small fire of trash we foraged out of the bleachers.

I personally had envisioned two quiet hours lounging in the truck reading. Piglet had different ideas. My attention was required every 2.8 seconds. "Mom, did you see me run? Mom, did you see me hit? Mom, watch this, watch this, watch this." After 20 minutes of muttering "who is that kid, why's he calling me mom?" I gave in and left the relative shelter of the dugout to stand in the tornadic winds and shout encouragement. This consisted of "wrong direction, run the other way, don't hit people with the bat, put your mitt on your hand not your head, and get that ball out of your pants".

After an hour of watching eight four year olds run amok, we called it a practice, congratulated ourselves on being the best parents ever, and passed around the Hennessy. Good times.

Fat Mama

My little one is four now. He has one more year of preschool and then he'll be in kindergarten. Which means I have until fall of 2009 to lose around 60 pounds. You see, I don't want him to be the kid with the fat mama. It's not fair to him. He didn't ask to be born to not only an older mother than most others have, but an obese one as well. He's starting to take notice of differences and while he's being taught to be tolerant and kind, I know he'll be teased. It is one of my worst fears that he'll be ashamed of me, embarrassed when I pick him up or drop him off. That he'll turn away when I try to hug him, ask me to drop him off around the corner, or "forget" to tell me about the field trip a chaperone is needed for.


While I'm worried about my hurt, I'm far more concerned about his feelings and esteem. He's so empathetic and giving and such a joyful and happy child that it breaks my heart to think that I may cause the events that bring shame and bad feelings into his young life. To think that he may be going along happy and carefree, innocent and kind like children are and then to have someone ask "is that your mom? God, she's so fat" and then to see a cloud cross his face as he realizes something that never occurred to him before. Something that he didn't know he was supposed to be embarrassed about. Conflicted because he's torn between the love he has for his mother and the shame his peers tell him he should have.


I refuse to be an embarrassment to my son. I will lose this weight and I will do if for myself as much as for him. Wish me luck.