Drew
Drew………right now he is caught in this wonderful, poignant place between preschooler and Kid. Almost a kid — occasionally embarassed at hugs and kisses when I drop him at school, starting the eye rolling when I remind him to wash his hands or go to the potty, but still little enough that when I pick him up from school, as soon as I walk out the door to the playground, I hear “MOMMYYYYY!!!!!” and watch him tear across the playground at full speed to jump into my arms with enough force to almost knock me over. I have never been greeted with such joy and fervor in my life, and it is one of the very best moments of every school day. I am thankful for his cleverness (even when it works against me!), his friendliness and socialiability, the way he plays little jokes and then slyly says “Mommy, I was trick-sing you!”. We still lay down together for his bedtime, and my day is not complete until he tells me “I love you, mama, and I will see you in the morningtime”.
Zachary
Zachary……..Zak Attack! Bull in a china shop. No one who meets Zachary fails to be astounded at his sheer strength. He’s small for his age, but never was there a more solid, sturdy kid. He is happy 95% of the time, but lord help you the other 5%, for he will make his displeasure known to all within earshot. After I hear Drew’s goodnights, I eventually settle in for the night with Mr Zachary. He’s a world champion snuggler, and mostly refuses to sleep alone. He wakes up like his father — meaning cranky as hell — but after a drink and a snack he settles into his role as Mr. Happy. His recipe for joy includes snacks and crumbs of attention from Big Brother Drew. Nothing else is required.
I know it’s cliche to say how much you love your kids, and I was thinking last night as Drew and I played a game how much I just *liked* them. I like spending time with them, I like their occasionally silly little games, I like hard hugs and wet kisses and sharing the food off my dinner plate (most of the time). They humble me with their love, and I am beyond grateful to have the opportunity to return it.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
On the tip of my tongue........
The other day on the elevator, I was telling my sister a story and I could NOT remember the name of a person I was talking about. It was elusive— just right there, but I couldn’t get to that name.
Stuff like that scares the bejesus out of me.
Mom and dad had kids young. When dad was diagnosed, I was in my mid thirties. If I were to end up in the same boat, Zak and Drew would be in their young twenties. That’s just too young to have to deal with an ailing parent. Too, too young.
Shortly after Dad was diagnosed, he told my mother that she’d be relieved to know he had decided against suicide. I don’t know how serious he was, but I do know he wouldn’t have mentioned it unless he had — however briefly — considered it. It made me really, really angry. How dare he even think of making a decision like that? But every time I forget to do something or space out on a name, I think about that conversation, and I understand just a little. I am established in my life, and this sucks. I cannot imagine if the boys were in college and they got that news about me.
There are some types of early onset Alzheimers that are genetically influenced in a way that you can get tested to see if you can get it. They have not said that Dad has that kind, and given that no one in his family before him had AD, I doubt it is. But I do wonder what I would do if it was. Would I want to know? Probably not really. Would I find out? Yeah, I think I would. Not so much for myself, but so that I could be sure to wring every single bit of pleasure out of my boys now, so that I could set things up for them so they didn’t have to worry about the mundane details of taking care of me.
Even now, I sometimes hug Drew or kiss Zachary, overcome by the desire to hug him just a little harder or kiss just one more time, and think “I want to REMEMBER this.” I want to remember it always. Forever. The smell of their hair, their sturdy arms snuggling me. It reminds me that this damn disease doesn’t only steal loved ones away from us, but we leave them as well. One day my dad might not know who I am. I think about how painful that will be. For both of us.
Stuff like that scares the bejesus out of me.
Mom and dad had kids young. When dad was diagnosed, I was in my mid thirties. If I were to end up in the same boat, Zak and Drew would be in their young twenties. That’s just too young to have to deal with an ailing parent. Too, too young.
Shortly after Dad was diagnosed, he told my mother that she’d be relieved to know he had decided against suicide. I don’t know how serious he was, but I do know he wouldn’t have mentioned it unless he had — however briefly — considered it. It made me really, really angry. How dare he even think of making a decision like that? But every time I forget to do something or space out on a name, I think about that conversation, and I understand just a little. I am established in my life, and this sucks. I cannot imagine if the boys were in college and they got that news about me.
There are some types of early onset Alzheimers that are genetically influenced in a way that you can get tested to see if you can get it. They have not said that Dad has that kind, and given that no one in his family before him had AD, I doubt it is. But I do wonder what I would do if it was. Would I want to know? Probably not really. Would I find out? Yeah, I think I would. Not so much for myself, but so that I could be sure to wring every single bit of pleasure out of my boys now, so that I could set things up for them so they didn’t have to worry about the mundane details of taking care of me.
Even now, I sometimes hug Drew or kiss Zachary, overcome by the desire to hug him just a little harder or kiss just one more time, and think “I want to REMEMBER this.” I want to remember it always. Forever. The smell of their hair, their sturdy arms snuggling me. It reminds me that this damn disease doesn’t only steal loved ones away from us, but we leave them as well. One day my dad might not know who I am. I think about how painful that will be. For both of us.
Friday, June 11, 2010
This morning, Drew kept asking me for toast and I kept putting him off. I was actually doing it, just slowly along with the 47 million other things I have to do to get us out of the house every morning, but I am sure he felt like I was ignoring him.
He walks up to me, puts his hands on his hips and says “Mommy! I want my toast, please. How many times I have to ask you? I ask you a MILLION times already, but you just not listen.” and he shook his head sadly, like there was no hope for me at all.
Which, lets face it, might be true.
He walks up to me, puts his hands on his hips and says “Mommy! I want my toast, please. How many times I have to ask you? I ask you a MILLION times already, but you just not listen.” and he shook his head sadly, like there was no hope for me at all.
Which, lets face it, might be true.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Last Morning
One of the best things about having kids is that they are just funny. I love the way Drew talks. I love the words he mispronounces and the ones he just can’t figure out the meaning to.
He is convinced our neighbors are his “parents”. I do not have the slightest clue WHY he thinks this, but he will not be swayed. Cliff and I are Daddy and Mama, so our roles are obviously defined. But since other people are always telling him he needs to ask his Parents permission to do things, he had to assign that role to someone. I know he is confused about why he needs to ask our neighbors to cross the street or eat a sample of pizza roll at Costco, and I find it mildly disturbing that at 4 he already realizes that his father and I, while lovely, clearly lack the sort of authority and gravitas the label “parents” seems to require.
He either does not understand or cannot say the word “yesterday”. So instead, he says “last morning”. Which is awesome. I don’t know why, but it kills me and I hope he always does it, even when the other kids at Harvard make fun of him. “Hey, how did you do on that pop quiz we had last morning?”
Computer = compudder
Goldfish = goldfishies
raviolis = ollies
When he asks for milk, he has started asking for “a drink called milk”. I don’t know if he thinks I need the clarity or I will throw a Drink Called Battery Acid in the sippy or what, but he always needs a drink. Called milk. Just so you don’t screw it up, mom.
He is convinced our neighbors are his “parents”. I do not have the slightest clue WHY he thinks this, but he will not be swayed. Cliff and I are Daddy and Mama, so our roles are obviously defined. But since other people are always telling him he needs to ask his Parents permission to do things, he had to assign that role to someone. I know he is confused about why he needs to ask our neighbors to cross the street or eat a sample of pizza roll at Costco, and I find it mildly disturbing that at 4 he already realizes that his father and I, while lovely, clearly lack the sort of authority and gravitas the label “parents” seems to require.
He either does not understand or cannot say the word “yesterday”. So instead, he says “last morning”. Which is awesome. I don’t know why, but it kills me and I hope he always does it, even when the other kids at Harvard make fun of him. “Hey, how did you do on that pop quiz we had last morning?”
Computer = compudder
Goldfish = goldfishies
raviolis = ollies
When he asks for milk, he has started asking for “a drink called milk”. I don’t know if he thinks I need the clarity or I will throw a Drink Called Battery Acid in the sippy or what, but he always needs a drink. Called milk. Just so you don’t screw it up, mom.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Family Programming
So before I had a kid, I always wondered who in the world watched crap like “America’s Funniest Home Videos” and stuff.
I now have my answer. Drew thinks that show is the Bomb. He calls it “Falling Down Show”, which really is the better of two options, considering “Ball To The Crotch Show” would be equally appropriate. He laughs harder than I have ever seen a kid laugh. Rolling on the floor, total hysterics. It is awesome, and I willingly tolerate Tom Bergeron (the perfect host for those in Middle America who find Ryan Secrest a bit too edgy) for the sake of those belly laughs.
About the only show that tops Falling Down Show is Big Red Ball Show.
I now have my answer. Drew thinks that show is the Bomb. He calls it “Falling Down Show”, which really is the better of two options, considering “Ball To The Crotch Show” would be equally appropriate. He laughs harder than I have ever seen a kid laugh. Rolling on the floor, total hysterics. It is awesome, and I willingly tolerate Tom Bergeron (the perfect host for those in Middle America who find Ryan Secrest a bit too edgy) for the sake of those belly laughs.
About the only show that tops Falling Down Show is Big Red Ball Show.
- She’s not gonna make it!!
The show premiers tonight with a 2 hour episode. I don’t know if Drew will be able to handle it. Our couches, either, because he usually starts jumping around on the furniture at about 15 minutes in, with all rebukes met with “But I’m doing my PRACTICE!!!!”
We have no idea what he is practicing for. But whatever happens, he will be ready.
It just occurred to me that both shows are broadcasted by ABC. Where they can’t find anyone to write dialogue, apparently.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
I wish my dad had cancer.
I know, right?? What a horrible, horrible thing to say.
The whole time Cliff was fighting cancer, all the doctors visits and worrying and surgeries and medications, I thought over and over and over again that I would never, not in a million years, wish that on anyone. Even my worst enemies. It’s not a statement I make lightly.
But I really wish my dad had cancer. Instead, he has Alzheimers.
Cancer is a fightable disease. Doctors will pat you on the back, give you odds, tell you with confidence (even if it’s feigned) “We are going to throw everything we have at this and you can beat it!” With Alzheimers, it’s all about “slowing things down” and discussion about “the progression”, but there’s no fighting spirit or positive attitude called for. Because it doesn’t matter. You can’t beat it. It wins the battle before you even have a chance to marshall the troops.
Cancer comes with a two part diagnoses: The Bummer : “The test results are back, and it’s cancer.” and The Hope: “…….here’s our plan of attack“. Alzheimers diagnoses are different. They are more of the “It sucks and I know it sucks and unfortunately you’d probably better become accustomed to it sucking, because soon it will suck even worse.” variety.
Cancer is long periods of nothing punctuated by shorter periods of intense need. People respond pretty well to that. People can organize meal delivery, they can drop off a casserole, they can mow your lawn while someone recovers from surgery. Alzheimers never stops. It never takes a break. It just gets worse.
Of all the things to befall my father in particular, Alzheimers has a specific sort of cruelty. I have never known a man more cerebral than my father, a man who lived inside his head more. Of all the words anyone ever used to describe my dad, I imagine “capable” probably took top prize. But he’s not capable anymore.
He was diagnosed right after my son was born. At the time, his symptoms were mostly of the Party Foul variety. The same story, told over and over, forgetting to meet his daughters at the movies, losing things. It stayed that way for a long time. I actually began to doubt the timelines we’d been given. Yeah, dad was forgetful. Sure, you had to check the stove burners before he left the house, make sure he had his phone, call him both the night before you met him for lunch and again a half hour before you were going to pick him up. He’d get irrationally and disproportionately angry all of a sudden, but not often. But it was manageable. In the past year, though, the disease has picked up some speed, and it’s hard to keep up, like dribbling a soccer ball down a hill. You have control for a second, and then you lose it, careening down the hill far too fast, unable to steer, hoping you catch up.
I miss my dad. My kids won’t know him like I do, or even like my nieces do, or even like they do. Drew and Zachary have totally different grandfathers in many ways.
We took my dad to see Van Morrison in concert last week. Van is one of his favorites, and I felt particularly lucky that he was in town and playing now, while we could go and enjoy it. I asked my parents if I could take their picture. Dad was goofing off, making faces, and I chided him a little bit, and he laughed just as I snapped the picture. I love this picture. It’s my ‘real’ dad.
The whole time Cliff was fighting cancer, all the doctors visits and worrying and surgeries and medications, I thought over and over and over again that I would never, not in a million years, wish that on anyone. Even my worst enemies. It’s not a statement I make lightly.
But I really wish my dad had cancer. Instead, he has Alzheimers.
Cancer is a fightable disease. Doctors will pat you on the back, give you odds, tell you with confidence (even if it’s feigned) “We are going to throw everything we have at this and you can beat it!” With Alzheimers, it’s all about “slowing things down” and discussion about “the progression”, but there’s no fighting spirit or positive attitude called for. Because it doesn’t matter. You can’t beat it. It wins the battle before you even have a chance to marshall the troops.
Cancer comes with a two part diagnoses: The Bummer : “The test results are back, and it’s cancer.” and The Hope: “…….here’s our plan of attack“. Alzheimers diagnoses are different. They are more of the “It sucks and I know it sucks and unfortunately you’d probably better become accustomed to it sucking, because soon it will suck even worse.” variety.
Cancer is long periods of nothing punctuated by shorter periods of intense need. People respond pretty well to that. People can organize meal delivery, they can drop off a casserole, they can mow your lawn while someone recovers from surgery. Alzheimers never stops. It never takes a break. It just gets worse.
Of all the things to befall my father in particular, Alzheimers has a specific sort of cruelty. I have never known a man more cerebral than my father, a man who lived inside his head more. Of all the words anyone ever used to describe my dad, I imagine “capable” probably took top prize. But he’s not capable anymore.
He was diagnosed right after my son was born. At the time, his symptoms were mostly of the Party Foul variety. The same story, told over and over, forgetting to meet his daughters at the movies, losing things. It stayed that way for a long time. I actually began to doubt the timelines we’d been given. Yeah, dad was forgetful. Sure, you had to check the stove burners before he left the house, make sure he had his phone, call him both the night before you met him for lunch and again a half hour before you were going to pick him up. He’d get irrationally and disproportionately angry all of a sudden, but not often. But it was manageable. In the past year, though, the disease has picked up some speed, and it’s hard to keep up, like dribbling a soccer ball down a hill. You have control for a second, and then you lose it, careening down the hill far too fast, unable to steer, hoping you catch up.
I miss my dad. My kids won’t know him like I do, or even like my nieces do, or even like they do. Drew and Zachary have totally different grandfathers in many ways.
We took my dad to see Van Morrison in concert last week. Van is one of his favorites, and I felt particularly lucky that he was in town and playing now, while we could go and enjoy it. I asked my parents if I could take their picture. Dad was goofing off, making faces, and I chided him a little bit, and he laughed just as I snapped the picture. I love this picture. It’s my ‘real’ dad.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Go cocks. I guess.
And probably also why daycare is going to call me at work tomorrow.
They have been working on rhyming with the 4 year olds. Honestly, I am so damn tired of rhyming. We rhyme in the car, we rhyme at bathtime, we rhyme in our house and with a mouse and in the dark at the park.
So I picked Drew up at school today, and I am just bone tired. I have been sick, the baby isn’t sleeping, blahblahblah, adult concerns and worries, blahblahblah. But we WILL rhyme!!! There WILL be learning!!
My mind was about 10% on the rhyming. That 10% was 50% there. The other 90% was 100% figuring out mundane stuff like dinner and clean socks and excel macros and training documents and how much milk was in the house. (If that math confuses you, you are not a working mom.)
So the rhyming went a little something like this — the enthusiasm, of course, belongs to Drew.
BOX!! fox
HOUSE!!! mouse
CAR!!!! star
NOSE!!! hose
DOG!!! log
HAT!!!! cat
SOCK!!!!
:|
You know what I said.
They have been working on rhyming with the 4 year olds. Honestly, I am so damn tired of rhyming. We rhyme in the car, we rhyme at bathtime, we rhyme in our house and with a mouse and in the dark at the park.
So I picked Drew up at school today, and I am just bone tired. I have been sick, the baby isn’t sleeping, blahblahblah, adult concerns and worries, blahblahblah. But we WILL rhyme!!! There WILL be learning!!
My mind was about 10% on the rhyming. That 10% was 50% there. The other 90% was 100% figuring out mundane stuff like dinner and clean socks and excel macros and training documents and how much milk was in the house. (If that math confuses you, you are not a working mom.)
So the rhyming went a little something like this — the enthusiasm, of course, belongs to Drew.
BOX!! fox
HOUSE!!! mouse
CAR!!!! star
NOSE!!! hose
DOG!!! log
HAT!!!! cat
SOCK!!!!
:|
You know what I said.
Uhh, yeah. I know.
Friday, February 19, 2010
But, sir, let me explain the CONTEXT........
I have been talking to Drew about food and choices and eating more things that are good for our bodies. I have told him that I love him, and I’d like his body to be happy and healthy and feel good, etc, etc. I may have overdone it a bit, because we were shopping at the grocery store today and he was loudly commenting “I really like your body, mama. I like it when you eat things that are good for your body, because it makes my body happy and we both feel so good!”
I am expecting a call from the State any day now.
I am expecting a call from the State any day now.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Sleeping Beauties
I am just going to say it — I love sleeping with my kids. I know in a lot of circles that is something people freak out about – it seems like you either are a cosleeper, or you aren’t.
Zachary goes down to sleep alone, but Drew still wants me to lay (lie?) down with me each night. By “wants” I mean “refuses to go to bed alone”. But I am actually ok with that. Especially since Zak was born, I really relish the half hour or so we snuggle (or “smuggle” in Drew parlance) before he falls alseep. We talk about his day, we read a book or three, he tells me about his dreams or tells me a story. Then he rolls over, places my arm around him and commands me to smuggle him, and drops off to sleep. And of course, so do I, since I cannot be still for more than 10 minutes without sleeping. I wake a couple of hours later in excruciating back pain, usually just in time to hear Zak crying for me. I grab him and we retire to the recliner, where he nurses the rest of the night. About half the time, Drew joins us in the wee hours, and then it’s the three of us, crammed into a recliner built for one, a mass of tangled limbs and boppys and blankets.
I wake up in the morning with a hand or a foot or baby milky morning breath in my face, loose and warm sturdy baby boy bodies wrapped around me, and I feel content.
I often wonder if I would feel the same if I was a stay at home mom. I know that even I sometimes feel a need to get away from all the touching that is a part of being a mom to little ones, and I am sure it’s worse for moms at home with their kids all day, who have 24 hours of tugging and pulling on clothes. For me, though, I am away from them for 9 or 10 hours a day, so it’s hard for me to begrudge them sitting on my lap at dinner, crawling all over me on the floor as we play, or being unable to sleep without the dulcet tones of Mommy snoring in their ears. :P
Even on the days it feels claustrophobic – when I have a cold and can’t breathe and am fairly certain I will suffocate with Drew’s massive noggin all up in my face, or when Zak has been literally attached to me All. Night. Long. in some sort of nursing marathon — I try and appreciate that this time is so short lived. They will want me so much less as they get older, my sweet round faced little men, and by the time they are young teenagers and I am dropping them off blocks away from their intended destinations so they won’t be seen with me, I will look back and remember that there was a time that all they wanted was to be close to me, and I will never be sorry I indulged them. Or myself.
Zachary goes down to sleep alone, but Drew still wants me to lay (lie?) down with me each night. By “wants” I mean “refuses to go to bed alone”. But I am actually ok with that. Especially since Zak was born, I really relish the half hour or so we snuggle (or “smuggle” in Drew parlance) before he falls alseep. We talk about his day, we read a book or three, he tells me about his dreams or tells me a story. Then he rolls over, places my arm around him and commands me to smuggle him, and drops off to sleep. And of course, so do I, since I cannot be still for more than 10 minutes without sleeping. I wake a couple of hours later in excruciating back pain, usually just in time to hear Zak crying for me. I grab him and we retire to the recliner, where he nurses the rest of the night. About half the time, Drew joins us in the wee hours, and then it’s the three of us, crammed into a recliner built for one, a mass of tangled limbs and boppys and blankets.
I wake up in the morning with a hand or a foot or baby milky morning breath in my face, loose and warm sturdy baby boy bodies wrapped around me, and I feel content.
I often wonder if I would feel the same if I was a stay at home mom. I know that even I sometimes feel a need to get away from all the touching that is a part of being a mom to little ones, and I am sure it’s worse for moms at home with their kids all day, who have 24 hours of tugging and pulling on clothes. For me, though, I am away from them for 9 or 10 hours a day, so it’s hard for me to begrudge them sitting on my lap at dinner, crawling all over me on the floor as we play, or being unable to sleep without the dulcet tones of Mommy snoring in their ears. :P
Even on the days it feels claustrophobic – when I have a cold and can’t breathe and am fairly certain I will suffocate with Drew’s massive noggin all up in my face, or when Zak has been literally attached to me All. Night. Long. in some sort of nursing marathon — I try and appreciate that this time is so short lived. They will want me so much less as they get older, my sweet round faced little men, and by the time they are young teenagers and I am dropping them off blocks away from their intended destinations so they won’t be seen with me, I will look back and remember that there was a time that all they wanted was to be close to me, and I will never be sorry I indulged them. Or myself.
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