On the twentieth of July

It’s hotter than Hades today.

It has been awhile since we last spoke, hasn’t it?

I lost my desire to write for a while.  I even contemplated closing my blog (gulp)…but I thought to myself, Betty Lou, you’ll want it back someday.  And that day is today.

These past few months have been eventful; full of travel and celebrations and swimming lessons.  So on a scorcher of a day like today, we welcomed the relaxation of an uneventful day…

(Lee, in orange, is very sensitive to the sunlight)

(Lee hit his face on the side of the pool today during his swim lesson)

(I suppose I owe a self-portrait after a long hiatus)

(Freckles.  And wrinkles)

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Gibs?  He was napping in the cool AC, lucky guy.

I’m on “E”

I woke with a headache this morning.

Last night was the third night in a row Doc has woken me up and kept me awake with his snoring.  Kicking him no longer works, I may have to resort to the pillow…

Jungle Terry came to the boys school today.

Gibs and I were invited to join in the wild adventure.  We saw the chinchilla, hedgehog and skunk before I had to carry him out, kicking and screaming.

I sat in the van with him while he calmed down and then we went shopping.  After I paid for our corn on the cob and minneolas, we shared a candy bar on an outside bench.

When I returned to the school to pick up the boys, Lee’s teacher told me he had cried all afternoon because he “missed his mommy.”

We came home and I dusted while they watched tv.  After Gibs went down for a nap, I took Nic and Lee outside.  We were outside for almost 3 hours.  We cleaned the patio, brought out (and cleaned) our outdoor furniture, toys, fire pit and grill.

Halfway through, Lee yelled he had to pee.  He ran inside and peed all over the bathroom.  When we were done outside, I cleaned the bathroom floor and washed the rugs.

Dinner was barbecue pork chops, corn on the cob, waffle fries and jello with mandarin oranges; chocolate chip cookie and ice cream sundaes for dessert.

The boys played outside with Doc while I cleaned up the kitchen and talked to my girlfriend on the phone.  Then it was bathtime and bedtime.  At 8 o’clock I went back outside to clean up and straighten our solar lamps that were left outside during the winter.

Now I am sitting on my butt, dead tired.

Not much depth to this post.

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I am still spring cleaning…

Little known facts about pirates

Pirates don’t cry.

(Unless their little brother wakes them up at 4 am).

Pirates like to set the table for dinner.  Their favorite colors are red and black.  They like to eat macaroni & cheese, cereal and pickles; but not together.

If you’re scurvy, pirates make you walk the plank.

Pirates say things like “Argh, Matey!”  But they also say “You crack up my shiznit.”

What pirates want most?  A Nintendo DS and a little sister named Lora.

Pirates can fart.  On demand.

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Life with a pirate is never boring.

Tests, Sighs and Videotape

Lee has been getting out of bed after he’s been tucked in.

He needs a drink of water or he has to go to the bathroom or it’s too dark in his bedroom or he needs to be covered up with his blankets.  As a result, he’s tired and grumpy every day.  As a result, Doc and I are tired and grumpy every day.  Deep breath.

Doc (I accidentally speeld his name “Dic.” See?  I’m tired) is studying rigorously for an upcoming exam.  It is an elite sort of thingamajig, only a few doctors in our state hold it.  He studies every day.  For hours.  Most nights I am asleep before he crawls into bed.

These past few weeks I have been waging a quiet battle on the behalf of our family and neighbors regarding (as I type this, Lee is sitting on the floor, rubbing his hand up and down my leg.  My unshaven leg, mind you) a proposed construction project that directly affects us (the consensus being that it affects us negatively).  By either default, or choice (I haven’t decided which one yet), I have become the designated spokesperson.  Without giving too much google-able information away (because it is becoming an increasingly hot issue around these parts), my battle involves petitions, city officials and, eek, speaking in public forums.  Deep breath.

Suffice to say, we have been busy.

So yesterday, when I sat down to review some VHS tapes (yes, VHS tapes) that I am in the process of converting to DVDs, it was a much appreciated break in the (Lee just put himself back to bed.  I think.  I hope) busyness of recent weeks.  The tapes were of the boys.  Nic’s birth (well, not the actual birth; the hospital stay), Nic as a baby, Nic learning to crawl, to walk, to talk.  Me pregnant with Lee, Lee as a baby.  Repeat.  Me pregnant with Gibs, repeat.  Deep breath.

The tapes brought to surface feelings I had placed on the back burner.  Ya’ know, because we’ve been busy.  I’ve been busy; too busy to give enough thought to having another baby.  But there they came, erupting to the surface like an active volcano.

The tapes should be ready tomorrow.  Did I mention we have a new, 47 inch (perfect for baby-watching) flat screen tv?

Doc won’t be studying tomorrow night.

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Lee just got up again.  Deep breath.

Squirrel Heaven

I screamed.

The bang was so loud, my first thought was gunshot.

I had just picked the boys up from school and was buckling them in the van when I heard it.  They started crying.  My van door was open and another mom happened to be walking up to the door of the school when she heard it too.  Moments later, people were coming from every direction.  Who didn’t hear it?

“What was that?” I asked as I stepped out of the van, looking in every direction.

The other mom pointed to the ground.  A squirrel was laying a few feet away, twitching.  “I just saw it fly through the air from that pole right there.  I think it was electrocuted.”  Everyone shared their brief terror (truly, it was the most frightening, defeaning sound) then breathed a collective sigh of relief.

That is, until I started to drive away and caught my sweet Nic in the rearview mirror.  His hands were covering his face and he was sobbing.  I asked him what was wrong.  He said he was sad that the squirrel had died.  He missed the squirrel.  Nic cried for an hour.

This morning when I parked in my usual parking spot in the school lot, I noticed the squirrel wasn’t there anymore.  I excitedly told Nic that the squirrel was okay, he had probably just been stunned from the shock of electricity and he wasn’t there anymore.  He wanted to double-check “the spot” so we all marched over to the grass to take a peek.

I had been mistaken.

Thankfully, I was the only one who noticed it’s tail blowing in the breeze.

“Ok!  See, the squirrel is gone.  He went to play with his friends!”  I sing-songed, as I grabbed hands and we all did an about-face in the opposite direction.

Heartbreak averted.

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The squirrel IS playing with his friends.  In squirrel heaven.

Vindictive

Each night, after the children were tucked into bed,

I opened my laptop and stared at the screen until finally giving in to the exhaustion I felt.  Without a post to show for all my thought.

My mother-in-law received the money last Friday.  She spoke with her ex-husband (Doc’s stepfather) on Saturday.  On Sunday he called Doc to inform him that I was juvenile and vindictive.

JUVENILE.

AND VINDICTIVE.

Juvenile I can shrug off.  But vindictive?  I went through a flux of emotions; I was angry, hurt, sad.  But not for myself; for my children.  I gave my mother-in-law the opportunity to have a relationship with her grandchildren and she squandered it.  And the pity falls with the one who is the problem.

I’m not vindictive.  Even if I wanted to be, I don’t have the time for such nonsense.

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It’s been a busy week.  I am glad to be back, I have missed you.

Return to Sender

It arrived on Monday.

I knew it was coming because she had called Sunday night, drunk, to tell Doc she sent it.  But when I thumbed through the mail and saw the envelope, I was still overcome with anger.  Maybe hatred.  I dialed the phone and whispered to the person on the other end, “If I lived close enough to her, I would drive to her house and punch her in the face.”

Shame on me.  But what’s the point of telling you if I’m not honest.  I’m human.

I told Doc I was sending it back.  His mouth fell open, like he was about to say something.  But I was hot, and on a roll, so he closed his mouth and listened.  And then I think he forgot that I said I was sending it back.

That birthday card, with a $20 bill tucked into it, sat on my kitchen table until today.  This morning I removed the bill and folded it into a blank looseleaf sheet of paper.  On an envelope, in black ink, I wrote my return address on the upper left hand corner and wrote my mother-in-law’s address in the middle.  I put the paper into the envelope, sealed it and placed it in my purse.  I stopped by the post office on the way to taking the boys to school.  I pulled up to the mailbox and rolled my window down.  I looked in the rearview mirror; no one was behind me.  I held the envelope out into the rain.  I looked at her name and thought to myself This can’t be undone.

And then I dropped it in.

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Oh boy.

A swift kick in the ass

I had hoped that I would wake Monday morning with a renewed spirit.

Last week broke me: sick children, a busy husband, little time for myself.  I’ll admit, I did sneak in The Social Network and a few Miller Lites.  But in between doctor visits, picking up prescriptions and disinfecting every square inch of my home, I was having my own little pity party.

I constantly strive to maintain balance.  Perhaps it’s not even balance, I can give more than I need to take.  But I need something; and last week I had nothing.  I had lost myself.

And then last night I was on the computer and I came across this:

BYUtv – BYUtv Shorts: See the Good in The Jacksons.

I don’t know the Jackson family.  I don’t usually share links like this.  Tears were streaming down my face as I listened to their story.  I could not imagine going through what they went through and ever being able to smile again.  It put things in perspective.

It was the swift kick in the ass that I needed.

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Pity party is over.

Five

I had eaten my way through my first pregnancy.

I gained almost 50 pounds and I fully expected to deliver a mini sumo wrestler.  My forkful of strawberries and cottage cheese dangled midair when the first contraction hit.  I knew it would be awhile until I got to eat again, so I sent Doc to McDonald’s for a Big Mac with extra pickles, a large fry and a Coke.  I had heard stories of women doing some un-lady like things during the delivery, but during those last hours of pregnancy I didn’t care; I took advantage of…eating.

Twenty-three hours and eight centimeters later, everything was brought to a halt in one panic-stricken discovery: Nic was breech.  He obviously preferred to eat sitting up, unlike me, who had been devouring entire cherry pies while laying on the couch (at least I wouldn’t be emptying my bowels in front of anyone).

I was whisked away to the OR.  Terrified, I had fleetingly contemplated indulging my panic-stricken state while in the delivery room (ripping out my IV’s, fleeing the hospital).  A cool washcloth and soothing words (thanks, anesthesiologist!) brought me back to reality, Did I want to be awake when my baby was born?

And then the single best moment of my entire life…

(my mini sumo wrestler, weighing in at 6 pounds, 12 ounces)

The next evening, over a cheeseburger and fries (haha!), I asked Dr. H. when I could do it again.

(Nic today, his 5th birthday)

This morning as I was singing Happy Birthday to my boy, I got a little teary-eyed.  Nic touched my arm and said, “It’s ok, Mom.  Don’t be sad.  I’m only growing up.”

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Excuse me while I grab a tissue…

Nic here

Hi there.

It’s me, Nic.

My mom’s going to take some sick time, ‘k?

Lee has pneumonia.  He hasn’t been sleeping, hasn’t been eating, hasn’t been feelin’ all that hot.

Mom’s been busy taking care of him and Gibs and I and trying to catch up on all that fun household stuff too.

But she says screw dinner, we’re getting takeout tonight.  She didn’t have time to go to the grocery store today.

In the meantime, check out her Facebook page on the right sidebar.

She might be tryin’ a little too hard to be cool.  But don’t tell her I said that, ‘k?

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His fee for this post: a chocolate chip granola bar.