17

17 seconds ago, I took a sip of coffee.

 

17 minutes ago, I listened to my work voice mail.

 

17 hours ago, I watched a football game with my family.

 

17 days ago, I was out having sushi with my 'hood mommas.

 

17 months ago, I was recovering from elective surgery

 

17 years ago, my little brother was killed in a car accident.

 

He was 17.

 

The date was January 17, 1994. 

 

I kind of hate the number 17. 

 

Carpe Diem, PTA. Save me a spot. 

Crooked

My 3 year old has a crooked dinger.

How the hell do I know this?

Because the dude loves to run around naked, sit around naked, eat naked and watch cartoons naked.

During cartoons this evening, he was getting ready for his bath and was naked, natch.

He's never happy to just sit there, though. Boy mommas, you've probably been through this, yes? I mean, I also have a 5.5 year old and yes - I've been through it when he was around 3.

Whilst sitting there in all his glory watching Team Umi Zoomi, counting "5, 4, 3, 2, 1!" he's swatting at his junk. Flinging the dinger. Pushing it left and right.

I wasn't really paying attention - I mean - boys will be boys (youNEVERGROWOUTOFTHISDOYOU??) but then I heard him ask:

"Momma, why is my Prenis crooked?"

"Erm, Daddy??"

"Momma, is Your Prenis crooked?"

"Nope, Remember, Momma doesn't have a penis. DADDY!"

Mr. Kiss was in the hallway listening to the entire conversation and came in to try to answer when the 5 year old said "Hey, Look, Mine's crooked, too!"

At which point I had to leave to fold some laundry or scrub a toilet or something. What the hell? How the fuck am I supposed to just sit there and not laugh my ass off at my children asking questions and SHOWING me their crooked weenies?

Jaysus...

2011.

Here we go.




[p.s. people. i've been terribly absent. clearly i'm aware. but my momma was visiting from too far away and now she's gone and believe me when i say that i NEEDED this laugh tonight...i miss my momma and always get depressed after she leaves. always. i'll be around to say hi in time. or not. whatever :p]

A MommaKiss Memory: Don't Break It.

a repost...one that got 0 comments [which is ok with me]...and one that was worth the read for me tonight...

*****************
Man, I am loving the weekends now-a-days.

We used to seriously search for things to do to keep the boys "busy." And that gets EXHAUSTING! But now, they play together as much as they fight together.

I don't HAVE to carry one or both of them everywhere - unless they've run down the driveway too fast and scrape the shit out of their knees. They "help" with stuff, like watering flowers and picking up sticks. They don't even mind when I need to just sit and have a mommy time out.

Well, that flies for like 5 minutes, but sometimes that's all I need.

I really REALLY miss that baby stage of the fat chubby fists and thighs - but this whole walking / talking / playing thing is a fun stage.

Top it off? The other night Big Kiss went to bed and had to come to the stairs for "just one more hug."

Jeez - how do you turn that down? And then? He got to the top and went to blow me a kiss. Or so I thought. But he said "I blow you a heart!" I "caught" it, and he said so softly, "Don't Break it!"

You just broke mine, kid - God help the first broad who breaks your little heart!

The dress

March, 2006. We had an 8 month old baby. Mr. Kiss and I had a rare date night out for his birthday. Some drinks, home to pay the babysitter, and then some rare nookie (like I said – 8 month old baby). Fast forward 2 weeks, I’m pregnant. We were SO not ready it. The baby was a crap sleeper. It was busy season for me at work. Mr. Kiss was building his empire at his own job. A new baby wasn’t planned – yet. But, we knew we wanted 2 kids eventually, so once that shock and awe wore off, we were happy. Thinking “We can totally do this!” The non-sleeping 8 month old would be 18 months when the new baby arrived, too young to know we rocked his world but hopefully walking and becoming a lil more independent. We decided to just accept it and get ‘er done.

In April, we had a friend’s wedding to attend. One of Mr. Kiss’ college friends. April in New England can mean snow or sunshine, so the dress had to be functional. All weather and hide the tiny belly that was already expanding. Why does the belly do that w/ the second kid? Expand all early and shit? Damn.

So the dress had been found and I have to say, it was perfect. Springy, complimented my skin tone…I even got the shrug to go with it so I’d be presentable in church.

The morning of the wedding, I was getting my hair done and felt…I don’t know…not right. I have picture of me that day, taken by the stylist, with a gorgeous updo and a big smile. Funny, the things you remember when you look back at pictures. I got home to tell Mr. Kiss that I felt like something was going on, I was spotting a little bit, and felt crampy and didn’t know what to do. We talked about not going to the wedding – but I figured why sit home and be miserable – the wedding would be a good distraction.

Turns out that us going was a blessing in disguise, we were in Cambridge and my doctor was in Boston. I had to leave during the ceremony due to heavier spotting. I just sat in the car waiting for Mr. Kiss to make an excuse for us. I called the doctor, who said that I was “most likely having a miscarriage” and that we should go to the emergency room. There I sat, alone in a green Chevy Blazer. In a church parking lot. I was crying a little bit and I guess saying good bye to a baby that wasn’t initially wanted. Did I cause it because I felt that way?

We got to the emergency room and watched the comings and goings. I wasn’t in critical condition, wasn’t dying, so I was lower priority. There was a sick toddler. An old man in a wheel chair. And me, in a beautiful dress, losing a baby. No one knew what I was there for. How could they? But I sat and prayed and held Mr. Kiss’ hand. When I finally got back to a room, I was given scrubs to wear and the dress was shoved into a bag, along with my swanky shoes and clutch. We had to call the babysitter and tell her that I was in the ER and we weren’t sure when we’d be home. She’s a friend and I told her what was going on…which was the first time it set in that I was no longer pregnant.

Once you’re given that news – that clear medical news – that the pregnancy has terminated, they still have to do tests and ultrasounds and blood work…which, really? Just let me go home already. Hours passed and we were finally told that there were no more physical signs of the fetus and were released.

The physical aspects were gone. Just like that. But it takes a while for the emotional signs to fade. I’m not sure they ever fully do go away. What would that kid have done in this world? Boy or girl? Would Big Kiss have been close with him or her? Would the baby have red hair like Little Kiss now does?

Anyway, just the other day I saw the dress. I was cleaning and there it was, still in the hospital bag, in the back of my closet. I have no idea what to do with it. Can I donate it? Knowing what IT went through that day? Do I wear it again? I have no idea. I guess it’s the last physical sign I have that I was pregnant in March of 2008…and I can’t give it up yet.

A Mom

So I have a sinus infection. Again. I guess it’s better than some sort of other bodily infection (ew) but I state the fact that I have sinusitis so as to set the scene here…

I’m hopped up on meds.

I’m sitting at my desk after many many days off.

I’m feeling nostalgic and sentimental.

I’m about to get heavy.

Not fat heavy, but deep heavy. You’ve been warned.

Somewhere in the middle of November, maybe closer to Thanksgiving, I was doubting myself. My roles in life. As a wife, as a mother, as a career woman, as…well, as Me. It wasn’t some huge V8 moment where I just fell to the ground and cried “WHO AM I?” - it just sort of snuck up on me. The Mom role, especially. I started thinking about it one day in the middle of telling Big Kiss to do it “because I said so.”

Really? “Because I said so?” And there was a lot of tossing around “Santa’s watching you” and “Just wait ‘til I tell your father” and “Please stop licking your brother” and “No, I don’t want to see that you wiped your butt really good.”

Who says those things? A Mom, I guess.

I’ve been questioning things like why did God choose me to be a Mom. And to be these boys’ Mom. Any twat can give birth and become a Mother. But I’m their Mom. I say things like the above. I think ahead 47 steps if one of them has a fever and what will it mean for daycare, work schedules, will the other one get sick, how much pain is he in and do we have Motrin. I always pack a diaper and paci in my purse. I buy clothes for them before me (mostly).

But how did I learn to do and say all of that? Is it instinct? Did my own Mom teach me without realizing? And would they be better served with someone else as their Momma? Like someone who didn’t work? Or didn’t have so many emotional issues going on? Or someone who adores playing BatManCave 27x a day?

It’s really hard for me to grasp the fact that I’m 30. OK, Fine, I’m 35, you assholes. A 35 year old, married for 7+ years, 2 kids, house in the burbs, all American yellow-lab owning woman. That’s the profile of an Old Woman.

Not me.

Not the hottie w/ big firm boobies and hips to match! Not the smart, driven work-a-holic who could put in 60 hours a week and still manage to enjoy a happy hour. On a Tuesday. Not the carefree friend who could jump on a flight for a weekend getaway on 24 hours notice. Not the adventurous 26 year old who moved cross-country for a job and slept ‘til noon on the weekends.

When did my “old” profile leave me, and when did I become this…this…current Me? I know we all have to grow up at some point. But I really can’t believe that I have 2 small children who depend on me to make them waffles and to raise them to be good. To kiss their booboos. To care for them unconditionally, even w/ dirty stinky bums.

Alas.

I’m leaving this open ended, for me to revisit when I can, because I have no answers yet. I guess I just continue to do what I can. To be the best Mom I can because I’m all they got. (Don’t tell Mr. Kiss – he’s the “good cop”).

Unconditional

I’ve been having so many ups and downs recently, I can't remember if my head is up or my ass is down or if my boobs should point east and west or straight out, knowwhatimeanverne?? It's getting harder and harder to see the bright side.  To recognize the good in the day when so much “bad” seems to be on my shoulders.  I’ve been looking for a reminder of the love all around me and came upon this, which I’m sure is familiar to some:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast…


Wait.

What?

I guess I have more than that.  I have recently experienced expressions of love, the greatest of all:  The Unconditional kind. 

Here goes.

Love is…
Your 4 year old, upon finding you sobbing on the cold bathroom floor, rubbing your back and asking if you need a blanket.  Once he gets that blanket, he lays next to you, “so that you don’t get cold, Momma” and quietly sings his favorite lullaby...

Love is…
Your husband looking at you across the dinner table, as noodles fly and arguments are had about who’s juice glass is more full.  He knows you’re on auto-pilot, but still, he reaches for your hand…knowing any words spoken at that very moment would be lost in the chaos, but his warm hand is there and words aren’t needed …

Love is…
 Your mother sending you a handmade quilted tree skirt and Christmas stockings, even though her joints are gnarled and her body aches…

Love is…
Going to your baby’s crib, late at night after the deadline has been met and the laundry is folded.  Picking him up and smelling that breath and touching those warm cheeks and feeling him turn into you, into that nook in your neck that is his and only his. And he lets you rock with him. For as many minutes or hours you need… 

Love is…
Friends both near and far, somehow knowing just when you need a laugh or an ear or a hug or a teeny tiny two word text:  “I’m here.”

So yah, I guess I do know a thing or two about love…Why do the reminders seem so hard to find when they are so plain as day THERE for you?