Aaaaaagh! My thumb come off!

Posted on May 13, 2010 by lisaofboondocks

27

Dad holds his hands in front of my three-year old, twists at his thumb
and pulls the top of it right off.
My three-year old is stunned. His mouth drops open and he just stares.

Dad tries it again and Jonathan's reaction is the same.
"His thumb come offt!" he cries.
It's a slight of hand trick, or a trick of the eyes, however you want to
describe it, and my dad's been doing it since before I was a kid.

He
moves his hand just right, folds both thumbs down and makes it appear as
if he has taken the top of his thumb off.

Mom and I have always thought it was "gross."

Jonathan thought it was cool. I'm grateful he wasn't like one toddler
Dad did it to, who screamed and sobbed because he was convinced Dad had
actually removed part of his thumb.

Jonathan watched his grandpa's hands and a few moments later he jumped
up and tried to twist his thumb while crying, "Aaagh! My thumb come
offft!" and hoping we would react to him as he had to Grandpa.

We did not disappoint, recoiling in horror and shock — to his utter
delight.

PhotoStory Friday

Hosted by Cecily and Lolli

No, you’re not buying that either. . .

Posted on May 8, 2010 by lisaofboondocks

13

We're in the store to buy three things — three cards actually — one for my mom from me; one for my mom from Jonathan; and one for Hubby's grandmother. I tell Jonathan this before we even go to the store. He agrees and understands. He will not ask for toys. He's already been given toys from two garage sales this week. He has five new/used Transformers. He does not need toys. He understands and agrees.

"Help me look for a card for grandma," I say.

Pitter-patter-pitter-patter sneakers on linoleum.

"'ook mama! A Transformer!"

"Right. You're not getting that." Still looking at the cards.

"But, I don't have this one. . ."

"Right. You're not getting that." Still looking at the cards.

"What's his name?"

"It doesn't matter. You're not getting him. No Transformers."

Pitter-patter-pitter-patter, sneakers on linoleum.

"I think I'll get this card. . "

Pitter-patter-pitter-patter, sneakers on linoleum.

"'ook at this one, mama."

I don't look.

"You're not getting it."

"But I need it."

"You don't need it. What we need is a card for grandma."

Pitter-patter-pitter-patter, sneakers on linoleum.

I have two cards and need one more.

Pitter-patter-pitter-patter, sneakers on linoleum.

"Mama, 'ook…" He's holding a Star Wars figure. "It not a Transformer."

"I don't care. You're not getting it."

Pitter-patter-pitter-patter, sneakers on linoleum.

I walk to the front of the store to see if my photos have come out of the "instant photos" machine. They haven't. The machine is out of paper. The clerk fills it with paper and goes back to wait on a customer. Out of the corner of my eye I watch my three-year old slyly push a Transformer across the counter.

"You're not getting that," I tell him.

"But I neeeed him!" he declares.

"You don't."

He disappears and the printer is still kicking out photos. I find him in the toy aisle and he didn't expect to see me. He screams at the top of his lungs and runs away, giggling. Thank goodness we are the only ones in this drug store tonight.

I go back to the front. The printer is still printing.

"Mama! Mama! Where are you?" I hear a small voice echo from somewhere all the way in the back of the store. "Where are yoooouuuuu?"

'I'm up front," I say in a loud, yet sweet as possible voice.

"Where?"

"Up front, honey."

"WHERE?!"

"UP FRONT!"

The printer is still kicking out photos. Crap. Apparently I hit the print button too many times. I ordered 72 photos and now 142 are being kicked out.

Jonathan has given up on toys but now he has two Sugar Daddies. I haven't seen those since I was a kid. I agree that he can buy them and we open one while we wait for the photos to kick out. Twenty minutes go by and Jonathan is getting impatient.

"I wanna go home now. Can we go home now? Iwannagohome.I wannagohoome!"

Now he's holding himself in the front. Apparently he has to pee.

He spins in circles. He walks down the aisle and brings me two bags of candy. I walk them back. The printer is still printing.

I finally give up and the clerk says he'll shred the extra. I didn't pay for them anyhow.

At home I try to put a scrapbook together for my mom (I'm so prepared for Mother's Day, as usual) and then I learn that the Super Soaker I'd bought my kid at the huge garage sale earlier in the day, the one I didn't know was a Super Soaker, apparently still has water in it. I learn this when my kid shoots me in the face with water. Next time I'm going to pay better attention when my kid says "I want this," and I look and see it is only a dollar and say, "OK."

It's time for bed but Jonathan isn't buying it. He hasn't had a nap all day. He's overly tired, goes to the bathroom and comes out with no pants and underwear on. I retrieve underwear for him, but Hubby says "Not those." Before I can ask why my hand goes through the gigantic hole where a photo of Iron Man used to be. Turns out the dog ate my son's underwear.

Seriously, what a bizarre day.

Putting it all in perspective

Posted on May 6, 2010 by lisaofboondocks

19

Sitting in front of the grave of a seven year old can put a lot of things in your life in perspective.

My 3-year old had two teeth pulled last week, leaving a huge cap in his mouth, since he had also had two other teeth pulled last year.
For awhile it really had me down, depressed, and crying each night as I thought of what my son would have to go through and how he might look after wards.

Then I saw a Facebook update from a woman who lost her son last year to cancer.
I went to her son's grave, took Jonathan with me, and placed a toy car on the stone.

Sitting on the ground while Jonathan played with his toys next to those that had been placed on the little boy's stone by his mother, I started to realize that what I had been stressing about all week, wasn't worth stressing over.

Yes, it was OK to worry that something bad might happen to him with the sedation. It was OK to worry that he might be in pain.

But worrying that my child might "look funny" wasn't OK. Missing his little smile, mourning those two teeth that shaped a smile I had gotten so used to, is normal, but it's time to move on, to realize my little guy is the same little guy he always is — smart, handsome, funny, and just plain awesome.

My child is alive and healthy, except for those four baby teeth.

And they are gone now.

I am grateful.

I am blessed.

PhotoStory Friday

Hosted by Cecilyand Debi

The corner. . .

Posted on May 3, 2010 by lisaofboondocks

15

I hate the one corner of our local cemetery.

It's the furthest corner
of the cemetery, along a main road.

And I hate it. But at the same time I love it.

This is the cemetery down the street from my house. The cemetery that I
can hear the chimes playing from early in the morning and as the sun
sets. Chimes for the dead, I suppose, though I'm sure the comfort of
those hymns is more for the living than the dead.

This one corner of the cemetery takes my breath away, mainly because of
who is buried there. Stand in one spot in that corner and turn in either
direction and you will be face to face with gravestones of very young
people who passed away tragically in the last five to six years.

There is the soldier — killed in Iraq at the age of 19. Last week I saw
the son of the soldier's best friend walk past my house. He carries the
soldier's name and carries on his legacy.

Turn slightly one degree and there is the 21 year old killed in a drunk
driving accident.

Turn again and there is a 20-something young man
killed in a car accident;

a 23-year old stabbed in a bar fight;

a 20-something young man killed in a motorcycle accident;

a 29-year old father enjoying a motorcycle ride with his cousin and hit
by a drunk driver;
the 12-year old girl who had a heart ailment and passed away suddenly;

the 45 year old fire chief and township supervisor who died of cancer;

the 40-year old fire fighter who died of a blood clot in his heart after
years of transplants and surgeries;

the young man killed in a car accident when he and his friend fell
asleep after a long night of work and hit a truck head on.

And then there is Jordan.

He was 7.

His life was taken by complications from a brain tumor last year. Toy cars
that were once his line his tombstone, hugged by a marble Teddy bear.

Last week I placed a car there, as well, to honor and remember him.

There is a reason I hate this corner of the cemetery — all the young dead.

There is also a reason I love this corner of the cemetery.
How can I love a corner in a cemetery filled with such immeasurable
sadness; a corner that is visited daily my mourning mothers, fathers,
and children of the dead?

I love this corner because it reminds me that life is short;

that every moment counts;

that what I thought was a big deal, really isn't;

that no matter how hard it gets, as long as I have my husband's arms to
hold me, my son's arms to hug me, and God to hold us all, we're going to
be just fine and I need to enjoy every.single.moment.

‘Cuz I run and jump!

Posted on May 1, 2010 by lisaofboondocks

12

"How do you have so much energy?" I asked my son after a long day of walking around a local arts festival.

I was a limp rag, hit hard by the first heat wave we've had this spring.

"I run and jump!" my son told me and then he showed me.

The answer to the questions of "How is Jonathan doing since his teeth have been pulled?" is "Apparently, very good."

A lot of you suggested Jonathan would be eating ice cream and yogurt (custard) after his teeth were pulled last week. Um..no. Actually, I was the one eating ice cream because of a sore throat and he was chomping down on a chicken sandwich that was supposed to have been his dad's.

He doesn't really seem concerned those teeth are gone. He doesn't seem to be in pain at all. I, however, am suffering a bit of emotional pain, simply because I miss those cute little front teeth and am having a hard time adjusting to my son's "old-man" style grin.

But, that is a vanity issue, and one I'll have to get over and will get over.

Oh, I don’t know…they’re around here somewhere…

Posted on April 27, 2010 by lisaofboondocks

12

"It's OK, hon' we'll watch them," Hubby said as he and a friend walked out onto my parents deck with our 3-year old little boys.

The boys run past the glass door from time to time and pass the guys
(Hubby and Q) talking while Hubby grills the chicken.

Then after awhile I don't see any little ones running past the door and
I start to wonder where they are.

"Guys? Where are the boys?"

"They're out back somewhere," Q says confidently. "They run by here
sometimes."

My parents live in the country.
In the middle of nowhere, for the most part, but also near a dirt road
that seems to have a lot of traffic on it for being in the middle of
nowhere.

My mother instincts kicked in and I decided I needed to "double check"
(er…doubt the men? OK. Maybe.)

"Oh, they're fine!" Q yells after me as I turn the corner toward the
back of my parents' house.

It took me a full trip around the house to find two little men standing
around a mud puddle, looking down.

The bottom of the pants of my little
man were wet and I couldn't tell how wet the other little one's might be since he
was wearing black pants.

"What are you boys doing?"

No answer.

"Why are your pants wet, Jonathan?"

"Uh…."

"Isaiah, are your pants wet too?"

"My shoes wet," Isaiah admits.

Jonathan says something about Iron Man.
I ask him where his Iron Man figures are.
They both look at the puddle, stirred up with mud.

"We lost 'em," Jonathan says.

"Q or Hubby! Who wants to remove Iron Man figures from the mud puddle?"
I figure, since they were supposed to be watching them then they can get their hands all mud.

Later, Hubby informed me that our first mistake was letting them "watch"
the boys.

However, I pointed out that our first mistake was listening to this:
"Yeah, we got 'em. They're fine. We'll keep an eye on them." from two
men who were wrapped up in talking about the best super hero movies and
comic books of the last however many years.

(Really, they were doing a good job, for the most part. Er…not really. But it was nice they at least tried. A little. Sort of. OK. Whatever….)

His feet were off the ground. . .

Posted on April 22, 2010 by lisaofboondocks

16

"I'm going outside!" he declares and pushes past me as I try to go in the house for my lunch break from work.

"It nice out!" he says, standing there with no shoes or socks on.

He runs, he jumps, he giggles, he poses like a super hero.

It isn't until later, while I'm looking at the photos, I see that his feet are almost all the way off the ground as he runs.

I remember that — running and skipping with such freedom and joy that my feet barely touched the ground; not weighed down with stress and worries of life. It was a magical time.

I laugh as I watch him and suddenly I don't feel 32 anymore. For a brief moment I'm three-years old too and my only worry is figuring out how to skip and make my hand look like Iron Man's when he blasts his lasers.

Then I try to get up and, well, I'm 32 again, maybe even 42 with the way that sciatic nerve is pulling.
*wince*

Ah well, that light feeling fills my soul when I see the photos of him, if not my body, so sciatic be damned.

This is part of Cecily's Photo Story Friday.

PhotoStory Friday

Hosted by Cecilyand Pam

*Also, thank you to everyone who left such nice comments on yesterdays post. It meant a lot!

Sometimes life is terrifying. . .

Posted on April 21, 2010 by lisaofboondocks

13

I've had a hard time not thinking about Jonathan's upcoming surgery to
remove his two front teeth.

The surgery which will leave him with a
large gaping hole in the front of his mouth. After all, he's already
missing two other front teeth.

It isn't only the removal of the teeth, which freaks me out — it's also
thinking about the anesthesia and how it effected him last time. More
than the teeth, last time, was the way he acted when we left the office,
dazed and confused without the weed.
He cried and cried.

And then I cried.

I know he felt so weird and dizzy and I couldn't
help him. He fell into fitful sleep on the way home and would wake up
screaming, drool coming out of his mouth. It wasn't funny at all.

It was
terrifying.

"Terrifying," by the way, is Jonathan's new word.

The other day he said a
girl at the sitter's was pushing him too high on the swing.

"I got scared," he told me. "So I got off."

"Oh," I said. "I'm sure she was just trying to have fun — "

He was quiet for a moment and then he said, "It was terrifying."

Everyone keeps telling me he won't remember the surgery and that the
removal of his teeth won't bother him.

My kid is smart. My kid is aware
of so much around him. He's quick on the uptake.

He'll notice his teeth are gone.

And I worry that he'll tell me that the whole experience was
"terrifying."

Right now, even thinking about it is terrifying for this mommy.