spouting off at the mouth

I was sitting here wondering what I could write about... Still don't have any idea. Everything and anything I try to write comes out so... *blah* and random. I was reading some of the stuff that I wrote last fall for Rose over at the Rowhouse and laughing my ass off at the story of 'The Great White One'. I'll have to post that here because it is pretty funny.

Most of the time when I write on here, I'm writing like I talk. I write like I am speaking to someone and most of it is so flighty and here and there, it's no wonder that I have nary a reader (or at least more than one). I think, sometimes, of deleting it or letting it just molder in internet space. And then, I feel guilty because what if? What if there is just one more person who is curious about my day? What if I never wrote again? Would there be someone out there who I don't see on a regular basis who is wondering if I finally keeled over and surrendered myself to the stresses in my life? Nah, I don't think so either.

But on the flip side, I do enjoy writing. Whether it's just rambling on and on about inane subjects that no one but only the closest to me understand or be it just something I happen to go off about on that particular day. When I'm worried or hurting or sad, I'll find something else to rant about and it kind of pushes that specific issue to the back burner for a while. Sometimes, I will write about what it is that is bothering me, but in all reality, I'm too much of an introverted person to be casting my vulnerabilities about on the internet.

When I was a kid and some older person asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I wanted first to be a wife and a mother and I wanted to write. I wanted to be an author of fine stories that captivated and entranced. I wanted to be a journalist. I wanted to be able to just use the words that constantly float around in my head. I'm sure people get sick of me talking on and on and not only blathering endlessly but using words like 'captivated' and 'entranced'. I just spit the words out before I even stop to think if it might be the kind of word that my audience (or lack there of) would appreciate, much less understand. ***NOTE: Not talking about any one person who might be reading this, of course, but the general population at large, just regular every day people who have no desire nor any need for the the words 'captivated' and/or 'entranced'.***

But writing here, it gives me the chance to take my thoughts and the bumbling words that roll around inexorably throughout the cavern that might house my brain and push, prod, or poke them into some sort of order that might resemble a sentence. And that's the reason I can't delete it or ignore it. It's my stress reliever, my therapy, my catharsis. I have to keep reminding myself that I don't write here for anyone's approval nor their objection. Just clearing the air that swirls about in my head. Of course, if I tried to talk the way that I think, I would generally be a very unpopular person, indeed.

In fact, I might be well on my way to a residential suite of rooms in the nearest mental hospital based solely upon the jibberish that spouts from my mouth at odd moments of the day.

And people wonder why I am single.

some gave all, all gave some

In memoriam of those who have and who are fighting to give us the right to so much that we have. For those who gave the ultimate price for our own freedom. For those who died a thousand deaths while waiting for their loved ones to come home.

Thank you, each and every one.

an oft unappreciated job

Isn't this a horror? I am horrified that a parent would let her child get to this point.

After reading the article, I am half-horrified at the mother and more amazed at the attitude that surrounds this kid. They seem to be awfully encouraging of a condition that will surely have this kid dead by the time he is 40 years old. The general atmosphere that he lives in is one of a circus, with him being the star of the show.

And what's with the money hungry attitude? Sure, I am a single parent, but I'm not about to prostitute my child out to everyone and anyone so that I can earn some extra cash. Yes, I know... Let him who is without sin cast the first stone and so on and so forth, but really. I am truly horrified over this poor boy. Six years old. When does it stop being oh, so cute that he is 6 and weighs 209 pounds? My God.

Sunday morning breakfast (scrambled eggs w/ sauteed mushrooms and garlic, bacon and whole wheat toast) is over and I'm trolling about on the internet. Getting ready to get up and wash some more dishes and do some laundry. We have a Mexican feed to go to today at one. It didn't snow this weekend. Well, didn't snow as in, didn't fall enough to provide a visual, here in the valley. But it is awfully cold and windy. The heater is back on, windows shut. I re-opened my window a fraction because I just can't stand to not have the fresh air. But the night before, I had to shut it because the wind chill was probably 20 degrees.

Went out last night. I lasted two pool games and 3 or 4 beers, then I called someone to come and get me. No one around here is going to take a chance with the 'stater' circling like a wolf.

I am thinking of searching around and finding out if what he is doing is legal. First off, a highway patrolman isn't a city cop, so what is he doing lolling about on city streets, cruising up and down them, looking for someone to stop? Secondly, he sits within city limits, watching for someone to leave the bar and then he stops them, once within city limits(that I know of). One casualty so far. He tried for a second one but was completely out of line with his excuse for stopping the person (dead of night, he said that the man wasn't wearing his seatbelt. Except the man knew the cop was there and put his seatbelt on BEFORE he even started the truck) and had to let that one go.

I realize the dangers of driving after drinking. I do. And I applaud law enforcement for doing their job and keeping our streets and highways safe. It is a dangerous and oft greatly unappreciated job. But when we have people who are shooting each other within 50 miles north of here, isn't there a greater and more imminent danger there? Especially since we all get along and if someone is going to drive after they have been drinking, it's only when we agree that they aren't going to hop into their car and murder someone.

Around here, we've all grown up with our parents driving us home after they'd been drinking, sans seatbelts, after a night at the bar or at a BBQ. I'm not saying it's right or safe or in any way correct. It's just a fact. The new generation, more times than not, leaves the kids where they are, wears their seatbelts, and takes it slow. Not that THAT is in anyway correct or right, but we aren't out fighting and trying to gun each other down.

Like I said, I realize they have a job to do and may God bless them while they are about it. I am just saying, I would think that after a couple of weeks of not finding someone to tag here, they would refocus on the meth abuse and shooting of other smaller town up north. That's all.

all's well, or as well as it can be...

Going to bed last night, I was telling the boy to quit stuffing his knees into my stomach, I had ate too much Cheesy Enchilada Hamburger Helper and I was going to throw it up if he kept pummeling my abdomen. I jinxed myself.

I was floating on that half-awake, half-asleep plain when I heard him start to sniffle and whine in his bed. I let it go thinking that the sore throat and slight fever he had were bothering him. And it got louder. I told him to come to my bed and I got no response. I knew something was wrong when he didn't catapult directly from the end of his bed, across the hallway to my own. I got up and went to him. Yep, I had surely jinxed myself and the victim was (is) his brand new cowboy comforter that will be sadly, retiring to the dumpster as soon as I get my ass in gear and takes it's double-bagged self out.
*On a side note: I really am not one to just toss a brand new comforter out the door just because of a little puke. First off, it wasn't just a little and secondly, the damn thing sends my washer into fits and the one and only time I washed it, I spent an hour hand-sewing the rip that occurred and 45 minutes mopping up the laundry room floor.

Then he started acting strange. He was telling me about babies in the yard and airplanes and stuff. And he couldn't sleep, but he couldn't stay awake. Any of you who have children know that when they are puking (unless they are like some I know and get so strung out on adrenaline from the mere thought of vomiting that not only do they not sleep, neither does anyone within a 2 block radius) there is some sleep between bouts. Ty, he just dies in between bouts of bathroom visitations. Die, as in a bomb could go off in the hall and the boy wouldn't wiggle. But last night, he just couldn't get it done, but he couldn't stay fully awake, either. And then he told me that his neck hurt and at 1:30 in the morning, all my natural panic started to set in and I had to keep talking myself down. 'No, Lori, he doesn't have meningitis. No, he didn't find wild mushrooms, poison, drugs or all of the above and ingest them. It is just some stomach bug, he'll be fine'. I seriously had to stop myself from calling Merce, bawling after I had asked him for the 500th time just exactly how his neck hurt and he told me 'It hurts like I laid for too long with my head that way. It's not that bad. Does that make you feel better?'

God, am I going to be one of those old crones whose children are constantly having to reassure their dottering, maniacal parents that they are OK? Those poor children whose own problems get shoved aside in order to make room for the neurosis of the parent. The poor babies that have to grow up too fast because mom's got a psychological issue. I hope not.

Anyway, after I gathered my wits about me and quit crying for making him worried about the state I was in, I snuggled up to him and held him gentle in my arms while I crooned (off-key and slightly wobbly) into his ear so that he wouldn't be afraid of what was coming. And when my back and hips started hurting from lying on the floor (no, I am NOT letting a puking kid into my nest of a bed!), I got up and laid on the couch and pulled him close enough to rub his back and we slept. Until the next round and when he refused to leave the bathroom, I made us both a bed on the floor and subjected myself to the cold, hard reality of trying to sleep on the bathroom floor while I had both arms around him, so no, in answer to my own question: I don't think I'll turn out to be one of those people whose children end up having to raise their own parents. Constantly shoving their own discomforts to the side so that there is room for their mother (or father) and their hysteria.

Go, me!!

And, I talked to the daycare lady and three of her kids were up all night, as well. All's well that ends well...

a mother of a monday

I am returned from camping. I returned yesterday but was much to tired to try and post any thoughts that might be considered somewhat coherent.

It was fantastic. Cool mountain air and the sweet sound of bullfrogs with gentle waters lapping to rock you to sleep (aided by the feeling you get after you've had one too many margaritas on the rocks). We had a grand time. I would post a picture, but the only ones I have include people who might not be so excited that their photo is floating around on the internet. Yucca made it's grand appearance and all shared in it's kicking lemonade sort of goodness. Yes, they were impressed. As well they should have been. We all laughed until we were sore and everything came home drenched in campfire smell. Of course, everything was also filthy and muddy, because it rained three quarters of the time we were up there. But in true western spirit, we enjoyed every minute of it and laughed with rain on our faces.

The boy also survived and I am thankful that the babysitter didn't sell him to the first bidder that came to town.

Today, I was verily grateful for the small vacation because it was the MOTHER of all Monday's. Today is the reason people hate waking up on this first day of the week.

The computers were crashed, people were calling with 50 different questions during their 7 minute phone calls (confusing me even more than I already was), and it was C.O.L.D. After the unseasonal heat wave that we had over the last week, the 55 degree high was awfully hard to take today. Seriously, I turned the heaters back on.

Here's to tomorrow and the long weekend approaching, may it erase the memory of this Monday from my mind. The poor boy. I am really trying hard to not rip his head off and scream myself hoarse. I finally sent him to his cousins' in the hopes that we could make it through the evening before one of us (probably the smaller) ended up in tears.

And I'm off (almost)

Tomorrow, I embark upon the willful separation from my boy. Granted, it's only for 2 nights. I know, I KNOW. I just hate leaving him, my mind fills with the most horrid, tragic things, ever.

He said to me tonight, looking at my tear filled eyes "It's only for 2 nights. That's hardly a long time, AT ALL. Trust me!". Geez, nothing like being 29 and comforted by your 4 year old boy.

And so the drama continues with Merce and her love triangle. Word bounces from here to there. No one can keep their mouth shut. And then when it all comes out, everyone is aghast that someone told. Betwixt Merce and I, there have never been any kind of secrets. Everything I know, she knows and vice versa. S bitches about D (hairy neighbor) to her, she bitches about his bitching to me and I bitch about everything under the sun to her. Then the hairy neighbor comes over and bitches about S with full knowledge that anything he says should and will be considered non-secret information, especially where Merce is considered. And then, the both of them are appalled that we would spill what they consider 'secrets'. My question is... if they have been friends for 20 some odd years, can't they (and shouldn't they) go to the other and say "Hey, when you did ______ it really pissed me off!"? For crying out loud, and the LYING. For fuck's sake. One or the both of them are about anything and everything. It is so stupid. I think that we were more mature in my junior high school than these two and I'm about ready to blow them both off. Poor Merce. She's caught in the middle, between a rock and a hard place. Between her boyfriend and her friend. But, they have decided to wipe the slate clean and try again, or something.

And now, S has lied to Merce and she was crying about it. But she's a much more lenient person than I am. I would have dropped someone's ass over it. She's much more patient with idiots than I am. She said to me once (when I freaked and took something someone said to me in the most completely wrong way) that I put myself up on a pedestal and won't accept less than what I perceive to be the best. Well, shouldn't everyone? Being serious here. Shouldn't a person enter into a committed, monogamous relationship with someone thinking 'this person is absolutely fabulous'? And adjust to their faults as they surface? I maybe used to be able to enter into a relationship with people with the thought that 'yeah, this and this and this is shitty, but overall, he's a really nice person (most of the time)'. And look where that line of thinking has gotten me. I'm one big wounded, leaking heart all bandaided together. So, yes, Merce, I think that you hit the nail on the head and thank you for showing me. I DO put myself on a pedestal because I DO believe that I deserve someone fabulous and I'm not settling for anything less.

On a little bit of a freaky note here. I am really trying to NOT be freaked out by this and I'm only putting this out there so that you all will say a little prayer that this weekend turns out alright.

Last night, it was thundering and lightening and how the boy was sleeping through it, I'll never know. Anyway, I was standing in one room, watching the lightening strike all over the horizon and I heard him whisper in this hushed and fearful tone "Momma". It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck and I rushed to him thinking that the last big strike had awoken him and scared the shit out of him. But when I got to him, he was curled on his side, softly snoring. He didn't even stir when I reached out and touched his neck. Freaked me out and just gave me the freakiest feeling. I'm not saying anything bad IS going to happen (i'm also knocking on wood at the moment!) but just say a little prayer of protection for the boy and I for the weekend, would ya'? Thanks.

Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all of you who are, or aren't. Aspiring to be, used to be. I hope that you all had a nice one. One that involved sitting back and remembering.

Tonight, the boy was sitting on my lap, resting his head on my collarbone and I recalled a time when he would do that and his feet barely reached my lap. Tonight, his legs dangled down alongside my own, feet touching the floor.

It happens so quick and so slowly, all the same. One moment, they are smiling and drooling and the next, they are yelling at you "I don't WANT to go to bed" and drooling, if you have a drool bucket child such as mine. One moment they are falling asleep in the tub, atop their bear shaped huge bath sponge and the next, they are using all of the shampoo to wash the short, thick hair that barely conceals the skin underneath. Really, I think it's for the bubble quotient.

I can't hardly stand it. It slips by so quick. Getting lost in all the day-to-day minutiae. Swallowed by the rush of getting to work on time, of getting dinner done and the laundry washed. Slipped between hours of rushing home from work, sitting down to go through the bills, vacuuming and sweeping floors. Basically, lost amid the chaos.

And then, in one moment, with sun streaming in the screen door and slanting across, it comes to you. Little boy skin covered in goose bumps brought on by the breeze coming through the window. Smell of Baby Magic hovering about. Mother's love vibrating on the air. You remember what it was like and you mourn for those lost moments. You think of what it will be like and smile at what you hope the future will be.

It's a hard, cold reminder to slow down and cherish what it is, now. Because tomorrow, it will be different. And next month, he'll be FIVE YEARS OLD. And in two months, he'll be taller and tanner and his hair will be blonde and we'll have slipped from the four year old Ty to the mightier five year old version. My God, so fast.

The older sister was here this weekend. I was/am so glad that she was here. It's just so damn hard to say 'goodbye'. May her guardian angels be traveling the way home alongside her.

another day

The weather is so nice. Today I got my first mosquito bite. Yes, here in the lovely 'Outback of Oregon' we celebrate the seasons by the bugs we encounter.

We went and watched the kids play baseball. I love it. It is so cute and sweet. The outfielders (sometimes even first basemen) rolling around in the dirt, come the fourth and fifth innings. It's just gratifying to watch them try so hard and then, that moment when something, eventually, rolls along the way it's supposed to. The parents and grandparents cheering them on, whether they hit or miss. A friend of mine believes he could have won $10,000 off of some of the bloopers today. It was a great way to end the day.

Tomorrow, I go in for CPR recertification. It's a must do for the ranch we work on. Most of the people piss and moan over it, but I'm sure they don't mind getting to sit around for half a day.

Older sister is coming for Mother's Day this weekend. Her husband will be in Las Vegas at a pool tournament. So, we're looking forward to seeing her and her 3 kids this weekend.

I guess I'll get the boy in bed. Not much going on, sorry for the boring post.

apprehensive

I am having the most boring of Sunday mornings. Merce is in town, picking up a friend from a rather unfortunate incident and I'm trolling around on the internet.

I've spent the last hour or so going through the archives of this blog. I am definitely bookmarking that one. It is like a 'sex and the city' for the internet, although Wombat would be an exception, being a man, and from Australia, at that. I adore it. Good call, BzBiff.

Went out last night. Big surprise there. There was a bachelor-ette party which really consisted of 4 girls and they left after we had been there for about an hour.

I am sad that the handsome boy is gone. I hate that he works so far away and only comes home intermittently. I hate that once he leaves, I am at first relieved that life returns to normal and then the blues come afterward, once the reality of him having been here and gone sinks in. And 'normal' life is so b o r i n g when he is not around.

Although, summer being on the horizon is bringing aspiring adventures, daily. Camping trip in 2 weeks. At first, I was hesitant. I didn't want to go and be the only one 'unpartnered' (sometimes, being single is a little bit embarassing, especially when couples are sneaking off in the dark to their tents and there you sit, by the fire, thinking about going to bed, but not really wanting to go alone cuz it's dark and there are bugs and boogermonsters, mountain lions and unannounced midnight visitors out there!!). I didn't want to go and only know 4 or 5 of the people there. It's kind of a daunting situation to be in, out in the middle of the forest with a bunch of drunk, high strangers. Brings to mind all sorts of scary movies involving weirdos with facial hair and chainsaws. But then, N, said that she would go and since we all look to her to be the mother of the group and our own protector, I will go and I will probably have a ball.

Although, on the flip side, when I committed to going, it never really occurred to me that the 'no kids policy' meant that I would spend not one, but TWO nights away from my beloved boy and when Merce brought it up in regards to something that BzBiff said, tears welled up in my eyes and I felt like copping out. Merce, however, won't let me. Oh my god.

I will spend 95% of the time, wondering what is going on back here at home. Are the babysitters keeping a close eye? Is he playing in the street? Is he afraid that the house is going to burn while I am gone? Is he crying? It's the last one that puts the lump in my throat. I can't stand the thought of him being afraid and crying for his mama while she is cavorting about in the forest, companied by drunk, high strangers. (For the record, while I might be in the company of drunk and high strangers, I will NOT be high, drunk - more than likely. I just say NO to drugs, at least until the bet is over!).

All part of the growing up and growing apart process, I guess.

This will be the first time that I will be away from him, planningly, over night. And the absolute first time I will be away from him for more than 18 hours. I'm a bit apprehensive, if you all couldn't tell.

Well, I think I'll be off. I am going to scrounge around in my bare cupboards in search of some sort of sustenance for lunch, or brunch, whatever. Food.

and the clouds come breezing in...

The handsome one is gone *sigh* I went out and saw him last night. I'll miss him. Not the public persona 'him' but the him that sits and talks to me for 2 hours about everything and anything. I forget about his 'public persona' vs. the 'chatty' one and am always surprised at how smart he is and how he can astound me with all sorts of trivia about the most obscure shit that no one ever thinks about, much less mentions. And as much as he can be a total dickhead "I told her I wouldn't kiss her again until she shaved off that mustache!" that he really is so nice (well, I guess if you don't have a gender bending mustache or are of a bovine in estrus type of nature {I'm looking at YOU of the 'run-in with the bovine' incident!!}). And he's gone. Off to see his new niece and then on a plane headed for TX, land of 'fluffy blondes with big tits and long legs'. Hence, the clouds...

Actually, the clouds did come skidding in about an hour or so ago. It's looking like it might try to rain this weekend, judging by this sky. I doubt it will. But then again, of course it will. Just so my allergies can go even more fucking haywire than they already are.

I went for my LEEP results yesterday. Half & Half. The biopsies tested positive in the margins for severe cervical dysplasia and were classified as a CIN III. It wasn't cancer, she said. It was dysplasia, of a severe sort. But cancer is also in that same classification. Anyway, she did a comb biopsy after she cut all of those chunks (and they were chunks) and the comb biopsy came back negative. So, we've set a pap for August and here's to keeping our fingers crossed that it doesn't come back abnormal, huh? And that's the half bad part.

The half good is that 9 times out of 10, it won't come back if she got it all. Send a prayer or 6 up for me cuz if it does, I'm telling her to cut the fucking thing out, I'm sick of this shit already. I'm cautiously optimistic that the worst is over. So much for my general theory of 'prepare for the worst'. I'm sick of it, though. I've been preparing for the worst for the last year. My natural sunny nature is trying to shine through and I'm getting sick and tired of the cynic beating Mary Sunshine up.

That's about all I got right now. I am worn out from the handsome boy being here. The memory of him in his dad's cowboy boots is probably enough to keep me until September or so, when he comes back. And hopefully, by then, I'll be able to give him his birthday present:).

i love my life

I spoke too soon. He woke me up at 10:30 (after having been asleep for maybe 15 minutes) with a fretful, very uncomfortable sort of cry. I went to him and went to smooth his hair back, the poor kid was burning up. Temperature - 102.3 degrees at that point.

I hate fevers. It's always so surprising to reach out and encounter human flesh that is so hot. Generally, when you reach out and feel skin, it's warm to the touch or if certain people are sleeping when you touch them, it's very warm, bordering hot. But when I reach out and get that hot, dry skin, it always startles me. No matter what the temperature actually is, my mind just registers the hot skin and thinks "Damn! He's burning up!".

Poor little dude. He moved to my bed and I let the fever do it's natural work for about an hour, and when it started registering 102.8-.9, I gave him meds. Cooled it down to about 100, but it eventually started climbing again. Mama kept watch, drifting in and out of half sleep all night to retest the temperature. It spiked again at 102.4 or so, and stayed there, dipping slightly and at 5:30 a.m. it broke. Long night.

Then, yesterday, I had to suffer through the "you are SUCH a mean mom for not letting me go to work, nana and papa's, daycare, preschool, C's (alternate babysitter)!" Fill in the blank. Oh the horrors of being kept in the house on such a beautiful day. He was fully indignant and outraged at the tragedy of it all. Really, he was a god-awful brat and I had to keep reminding myself that he was sick and out of sorts. Because, really, who likes to beat their kids when they can't run from you? Where is the sport in that?

I read the most heart rending book yesterday. Oh my god. I bawled through the last 8 or so pages of it. It's especially tragic if you have a sister (or in my case sisterS) that you are close to. If you feel a need to cry, get it. If you don't want to question your relationship with close family and your ability to be a good sister, don't read it. My goodness, I'm still reeling from it.
Generally, I can read a book and just go on about my life, without any real repercussions. This one kept me awake last night and hung out in my dreams. And this morning, I'm still thinking "owww". It was awfully sad.

Off to the showers, the day awaits. After the shower, I will try to get a cranky child out of bed by laughing and joking with him. One of us will, inevitably, get mad and I will probably end up getting kicked in the eye, at least once. I love my life.