Birthday Blues, Part Deux

My Kaden

Once again, mine and Jennifer’s minds are scarily in line with one another. This is not a new thing, mind you. It happens quite often, actually. But this time, it’s within good reason that we’d be thinking alike…our babies both turned 7. Jennifer’s Cedar, yesterday (as mentioned in her post below) and my Kaden, today.

And wow.

Here’s the thing: I’m an emotional person by nature. I’m a Cancer, and Cancers are internalizers and extremely domestic people (right Gayla?!?) So it’s no surprise that every time one of Kaden’s (or Carter’s) birthdays come around, I turn into a blubbering mess. Tears everywhere, mascara everywhere, laser red eyes and a quivering chin. But this year is killing me even more so than usual. Kaden is SEVEN. That’s HUGE! Five was shaky, six was no sweat, but 7? Oy. It just seems so old - mostly because I remember when I was seven. Detailed details of when I was seven. Will Kaden remember all this too?

As I was writing out his birthday card last night, taking the time to capture all the things that are important to him right now (like his b-day party theme, his teacher’s name, his best friends, his favorite TV show, etc), I found myself crying so hard I could barely see the words I’d just written. Why was I crying? Because in a blink my baby went from 7lbs 5oz to a 7-year-old first-grader with two grown-up teeth, a million friends and the charm of a Romeo. That fast. It’s mind boggling, isn’t it?

Aw, man. Here come the tears again…

We had his party last weekend, so today was a chill day. And it was fab. We spent way too much time in Webkinz World, setting up shop for the boys’ first virtual animals. It was such a treat to do that together (and to use the computer for something other than work!) It was the perfect way to spend a low-key birthday. And now as I sit here in the quiet, both boys in bed and hubby at work, I want to replay this day over and over, just as I’ve replayed the day of Kaden’s birth over and over in my head. I feel sad. I feel proud. I feel relieved. I feel blessed. I feel hopeful. I feel cherished. I feel needed. I feel un-needed. I feel it all.

But I guess that’s what it feels like to be a Mama…

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy!

Written by...Babe Liberty -- @ Family & Friends, Parenting | Comments (7)

Happiness :)

My son, Chris, is 23. He is a pretty decent sort.  That is him in Iraq showing off his 5% body fat.  I think he will never get married. His views on some things are frustrating to me, but all in all Marc and I did well. He is ethical, and has a strong sense of character. That makes me happy. He is supporting himself. That makes me happy. He calls home regularly and tells Marc and I that he admires us and we are the best parents ever. That makes me very happy because this is the kid that called 911 to report me for child abuse when he was 12 and I sent him to bed with no dinner.

Chris is in the Air Force. He is a crew chief on F-16s. I don’t exactly know all that this means, other than we have not seen him since Christmas 2006 and he hates Utah.

He was in Iraq a few years ago and scheduled to go back in the next few months. I am good with that. I have a strong faith, and I believe that the safest place to be is directly in the center of the will of God. Being military myself, as well as being married to the Marine, I really don’t have issues with war. If you do, cool. We disagree.

Anyway, so Chris is getting his life in order to head for Iraq and I am not as comfortable with it as usual…so I start praying.

A few nights ago the Boy called.

Hey, Mom. I have some news.

Turns out they have pulled him from Iraq and he is heading for Japan for three years. He is going to be coming home before he goes and dropping his really cool truck off here for his dad to drive.

Three years is a long time.  I always wanted to see Japan.

Written by...Babe Marye -- @ Family & Friends | Comments (16)

A Tale of Two Sickies

Now. I’m not saying there’s a connection, but Sunday my family had dinner at my mother in law’s. By 11:00 PM, I was violently vomiting into a bucket. Coincidence? You’d have to know my mother in law to guess for sure, but the circumstances certainly are suspicious.

Sunday night wasn’t a good one. I felt rotten, couldn’t keep warm and found myself in bed by 9:30. Sleep didn’t really come as I had to get up every couple of hours to settle my churning stomach. My husband and son, on the other hand, slept fine.

When I awoke Monday morning, I could barely lift my head from the pillow. Still, I managed to get up and get The Boy to school. My son didn’t feel well and I almost kept him home, but it turned out to be a bit of gas. Mr. N on the other hand was practically moaning and groaning in the bed.

With my husband, who slept soundly all night with nary a drop in the bucket on the side of the bed, claiming death to come at any second, I got my son ready for school and we walked to meet the school bus together. It wasn’t easy, but Mom’s have super powers. Even when they’ve been up all night losing their poisoned dinner.

I spent the morning on the couch where I didn’t move until the kindergarten school bus dropped off four hours later. I spent the day doing what I could while laying on the couch. I helped with homework, played checkers, even read stories. I didn’t see my husband again until after our son was in bed for the evening.

So I ask you. As she who spent all night throwing up, shouldn’t I have been the one to take a sick day? Why is it always Mom who has to function through illness while Dad gets the day in bed?

I suppose I did get the better end of the deal. If my husband did get out of bed, I probably would have had to take care of him too. Meanwhile, my stomach was a mess, I was freezing cold the whole day, dizziness had set in and it was all I could do to raise myself from the couch.

Men. They can’t hack it.

Written by...Babe Deborah -- @ Family & Friends, Love & Marriage, Way Back When | Comments (9)

A the academy award for best supporting actor as “Boy with Flu” goes to…

 

My son(s)

Over the last couple of days, I’ve lost all desire to ever see a Broadway play. There’s been enough drama in my house to fuel The Lifetime Movie Channel for an entire month.

We’ve had two with the flu!

Ladies, I can tell you honestly, based on my own non-scientific study that acting like the worlds biggest, most needy baby does NOT come from being raised with an over-protective, over-nurturing mother - It comes from wha’cha got tucked between your legs.

It’s totally gender related!

Continue reading »

Written by...Babe Gayla -- @ Family & Friends, Parenting | Comments (6)

2008: Happy New Year

Our 15 year old and 12 year old at a RAINY picnic

Apparently the dropping of the ball in Time Square last night was the 100th anniversary of that tradition, and I can remember watching it my entire life…because no, I am not yet 100 years old.

The New Year is always the best day of the year. There are all of these possibilities in front of you..Stretching endlessly like the summer between elementary school and Junior High. You haven’t messed anything up, the day is full of reflection, hope, resolution.

This year will bring many changes for us, Marc and I. I don’t know what they all are, of course, but I can feel them in the air…

Our son in law, daughter and two grandkids have moved in with us for the moment. The house is full and the kids are all learning to play nice. So far the adults aren’t doing too bad either.

Our oldest son will be changing duty stations from stateside to Iraq and then northern Japan for two years. We have not seen him since Thanksgiving 2006 and hope that we will get a chance to see him in June.

Our 15 1/2 year old has decided to finish school early and go into the Marine Corps at 17. He did not come to this decision lightly. I have to realize that his time at home is now a count down until July 2009.

The rest of the kids are doing what kids do, growing up. And that is the thing I want us all to take away from this post today.

They do grow up. They learn to walk, and talk, and drive cars and kiss girls (or boys, depending..)…they read good books and watch movies we wish they wouldn’t. They talk back and make us laugh and they walk across our hearts and souls with cleats on daily. No matter how old your kids are, how young you are you have….today. Today is all. Tomorrow they will be bigger, and older, and more independent. Tomorrow they will be driving off to college or flying off to Parris Island (oooRAH) to wear skin so soft and scratch sand fleas when the DI’s aren’t looking.

Today read to them. Hold them, hug them. Overlook the stuff you can overlook, not the important stuff but the stuff you know they will grow out of.

I heard a woman tell her small child at the store yesterday that he was a brat. That was the nicest thing I heard her say to him.

Life is short. Childhood is microscopic.

Happy New year to you and your family….and resolve to love eachother with everything you’ve got. After all, you only have today to do it in.

Written by...Babe Marye -- @ Family & Friends | Comments (4)

Dad Never Told Me There’d Be Twist Ties

 

 

 

So the presents are wrapped. The cookies are baked. The tree is decorated and The Boy is in bed. Notice I didn’t say asleep? That’s because sleep probably won’t come for a while for a eager five year old. There’s nothing left to do but put together all the “Santa” toys.

My Dad once told me about all the late nights he spent putting together bicycles and doll houses. It can take a while for one child; I can’t imagine how Dad did it for six. Things were so much different then too. For the most part toys came in a box. Contents were either taped down or left loose. Nowadays we’re not so lucky.

Putting together toys is no longer the most time-consuming Christmas task. It’s getting the toys out of their packages. Today’s toys are stapled in or lashed down with heavy duty twist ties. In order to open boxes one must have the following supplies handy: wire cutters, screw drivers, scissors, a claw hammer and a trash bag. Oh and booze. Lots of it.

I’ve come to the realization that the people who are packaging children’s toys don’t have any kids. All they have to do is spend one Christmas Eve struggling to disengage a Transformer from its box and they’d put and end to this practice right away. What happened to good old fashion tape, anyway?

As soon as The Boy is asleep I’m going to start bringing up the gifts and disengaging them from the boxes. Hopefully I’ll still have some holiday cheer left in me when I’m done.

Written by...Babe Deborah -- @ Family & Friends, Unhinged | Comments (5)

FabGrandma’s Christmas Memories

As most good Fab Grandma’s do, I have stories that I tell my children and grandchildren, over and over, at certain times of the year, ad nauseum…It is like a tradition to tell them even if no one wants to hear them again. So, with that in mind, here are a few of my Christmas memories, some good, some bad, but memories just the same. I wrote this last year on my FabGrandma blog, but like I said, I tell the same stories over and  over…

The first Christmas I can remember was when I was about 5 years old. I had asked Santa for an electric train for my gift. Wouldn’t you know it—he did leave one at our house, but he mistakenly put “To Preston” (my younger brother) on the tag. How depressing is that? You ask for a train, a vehicle with power to let you escape into all the imaginary far away places a little girl could think of to travel, only to receive a stupid baby doll that hollers “Mama” at you, all the while peeing sweetly into her little panties. Now I suppose that in 1957 no respectable little girl would even ask for, much less actually receive, an electric train. No, we were relegated to practising to become little mothers, staying home spooning gruel into one end and wiping poop from the other, of our darling little babies, whilst our HUSBANDS, the MEN, traveled the work in their trucks, trains, and planes. I wish someone would invent the toddler doll that would wake up during the night with an asthmatic wheeze and rattle in their chest, crying “Mama” in agony while it throws up on the bed and squirts diarrhea out it’s little hiney. They could name it “Reality Check Carla” or something like that. Of course, there may not be much of a market for it, maybe young women whose husbands were pushing them to have a baby could get one for their spouse…Or, it could be part of that child care course taught to high school kids instead of using those stupid eggs. 

Oh, I’m sorry, I was supposed to be telling a story here. Well, that little electric train was really cool. It puffed smoke out of its fake smokestack. We thought that was pretty amazing. And as far as Betsy Wetsy was concerned, my older brother cut her head off to find out how she worked. 

Several years later, when I was 9 and my sister was 18 months old, I asked for a jewelry box. In my little girl brain, I could see the little ballerina dancing around and around to the music from the music box. So, on Christmas Eve, all of us kids went to bed, too excited to sleep. After a while, we could actually hear Santa in the living room. He was playing with our toys, and from the sound of it, he seemed to be talking to Mama and Daddy. Suddenly, I could hear the music box playing—I think Santa must have enjoyed hearing it because he wound it up and let it play about 15 times. So, in the morning when we finally got out of bed and went into the living room, I saw to my horror that the jewelry box Santa brought was a satin covered, velvet lined pink box that was obviously meant for a much older girl. It had no music box, and no ballerina. The music I had been hearing was a wind up Fischer Price clock for my baby sister. I was too stunned to say anything. I tried really hard not to cry. I cannot think of a single other time in my life when I have been more disappointed. 

The jewelry box I received that Christmas stayed in my possession until I was almost 50 years old. My older brother had taken a magic marker at some point and written “DUMB GIRL” inside the lid. I saw that every time I opened that box. Maybe that is why I don’t wear much jewelry. 

So, fast-forward about 30 years. When my oldest daughter was 14, she could hardly wait for me to open her gift to me that year. For weeks before Christmas I had jiggled and wiggled it, shook it and held it, trying to figure out what was inside. It was not the shape or size of anything I had asked for. On that Christmas morning, Rebecca, Emily and Seth insisted that I open that gift first. Because of that, I think maybe I expected it o be a camera. Imagine my surprise, when the wrapping paper came off, to find a little jewelry box, with a ballerina and a music box! I cried like a baby! Those were uncontrollable sobs and a flood of tears. My children sat there, the looks on their faces telling me that they thought they had done something terribly wrong. How could they even begin to understand what that jewelry box meant to me? How could they know they had given me my childhood?  That there was so much more than just a little jewelry box inside that gift? Yeah, a stupid as it sounds, that one moment is THE moment in my life that I cherish most. I still have that little music box, and the little ballerina presides over my most precious jewelry.  All the rest of it goes into an empty baby wipes plastic box. 

A year or so after I received the ballerina music box, my children surprised me again. This time, it was Emily’s gift. That year, my son and I went together on a Saturday morning to take the test for a GED. I had never finished high school and Seth had quit as soon as he turned 16.  So, to get him to go take the test, I volunteered to go with him. We both passed with flying colors, and received our GED certificates in the mail. That year, Emily gave me a high school class ring for Christmas. It has the year I took the GED test, the name of the high school I attended when I was a teenager, my first name, and a tiger on the outside of it.  There is an emerald green stone, because my birthstone is an emerald. My initials are engraved on the inside.   I didn’t cry like I did when I received the jewelry box, but just knowing how proud my children must have been of me was a wonderful feeling.  I keep that ring in my ballerina music box.

Hope you all have a very Merry Christmas

Written by...Babe Karen -- @ Blogging Babe of the Month, Family & Friends, Humorous, Way Back When | Comment (1)