And then he was 4.

braden,

once upon a time on Valentines day I got a wonderful present

confirmation that you existed

the world has looked different every day since then

sometimes more fierce, sometimes softer, in spite of itself

because of you

the days have flown faster than I ever knew they could

and despite what I say about wanting you to slow down

i am also eager to see who you will be tomorrow

and the day after that

and the days and months and years after that

i know that before long

in fact
it will seem
like the blink
of an eye

i will have my answer

so many of these flying days will stack up against one another

that you will be a man

a man!

but for now I still get to be your hand holder and your scare chaser

your cheek kisser and your hair smoother

the one who you wake up in the morning and who puts you to sleep at night

and I get to sit by you at the table and watch you

as you flex your muscles while eating a carrot

your eyes lighting up with imagination and magic as you say

i will eat my vegables and then i will grow to be a strong, big daddy!

and then i will be a growned up!

right, mommy?

yes, baby
one day

but not yet today.

Happy Birthday, my beloved!
The world may sometimes seem fierce

but it will never be quite as fierce as you.

Love, Mommy

A sick day took him.

He didn’t need to take a sick day.  After all, he had nowhere to be, but with me. He had no way to call in sick, unless you count him coming up to me on Thursday afternoon, hands held out dramatically, with a glorious, thick streamer of snot hanging from his nose, saying, “Um. Mommy? I have a snot.”

Thursday night was full of the stuff nightmares are made of: he puked up part of his dinner because he was gagging on mucous, came to bed with me after his second screaming awakening made it clear I’d be running to his room all night long otherwise, kicked me repeatedly for the next 8 hours, woke at least once an hour screaming and crying, telling me it hurt and yelling “NO NO NO”, accused me of making his throat hurt (ouch, dude), refused to drink anything, and rounded it all out by peeing in the bed in the morning and then telling me to get up and make his breakfast.

I was so tired.  And so very grumpy.  Then, while I was peeling his wet underpants off of him, I suddenly smiled. I thought about how I had patted his back over and over again all night long. It reminded me so much of long nights when he was this little kid baby:

That was March ’08. I can’t believe it was that long ago. It seems like just yesterday.

But yesterday was forever ago. And it will never be again.

I looked at him, shivering before me after I got him out of the wet clothing. He looked back at me solemnly, and then reached his arms around my neck, climbing into my lap. He held on tight, snuggling his head into the curve of my neck, and we just rocked for a little while, together.

I mostly think that colds are from the very Devil himself; they are miserable, horrible things that torture us and make us feel as though a close cousin of death has crawled inside our faces and set up camp.  And when our kids are sick, it is the worst.  It is so awful to watch them suffer.

But sometimes I experience these tiny moments when I wonder if they are some kind of weird gifts to parents – obviously not in the times of worry and pain, but during those moments when our kids slow down and just want to be held again, loved again, rocked in our arms, or when they just nap in our laps again. These are gifts, even though given in sickness, and it is these little capsules of memories gone suddenly burst open, and a chance to teleport to another moment in time again, for just awhile, that make me smile even as he sniffles.

A sick day took him.

I was there where it delivered him, all day long.

Braden: “Mommy, I need to be fixed.”
Me: “You need to be fixed? Why, are you broken?”
Braden: “Yes, Mommy. I’m broken with sick.”

I am his designated fixer, and he is the spark of magic in my life.  I’m reminded, again, that whatever age he is right now, it’s my favorite one.

I am having a hurt.

I miss this time.

The further we go in, the more painfully aware I am of the no rewind button on my kid.

Totally still need that sticker on my forehead that says “appreciate today.”

(And pie, I really, really need chocolate pie. But that is another story entirely. I think I just cheapened this post? Fuck it. I’m sorry.)

In the rain.

I like rain.  I am opposed to the idea that it means you can’t still enjoy being outside.

I wrote a poem about it last year.

Braden loves to play in the rain.

He always has, and I’ve always allowed it.

I recently enjoyed running in the rain during a tropical storm for a couple of days. In Texas, any run without the hot, beating hell of the sun is pretty much awesome, though.

Last night we chose to eat at a Tex-Mex place for dinner – Chuy’s.  They have good food and margaritas, and there’s a fun patio with room for kids to run around in the grass and play.  We love sitting on the patio there.

Apparently, we’ll even do it in the rain.

There was only one other family out there. They were laughing at the whole thing, having a good time, too. I kind of think we should have gotten their number.

What do you like to do in the rain?

A whole bunch of random crap all at once. You’re welcome.

• I posted a review of this Wired Sea Cuff on my review blog – cleverly named: lotus reviews. I know, I know – my creativity astounds you.  The post is a giveaway post, so go find out what I think of the Wired Sea Cuff and then enter to win $50 to spend at Studio Jewel. (Ends TODAY 9pm CST)

(Coming up, I’ll be running review/giveaway posts about 2 different camera bags, as well. Keep your eye on the review blog if that kind of thing interests you. Subscribe here.)

• Because I know so many of you dig photography, I also wanted to tell you about a fun meme that a couple of my friends are doing.  It’s called “The Flip Side” and it gives you an opportunity to share a self portrait – reflection, shadow, or classic type portrait – every week.  This is a great incentive to practice the art of the self portrait if you want to increase your photography skill.  I am going to be playing along.

• The September issue of Room 704 is up. The theme is “Educate.”  I write/edit on that website, and I’ve got 3 posts there this issue, including one that basically outlines what a moron I was in grad school.  It’s fun to self deprecate.  At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

• I’m still running like a mofo. I’m currently using the Bridge to 10K app (picks up where C25K left off and trains you from 5K to 10K level).  Running makes me feel powerful and strong.  Yes. It is hard.  But POWERFUL! and STRONG!  Also, my legs look insanely better than I think they ever have before.  EVER.  So there’s that.

If you want to stay apprised of all the fitness nonsense I get up to, join me on Dailymile.

• I’m going to be running the Austin, TX Komen Race for the Cure on November 7th.  I’ll be talking about that here again more between now and then, but for now, I’d like to ask you to go ahead and think about sponsoring me.  I’d really like to raise a good chunk of money.

• Oh, and my kid is apparently in training to be a shoplifter.  Go figure.

Happy Thursday!

Better not drink all the booze. His teachers may need some.

Braden started a “Kid’s Day Out” program today. He’ll be going there twice a week for about 4.5 hours.

I made a joke on Twitter last night about it, where I may have said something like, “Braden is starting a “Kid’s Day Out” program tomorrow. I’m sad. And by sad, I mean, HELL YEAH BITCHEZ!!!!!!!!!!!1!1 *cough*”

Give or take a Hell yeah. Or a few exclamation points. Or something.

Okay, okay so those were my exact words.

I was really just kidding. I mean, it’s not as if I’ve had this written on my calendar for MONTHS in bright red ink, circled in double-wide black sharpie marker with large, swooping circles and underlined with pink glitter pen ink that almost screams I CAN’T WAIT, HOLY CRAP, I CAN’T WAIT.

Nope.

Who would do something like that? Pffft. Not me, that’s who. I’m a loving parent who never takes a moment with her son for granted.

No, you may not borrow my calendar to check on something real quick. Get your own damn calendar.

And it isn’t like I’m insanely stocked on party streamers and noise makers and booze and practically did flips all the way home from the damn place today. What kind of horrible parent do you take me for?

(Do not pay any attention to that pile of streamers and noise makers and booze over there. I am collecting for Goodwill. That’s the donation pile. Shut up. People who shop at Goodwill have to party too, DON’T THEY? Look at you, all High and Mighty, all “only us highly privileged people get to have parties with streamers and noise makers and booze.” You disgust me.)

Furthermore, I didn’t run out the door without even saying “Goodbye” to him, or telling the teacher his name. I didn’t forget to leave his lunch with him, and just throw it at one of the windows of the building as I was running away, deliriously screaming (or doing flips). And I didn’t yell something like, “YOU MAY NEVER SEE ME AGAIN!!!!” followed by mad cackling so loud it scared the birds out of the trees in a three mile radius.

I’m kind of baffled that you would even think any of those things. Where did you come up with that crap? Are you mentally unstable? I think you might need help.

I’d have to be as insane as you clearly are to do any of those things. I mean, I’d have to be plain out of my mind to do anything other than have been excited for him for the past week while at the same time feeling a weird tightness in my chest that I couldn’t shake.

I’d have to be kind of a crazy lunatic not to realize that, while cliched, this is literally the start of a long process where my child starts to cleave from me.  This is a thing I am both carefully, joyfully, preparing him for with everything I do for him every day and dreading with all the tiny fibers in my heart – the heart that clenched up a little this morning when I kissed him goodbye and I had to leave.

But I’m cool with it. Yeah, totally.  I didn’t feel kind of angsty while I was packing his lunch, I didn’t get a little sentimental when I wrote his name on a tag for his backpack, my heart didn’t swell and smoosh when I watched him walking to school with his Daddy, I didn’t take too many photos of him on his first day of school, and I didn’t frown a little when I got home and the house was blessedly quiet.

And empty.

Sigh.

This will be good for him.

I hope I can survive it.

(The booze will help. WOOOHOOOOOOOOO!)

For the record, it’s not like Nostradomus has done any better at this point.

Braden’s personality is this incredibly intoxicating blend of sweet, joyful, and smart mixed up with volatile, demanding, and loud.  I’m going to go ahead and claim responsibility for passing on/modeling the former behaviors and blame my husband for the latter.  Not because it’s true, but because I’m mostly an asshole and I like to say anything I can to make myself look good.

My son is not shy. He is unafraid to let you, and everyone around you, know exactly what he thinks and feels at any particular moment.

His thoughtful observations and questions ["If the bug is dead, we should just recharge his batteries." / "Why is the sun sleeping?"]

strange ideas ["My penis is on backwards."]

silly, quick quips [Him: "You need to get me a new eyeball!"  Me: "Just call me Frankenmommy."  Him: "You're not green."]

and even his demanding and frustrated exclamations ["I CAN'T GO PEE, I HAVE TO DANCE FIRST."]

are equally interesting and enlightening, often funny.

He’ll make you think and also laugh.

But did I mention that he’s loud?  Holy crap, he’s LOUD. As John put it the other day, “He goes to 11. And often stays there.”

It’s so true.

Because of this, I was both excited and somewhat scared (okay, more than somewhat, possibly a shitload at times, when I considered it too carefully) about Braden’s very first time on an airplane.  In fact, as soon as I found out we were going to get on an airplane with him, I started punching myself in the face no less than 10 times every 30 minutes to toughen myself up.  I asked John to make airplane noises and then start screaming directly into my ear at random times when we’re in public to help condition me.  For some reason he made the same face he made that one time I asked him how long he thought it would take for a mouse to explode in the microwave and whether or not that time would be altered by getting the mouse really drunk first.

I think he’s just so in love he doesn’t know what to say.

Of course, other than the idea that Braden might morph into a slightly more insane version of himself in-flight, causing all the other passengers to gang up on us and tape us to the wings, I was really excited about our trip home to North Carolina.  My father pulled a super-awesome act and purchased the three of us plane tickets to come for a visit while my sister and her family would be in the States. (They live in Switzerland. Incidentally, I love my sister very much, but I’m kind of mad at her because she has yet to introduce me to Swiss Miss and I just KNOW she’s been blowing that giant horn on the mountain with the Ricola guy, but she hasn’t so much as invited me to join them.  I also expected her to bring me a likeness of myself sculpted entirely out of the best cheese and chocolate in the world, but that has nothing to do with where she lives, it’s just a tradition we have.)

Anyway, we accepted the tickets my father offered in a heartbeat – no way were we going to turn down such a generous offer. We love seeing our extended family. Where else can you drink too much, raid the fridge for pickled beets and cow tongue, set off fireworks when it’s not even July 4th, and fart at the dinner table? (I know you are dying to hang out with us now. Please contain yourself.)

In order to make the trip go smoothly, I spent the weeks leading up to our trip thinking of ways to keep Braden busy on the flights, hoping to keep his roar to a minimum so that nobody would start fashioning voodoo dolls in our likenesses before we even disembarked the airplane at our destination.

I came up with some great ideas, like packing his favorite toys, a notepad and pen, new books for him to enjoy, and DVDs to play on my laptop with headphones just for him.  So we went shopping and I picked up some supplies of that nature along with a brand new roll of extra-strong, soundproof quality duct tape.  You know, in case our luggage got damaged.  And I swear that I only measured the width of the tape against the height of his mouth while I was in the store selecting the right roll because everyone knows that luggage tears generally only occur in the exact dimensions of a 3 year old boy’s facial orifice.

If you don’t believe me you can contact The Official Luggage Tear Association of America Aimed At Defending Moms Who Needed To Tape Their 3 Year Old Spawns’ Faceholes Shut.  OLFAAADMWNT3YOSFS for those in the know.

I have their mailing address around here somewhere.  You can email me if you need it.

Anyway, in the car on the way to the airport, Braden was in a good mood, excited. I was only punching myself in the face a couple of times an hour at that point, so I was mostly able to enjoy the ride.  I did happen to remember that it was Friday the 13th.  While I tried to decide how we were going to die that day, I made sure to address the issue on Twitter.

You know, for good luck.  And to remind everyone else that it was Friday the 13th, in the hopes that I could inspire all the superstitious people who follow me to be fearful and miserable for the rest of the day.  And because I secretly hoped all the rabbits on Twitter would get the message and hide their poor little paws.  I love rabbits, so I wanted to try my best to keep them safe.  I’m a giver like that.  Besides, they look like total dumbasses with peg legs.  Not cool at all, like pirates.

By the way, I’m not really all that superstitious, but I did decide that at some point that day either:

a) we would die a horrible, flaming death after our airplane plummeted from the sky and crashed in a heap of charred and twisted metal because I packed one too many pairs of shoes in my luggage,

b) we’d be chopped into a million pieces by a deranged madman who got pushed past his breaking point because he HATES TO BE ASKED TO TAKE OFF HIS SHOES IN PUBLIC much less be chided for not laying his carry-on bag down flat in the plastic bin, and besides, only assholes who hate their jobs would nitpick at you like that. So it’s really quite understandable why he’d then lose his mind and kill us all with the machete that he somehow managed to get through security. (After they confiscated his nail file, of course.)

or

c) I would die from laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe anymore after Braden got excited at correctly reading the word “frog” and decided to start yelling it out on the plane over and over again and by the way? This is how that sounds: “FUCK! FUCK! HAHAHA! FUCK!”

Three guesses which of my predictions was the closest to the truth. (Apparently I can laugh for a long time without expiring from lack of ability to breathe properly.  So I was wrong about the whole dying part.  Not all of us can be Nostradamus, okay?)

As usual, Braden found groupies all throughout the airport.  Having had his ego filled to bursting, by the time we got to our gate, Braden was already tired and hungry, and demanded sustenance.  Then he had a minor drama queen moment with head to the table, lots of sighing, and talk of feelings like “too sad” and then he ended up telling me he did not want to be at the airport.

I was all, “Suck it up, dude, we’re going to wait here for awhile and then we’re getting on the plane.”

He told me I was a world class jerk and then wouldn’t share his fries with me.

So I peed in his apple juice when he wasn’t looking.

Okay, I didn’t.  But I thought about it.  I actually decided the opening to the bottle was way too narrow and it would make more of a mess on my pants than it was worth.  Not having a penis is so unfair sometimes.

While the (clearly) cutest boy in the world ate his fries, John and I knocked back some pre-flight refreshments.

We boarded our first flight with no incident. Braden was almost humming with excitement on the way into the plane and arriving at our seats.

We got settled and waited. I could hear, across the aisle, the murmuring of John and Braden talking to one another.  Braden was a bit fidgety.  I suggested John tell Braden, using his toy airplane to illustrate, what was going to happen when the plane took off.

I saw the airplane sliding across the tray table, heard the quiet explanations. Braden was smiling, nodding. Suddenly he exclaimed, exuberantly, “The airplane is going to fly high, high up into the sky! *short pause* AND THEN IT’S GOING TO CRAAAASSSHHH DOOOWWWWWNNN!!!!!”

I swear I didn’t laugh.  I’m not a complete liar, either.

We were an instant favorite amongst our fellow passengers.  I flexed and readied for my best one finger salute, just in case.  Luckily, nobody said anything, which is really kind of awesome, because I’d choke a kid for something like that if he wasn’t mine.

Braden really liked the feeling of take-off and landing.  I had to suppress the urge to tell him that he only likes it because he doesn’t know that we could die at any minute. (Okay, to be honest, I like it, too, and I do know. But turbulence can go right to hell.)

I wish I hadn’t complied with the Flight Crew’s requests to stow all electronic equipment during take-off.  And not just because I like to get in trouble and possibly taken to jail by TSA officials. (Though it is a favorite past time.) The photos and video I could have captured of Braden would have made you all smile and laugh.  (My life’s sole mission.)

Other travelers laughed and grinned as he exclaimed, “THREE… TWO… ONE… BLAAAAAST OFFF!” It kind of made up for the whole “suggesting we were all going to die during a fabulous crash landing from hell” thing.  Plus, not even one person called him a dumbass for saying “Blast Off” about an airplane / thinking we were in a rocket.  Those were the nicest people ever.  I would have bought them all vodka drinks, but then there wouldn’t have been enough for all the Bloody Marys that John and I needed.  Yes, needed.  There’s a medical reason.  No, I can’t talk about it with you. Not because I don’t trust you, but mostly because I’m a liar but I can’t think of anything right now because I’m too tired.  Shhh. Don’t tell.

Luckily, Braden had only momentary discomfort with ear pressure, alleviated by noshing on helpless little gummy rabbits.  I pretty much felt like a genius for packing them, since he can’t chew gum yet.  Well, I mean, technically he can chew gum, but he can also probably choke to death on it because he doesn’t know how to not constantly laugh and yell, drawing in great amounts of air.  And I kind of like having him around because he can still eat for free at some restaurants and he makes me laugh.  Oh, and don’t even act like I’m contradicting myself on the whole “love rabbits” thing from above, because those gummy rabbits were made of 100% fruit juice with no more than 10% actual rabbit flavoring.  See how superior you think you are? I showed you.

During the flight, I made a new friend, only 4.75 years old.  She was very adamant that I recognize how close to 5 she was, and even instructed me to be ready for her birthday.  Someone is a little too obsessed with herself, if you ask me.  She wouldn’t even shut up and let me talk about myself any of the 50-some times I tried to tell her about my blog or all my funny Tweets.  How rude.  I mean, really.

She talked more than Braden does.  A LOT MORE.  She told me quite a few stories about her squishy pink lizard.  She said it can swim! and do flips! but I think she was full of shit because during the entire flight, the thing didn’t move EVEN ONCE.  You know what I think, though?  That thing is conning her for her sweet little girl love.  It’s not right.  I made sure to sneak it off of her before we deplaned and flushed it down into that blue death in the airplane toilet.  Lying lizard toys are one of the main things about this country that’s causing the whole place to go to hell in a handbasket, and I, for one, will not stand by while nothing is done about it.  It’s true.  I’m an amazing activist for important causes.  Don’t be jealous, we can’t all be so inherently wonderful.

My new friend (I don’t remember her name, but it’s not my fault, she didn’t even have a cell phone number I could add to my contacts list) also regaled me with stories about her little sister, cartwheels, the color of her carry-on luggage (it matched her dress), and her mother’s age.

LOUDLY: “My mommy is 33, almost 34! She’s old. How old are you?”  I told her I am 5 – clearly better than her because she’s only 4.75.  Then I asked if she also knew how much her mom weighs. Her mother just looked at me with glazed eyes.  I don’t know much ALS, so I could be wrong, but at one point I think she signed “Please just take her, I won’t tell anyone.”

I don’t need a girl, though, since Braden already lets me paint his toenails and put styling product in his hair, so I declined.

By the way, I think the little sister was totally trying to hit on Braden.  I think it’s a chicks dig cars kind of thing.  Or maybe it’s his keen fashion sense.  Maybe the killer blue eyes.

Watch out, mothers of daughters.  No, really, watch out because if we don’t have this kid fixed (can you do that? will they do that at the Vet?) we are SCREWED.  Please to be fitting your female children with chastity belts.

Anyway, the flights went fairly well.  Nobody died at all and my fears of Braden losing his freaking mind were unfounded.

Well, unless you count the times that the Shrieking Banshee of Death emerged when seatbelts had to be buckled and tray tables returned to their locked positions.

Airplane windows really do need to be lower.

Can we redesign all airplanes to accommodate my tiny son’s desire to look out at the amazing sights around and below us as we ascend/descend? Surely that’s not too much to ask.  IT’S JUST MONEY AND TIME, YOU ASSHOLES.

No? Oh well. I’ll just keep knockin’ these back.

And making Daddy sit next to Braden.

You know… if he can handle it.

I’m going to New York City, and also, I’m a freaking fantastic mother.

It is that time of year when bloggers of all kinds, mostly women, but also lots of men, start packing their bags and preparing to descend on some fabulous city for a popular blogging conference, as well as days and nights filled with more than their fair share of merriment and crazy making.

There have been weeks of hype and talk and more than just a gentle buzz, but more like a gnashing, crunching, building roar of excitement from those who are attending. That building cacophony of anticipation has been filled with excitement, anticipation, nerves, joy, anxiety, what ifs and a general sense of OH YAY, I CAN’T WAIT.

I’m speaking at this conference.

Dude.

I’m speaking at this conference!

I didn’t really mention that here even one time in the past several months, did I? I’ve been kind of a horrible blogger so far as words and stories and explanations go, lately, haven’t I? (Kind of. Just kind of? Hah.)

I go hither and yon, ebb and flow, rise and fall, swell and shrink.

<<< >>>

I’m here, living and laughing and crying and spinning and twirling and facing my fears and sometimes hiding in corners from the dark I Know Not What.  But mostly I’ve been running until my body is covered in sweat, stealing bites of chocolate here and there and torturing myself with happiness of all kinds.

Life has been full of a little of everything and not so much of nothing.

Yes, I speak in poems! How unfair of me, eh? But my life kind of feels like a poem to me right now, and so that is what you get. Neener.

<<< >>>

BUT.DUDE.I’M.SPEAKING.AT.THIS.CONFERENCE.

(Yes, I’m excited.)

I’m honored to be part of a trio of photographers who will be presenting a Room of Your Own Session on how to take great photos with a DSLR or Point & Shoot. I’m delighted beyond words to be sharing this experience with Mishelle Lane (@secretagentmama) and Rachel Devine (@sesameellis). These are amazing women, talented women, women who make me laugh and teach me, inspire me, and lift me up. I have thoroughly enjoyed working with them to create this presentation, and I’m really looking forward to seeing them in person in New York at this conference. I hope that those who attend take away valuable ideas and learn some things they’ve been wanting to know.

I’m full to bursting with all that excitement and anticipation I mentioned above.

I’m about to jett off to New York City! You know, that fabulous place full of bustle and lights, that never sleeps, and has way more sights, sounds, tastes, smells, and experiences than any place should dare to be allowed.

With those thoughts swirling in my head, I take a deep breath and acknowledge the huge smile on my face. I’M GOING TO NYC TO PLAY AND WORK AND PARTY AND SPEAK AT A CONFERENCE AND BE A GROWNUP ALL BY MYSELF (WITH MY FRIENDS) FOR DAYS AND DAYS.

Squee?

<<< >>>

Leaving Braden for that long is one of those things that makes me both sigh with relief and twists my guts with agony.

I will love having the break from him! (I will miss him!)

I will love not being pestered and bossed around by a 3 Year Old.

I will love peeing without being yelled at or visited, eating without attending to others first, bathing only myself and sleeping without someone screaming in the night.

I will enjoy waking without someone ordering me to make their breakfast, or crying when it’s not perfect.

I will love no cleaning up toys, wiping the pee up from around the toilet, or being head butted in the face.

I will love not being screamed at or hearing NO NO NO all.day.long.

<<< >>>

I WILL MISS HIM.

But it’s all good. His Daddy will be spending days with him. Then two different trusted friends will take turns caring for him. He’s in great hands.

And hey, I’m a freaking good Mom. (If you laugh, I will cut you.) I’ve raised this kid well, given him a great foundation. He’s been loved and supported emotionally, physically, and spiritually his whole life.

I am firmly sure that I’ve taught him well and given him all the tools he needs to make it through several days without me and not have any troubles.

I have set a great example for him for years now, and I know that will shine through.

Oh, shut up. At least I’m not the one who just taught him to say, “When Mommy’s gone we’re going to cruise chicks!”

[before you get all "oh no she di'in't!" I didn't teach him to flip the bird. he was showing me a "boo-boo" he wanted me to kiss. I don't teach my kid to give people the finger. gah. we are way too busy free-basing and listening to hard core rap while we count the money the hookers bring in to spend time on foolish finger salutes....]

And with that, I’m out.

New York, I can’t wait to be in you, baby. Peace out, beeshes.

*****