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.)

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!)

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.

*****

he doesn’t have to worry about living up to it

It’s no secret to me (and the world at large) that my child is freaking adorable.

Go ahead, roll your eyes and gag a little.  It’s okay.  I don’t mind.  But he is brilliantly handsome, and that’s just a fact.

And when his hair gets all shaggy, I think it gives him this sweet charm.

But it’s summertime now – a time when little ones get especially hot and sweaty.  He’s been batting at his hair, getting annoyed with it.  I’ve been watching it inch closer to his eyes, slowly.  Haircut time has been approaching.

I knew this was coming and I’ve had… plans.

When he got so incredibly frustrated with it last week that he started slapping at the side of his head and growling, I asked him if he wanted a haircut.  His response was, “YES, MOMMY. OH. YES.”

So I told him I’d cut it soon and asked him if he wanted the kind of haircut I was thinking of giving him.  He said yes without a pause.  I asked him if he knew what that meant.  He just looked at me and smiled. I laughed and saved the definition for later.

Yesterday, I showed him a photo to see if he was sure.  The child smiled so largely that his face almost broke.

“Do you want me to cut your hair like that?”

“Oh, yes, Mommy!  Yes, that’s right!”

And then he bounded off and head butted the dog a few times before howling and racing into the kitchen, where he slammed into the cabinets, bounced back, and rolled across the floor laughing.

I’m pretty sure it suits his personality.

an any day breakfast discussion

“Mommy! Take a picture of my bum!”

“Did you take the picture of my bum?”

“No, Mommy! NO TAKING PICTURES OF MY FACE.”

“But take a picture of my hands, Mommy!”

“Thank you, Mommy! Good job, Mommy.”

any day with him is filled with all kinds of emotions…

some highs and some lows, curious adventures,

and the fantastic and beautiful little things

that, without him, I’d

never see.

chocolate happiness

His very first cone of ice cream to eat all on his own was a waffle cone bigger than his head. He loved it deeply.

It loved him back. They became one in a melty explosion of chocolate toddler happiness.

You just can’t stand in the way of a love so deep (and sticky) as this – you just put it outside, watch the sweet carnage unfold, laugh and take lots of photos.

Mark it down on the list of fun stuff I’ll miss witnessing one day.

my, how the time does pass

one moment i was looking at this:

and i seem to have blinked.

the very next moment, i opened my eyes upon this:

and that is both intensely beautiful and horribly frightening to me.