Pink Warm and Dry

What gets me through…

My kiddos, plain and simple.

(Now pardon me if I whip out the digital picture album of Halloween’s past.)

2009

2008

2007

2006

2005

2004

(That’s FC in the middle as Spiderman)

2003

2002

(He was Pooh this year, just couldn’t find a picture:)

2001

2000.

The year of the Bumblebee.  (He HATES this picture.  I plan on showing it to his future GF’s)

My point is this.  This line of work isn’t easy.  It’s even harder for those who are a bit tenderhearted.

Not that I am. I’m hardcore ya know.

Okay, so maybe it took someone to tell me to wake the hell up and realize what I *DO* have.  I have two amazing, intelligent, loving, healthy children.  I have a job.  (Yes, it’s a job that I bitch about, but it is a job, and it’s a job that I, at my core, truly love!  How many can say that???) I’m surrounded by the most amazing friends and family that a girl could ask for.  I kinda/sorta have my health.  (At least the fever is gone!)

I’m not doing too bad.

So many more have it so much worse.

So here it comes, from me to you.  If you’re out there, and things seem bleak…  For whatever reason…  Inhale, exhale, and take a look around.  Look at your people.  Take a look at your friends and family.

And even if it’s cliche’d…

Know that this too shall pass.

It will.

A quick talk…

…With my kiddo.

One of them anyway.  The younger, bossier one.  The one with the curls and the angelic smile.

This one:

I was putting her to bed in her room.  A room with white walls and decorated with her artwork.  And by artwork, I mean sheets of loose leaf paper with her (slightly shaky, but still legible) written name, pictures of Dasher, her doggy, her Father and her brother.  Don’t forget her own personal touch, hand drawn scribbles applied to lovingly with crayon and marker, directly onto the paint.

Needless to say I’ve been dying to paint these walls… Particularly now that she’s out of her “drawing on the walls” phase.

So this past weekend my Mom and I set out to find a suitable shade for her walls.  We settled on a very light pink, as pink is a color she LOVES.  Consistently. Like since birth ya’ll…

See what I’m saying?

Okay, so maybe she’s had pink “thrown at her” since birth.

Well, pink, as well as other stuff, but that’s another post.

“SWR, guess what?”  I’m trying like hell to get her focus off of Spongebob and on to anything else.

“What, Mom Mom?”  She’s not impressed with my attempt so far, but she’s playing along.

“We’re going to paint your room this weekend, wont that be fun???”

“Yaaaay!!!!  Thank you, Mom Mom!”

I knew better, I should of stopped here, but nooo.  “What color do you want your room to be,” I asked.  A simple question… I thought I knew the answer, after all, she is my little girl.  My princess…

“Purple and BLUE!”  She started bouncing up and down on her bed, clearly excited that she was being given an option.

Purple and blue.  Two colors that we didn’t buy.

Guess I’m heading back to Lowe’s.

Mom, I want a Dog.

Future Cardiologist wants a dog.

She Who Rules wants a purple dog.  (Something to do with play doh and a dog shaped cookie cutter.)

With FC’s 9th birthday around the corner we set out to the Toledo Humane Society to adopt a family member.  I had checked out their website for a few days and had a few dogs in mind that I really wanted to meet.

Terrick

Loved Terrick.  From the second I saw him.

I mean, how could you not?

Look at those eyes.

LOOK AT THEM!!!!  He’s practically begging me to take him home.

Unfortunately he was a little larger than what I could deal with.  It broke my heart, but we couldn’t adopt him.  He’s still available for adoption, btw.  Contact the Toledo Humane Society if you’re interested in giving him a proper home.

Next up was Mr. Beans.

Mr. Beans didn’t like us.  At all.

Then we saw him.

Cowering in a little crate in a separate room from the others.  His name was Dasher, and when he looked at me with his little face I knew I had to have him the kids had to have him.

When the teenager/volunteer/foster mom to Dasher realized that I was serious about taking him home, she instantly started in with his bad habits.

“He’s not housebroken.”

“He bites. A lot.”

“I’m not sure how he is with kids.”

“He’s crazy with other dogs and little ones.”

“Did I mention he bites?”

I think she would have told me that Dasher was responsible for the assassination of JFK, invented trans fats, and was Obama’s campaign manager if it meant that we wouldn’t be taking him home.  I shooed her out of the room so that we could spend some more time with him without her watching us like a hawk.  I know she’s attached to him.

How could she not be?

I mean really.

He’s for the kids after all. Look at that face.

When he fell asleep on my little girls lap I knew it was all over.  She cried when we had to leave him for a day and a half.  He’s getting the snip tomorrow.  Poor little guy.

Wish us luck.  I have a feeling we’re going to need it.

My daughter.

Meet my desktop.

What, you were expecting something a little cheerier?  A large sunflower perhaps?   (Photo credit goes to Rev Medic, btw)  I didn’t put much thought into what my kids would think of it.  My son has seen worse while thumbing through my Medic textbook.  My three year old, however…

“MomMom?”

“Yes Sis?”  I was checking my email while she constructed pancakes from her new playdoh set nearby.  She was now standing next to me, staring at my desktop.

“He has an owwchie?”  Her head was cocked sideways, she was pointing at the gentleman in the picture with her chubby finger.

Oh Jesus I’m scarring my kid for life. I quickly opened a firefox window to cover up the offending picture.

“Yes, honey, he has an owwchie.  But he’s okay.  Let’s go play with the playdoh, okay?”  I reached for a

“No, MomMom.  Move the picture.”

She wants to see it?  Really?  Do I distract her, turn the computer off, or… Let her look at it? I let her look.  It’s not a particularly gruesome pic, just some blood.  “He’s okay, Sis, see?  They’re taking care of him.”

“The Pawamedics?  He goes inna ammulance?”

“Yep, the EMT’s and the Paramedics are taking care of him.  He’s going to go to the hospital in an ambulance.  He’s going to be just fine, don’t you worry.”

“Okay.  He goes inna ammulance.  No helicopter.”

*snort* I just shook my head.  Where in the HELL did she get that from?

“No, sweetheart, no helicopter.”

The Lights After Christmas…

It’s a tradition in my family to visit the Toledo Zoo to see the Christmas lights.  Typically we try to go the first chance we get (translation:  the first non freezing night) between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  This year temperatures kept us from doing that, and the kids let me know that they were less than pleased with that fact.

On December 26th,  the clouds parted and the local Meteorologist informed us that the temperature was going to reach 65 degrees.  In late December.  We made plans to go see the million plus lights that adorn the trees (and just about every other surface) in the Zoo.

The kids rejoyced.

Well, FC rejoyced, anyway.

The other one really didn’t want anything to do with any of us.  Or Christmas lights.

And to think, it all started with a woodchuck in a box at Walbridge Park.

We stumbled across this really neat exhibit in the Amphibians section.  Aparently these itty bitty little frogs, the Kihansi Spray Toad actually, are completely extinct in the wild thanks to the construction of a hydroelectric dam built in the African gorge where they resided.  Half of their total population is at the Toledo Zoo, the other half is in the Bronx Zoo.  Both Zoos are building a successful breeding program with the goal of reestablishing the breed back in the wild.

An interesting fact:  The Kihansi Spray Toad is a rare example of a toad that gives birth to fully formed offspring instead of laying eggs.  I’ll be storing that tidbit away for the next time it comes up on Jeopardy or in Trivial Pursuit.

The toads were cute.  But the kids weren’t really all that interested in toads.  They wanted to see the bugs.

*sigh*

I’ve mentioned that I hate bugs, haven’t I?  I really, really, hate bugs.

So… yeah.  I didn’t like the bug exhibit.  Or the spider exhibit.  Or the slimy creepy crawly things exhibit.  It was time to beat a path back out to see the lights.  Now that the sun had crept below the horizon, anyway.

And the lights… They were fantastic.  Draped from limb to limb.  I don’t know for certain when the staff starts putting the lights up, I can tell you that when we were visiting for the Boo at the Zoo event there were already lights hanging.  Good Lord I’m glad I’m not saddled with that job.

This is my favorite tree, this picture really doesn’t do it justice.  It glows like a beacon, you can see it from the Trail every time you pass the zoo.  It’s a brilliant bright blue color.

Taken from under the tree, looking up.

The long line of zoo traffic waiting on the Anthony Wayne Trail.  I’ve never seen it as busy as it was.  Not even on a concert night.  People were stacked up ten deep to see any exhibit.

You don’t want to know what I had to do to get close enough to get a shot at the Bald Eagles.

In the end we emerged relatively unscathed despite the crowds and the beginning of a light sprinkle.  (That’s my little girl trying to bribe me into buying a second bag of cotton candy with a kiss.  Nice try kiddo.)  It was the perfect night for the trip, and a nice ending to a solid week of Christmas.

Shock and Awe.

I hope that you all had a great Christmas Day/Hanukkah/Chanukah/Kwanzaa/Festivus/Thursday.  I hope that you found yourself surrounded by those closest to you.   (Or if you actually celebrate Festivus, I hope that you aired all your grievances and rocked the whole Feats of Strength thing).

As for myself, I was fortunate enough to witness what I can only call shock and awe spill out of my Son when he opened something he has been asking for for two years.  It was the only thing he really wanted for Christmas.

I might have led him to believe he wasn’t going to be getting the DS this year.

He was so happy and genuinely grateful that he had tears in his eyes.  That’s my Boy.  He remembered to thank everyone for everything that he received without prompting.  He was even more excited to pass out the presents he purchased and watch his family members open them.  It was a cool thing to watch and I was extremely proud of him.

The little Princess was not so well behaved.  I can only blame it on the fact that she didn’t get enough sleep, and was hopped up on sugar for three days straight (courtesy of three different sets of grandparents).  Oh, and she’s three.  Certainly not because I might give in to her demands a little too often.

I’m working on that.

She sure is cute in those pj’s, though.

Religion, and in the End, A Conversation With FC…

Given some recent posts by some friends of mine, NinjaMedic and Chris specifically (Wow, that sounded very Soprano’s like), I’ve been thinking quite a bit about religion.  Organized religion.

I think I might have mentioned before that I was raised Catholic.  I attended Catholic school for nine long years.  Two of the people I love and respect the most, my Mom, and my Father-In-Law are devout Catholics.  I consider myself Catholic-Light.  Extremely light.

I’ve found that I don’t necessarily believe in the drill and ceremony involved in a Catholic Service anymore.

Genuflect here.  Kneel here.  Make the Sign of the Cross here.   I did it for so long that I found I wasn’t putting any thought into it.  It was like I was auto-pilot the moment I would walk into church.  It didn’t seem right.

And the Saints, don’t even get me started on the Saints.

This Saint will protect you from people breaking into your house, this Saint will help you find the set of keys that you’ve lost for the fifth time this month, this Saint will protect you from the plague of fruit flies that are sure to invade your kitchen if you don’t throw that moldy apple out immediately…  That’s never made sense to me.   If the first Commandment states (more or less) that God is God and that we shouldn’t pray to false God’s, then why are we praying to St. What’s-His-Name to help us find our way to Hamtramck?

Eventually, my weekly attendance at Mass dwindled down to  twice a year on average, Easter and Christmas and that’s mostly to keep my Mother happy.   When I’m there I spend most of that hour trying not to giggle while my younger Brother makes up lyrics to the Hymns we’re supposed to be singing.  In Polish.  (Real mature, right?)

I do, however, live my life according to many of the beliefs of Catholicism.  I pray to God.  And only God.  I believe that everything was created by Him.  I try not to lie,  I don’t cheat, I don’t steal, I believe in most cases killing someone is a bad thing (on purpose anyway)…  I believe that when you do something bad, you should apologize and mean it…  Basically “Do your best to be a good person” kinda stuff.  I’ve raised my children the same way.  They may know jack squat about sacraments and saints, but they sure as hell know that lying, stealing, cheating and hurting people is not right.  They go to Church on average twice a year less than I do.  As in… They don’t go.

When I was FC’s age I had already been Baptized, made my First Communion and Reconciliation, had been to Church a couple of  hundred times, and had just as many Religion classes under my belt.  And at the tender age of eight, I had more guilt than any third grader should ever have.

By comparison, FC’s a little behind.  And I’m okay with that.

This really bothers my Mom, and it flared up last night during a conversation on whether or not my kids should attend Mass on Christmas Eve.  She wants them to go.  I don’t see the point.  My little girl is three.  If I took her I’d wind up bribing her to stay quiet with cereal.  My Son does not go to a Catholic grade school, nor does he go to Catechism.   I don’t have a problem with either of them going to Mass, I just think that taking them when they’re bouncing off the walls in anticipation over Christmas presents and expecting them to be able to sit still and pay attention might be asking a bit much.

Then she brought up the fact that FC should have made his First Communion a year ago, somehow hinting that he was less of a wonderful child in God’s eyes because he hadn’t…  And that I, as a Good Catholic Girl should at the very least have him in Catechism.

I got a little upset.

I’ve been working on teaching him the basics. He might not be able to recite any of the Catholic prayers, but he knows he can talk to God any time he wants to.  That’s something that even adults struggle with at times.

I stormed off…  Determined to have a conversation with FC that would allow me to feel better about everything.

“FC?”

“Uhm, yeah Mom?” His nose was buried in a book.

“Are you excited about Christmas?”

“I can’t wait!”

“I bet you can’t… Hey, FC, let me ask you a question… Can you put the book down for a second?”

“Sure, Mom.  Am I in trouble?”

“No, that’s not it.  What do you know about Christmas?  Do you know what we’re celebrating on Christmas Day?”

“Uhmmm…”  The silence was deafening. He had no idea.

Epic Fail for Epi.

“Well, you know about Jesus, right?”

FC’s eyes light up.  “I know he was on crutches, right?”

Now it was my turn to look completely confused.  “Err… Crutches?”

“Yeah, he was on crutches.”

“Honey, he wasn’t on crutches… Where did you get that Jesus was on crutches?”

“On that show, the one they show at Christmastime.  He walks around with a crutch.”

“FC, are you talking about the movie with the ghosts of Christmas, and the cranky guy, Scrooge?”

“Yeah, that’s the one!”

Under my breath I mumble, “Oh dear.  I have some work to do.”

“What Mom?”

“We’ll talk later, FC.”