A Noah Kind of Day

When I told Noah, "No dinner? No dessert!" he looked me right in the eye and said, "Apparently, you are a bad momma."  And remember, he doesn't say his Rs and Ls.

When Noah saw me eat a piece of candy, he yelled, "STOP EATING THAT!  YOUR STOMACH WILL STICK OUT!!!"

When I told Noah, "Don't turn on the light while Mommy is driving--it's dangerous," he waited until I had  pulled out onto the road and THEN turned it on.  I pulled over and waited for him to turn it off.  I told him a policeman would take us all away if he saw the light on.  It took him a long, full sixty seconds to DECIDE to turn it off.

When I told Noah, "Time to get in the bathtub," he did, but tried to shove Joey into the wall so that he could have Joey's spot.  He had to sit in his towel until he could agree to be nice.

When I told Noah, "Time to get out out of the bathtub," he yelled, "NO!" and turned his legs into giant water scissors.  Water splashed over the sides of the tub everywhere.  He glared at me, his scariest glare, and then got up and unplugged the tub.  When I tried to lift him out, he pushed my hands away and did it himself.

When I told Noah and Joey, "It's story time.  Everyone pick their spot for our bedtime story," Noah said, "I want to play with my slinky."  I sat down next to Joey and opened our all-time favorite book.  Noah threw the slinky in the air.  It bounced, then rolled along the carpet.  "Wait!" he cried.  "Wait!  I want to hear the story, too!"  He snatched up the slinky, now a long snake of knotty coils, and ran from the room to put it away.  Seconds later, he squished himself between Joey and me and said, "Okay, start."

I opened to the first page.  Before I could begin, Noah put his little hand over mine and said, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always.  Okay. You read now, Momma."

You have to admit, he's beautiful.

Daddy's Old Girlfriends

Joey had an early dismissal from school today.  Noah was very excited about this because he would have someone to play with.  We drove together to pick Joey up, and came home for PB&J, apple slices, and a special treat: Doritos.  The Doritos smelled delicious, and I think I must have commented about them several times.  Suddenly, Noah held one out, a big, wonderful, orange triangle, and said, "You can have one of mine, Mommy.  Would you like to have it?"

"No, thank you, honey," I said, resisting.  "Mommy doesn't eat Doritos."

"Is it because you're on a DIET?" he asked.

"Kind of," I said, smiling.

"Mom," said Joey, "is it a daily nutrition diet, or a you-don't-want-to-be-fat diet?"

"Kind of both," I said.  "Mommy's favorite foods in the whole world are junk food.  And you know what I love the best?"  I leaned in like I was going to tell them I liked raccoon bones or snake eyes.

"What?" asked Joey excitedly.

"Burger King!"

"Oooooh, man!" Joey giggled.  (Noah had just gone back to eating his Doritos.)

"Once," I went on, "I had a boyfriend who said he'd take me to any fancy restaurant I wanted, any one at all, and do you know what I said?"

"What?" asked Joey.

"I said I wanted BURGER KING!"

"Aaaaw!" Joey laughed.  "Daddy must have thought you were CRAZY."

I smiled.  "It wasn't Daddy," I said.  "I had LOTS of boyfriends, you know.  It took Daddy WAAAY too long to decide he loved me."

"Well," said Joey, shrugging a shoulder.  "You can't blame 'im.  He did date TWO movie stars before he finally married you."

"WHAT?!"

"Yup.  Cindy Crawford and Kathy Ireland."

Oh.  Oh!  He wishes.

...Noah...

Noah's due date was May 2.  Everyone has their pregnancy stories.  With Noah, I hemorrhaged at eleven weeks, fell down the stairs at Christmas, had kidney stones, suffered sciatic pain, and then, in early April, starting having shooting pains in my belly that made me double over and cry.

The doctor said, "Well, discomfort is normal."

Finally, he said he could induce me.  On April 25, I went into the hospital at 8:30 am.  They expected me to deliver by 12:30 pm.  But at 12:30 pm, everything went wrong.  We thought my water had broken, but when I stood up, blood was everywhere.  (Sorry for the visual, but it happened and it was terrifying.)

The next thing I knew, I was being raced into an OR.  Nurses were shouting things like "BPs" and "Stat!" and as embarrassing as it is, I did feel like I was on an episode of Grey's Anatomy.  The scary part was that it wasn't just a TV show.  It was really happening.  I had no idea why, or what went wrong, and neither did my doctor (even scarier--should they actually say that out loud?).

When Noah was delivered fifteen minutes later, it was discovered that the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck, he was upside-down, and my placenta had torn. "But we're not really sure what the actual cause of bleeding was," they said.  And that, ladies and gentleman, is how Noah Michael entered the world.  He has since lived up to his grand entrance.

He is trouble.  He is mischief.  He is THREE--but add about ten octaves to the scale of being three and then you'll have Noah.  It's not ordinary trouble.  It's not average mischief.  Just like there wasn't only one complication at the time of his birth, there's never only one thing you can name about him.  He's a tornado of traits.

One thing he ISN'T?  A faker.  In fact, days might pass before I even realize he hasn't been feeling well or has been coming down with something.  This is a major contrast to Joey, who complains dramatically when his hair tickles.  But Noah never lets on that he feels any type of symptoms, and sometimes doesn't even acknowledge them when I SEE them.  "Noah, is your nose running?"  "Uh....no."

I think he honestly just doesn't want to be bothered or slowed down by anything (again, note his birth--he wanted to be born NOW).  But this also means that when he says something is hurting or bothering him, he MEANS it.

Flash forward to last night.  Noah was in bed by seven, asleep by seven-thirty.  The house was deliciously calm and peaceful.  Nine-thirty rolls around, and a blasting, piercing, heart-stopping scream comes down the staircase and through the monitor.  I am up the stairs faster than I have ever moved in my life--I think I grew wings on the way.  I am in his room.  Noah is drenched in sweat.  He is hysterical.  He is screaming.  He is crying.  He is holding his body so rigidly that he is shaking.  He is saying, "It hurts, it hurts" through his sobs.  At first I cannot pick him up.  Then I cannot bring him close to me.  He is saying, "I want my Mommy," but I am right here and he is not stopping.

I somehow determine that his foot hurts.  I rip off his Halo Sleep Sack, thinking he must have outgrown it (it's a size 5T), but he is irate.  "It's not that!" he screams.  It is so dark.  I turn on a lamp and tear off his socks.  It is then that he manages to say, "Not my foot--my knee!"  I set him down experimentally, and he cannot stand.

His screaming does not subside at all, so I carry him tightly downstairs, all the while whispering calmly, "It's okay.  Everything will be okay.  Mommy's here."  I am not at all sure that everything will be okay.

We sit on the couch, and I stroke his hair and rock him back and forth, but his body is so stiff and he is now crying so hysterically that I can see the veins in his forehead.  I call my mother.  She comes over within a minute (she lives across the street).  We cannot calm him down.

Suddenly, there is a pause.  I look at his soaking wet face, and see that has stopped to yawn.  When he is through, he slumps over and clutches his knee fiercely.  "Make it stop hurting," he sobbed.  I held him tight and rubbed his leg and whispered over and over again, "It's okay, it's okay."  I gave him ice, I offered him candy, I offered him presents, I offered him Disney World.  At long last, his sobs settled into shaky breaths, and then in a trembling voice he said, "Please take me back to my room."  I did, and  after several minute, he fell asleep curled in a tiny, perfect ball.

This is the second time this has happened.  I have called the doctor, and we go later this week.  He woke up this morning, all smiles.  He stood in his bed and said happily, "Well, hey, Momma.  Ready to start our day?"

I have no idea what to think.  I just know that no mother EVER wants to see her child like I saw Noah last night.  Scraped knees and mean friends are bad enough.  But this...pretty unbearable.  If you have a spare second in your day, please say a little prayer that Noah is fine.  He is trouble, but he is wonderful.

Can you tell me?

So I've been blogging for a few months now.  It started for two reasons.  I used to write all the time and wanted to get back to it again, so there's that.  There's also the fact that Joe had been away often this past fall, and the stories about our kids were just too long for texts and emails.  Well, maybe not for emails, but emails don't have the same pizzazz.  And if you know me, you know I'm all about the pizzazz (although for some reason I keep accidentally typing "pizzass").

I didn't expect to become as hooked on this as I am, and I also didn't expect to become as OBSESSED with my blogger dashboard as I am.  More specifically, I really enjoy checking the Stats.  People from Russia read my blog?  Can they even understand it?  And someone from Germany.  A down-home kind of girl, I'm not really exciting enough to know people from other countries--not even Canada.  Oh, wait.  I DO know someone who lives in Canada.  At least, I think I do.  She might have moved back.

Anyway, even MORE fascinating than reader location is reader's choice.  There is overwhelming disproportion in which posts gets read.  At first I chalked it up to who's online and who really has time TODAY to read MY silly blog, but then one post got 75% more hits than any other one.  I considered its topic--my husband Joe--and thought, okay, for whatever WEIRD reason, people like reading about him.  But then another post a few weeks later was about a different topic altogether, and it, too, had a spiked readers' count.

Over time, I can't really figure out what makes one thing better to read than another.  I'm hoping that you might comment or email me and let me know what it is.  I'm not saying I'll write more of those posts, since this is strictly whim and fancy on my part, but you WILL be satisfying my overwhelming curiosity, which makes you a nice(r) person.

So please tell me.  Do you have a favorite post?  Is there something you like to read about more than the rest?

P.S.--I felt a little funny making this a post, but Joe said he thought it would be okay.

Superhero Squad

When I returned from vacation, it was to find that my mother, terrific Grandma that she is, had taken my children to Wal-Mart.  This is a store I NEVER visit, because it is a hub for the families of the school district I teach in.  I have an irrational fear of running in to these families (I feel like they will have discovered my Clark Kent identity), so it's all avoid, avoid, avoid when it comes to such hubs.

My children apparently LOVED Wal-Mart, and somehow managed to convince MY mother to buy them matching Captain America shields, a Captain America mask, and a Wolverine mask.  MY mother.  The lady who wouldn't even buy me a pack of gum from the grocery line.

ANYWAY, this morning I woke with a vacation hangover.  I had become all cozy and used to sleeping whenever I wanted, and then I returned home to 6:30 am wakeups, making breakfast, packing lunches, playing chauffeur, and meeting demands in the generation of On-Demand.  This is quite the leap to make, and no matter how much I thought I was ready to come home, I'm, well, exhausted. (To that point, my mother called me yesterday, three days after my return, to tell me she is STILL exhausted from my children.)


So there I was, a giant cup of espresso-shot coffee in my hand from Tim Hortons (thank God they have extra large), sitting on the couch, staring.  I needed silence.  I needed calm.  What ensued around me was anything but.


My husband had donned the Wolverine mask and was wielding a Magic 8 Ball like it was some sort of small, round sword.  Joey wore the Captain America mask and the shield.  Noah had his Toy Story ball.  I'm not really sure what his deal was, actually.  Evidently, there were unseen enemies everywhere.  The three boys sprinted around my couch in circles screaming out things like, "Quick!  To the hideout!" and, "Look out!  Poison Ivy has spotted us!  She's AFTER US!"  It seemed that I was playing Poison Ivy, since every time they passed me, they'd stop, drop, and roll away from me.  They hid in the curtains.  Imagine seeing a full-grown, thirty-something man in Smurf pajamas wearing a Wolverine mask with a Magic 8 Ball ducking unsuccessfully in your drapes.  I sincerely hope he didn't REALLY think he was well-hidden.  If that's the case, I'm in trouble if ever there's an actual intruder.


They leapt over the ottoman.  They screamed and hollered and yelled.  When I stood up to get more coffee (my only prayer for survival), they fled the room screaming, "She's coming!  She's coming!"  Had I know that's all it took, I would have stood up and gone back to bed from the beginning.  But at least they had fun.


And I guess it must be pretty cool to play Superheroes with your dad.  Even if he's a little ridiculous. ;)

Homesick

Still on vacation, still loving it.  Awesome food, awesome things to do.  Went on a ghost tour last night, was sufficiently freaked out.  This is formerly Nicholas Cage's property, now supposed to be Johnny Depp's, and is THE most haunted site in the French Quarter.  It is considered so terrible that locals won't even walk on the sidewalk next to it--they cross the street:

When I was little, my brother, sister, and I frequently grieved the fact that we did not go on family vacations.  "Why can't WE go to Florida?" we would whine accusingly at our parents.

"Because," said my father, barely giving us a second look.  "Those people who go to Florida and anywhere else don't have what we have.  We have the beach."

"The beach" is what we call the family cottage at Lake Erie.  It is a beach, in fact, and every summer we stayed there for two weeks in July.  All other Saturdays and Sundays, we made the twenty-five minute drive out to the lake, already wearing our bathing suits and listening to oldies of my dad's specific choosing, to spend the day.  On special days, my mom brought or cooked dinner out there.  My aunt and uncle came, too, and all of us spread out big blankets on the white sand and laid in the sun all day long, until we were crispy and sandy and completely drained of any more energy.  We did not play volleyball.  We did not wear water shoes.  We did not even wear sunscreen (I was supposed to on what my uncle calls "the old Michalek nose," but always refused).  We sat in the sand eating chips, drinking Coke, and swimming in the waves from morning until night and then we went home.

As a kid, I wondered what I missing.  So many other kids got to go away and see places and do things I had never done.  "What about summer camp?" I once asked my dad.  "Can I try summer camp?"

"I've been to summer camp," he'd said.  "Trust me, all you'll do is wish you were here at the beach."

I didn't really pout over this canned response, though it was dismissive and didn't dissuade me from believing I was missing out on something.  But I LOVED the beach, and when I was there, even on those Saturday and Sunday day trips, I definitely did NOT want to go home.  Ever.  Something about being beside the shore of the lake made me breathe more evenly, or my heart beat more steadily.  Or something like that.  It felt more at home to be there than it did to actually be at home.

The first trip I ever took on my own without my family was to London.  I went with my school when I was seventeen, and I cried the entire first twenty-four hours I was gone.  An angsty girl, I never anticipated how much I wished they were there beside me.  But I think what set me off was that the Thames was so NOT Lake Erie.  It was not blue and vast and twinkly, and it did not make my breathing easier.  So I wished for what would...for the lake, and my family all around me, and Coke and chips.

Once, for the Fourth of July, Joe whisked me off to Toronto for the weekend.  He paid extra for a room facing Lake Ontario; it was considered a prime room in the hotel and he was so proud of himself for managing it.  I was thrilled until I stood in front of the wide windows overlooking a blue sparkly body of water that was not mine.  How weird is that?  And because it was actually summer and I knew I COULD be at the beach, it physically hurt.  My dad had been right years before: all I was doing was wishing for the beach.

On this trip that I am on now, today, in this moment, Joe made sure I was somewhere warm.  As someone who loves the beach and the summer, I really do suffer from some form of the Winter Blues.  I am looking out an old, old window right now into the bright sunny skies of New Orleans, and I have been wearing t-shirts for days and breathing clean, warm fresh air.  And I am super excited to be here, because it's some place I've always wanted to experience and because at home it is freezing and snowing...or snow is coming?...I'm not really sure and don't exactly care to know, but still...I miss my summers at the beach.  I miss my sister next to me on a blanket, smelling like coconuts, and my brother wiping sand off his feet (because despite the fact that all three of us love the beach as much as my dad, Pauly feels serious disgust over sandy feet), and my mom looking like someone of "exotic descent" (that's what the nurse described to my sister when my mom tried to get in the hospital to see my nephew, who was a summer baby), and my Dad, with a rum and coke in his hand and his "ball cap" perched atop his head.

I guess he was right.  Anyone can take a vacation, and they are GREAT (this one certainly is)...but some things are just better.

I resolve...

My resolution is completely vague and foggy, but altogether warm and fuzzy. ;)

This is the first New Year of my life I have spent away from my actual life.  Joe and I are on vacation over a thousand miles away (I think) and I am using this time to now consider the idea of one or more resolutions.

I view New Year's resolutions as seriously as I do Lenten resolutions.  Having been raised "old school" Catholic, resolutions have ruled a lot of my life and from what I figure must be some amount of Catholic angst, everyone takes a little joy in breaking them all.  My mother would always give up sweets and desserts, but find secret little ways to indulge herself.  Frozen yogurt, for example, never counted because it was "healthy," therefore not a dessert.  For me, keeping resolutions has always been akin to keeping secrets.  Impossible. (Seriously, do NOT confide in me.  I know I appear earnest and concerned, and I AM, but I'm also wholly untrustworthy.)

This year as I view my life from a distance, I see that many of the things I'd like to change about myself are not completely difficult.  Smile more.  Complain less.  These were actually on my list for 2011, and believe it or not I think I had some success in keeping them.  This year I also add, "Stand up straight" because my posture is a bit of an issue and I have back problems.

But I'd also like to be less quick to anger.  More likely to laugh--at situations and at myself.  I'd like to fear less.  I'm afraid of EVERYTHING.  Germs, mistakes, embarrassment, pencils.  I need to work on that--do I want my children to hang back in the shadows because they are like me or do I want them to hold their arms out to the world and take it all in because it is wonderful and so are they?  I'd like to be more like the person I want my children to become.  Why shouldn't I?  Every day we tell children in one way or another that they can be anything, do anything, become anything...can't we do it, too?  SHOULDN'T we, in fact?

This year, unlike any other year, I have been given OPPORTUNITY.  I want to take it and make myself worthy of the gift.  I have had to be very strong in my life--at certain points--and some days I wonder where all that has gone?  Surely to potty-training, and battle-choosing, and holding my tongue (a particular challenge).  But why should there be nothing left over?

So here is to being the best me I can be, and making the most of myself for the good of everyone else.  In the spirit of my children, my current trip, and the New Year, I'd like to say FAREWELL to THIS person:

and embrace THIS one:

Happy NEW YEAR, whatever you wish it to be!