Welcome Home, Gus.

Our sweet Angus was born last Thursday night; we agreed on his name after he was born, but there had been several discussions leading up to it (including while I was in active labor, which was not very fruitful). BB became so dismayed at the thought of another “A” name in the family that we’ve been mostly calling him Gus to avoid any more confrontation with our brazen 5 year old, who insists he is part alien most of the time (as if believing himself to be a superior creature somehow excuses his behavior).

Anyway, we released ourselves of our own recognizance from the hospital on Saturday afternoon. In typical fashion the house was a mess and the nursery wasn’t even close to being done, despite us just reusing almost all of the same decorations and furniture from five years ago.

The half-assed nursery of our newest child

The cats were visibly distraught with the arrival of yet another baby human; while Sammie has been able to adjust pretty quickly (ie. he is trying to take advantage of all the new, soft places to sleep), Gus’ presence has had an adverse effect on Max. In addition to the chaos Gus has brought into our house, his Earthly presence has been pulling my mother- often unannounced- into our home’s orbit much more frequently; my husband is less than thrilled.

Fast forward a week and change; the nursery is still not ready, although Gus doesn’t seem to mind too much. The cats are starting to even out, but our alien first born has now decided we are not spending enough time with him (it has absolutely nothing to do with him starting school virtually this week, or the terrible older kid he made friends with at summer camp, I’m sure) which is emboldening his lousy attitude and behavior, unless he is allowed access to screens, of course.

Please pray for us.

September 13, 2020 0

“Violence Begets Violence”

Now that he is asleep I can watch, although I don’t want to. I’d been off social media for hours until now, getting bits and clips sporadically; my husband, on the other hand, watched a live stream from downtown Buffalo for almost five hours.

I had let him play on Papa’s tablet while I watched CNN earlier, allowing me to catch a glimpse of our country’s rage and pain sandwiched between a historic space shuttle and an average Saturday evening dinner; his steadfast focus on saving the baby animals in his video game allowed me to quietly observe the chaos in Minneapolis, NYC, LA, Washington DC and Baltimore, among others.

How do I explain what is happening to such a sweet boy? To an almost five year old, anxious for rainbows and superheros in his new “big boy” bedroom; who loves dinosaurs and creates fabulous stories full of good/bad guys, kung fu and pirates; who tries so hard to be kind but has a temper like his mother; who struggles with his home schooling because he gets bored so easily and insists that writing makes his hand too tired? How do I explain to my buddy, who hates litter, that people are starting fires, writing potty words on buildings and vandalizing our city’s monuments because it was made perfectly clear this week (again) that certain lives don’t matter? How do I tell him that this was all started because of the actions of a police officer, the same occupation of his beloved Uncle Jimmy? How do I explain to him that friends he goes to school with, other boys in his Pre-K class, cannot trust the police with their safety? That someday, God willing, when they become teenagers that he will not have to fear for his life, but that they may lose theirs at a routine traffic stop (or store, street or public park)?

What do I tell his unborn sibling, currently kicking me without regard, in a few years if things don’t get better?

We told him a man named George Floyd died, and that it was not kind. We told him that many people are very angry, and they have every right to be. We tell him often that we need to be kind to everyone, especially those who are different than us, but tomorrow we should remind him of that.

5/30/20

May 31, 2020 0

Homeschool, Day 22 (4/20/20)

It was 6:34am and I’d been up for two hours already. At almost 5 months pregnant, comfortable, consecutive hours of sleep are once again slipping away from me like ghosts at dawn, despite the physical and mental exhaustion of attempting to work from home, homeschooling a 5 year old and managing a household.

Suddenly, the door across the hall creaked open slowly, followed by its’ often accompanying pat pat pat of a small child’s feet, bare toes blazing the way to our open doorway.

A shadow appeared, and a voice peeped out of the darkness: “Good morning, Sunshine. Are you ready to start the daaaaaaaaaayyyy?” in a singsong voice, sweeter than frosting.

Despite, or possibly partly because of, my fatigue, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Babe, it’s so early,” I groaned as I rolled towards the door to face him.

“I’m going to go potty, feed kitties and watch T.V. downstairs,” he stated, matter of factly.

“It’s not 7 o’clock yet, you know the rule.”

“That’s okay,” he responded as he backed up slowly. “I’m going to watch T.V. now.” Before I could respond he was gone, little feet barely touching the ground as they disappeared downstairs. My world was suddenly filled with the same quiet it began with only seconds before, as if his apparition had never really appeared. As if on cue, my husband let out an audible snore from his side of the bed, as if to subconsciously confirm that no, it was not a dream.

Sigh.

May 5, 2020 0

Anniversary

My Dad died one year ago today. I wandered around Woodlawn Beach aimlessly for 3.5 hours looking for a sign from him, which I did eventually receive. I still hate his sense of humor. I could hear him snorting he was laughing so hard. It hasn’t gotten any easier.

5/19/19

May 20, 2019 0

They Live

It was New Years’ Eve, and we were in the kitchen before breakfast. “Who are those guys?” I asked him, pointing to the photo magnets on the fridge. The first one was a frame you put actual pictures in, and it currently had one of the three of us at Chuck E. Cheese from last year.

“Daddy!”

“Who else?”

“Aiden and Mommy!” he replied.

“And who are those tough looking guys next to them?” The next was a photo magnet of BB and his favorite cousin, who was just a couple weeks older than him. I had made them for RB’s parents and grandparents for Christmas and thought BB would enjoy seeing his cousin on the fridge, too (thank God for coupon codes).

“Aiden and Vinny!” he laughed.

“And then, who’re those guys?” I said pointing to the next magnet on the fridge. It was a picture of my parents clinking giant beer steins on one of their adventures. I think it was taken around 2015, after my Dad had been experiencing unusual symptoms his doctors couldn’t piece together; you could tell his face had begun to lose weight.

“Papa and Mimi!” BB shouted excitedly. He paused and scrunched his face as contemplation set it. “But Papa isn’t here anymore, he lives far, far away. But that’s okay,” he added instinctively. It was a phrase I had somehow drilled into his head, and he often stated it despite whatever situation arose.

I shrugged. “It is what it is.”

He glanced at me with a hint of sadness as our eyes locked. “But I miss him,” he murmured.

“I know baby, so do I,” I replied, pivoting towards the sink to blink away tears. I turned on the faucet and tried to focus as water filled my mug, anxious to become that morning’s first cup of coffee.

“Papa lives with Aunt Kath’s Judy,” he continued, still sitting in front of the fridge.

“He lives with Aunt Judy, not Miss Judy,” I corrected him, grateful for a temporary reprieve. My Aunt Judy, one of my Mom’s favorite sisters, passed away a couple months before my father. My Mom skipped the funeral to care for my Dad, but we had convinced her to briefly attend the breakfast afterwards. I still remember the tightness in my chest as family whispered to us with anxious glances, “Where’s your Mom?” during the funeral. She didn’t answer any texts or phone calls; we thought something had happened to my Dad again. “Miss Judy is just fine.”

When my Mom and I looked at burial plots after Dad’s death, my mother decided one that was only a few spots away from Aunt Judy, in an area slowly being developed. There was a pond with a birdhouse maybe thirty feet away, under the watchful gaze of Pope Benedict III, whom my Mother said that Dad had been a fan of. The woman who sold us the plot eagerly showed off plans of future development, which included a bench to his left, blocking the sight of Aunt Judy’s headstone across from him, which my Mom laughed about, and a flower garden behind him.

My Mom purchased it without a second thought. Dad wouldn’t have many neighbors crowding him. She also liked the idea of convenience for anyone visiting to be able to pay their respects to several members of our family, including her parents, who were buried on a hill maybe a hundred yards away. Because of that BB began thinking that my Dad, Aunt Judy and his GG (Great Grandma) all live and pal around together in Heaven. We haven’t gotten into many of the semantics of the afterlife yet, Christian beliefs or anything too heavy since he’s still only three; he knows that they’re dead and not coming back, but believes they’re able to fly and Heaven has a similar climate to Florida. Good enough.

About four months after this initial conversation, I was driving BB to school during a light rain storm one morning. He had been bummed out due to the frequency of this typical Spring weather, since it left him and his friends unable to utilize the playground at school; he was probably getting sick of me reminding him that “April showers bring May flowers,” too. Suddenly, as the raindrops appeared on the car’s windshield he excitedly burst out, “It’s raining because Papa, GG and Aunt Judy are jumping on the clouds up in the sky!” He started laughing from the backseat, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way that BB is keeping their memories alive.

May 5, 2019 0

Sunday Morning

Every square inch of this house is a mess

I admit it augments my state of duress

while the toddler’s in various stages of undress

it must be Sunday morning.

The dishes are piled up high in the sink

I’m honestly surprised it’s not starting to stink

it’s a bigger disaster than you‘d ever think

it must be Sunday morning

The kitties are glaring with hate in their eyes

over their lack of breakfast, it’s no small surprise

now the coffee pot’s on and I’m ready to rise

to tackle this Sunday morning

April 28, 2019 0

Drowning

One thousand meters under the sea

That’s the space buried deeply between you and me

Choking on dreams with mouthfuls of sand

We’re grasping at air bubbles nowhere near land

March 14, 2019 0

Twas the 23rd of December

The scene: I am laying on the couch, a sleeping cat at my feet. RB had been given directive that it was his turn to deal with BB about 5 minutes prior. I am in a pre-Christmas Eve panic, buying shit nobody wants or needs from Target but that can be picked up the next day.

BB (walks downstairs): Mommy I have to go potty.
Me: This is the 5th time you’ve gotten out of bed. Where’s your father?
BB (grins): He’s upstairs, SLEEPING. ** RB states he was laying down but not sleeping.
Me (keeps scrolling on phone) Whatever. Go to the bathroom upstairs.
BB: No, I want to use the one downstairs (flushes toilet, washes hands) I only had a little bit of pee come out of my weiner.
Me (still looking at phone, attempting to not engage him) That’s fine baby, go back upstairs.
BB (impish grin on face as he puts his head down in my chest and proceeds to give me 7 kisses on the cheek. He does a piroette and a little back kick when he gets to the stairs).

(2 minutes later)

BB: Mommy I can’t get back in my room (with the baby gate up). I need help
Me: You got over it the first time, you can do it
BB: But I don’t know how.
Me: You’ll figure it out buddy, goodnight
BB: But Mommy, I want the gate down
Me: Ok baby, I’ll fix it when I go upstairs later.
BB (pauses): Okay Mommy

(5 minutes later, the creaking of the stairs reveals a toddler. Again.)

Me: What are you doing downstairs? This is the 6th time.

BB: Mommy. Daddy said I could go into his room and sleep on the bed. (Pauses, eyes wide) He did. ** This was later contested by RB.

Me: Then do it.

BB (does a couple of hops and skips back to the stairs). Allegedly he kept checking in on RB, who is sick, to “make sure he is okay” and tell him his face “doesn’t look good”.

Ho ho ho it’s gonna be a long night

December 24, 2018 0

2018 + 12

BB and I were laying on the couch during an unusually quiet Sunday night. He didn’t have school the next day due to a holiday and RB was out with a friend. On this rare occasion, I had actually let BB watch tv for awhile before bed, but now it was off and he was stalling. He crawled over to my side of the couch and wriggled on top of me, trying to squirm into my curves and bury his face in my shirt. I kissed him on the head a couple times and sighed; it was almost bedtime and he was exhausted. He had asked to sleep downstairs and was told no each time.

Suddenly he looked up at me; his eyes shined as they connected with mine, and he gave me an impish grin before he said, “Watch this.” He pressed his nose into my face a couple times, making kissing noises. He giggled, “My nose just gave you a kiss.” I smiled as he pressed his face onto mine again saying, “My eye just gave you a kiss!” before exploding into a fit of giggles. It was sweet, and adorable.

“Thank you for the kisses, that was so kind of you,” I responded. “Hey, just do me a favor. If you want to kiss any of your buddies at school or anything, anybody who’s not Mommy or Daddy, just ask first. If they say no that’s okay too, you can give them a fist bump or something instead. Okay?”

He sat up, face puckered into a scowl. He was trying to process what I said, and responded back, “Well, we don’t really give kisses at school.”

“That’s probably a good thing. But someday you might, or you might want to kiss Miss Sara, or Bridgey or Evy (his cousins), but you need to ask them first. That’s all. And if they say no that’s okay.”

His brow un-furrowed; he was already into something else.

I closed my eyes and imagined all the times, as a young girl, nice boys would be critcized for not just doing it.

We’d wonder, What’s the matter with him? if he didn’t push any advances on us, instead of singing praises for him, and most likely the mother behind the scenes who wanted her son to be a gentleman above all else.

We were so blinded by youth and the flawed portrayals of masculinity we were fed that it took many of us a long, long time to discover that those boys were the keepers, not the boys who we usually fell for (the ones who gave out kisses freely and often ended up demanding more than that down the road).

I hope I am doing the right thing and he doesn’t need to forgive me for it someday.