Dues Fahder

Nothing like coming home to a preschooler's speech to cheer you up after a rough day at work.

"He dues Mommy. He dues!"

He does.

"No Mommy. He dues like this. See?"

He does.

"Uh Huuuhhhh".

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"May I you get me some milk?"

Daddy, will you please get me milk?

"May I you please get me some milk Mr. Fahder?"

Drama King Revisited

We are in the basement watching Monday Night Football when John asks me if the monitor is on. It wasn't. Little Man has some lungs and John's hearing is much better than mine so he was correct when he thought he heard something. Little Man sounded a tad stressed so I ran upstairs to see what was the matter.

The problem? The issue? The dire emergency?

"Mommy, my nails are growing".

How Your Favorite Color From Your Childhood Can Bite

4 years is enough time to realize what needs to be done in a house.

Being forced to live on one income is enough to force the DIY route.

It took TWO years to pick colors and stick with them long enough to get them on the walls in the living room. One color was all wrong and required a redo. We made some mistakes in the execution of the makeover and chalked it up to lessons learned. There is one border which still requires paint and the light fixture hasn't been changed out - mainly because I can't find anything I like.

We jumped from the living room to the guest bedroom which we decided to turn into a playroom for Little Man. Walls painted. Ceiling fan installed. Still needed: finish painting shelves and hang; buy and hang new curtain; take down door, sand, paint and rehang; spray paint closet bi folds.  You notice I said still needed as in hasn't been done. So of course we start looking at the dining room and the hallway. I'd say one of these days we will learn to complete one project before starting the next but I'd be lying.

In our defense, the house, with the exception of 2 bedrooms and bathrooms was all the same boring pale beige. The entire freaking house - beige. The next realtor and/or interior designer who says "neutral color" one more time is having their vocal cords removed. COLOR people (been watching way to much David Bromstad, aw hell too much HGTV period). Seriously, Ray Charles would have a problem with the color or lack thereof, in this house.

We are also still riding the high of the living room. The colors are perfect -yellow with one gray wall and a pearl gray for the trim. I even painted the built-in with the gray and trimmed it with the pearl. The room rocks. It came out great. Once we finish the playroom, we can move the last of the toys out, get some end tables and reclaim the space. Pictures from our travels adorn the walls, inspiring new vacation plans (when we are back on dual income of course).

That high almost came crashing down as we tried to find a color for the dining room that would work with the living room AND a color for the hallway that would join the two rooms. Holy crap is that a freaking nightmare. John jumped to his comfort zone - blue. I let out a high-pitched shriek inside my head. As much as I dislike the neutrals right now, I dislike blue as well. I don't want another blue room. Smurf Attach play room may have ruined blue for me forever.  So I had John pull up the color wheel to see what was opposite of yellow.

Purple.

BAHAHAHAHA!

Hmmm.... well, we used gray as the neutral and I love the pearl gray trim so much I really want to continue it through the house so maybe if we looked at a gray with purple undertones. Off we go to Lowes and we pick two 3 colors. Swatches go up and holy freaking crap that is purple not gray. What the HELL was I thinking?

Even scarier? John liked the color. WHAT? It's freaking PURPLE. I'm talking LAVENDER. I'm talking GIRLIE. Holy shit he's lost his mind.

I told him to step out of his comfort zone so I let him talk me into it. He was convinced it was the right color. We managed to get one wall painted this weekend and believe it or not, I love it. I can't wait to finish this room.

Then my mom reminded me of something from my childhood.

The first time dad decided to paint the house (exterior), he made the mistake of talking to us kids. OK, he made the mistake of talking to me. Being such the intelligent, wise child I naturally assumed that he would automatically take my suggestion because what could be better than a purple house?  So here we are, 20+ years later and I'm finally getting my purple house. Yes, the color we picked for the hallway is also within the purple family. I'm still not convinced but ready to tell John that once again, he was right. I'm sure he'll have the entire house wired for sound so he can capture that conversation for prosperity.

Ah, if only Dad were alive to see this.

Fat Lip #3 = ER visit #2

Shortly after dropping Little Man off at daycare this morning, John received the dreaded call: "You're son has been hurt. You have to come pick him up".

Little Man ended up on the wrong end of a play shovel and by wrong end I mean the shovel ended in his lip. A trip to the ER and 5 stitches later, the child was good to go. Well as good as can be considering it was (and still is) a tad painful. The kid is now on his 3rd official fat lip. He's doing a good job at upping the ante each time. I'm hoping he's done. I'm hoping he no longer feels the need to outdo himself. Just because the ER provided us the name of a local plastic surgeon doesn't mean we need to rush off for an appointment. Don't anyone give this kid any ideas!

I'm sitting here on the couch with him. I keep looking at him and my heart breaks a little each time I look at him. He looks so pathetic with puppy sitting next to him. On the other side of me is my darling husband. Poor guy is stuck watching Berenstein Bears with Little Man while I get to play on the computer. I think he needs to get out of the house a bit more and I quote: "I keep waiting for Papa Bear to go crazy and maul somebody". I'm so glad Little Man is a tad out of it and isn't paying attention to his father right now. He's learned enough bad habits from his parents.

When it came time to stitch him up, the doctor decided to place him on the board and strap him down. It sounds a bit harsh but it is a smart idea considering there were needles involved and they would be working on his face. Too close to his eyes for my comfort considering this kid's strength and ability to break out of the strongest holds.

So picture my darling son, all 3 feet and 40 lbs of him with a bloodied, swollen lip strapped down - my son mind you. Think he's going to lie there quietly and let the doctor do his thing? Hell no. The kid started screaming at the doctor: "You let me up right now. This is not fair. Let me GO! No Fair!"

I wasn't there so I want to know first, how the hell the doctor managed to shut him up long enough to stitch him up and second, how he contained himself and didn't stitch his lips... together.

So I believe the Brown family is now 3 for 3 when it comes to screaming at a doctor. At least Little Man hasn't decked one.... yet.

Remembering

I'm not going into where I was 10 years ago today. Anyone who was over the age of 7 remembers where they were. What they were doing. It is not a day anyone wants to relive but we must honor the innocent lives lost and those who walked into the face of danger without blinking because it was their job; one they did every day without question, without fail.

There is no danger of this generation forgetting. It is seared into our memories. The pain is still fresh. It is painful to watch TV. As it was 10 years ago but I find myself turning to it or the Internet until the emotional pain becomes too much and I walk away. Then the numbness returns and I go back to watch or read more. It is a viscous cycle but one that bears repeating.

I have this insatiable desire to know the story of each and every person who perished that day. 10 years later and I am learning, for the first time, some amazing stories of ordinary people who, through selfless, courageous acts of their own, saved so many lives while sacrificing their own.

There is a movement to gather the stories of the Greatest Generation because of the rate at which we lose them on a daily basis.

It is time to put a movement to gather the stories of 9/11 because within the pain there is an amazing story of hope. Because within the sorrow, there is honor. Because within the horror, there is bravery.

Because there is so much that the phrase "Never Forget" encompasses.

It encompasses the way the plan was put together and then executed. It encompasses the horrific way people died that day. It encompasses the lives of loved ones lost. It encompasses how one sacrificed for many. How a group, facing a certain death, took control of their destinies and in doing so, saved countless lives. It encompasses the number of people who were spurred to have positive impacts on the lives of others in response to the horror.

As I sit here today remembering this day ten years ago, I struggle with how I will explain it to my son. Each time the story became to painful and I ended up in tears he would comfort me. Each time he would ask me what was wrong. Each time, I answered that I read a sad story. This year, that answer is acceptable. He doesn't push for details but for how long can I keep him in his bubble? For how long can I keep him from knowing just how evil some people can be? For how long can I keep him innocent?

As I pondered, it brought me back to my own childhood and what I've lived through. I am a child of the Cold War. I remember drills in elementary school in the event of a nuclear war. I remember learning, a tad too young, that those drills were a waste of time; that there were multiple Russian warheads aimed right at my city. If the button was pushed, it wouldn't matter how well I cowered under my desk. The city would no longer exist minutes after the button was pushed.

I lived with that fear for years before the Soviet Union imploded. A fear that has yet to be realized.

I watched the Challenger explode live on TV.

Then I watched the Berlin Wall crumble.

I found out that evil people can be as close as your own family and such evil can rip a family apart.

I refuse to let that evil define me.

I stood helpless on the sidelines when a loved one suffered a miscarriage.

I experienced the joy of watching loved ones grow their families.

I had to say goodbye to my father too soon.

I still remember the overwhelming joy of meeting my son for the first time.

I think back and realize I've lived life. Good, bad and shitty. No one sheltered me. No one could. Sometimes shit just happens. Does it suck? Hell yes but I regret nothing. More importantly, not once did fear define my life. Not once did fear control my life (hmmm, maybe we won't discuss my claustrophobia).

The first time a plane landed at National airport after 9/11, I cringed as it flew down the Potomac. I fought the urge to hit the deck. I did freeze. For a second. So did everyone else on the street. A few weeks later, I bought a ticket, boarded a plane and flew home. Not once did I worry about what may happen. Why? Because at that point, I had no control and I was not going to live in fear of something that is going to happen anyway. I am going to die. Some day. I don't know when. Yeah, I hope not for a long freaking time but I don't know. It could be tomorrow.

That is what I am going to teach my son. Yes, life sometimes sucks and yes, sometimes it is really hard to put one foot on the floor and drag your ass out of bed but life does go on and if you push the fear to the back, the good times will come back. Those good times have a tendency to hang around longer than the bad and the memories of the good times can pull you through those bad moments.

So I'll hug him a few extra times today. I'll keep him innocent for one more year and when the time comes that the innocence must leave, I'll strive to help him understand without the fear. I just hope this isn't one of those times I fail as a parent.

A Leak and An Excellent Idea

I finally cleaned out the inside of my car this weekend. I also decided it was time to check the windshield wiper fluid. In the process I noticed the engine coolant was low and that shouldn't be I'd notice the signs of a potential leak but chose to ignore it until it slammed me in the face. Mainly because the car has been in the shop 3 times this summer and I can't afford a 4th. Well the low coolant along with the horrible high-pitched whine the car makes every time I turn it on with the A/C on made me think I shouldn't push it off too much longer but then again, summer is almost over... its not like I need the A/C for much longer...

I decided to address the leak by having a quick discussion with the mechanic before hitting the road the other day. Little Man asked why we had to go to the mechanic and I told him my car may have a leak. So while I'm getting ready to leave, Little Man turns to John and announces he has to go potty because his penis has a leak just like mommy's car.

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Jump to the car ride. It's just me and Little Man. He's having trouble with something in the back seat but he's mumbling so I'm not exactly sure what is going on. I ask for clarification on the issue at hand but am ignored. Instead I hear:

"I have an idea! An excellent idea. I'll just try this thing instead. Yes, that is an excellent idea. I always have excellent idea!"

Nope... no self esteem issues here.