Missing

Some years it hurts worse than others. This year is one of those years. I thought it would get easier as time went on but that isn't always the case. A neighborhood child went for a ride with his dad on the bike. The look of joy on the kid's face brought back some great memories for me. The first and last ride of the season belonged to me. No one else went on the bike with Dad until I did. Of course it didn't hurt that I still lived at home for most of those years.

It was like Christmas all over again. I'd be up at the crack of dawn and perfectly willing to skip breakfast so we could hit the road immediately but "breakfast is the most important meal of the day" and Dad had to eat. He could have dragged it out to torture me but he'd be torturing himself in the process. After a long winter it was too much even for him. The open road called and he was a big Bob Seger fan. "I could go east. I could go west. It was all up to me to decide."  And so would start the riding season. You name a back road in the middle of nowhere NH and I've traveled it. We didn't cover as much in VT but we got close.

Nothing beats the feeling of being on a mountain road on a motorcycle. Even though NH doesn't have a helmet law, I never felt the desire to have the wind through my hair to quite that extent. Besides, the helmet was the only thing keeping my hair from whipping my face bloody.

I remember one ride - the last ride of the season. We really pushed it on the season that year and by the time we stopped for lunch I was so cold, I almost couldn't get off the bike. We walked into a small restaurant attached to a gas station. My hands were so frozen I couldn't get my helmet off never mind unzip my jacket. Dad had to do it for me. I went straight to the coffee urn and wrapped my hands around it trying to get some feeling back in them.

When I finally detached my hands from the urn I noticed the dirty looks my Dad was getting from the few people in the restaurant. Talk about shooting daggers out of one's eyes. It was bad. Then they would turn to me with such a look of pity. It took me a second to realize they had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Normally I would let something like that go but this was my father. How the hell could they think such a thing of him? Yeah, I know. He was a stranger to him but how dare they? I was PISSED. So I purposely waited until he was half way to a table across the room before I yelled out "Hey DAD, do you want some coffee?"

Yeah you judgemental little twerps - he's my FATHER.

I think if I hadn't done that, we wouldn't have gotten served.

I can look back now and laugh. Dad did. He never let anything like that bother him. He didn't know these people. He'd probably never see them again in his life so why waste a minute of his time worrying about what they thought. It had no effect on his life unless he allowed it so he chose not to allow it.

I've tried to drill that philosophy into my head. I'm not always successful but I try. It's the only thing I know to do at this point. I miss him like crazy. I can't bring him back (believe me - I've literally dreamed that dream) but I can try to live my life like he did.

I think about him more and more these days it seems. I'm back to wishing I could pick up the phone when Little Man does something that is my Dad all over again. He can't stand to have his hands dirty. Something that is 100%  his grandfather. Something I never understood since he was an elevator mechanic. I used to ask him why he didn't just buy some surgical gloves and wear them when he worked. He never really answered me leading me to wonder, if I ever actually looked in any of the rooms on one of his jobs, how many boxes I would find.

It hurts that he isn't here to show Little Man the hippo in the stream or introduce him to the first ride of the season (I've already instilled in him a love of Harleys). I'm left with memories only but at least I have those. Little Man never even had the chance to meet him. He's not yet connected the dots. He knows the man in the pictures is my father and his grandfather but he hasn't yet asked me where he is and why he hasn't met him. I'm dreading that day.

I idolized the man. He was perfect in my eyes. Still is. To this day I struggle because he's not at the other end of the phone to help me solve a problem, walk me through the steps of replacing the garbage disposal so the food doesn't shoot out of it when it turns on, teach me the proper way to tile a bathroom, install a ceiling fan (of course it took him ages to do most of these and he suffered the sarcasm and jokes from his darling children but that's what children are for yes?). Yet again he wasn't there for me to call when another Boston team finally took the championship.

I think of these things sometimes and I mourn. Times like this I want to crawl up in a ball and just stop for a day or two. But I won't. I'll get over it. I'll start remembering all the good times, all the laughs we had over the years and I realize I'm lucky. I had him for 30 years. Its better than never at all. I'll take the memories. I'll cherish. I'll cry like a baby occasionally but it's OK. And one day, I'll share all these memories with Little Man. It's the best I can do.

To Match or Not to Match - That is the Question

Filed under Out of the Mouths. Nah, scratch that. File under: Save for Future Bribery:

John: Here, carry these flowers for Mommy.

Little Man: I don't want to carry them any more Daddy. They don't match my outfit.

Karma Requires a (Twisted) Sense of Humor

Karma has an amazing sense of humor if not truly twisted.

So a few months back, my sweet darling husband thought it would be a good idea for us to bet on the Redskins/Patriots game. Ya'll know how well that worked out for him.  He's been saying for awhile he can't wait for the Rangers to meet the Bruins in the playoffs. He plans on his Rangers crushing the B's so he never has to where a certain sweatshirt/t-shirt ever again. He may even be planning a shirt-burning party.

He did not foresee his ultimate payback.

So we've been married for 5 years now. Five years and we still have separate bank accounts, credit cards, etc., etc., etc. That arrangement worked fine but recently we've been talking about switching to a joint bank account. In the process we decided it was time to consolidate credit cards as well. We'll keep his and add me to it. I'll dump one of mine and add him to my other card.

Apparently after 5 years we've decided we'll keep each other so it's OK to officially merge finances. As usual, John is faster to respond then the Queen Procrastinator. He put in the request with his bank to add me to his card. It arrived today.

Apparently our thoughts on what is/is not apparent was off. I'm just glad I didn't close out my bank accounts and dump everything into his bank yet.

My darling husband customized his credit card over 10 years ago when he got it.

The bank sent me my card with my very own name on it.

Customized just like his.

Ms. Born-and-bread-died-in-the-wool-hard-core-never-forget-where-you-came-from-all-things-NY-sucks-Beantown-Rocks-OFD-Mother@#$%#$-and-Proud-of-It is the proud (sic) owner of her very own.... oh I'm ill just having to type this..... Yankees credit card.

Well Karma may have met her match. I'm calling my bank and asking for a very special customized card with his name on it.

A one-of-a-kind Red Sox, Patriots, Bruins, and Democrat credit card. 4 corners to a credit card. 4 logos. Oh yeah baby.

Stack.... Snack....

Neighbors are outside chatting and Little Man's window is open so the noise disturbed him. John goes up to head off a freakout and of course Little Man angles for our bed. John says no and immediately goes into redirecting. I'm listening to this conversation over the monitor:

John: You have Jonah, and Blackie, and Banana and... what's this one, Short Stack?

LM: No he doesn't have a name. I'll name him right now. His name is Short Snack.

Big Trouble

Sunday 10 PM. I've just finished my workout and shower when there is a knock on the bathroom door.

"Mommy, I'm not tired".

So I should ignore the red eyes and toothpicks?

"Yeah, I'm not tired and I don't want to be alone anymore".

So of course I tell him to crawl into my bed while I braid my hair. I lay out strict ground rules: lie down, close your eyes, go to sleep AND NO TALKING.

He fails. Miserably. 5 minutes after I crawl into bed and crack open my book.

What happens when you don't listen?

"I get into big trouble?"

Exactly. I told you to lie down, close your eyes go to sleep and no talking. Did you listen?

"Ummmm. No?"

No you didn't listen so now you need to return to your room.

Huge sigh for such a little body. "Oh OKAY".

He slides off the bed, slumps his shoulders and walks into his bedroom.

Wait a second. Rewind that.... Where's the NOOOOO. Where the whining? Where's the Mother of All Tantrums?

Oh OKAY? That's it? And you are off to your room with no argument?

Seriously - who are you and what have you done with my child? No, no, no, no. Please don't misunderstand me. I'm not exactly suggesting you should go get him and bring him back. Maybe not entirely....

Fast forward to breakfast this morning. For the life of me I can't remember what he was about to get upset about. It's not like I'd had my coffee yet. I stopped him just as the whine started to slip out and asked him what happens when he whines, won't take no for an answer and/or throws a tantrum.

"I get in big trouble?".

Yes. Now do you remember last night? Uh huh. And do you remember how well you handled it? How you didn't cry or whine or throw a tempter tantrum? Yes and mommy is very proud of you for being so mature.

Yes, mature. I used the word mature with a 4-year old and then am left struggling with a 4-year old definition of "mature". Before I've had coffee. I'm impressed I could even conjure the word and now I have to define it? Sheesh, when will I learn.

It means you proved to me you really are a big boy. It's a very good thing honey. A big compliment.

Et voila. I've found my magic trick for the week. So, who wants to start a pool as too how long my new, calm-collected-always-in-control-no-nonsense-accepted attitude continues to work with this child? Bonus points if you can come up with the exact scenario in which it fails because the key to this whole thing really seems to be me remaining 100% calm, cool, and collected.

Turning a Debacle into a Victory

I'm not big on what the experts say. I'm not one for child books. Technically, I didn't really read the whole What to Expect When You're Expecting. John did. I read one or two chapters that I remember. Then, as I hit the next month, John would read the first section of that chapter to me so I would... know what to expect. Read it cover to cover? Yeah... no.

I'm not much of a planner. Hell most of the details for my wedding weren't taken care of until 3 days before. Let things fall where they may, it will all work out. No worries. If you spend all your time planning, exactly when do you live your life?

The only thing John and I discussed prior to having Little Man was the United Front. Which means no matter what we think, in front of him, we are united. Privately we can disagree as to punishment, etc. but in front of him, no cracks in the veneer darling. 'Course the kid is still under the delusion that he can play us off each other. One parent says no, turn to the other. So what if both parents happen to be in the same room sitting right next to each other and can hear everything being said in said room?

Oh and we also discussed spanking. As in I said we wouldn't spank, no discussion. With one exception each, we've maintained that one. Thankfully we've had no exceptions on the United Front. Again... why the delusion then? I seriously hurt my brain attempting to wrangle some sort of logic in this one. It's not like we share DNA or anything. It's not like he doesn't have two incredibly stubborn parents.

So that's it. That's my parenting strategy. Judge me as you may, it has worked for me so far. See, I'm new to all of this parenting thing. I only have one kid so the way I see it is I'll always be new to it. Each phase, age, stage will be new to me. I'm untried, untested, and a tad naive. Hmm, sounds like life in general. So why should I treat parenting any different then how I treat the rest of my life?

So each new phase requires a new strategy. Sometimes I strike gold first time around. Sometimes I swan dive very ungracefully into a bottomless pit. Not once have I hit platinum but I don't believe in perfection so tis all good. Consistency is one key I stick by. I'll be consistent for 2-3 days max. If it don't work, it's broken and I'm fixing it.

After yesterday's debacle I wasn't exactly looking forward to this morning. Things would go one of two ways:

1. Little Man would be quite contrite, loving, sweet, practically angelic or
2. Little Man would be furious, holding the ultimate grudge, whining incessantly about not getting books, songs, flips, life isn't fair, he has the worst mommy in the world, yada yada yada.

I forgot about number 3. Little Man is his normal self and completely forgets about yesterday's debacle until I mention it at which point, he immediately begins to agree to anything and everything I say. (I'll remind him  of this in several years when it comes time to put me in a retirement home - sorry kiddo but I'm coming to live with you!). So we started today with a little reminder about whining and temper tantrums. A very simple discussion. If Little Man has either, I'll start filling up that garbage bag sitting in my room.

He was a saint for about an hour maybe two before the first tantrum started to rear. One verbal reminder and he managed a milestone - he calmed himself in record time. I'm talking Guinness Book of World Records record. Sainthood stayed for most of the day too. He was the most helpful child today. Running up and down stairs. Telling me "no problem". Offering to move heaven and earth so I could clean today. It was wonderful.

This evening provided test # 2 of my consistency battle. 2nd battle of the day I claim victory.

Of course I have yet determined the depth of the scars I have laid upon this poor child. Threatened to have all his beloved toys thrown into a garbage bag and tossed. Well OK, donated. I could never actually throw away perfectly good toys. He's slowly grasping the concept of donating toys that he know longer plays with. Maybe he needs old enough to learn the concept of deserving toys. Although I do wonder if I could actually follow through should he decide to test my resolve one of these days. I also wonder the depth to which he will try to lay his guilt later in life. Eh, he's my son. He'll start in on the guilt immediately. He's already perfecting that routine.

So again a possibility of scarring my poor child. Again, questioning my resolve, my parenting ability. Eh. No one is perfect. I'm sure I've already screwed up and expect to screw up even more. He'll survive just fine. Besides, how dare I be perfect? What would he ever have to complain about in his teenage years if he can't complain about how horrible his mom is?

That's My Boy

From a very young age Little Man was always told to save his meltdowns for home and not have them at daycare.

Hindsight like Murphy's Law loves to kick me in the ass. I really need to shrink that target.

I should have changed daycare to "anywhere in public ever".

Yes, he was that child and I was that parent today.

He refused to listen. He refused to take no for an answer (not a clue where that comes from). He ran away. I refused to run. Think Ron White when you read this: I was IN PUB... LIC. I think more people would rather hear my son shriek than see me jiggle trying to run after him.

The poor Girl Scouts chose that exact moment to approach me. Nah, don't worry. I didn't make a snack out of them. I smiled sweetly but the "not now" that came out of my mouth may have been a little more clipped than intended. They also ran.

MY child finally responded to my command and snapped to. He even took my hand but at this point he has lost all privileges. I've already sent John into the grocery store to pick up the two items we need so I'm taking my darling, wonderful, sweet, even-tempered child to the car. Once he realized that he morphed into banshee child.

Seriously, I think the banshees were in pain. John could hear him from inside the store. I asked if he shouted out with pride: "That's my boy!" I'll let you figure out the answer to that one.

So here I am, trying to leave the mall and head back to the car but I've got banshee child who thinks he can throw himself on the floor.

Seriously kid? That's all you've got? Fine. You will now be carried out quite unceremoniously - tucked under my arm (gotta be able to protect my body from flailing limbs).

I get him in the car and he is still shrieking at the top of his lungs. Now he adds in kicking the door and the back of the seat. So I decide to stand outside the car and entertain myself a game of mahjong on my phone.

All the while keeping a wary eye out for the cops. The looks I got - I'm convinced someone thinks I'm beating my child and is making the call. Considering some of the laws in this state, I'm amazed I'm not speaking with the police right now.

Needless to say someone went to bed as soon as we went home. Of course getting him to actually get into his pjs, get in bed, stay in bed and stop screaming involved threatening to empty the content of his play room into a garbage bag.

I've decided to leave the garbage bag in my room for future possible use.

Anyone with any suggestions on how to deal with banshee child...I'm listening. The only thing I can think of is a trick my grandmother supposedly used - she threw cold water on a child. I'm so tempted but part of me wants to save that one for a truly glorious moment - namely when I have someone who can record it.