More Heavy than Funny

I'm not even sure how many people read this site.  I'm thinking the numbers are low as I am not very regular at posting, and I don't advertise or announce the site.  Therefore I will take a quick moment to use this as a journal entry...cause I can.

Things are okay around here.  We are quickly approaching the one-year anniversary to Tim's dad Gary's death, and then his mom Judy's is only another 2 quick months following that.  The year has seemed to fly by and although they cross my mind often, it seems as they have been on my mind a lot lately.  Grief is weird like that;  sometimes you can think of them and a quick smile will suffice.  Other times, something hits me hard, like a brick to the gut, and my eyes instantly well up with tears and I feel that their death still seems so surreal.  I was there, I know they are gone...
but man.  Did it ever happen quickly, in the overall scheme of things.

Just the other day, I was heading into G's school for his kindergarten music program.  Another mom from the classroom was helping what appeared to be her grandmother (maybe her mother?) get out of the car and begin using her walker.  As they came down the hallway, even though this woman looked nothing like Judy, I found myself kind of contorting her into Judy.  Does that make sense?  Like as I stared at her, I actually saw Judy coming into the room.  It was so strange, and an overwhelming sadness stretched over me and my eyes started to fill.  Just weird.

The boys talk of Grandma and Grandpa Fox often as well.  Especially L, my little sensitive one.  He's often say, "Grandma Fox...." in a whiny voice.  And then when I say, "Do you miss her, sweetie?"  He will say, "When she come back?"  It's sad.  I know that they won't always remember her they way they do right now.  In fact, within another year, they will only know of their grandparents what we share with them, or by the stories or pictures we share.  That makes me sad...kids should always have their grandparents.  I feel I was too young to lose my own precious Grammy at the age of 17.  But at least my memories of her are my own, and not just told to me.

Anyhow, I know this is a heavy post and not much related to what I usually try to post.  Every day is a zoo around here and my house is often destroyed and my patience is usually gone by 11 am.  But once this damn snow stops falling and we can get outside more I am praying that the days go by smoother and summer will be here before we know it.

Trimmin'

One of my three-year-olds bursts into the bathroom this morning while I was taking a shower. As we have a glass-door shower, he presses his face up against the glass and studies my actions intently for a moment before exclaiming, "Mom. You trimming' yer nuts?!"

Karma's a Bitch. Then you step in puke.

When I was younger, I had a very sensitive stomach, especially in the evening hours.  My poor mother.  She put me on the top bunk and I swear I barfed in that bed at least once per week on average.  But she never made me move to the bottom bunk, where I believe it would have been a whole lot easier to clean up?

Anyhow, she always told me that she herself had a sensitive stomach as a child and therefore she used to cut out most everything that I could eat after 6:30 pm.  I remember she would never let me eat nuts, unless I "chew them up really fine", and I couldn't eat apples as I puked them up once or twice.  I think I was limited to a piece of dry toast or crackers if I was hungry after supper.

For all those brown, chunky, puke stains I made my mom clean up during all hours of the night, karma has once again proven to be a bitch and I find myself  (or send my husband??) cleaning up puke more often than not recently.  A few night ago, my oldest son G woke us up and told us he barfed in a bucket in his room.  I have to give the kid credit, he has great aim.  He has a permanent puke bucket in his room due to my own childhood issues, and the few times he's yakked, he's been a good shot.

Last night however, we sent him to bed after eating a good load of super-buttery popcorn (you'd think we'd learn?) and as he was having a sleep over with his best friend, we let both boys sleep on the floor of his room in their sleeping bags.  At 4:45 am, I am awakened by a vomit-breathed little boy telling me he just puked on his floor, and then in the toilet.  I woke my husband up and we started collecting the cleaning supplies:  garbage can, paper towels, rags, carpet cleaning spray and Febreeze.  As we walked into his bedroom, trying hard not to wake the sleeping friend, the room absolutely wreaked of sour vomit, and I had to start breathing through my mouth to avoid a gag.  I started to look around for this vomit pile and couldn't see one.  I peered over the bed, and in doing so, took a step closer to the sleeping bag where Gage had been sleeping.  I still didn't see any vomit, so I turned toward the door and in doing so....
slowly stepped in a pile of barf.
In my bare feet.

Bathroom Buffet

Good Lord. I say it over and over and over again. There is never a dull moment 'round these parts!  I took 10 minutes to put clothes away in a bedroom and during that time my children were creating an all-you-can-eat vegetable buffet in the sink of my downstairs bathroom!  As I walked out of said bedroom, I see one 3 year old walking down the stairs with a pack of tortillas and the other 3 year old with a wooden spoon and spatula...
When I followed them downstairs, I knew it wouldn't be good. I found my oldest in the bathroom, washing carrots and broccoli in a sink full of water.
First of all,  I am extremely repulsed by bathroom sinks. Not a whole lot bothers me and I'm nowhere near a "germaphobe". However the location in which one spits their toothpaste gargle is not the same place where one should be washing food designated for eating. Secondly, my oldest son (vegetable washer boy) is home from school ill today with the diarrhea!  Therefore, he shouldn't be handling food meant for consumption today, regardless of where it is prepared.
The mess was minimal, and really did make me smile, however I just can't help but roll my eyes and wonder, "What next?"

One of Those Days...

Today is one of those days where I want to utilize Facebook for what so many others do, but I bitch about. I want to update my status to say something about my naughty kids, or even to list the 15 things I did actually get done today despite how bratty my twins are being. But I have heavy weights on my shoulders preventing me from typing anything about my kids that would make me sound even the least bit ungrateful.

You see, at this current moment my Facebook friends list consist of several families grieving the loss of a child or close friends' child, parents struggling with a medical mystery with one of their children, a baby with a possible fatal heart condition, and one friend separating from her husband. And that's just a few of my many Facebook "friends" who would read my post.

What right do I have to bitch or complain about my kids?

I just wish it was okay to vent, complain about my healthy, happy, well-fed, (mostly) well-rested, naughty, bratty, mischievous, utterly exhausting twin sons...

Without feeling guilty.

Oh.  I just did.

Beedie

My oldest son G, now almost 6 (ah! S-i-x!) has been attached to a special blanket since he was about one year old.  "Beedie", as he lovingly named this blanket, was one that my dear friend Karen's mom Gail had given to me as a baby blanket.  My own mom had spent a great amount of time searching for the "perfect" blanket to give to her first grandbaby.  She found a soft, white blanket with fleece on one side and lined with silk on the other, and gave it to me in hopes that "this" would be the baby's "lovey".

I did try with with that white blanket.  I did.  I would put that in baby G's crib and wrap him in it...
but to no avail.  When G was about a year old, he somehow got a hold of the crocheted blanket made by Gail and that is what became his "Beedie". 

We turned the car around many times for Beedie.  That blanket did get left at a few places, and we had to grasp at a back-up once and found a smaller blanket that was also crocheted that I cleverly named "Baby Beedie".  Baby Beedie did the trick once or twice, especially when the real Beedie started smelling foul and I tried to sneak it into the wash.
When holding his Beedie, G would suck on his tongue, kind of like this:

 (Hospital stay when he was 16 mos old for Bronchialitis.  And yes, that is Beedie.)

Beedie had to be with G from the moment he was awake in the morning, til the moment he went to sleep at night.  Sometimes, when G would be busy and playing, I'd find myself smelling Beedie (is that weird?) because even though it sometimes smelled dirty like it needed a washing, it mostly smelled of my little boy.  It wasn't like he sucked on it or put his boogers on it or anything.  I just liked it's smell.  It calmed me.

Anyhow, about a month ago as I was cleaning garbage out of the back of the van, I noticed Beedie laying on the floor almost pushed under the seat.  I brought it out and I asked G, "How long has your Beedie been in the van?"  G just shrugged, "I don't know". 
"Well, didn't you miss him?  Don't you like sleeping with him anymore?"
I'm not sure I got an answer.

The other night, after tucking G into bed, I pulled his door closed behind me and as I turned to come up the stairs, there was Beedie, laying in a pile in the middle of the downstairs family room. 

Why hadn't G asked for it tonight?  Why hadn't he asked for his Beedie for a really long, long time?

I picked up Beedie, and I smelled it.  I tried not to be sad. 

I opened G's door and his head immediately shot up, as he wasn't expecting me back in so soon.

"What?"  he asked. 

"Here", I said, and I tossed Beedie at him.

I saw him smile and pull his Beedie up to his face.

Good Times & Deep Thoughts

I didn't mean for more than a month to pass by between posts.  Every day something wacky goes on around here, however I just don't get to posting it.  I can't tell you how many times I've fallen asleep before 9 pm while laying on the couch with the ipad on my lap in the past couple of weeks.  Training for a marathon is pooping me out. 

Forget the fact that I have wild children who are up for nearly 11 hours of my day...

I really don't have anything funny to post, although I do feel like I'm laughing my ass off (or crying) at my kids nearly every minute of every day.  This weekend proved the normal Easter sugar-candy high; while trying to get the boys dressed after bath, Landon disappeared and he was evidently climbing on the cupboard and digging into his Easter basket.  He ran out to the living room buck naked and chomping on a chocolate bunny.

While at church today, the Pastor was saying the final blessing and when she ended with "Amen", Bronson yelled as loudly as he could without officially screaming, "All Done!" which caused a little chuckle from the entire congregation.  (Sheepish Grin; it was kinda cute).

On a more heavy note, I have been regularly following 3 Caring Bridge websites from people in my area, in which two are of young boys ages 11 and 12 both battling for their lives while fighting complications from leukemia and it's treatments.  The third is of a man who was badly injured in a motorcycle accident that took the life of his wife; they have 2 young boys at home.  Reading these daily updates has caused me to grip so hard on my reality of having my whole family intact and currently healthy.  I try so hard to remember how things can change in the blink of an eye and try to keep everything into perspective. 

Yes, my days can get long....and I can find myself cleaning up the same mess and the same greasy fingerprints over and over again each day.  I may find myself repeating the same life lessons, saying "No, no" and "What do you say?" (meaning Thank You and Please) over and over.  But do you know how very lucky I am?  I have the best opportunity.  I'm raising little humans.  I'm teaching them more than how to use the potty, and their manners, and how to clean up after themselves.  I have the opportunity to teach them to love Jesus, and be good people. 

This is a wonderful thing, and I am grateful for every day.