Monster – 12 Years

My dear, sweet Monster,

How did this happen? You’re growing up far too fast for my liking. Somehow you’ve turned 12 years old. I must have blinked and your 11th year passed by.

This past year has been very hard for you. You started a new school this year, not just a new school because you’re a great big 6th grader, but a new school because we refuse to let you attend a terrible school where you would have no chance of fitting in. It’s been hard at this new school, they have weird rules and dress codes – we’ve had to pour so much money into your uniform. And poor thing, you have to take Spanish (which you hate, and tell anyone who asks how displeased you are with it) and tuck your shirt in. You’re a trooper though. You’re doing so well in your classes, and even seem to be getting a huge kick out of some of the greatest subjects in the world (not that I have strong opinions) like science and social studies. You play it off as being too cool for school, but I know deep down inside, you’re seriously enjoying all the new knowledge that’s offered to you. Even though I drive you to school every morning, you’re forced to huff the long walk home, sometimes wearing ridiculous amounts of clothing and carrying a backpack the size of a small orphan. But you always manage a breathless smile when you walk through the door. Bless you. Also, I think you look so handsome in your uniform now that you’re a little taller and you can fit into the trousers better.

Am I embarrassing you yet? No? Okay.

With your 12th year of life ticking by, you seemed to change your opinion of encroaching puberty as often as the days changed. Sometimes you were fascinated  by what will happen, asking endless questions with differing depths of curiosity. Other days you were so squicked by the idea of body hair you would probe me on how difficult it might be for a boy to shave his armpits. I guess that’s a part of being a boy, coming to accept body hair. All I know is that with girls, we have to accept that the razor is a constant companion, lest afro-pits become our new nickname.

But, my dear boy, at 12 you seem somewhat safe from the slathering jowls of the puberty monster. Your voice remains as clear and high pitched as it was last year, which makes me swoon with motherly emotions whenever I catch you on the phone. While you’re starting to experience the unkindness of oil imbalance on your face, your skin is still soft like a baby’s butt and your leg hair is still blessedly blond. The one triumph over the onset of puberty has been the discovery of an awesome deodorant that you felt alright with wearing. Let’s just say that, like Mommy here, you hate gels. Oh, good news, we can still pass you off as 10 at the buffets. Shh!

Now that you’re blushing, let’s move on.

Soon I’ll take you to the doctor’s office for a wellness check and we’ll find out how much you’ve grown and how normal you still are – I’m betting you’re an inch or so taller and that you’re still quite normal. Just a guess.

Last year we were joyful over how your cough had seemed to disappear and with it your allergy symptoms. I think I should have knocked on wood because we’re back to square one and it looks like you’re going to need something more hardcore. Hopefully no shots, because like me, you can’t stand needles. Again, we’ll see what the great big Asthma Man has to say. We’ll cross our fingers, hm?

Finally, to the most important thing of all. The biggest growth that you’ve had this year hasn’t been physical. Somewhere along the line, something in your brain must have matured because you suddenly started recognizing when you were in a rotten mood. You’ve had a great score of apologizing, to me at least, whenever you’ve been mean or grumpy or cranky. You storm off to your room with your dinner or your water bottle or something else, huffing and puffing like a crotchety little wolf. After 30 minutes you slink into the living room for a hug and an apology – “sorry I was cranky” or, even cuter, “sorry I was being a jerk”. Son, you know how to make your Mommy melt, because I get gooey and my heart just bursts with love for you. You are truly a remarkable little man and I am so proud to call you mine.

I feel like you’ve made such an advancement, because you actually listen to us when we tell you things. Sometimes you forget it – like Saturday when you forgot it was Easter on Sunday, even though we had just had a conversation about that – but I feel like you’re storing away what we’re telling you, keeping it tucked inside until you need it most. Store away, m’boy, we have a lot of wisdom to impart on you.

Let’s see. This past summer you spent with Daddy while I was at work. Quite the reverse from the year before! I was unemployed, sadly, once school started, but that meant I got to pick you up from school. Lucky boy. This past Halloween we didn’t do the standard dress up and trick-or-treat gig. Instead we grabbed some burgers, watched a movie and ate the candy we bought for trick-or-treaters. This was the first sign the end of your childhood was approaching, by the way.

You indulged us at Christmas, by writing the customary letter to Santa and helping decorate the tree. I wonder how long you’ll keep up the guise of believing? However long, there will always be a present from Santa lurking under the tree. This year, Christmas was good. We got a PS3 from my side of the family and an XBox 360 from Daddy’s side. You’ve been glued to the XBox 360 ever since, but you still manage to take the time to enact valiant battles in your bedroom while wrapped in blankets and wearing your t-shirt for a hat. A big part of me wishes that you would never grow up, because I will miss my shirtless warrior.

This year, on your birthday, Daddy was out of town again. Although it was a sad moment, you had a great time at Beavis’ house where you ate steak and played games and saw farm animals. You got some sweet loot, but I’m guessing your two favourite things were the giant Nerf gun your Aunt got you  and the Bakugan’s your Grammy got you. Just a guess. I’m sorry to report, you didn’t earn any new curse words this year. Thanks to an unfortunate event where you abused the power of Picochat and cursed Daddy into oblivion – all in good nature, of course – you’ll have to wait to get access to the arsenal of dirty language you surely want to use. Although, I’m sure you use them all the time at school – be careful, teachers have ears everywhere.

Since Easter just passed, I’ll comment on yet further proof that you’re getting older. This year, rather than going through the laborious process of dyeing eggs just to get to the deviled eggs at the end, you voted to skip the dyeing process all together. Turns out you only endured the torture of colouring on eggs for the yummy snack that came after. Thank you, though, for your help in making the hard boiled eggs. Always ace in the kitchen, you are.

Every day you are growing into the man you will one day be. For every thing that ages you, there are a million things that remind me of the little boy who used to snuggle up to me to watch Spongebob, the little boy who never wore a shirt to eat Fudge Rounds. My sweet, sweet Monster you prove yourself to be more like me every day. Sometimes it’s easy to forget you are not a child of my flesh, just one borne of my heart. So like me and so obviously like Daddy, you are truly our child. And son? You are so truly, deeply loved by us both. When you’re older and you’re looking back on all these letters, the one thing that you will hopefully understand as the universal truth is that you are and have always been loved, my dear one.

Always, your Mommy will love you.

**Insert pictures here… when I manage to find picture editing software**

Love,
Mommy

In Sickness

Posting around here has been slim. Things at chez moi have been grimmer than they’ve ever been and I can’t seem to find the optimistic spark that usually gets me through horrible times.

This is how things went after unemployment. At first I was purely depressed. Fil was away – for a top secret reason – and I was stuck alone in a big empty apartment with two sleeping cats. I pretty much watched TV and ignored my parents’ phone calls. Once Fil got home, what got me to the next day was the optimistic ‘what if’. Applying for jobs always leaves that sense of “I could get this, and I could earn that salary and get those benefits and be OKAY.”  It always leaves me with a great sense of possibility and fulfillment. So I tend to apply myself in abundance, knocking through Craig’s List, Yahoo! and the Chronicle with wild eyed enthusiasm. This wears off fast, and what kept me sane and afloat was the extension of my friend’s Netflix account so I could stream movies and TV shows online. It seriously saved my mental status from breaking.

With the introduction of this remarkable thing, I suddenly had pleasure. Something I hadn’t even felt while working. When you have money, things need to be done. We needed to run to the store to do Christmas shopping, or we needed to get groceries or something like that. Without money, there are no errands – except for grocery day, which happens since we get food stamps, but that’s once a month. So, with unemployment came free time, and with Netflix came something to fill the sucking void with noise and shiny happiness.

And then, here I am, saved by alternate realities. Some shows post their episodes as they air – Spartacus: Blood and Sand is one (Legend of the Seeker also has the current season streaming) – but most shows I just watch to enjoy. Mostly sci fi. There, I admit it, science fiction has saved me. And it dawned on me today how startlingly nerdy I am, how I am totally in love with that fact. I may have hurt my ankle (the one that I sprained a while ago) while running and had to put that on hold. I may have the worst writer’s block since forever. I may not have a job and have heartburn and argue with my partner on a far-too-frequent basis. But goddamnit if I don’t have something to keep me sane and happy and it’s science-fucking-fiction. (Don’t mind the cursing, I’m a passionate person at 4 a.m.)

What I’m really posting about is that, despite the unforeseen advantage of finding myself unemployed (as in, reacquainting with a friend who eventually gave me access to Netflix) is that I can finally take Monster to see his asthma specialist. The asthma specialist who put him on this great inhaler and super expensive name brand nasal spray that we couldn’t afford without Medicaid. This guy is wonderful, and although he seems to devalue our knowledge of our own kid, he knows a lot more about asthma than we ever will.

For the past two years Monster has become increasingly sensitive to the allergies in Austin. Anyone from Central Texas will tell you the allergies here are unique and terrible and no one is truly immune. I like to say I’m immune, but I right now I’m feeling the effects of Spring blooming in the form of painful headaches and a sinus infection brewing. I also get hit hard with cedar fever and I feel sick when the molds get crazy high like they tend to do. When Monster first moved here, it was like a light at the end of a long painful tunnel. His asthma seemed to resolve itself! Shock! The lack of constricting smog and chemical vapors seemed to help a lot and he rarely needs an emergency inhaler – usually during a coughing fit to relax his lungs, rather than during an asthma attack. But the seasonal allergies are so intense and cause such bronchial irritation, it is adversely affecting his asthma. Though he hasn’t had any asthma attacks – he takes a nightly inhaler for that – he never goes 3 weeks without getting mucus-y lungs and a terrible cough.

So, this free time I have to take him to his doctor will be used wisely. He’s got that terrible cough again and it woke him up about 30 minutes ago. I told him to turn his alarm off, I couldn’t send him to school with a good conscious, not after hearing how deep and booming it is.

I feel bad for him, because he’s always taken medicine of some sort; nebulizer, ADHD medicine, allergy pills, inhaler. I have no idea what that’s like, so it’s hard to understand how weird it makes him feel. I rarely got sick as a kid, my only regular medicine was a Flinstone vitamin in elementary. Until recently, when I started taking woman’s vitamins, glucosamine and Nex!um I only took medicine when I needed it (i.e. ibuprofen, antibiotics). He’s gotten a rough hand, but I always remind him it could be worse. He just takes a small pill, uses an inhaler and nasal spray every night. He could have to stab his fingers for blood glucose readings all the time, like his aunt, or eat a special diet like his cousin with Crohn’s. I feel bad for him, sure, but I never want to see him feel so bad for himself he thinks he’s been dealt the worst hand. Not a lesson he’ll ever have to learn, because someone always has it worse.

*I’m writing Monster’s year letter. It’s taken me a bit to get it together, but I’ve been … well, blocked.

December Babies

It’s a trend amongst end-of-November and December babies. The peppermint trend. If you’re one of these, you’ll know what I’m talking about instantly. The rush of giddy glee you get when you pass the ice cream section at HEB (or whatever) and see Breyer’s Peppermint ice cream in it’s red stripped carton sitting with the pumpkin pie and gingerbread flavours. The same joy you feel when they start putting out peppermint Hershey’s kisses or special edition peppermint hot chocolate. It’s a Winter baby thing.

(Now, I’m not saying it’s exclusively our thing. That would be weird to exclude those born in the other 11.5 months. Nor am I saying that all people born in this narrow time frame like the peppermint flavoured stuff. But in my observations, the majority of the people whose eyes glaze over at the mention of peppermint mocha coffee creamer are, indeed, Winter babies.)

So, the peppermint thing is my favourite thing in the whole world. I look forward to it in July. I start jonsing for peppermint hot chocolate as Monster starts school in August. Totally inappropriate because it’s sweltering and anything warm would probably kill me. I get excited when it’s November, because any minute they’re going to stock the peppermint goods.

I also get excited for December because, of course, it’s my birthday month. It’s my best friend’s birthday month. And it’s Christmas. I love Christmas. All things Christmas. Christmas carols, Christmas specials, Christmas lights. I’m nothing like Fil in this aspect, who is so Grinch-y it’s almost comical. I know it all stems from her childhood, and the fact that her Christmas’ weren’t very bright. She thinks of Christmas as a time to stress over money and gifts and family. But, for me, she’s been trying to love Christmas. So I’m over here oozing Christmas cheer. Don’t mind me.

This Sunday I turn 21. I’m not over the moon about having a birthday, but I am glad I can order a margarita for a treat and adopt Monster. Woohoo!

Day 17: Lame

So, I’m lame. I can’t even keep up with NaBloPoMo. In my defense, I have been incredibly busy since the 12th.

Let me start off by saying that, yes, I realise it’s only Novemeber, but as parents, Fil and I start thinking about Christmas 1 to 2 months in advance. So, while we haven’t even bought our seasonal tofurkey, we’re already thinking about Black Friday deals and wrapping paper.

I only get paid twice a month, the first Friday and the second Friday. It’s obvious where the first pay check goes (rent) and the second pay check is used on bills and household necessities. Due to the time of the year (Christmas), the majority of that second pay check is getting rerouted to presents for the boy and for the family. So far we’ve managed to tackle 4 presents for the boy and one family member totally knocked out, while two others remain partially done. As for my parents and grandparents, we’re at a loss. To cut down on cost, we’re doing joint presents for each pair, but we’re not sure what a good present would be. Eh.

We’ve become ridiculously skilled at managing our budget around this time of year. We’ve made money spread thinner than the last bit of butter on 3 slices of toast. Monster has always had presents under the tree. I’ll admit, it was much easier when he was a Lego freak, because we could fill in holes with Star Wars sets. But, now that he’s gone through and sold all of his Legos and grown past that stage, we’re panicked about what to get him. Thankfully, both sides of the family have promised to pitch in for a group present (Fil’s side is getting us the XBox 360 while my side is getting us the PS3) and we were able to fill in huge gaps with new games he’s been drooling over for months. He’s only getting a few games (4 total, 3 for the new systems and 1 for the old PS2 that he’s getting in his room) but they’re expensive enough to take up a good chunk of our $350 budget.

We’re smart about these things, now. Last year, if you look at the pictures (in retrospect, I didn’t actually get around to posting them), he got a good amount of kids toys. Legos, Nerf guns, plastic warriors. You get the picture. We were completely unsure about our purchases, because he was on the cusp of “too old” and rarely played with his toys that he already had, especially the Legos. We made an agreement, “this is the last year” we said. And it was. We’ve now made the same promise, about light sabers and other kinds of toys, unless he specifically asks for it. It’s a hard thing to swallow, because that means we’re parting with his childhood. Not completely, because in most ways he is still a child, but we’re still packing up the last of his boys sized clothes and getting him shoes that look enormous (and they are, he wears a size 9 in mens, and even at a half size too big, they fit my feet).

I guess what I’m getting at here is that this coming Christmas will be, in many ways, bittersweet. How tightly do I hold onto the memories we’ll make? Will this be the last year he writes a letter to Santa? What about the Candy Cane Monster? Will he still thrill at the sight of a hand written note and candy cane-turned-monster stashed away in his room? I know each memory we create with our son is more precious than gold, but how hard do you hold onto such things, when you never know how long they’ll stay a child?

Next year, we’ll have a whole new set of worries and joys (TTC) to focus on accompanying the Christmas distress. So I’d like to focus hard on my son this year, and think long and hard about what kind of cookies to make Santa this year, because he loves both snickerdoodles and chocolate-chip-peanut the best.

As for song of the day, I think I’ll go with In a Graveyard – Rufus Wainright. I first heard the song in 9th grade, after a friend posted it when the days got long and cold. Because of that, I will always connect that song with the odd cold days here in Texas, and like the past few days, today is one of those. (Also, it’s a beautiful song.)

Day 2: I’m not into DST

I hate daylight saving time. I have such a hard time adjusting, just like our cats. This morning, I woke up at 4.45 in a panic, thinking it was almost 7 (the birds!) only to realise while I was blow drying my hair that it was waay too dark out for 7 a.m. and immediately crawled into bed for another 2 hours.

I also had to explain to Monster why it was bright out when we left. Well, more like I led him to the conclusion by questioning him. “We turned back the clocks an hour yesterday, remember? So, if we hadn’t turned the clocks back, what time would it be?” It isn’t all that easy, trying to get a tired 11 year old to come to conclusions on his own. There was a lot of hming and hawing but he finally nailed down the reason and it seemed to jazz him up for the day.

Anyway, DST sucks. I know it’s necessary and has become a yearly habit, but it messes with my system and then I’m running, trying to catch up with sleep for the whole week. So far, I’ve just been running off of caffeine and pure adrenaline. We’ll see how that works.

Song of the Day: Concerto No. 4 in F minor, Op. 8, RV 297, “L’inverno” (Winter) – Antonio Vivaldi

I know it’s only autumn, but Winter is my favourite of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Lately I’ve been able to see my breath hanging in the air, which evokes winter and hot cocoa for this Southern girl, so I’ve been listening to this on repeat for days now.

A New Month

It’s already been October for 8 days. Long days filled with working and puppies that consume every other waking moment.

On  September 30th we adopted a 4 month old puppy named Wop, or Flip… or Hoss, whichever way you look at it. We adopted him from a woman who listed on CraigsList, simply wanting to re-home her “young” black lab mix. After a few back and forth conversations we found ourselves driving 25 minutes to her house to meet the pup, and unbeknownst to us, bring him home with us later that evening.

This puppy was definitely not young (as in, 6-12 months and more mature), he was still clumsy and wriggly with excitement like a little puppy. He was also not a lab mix. Most people we talked to after said he was definitely a pit mix. Pit bull with a hint of lab, I guess. His body was definitely slimmer and his paws were much more narrow (like a retriever) while his head maintained the pit bull face, just not the boxy, brick like feature American Pit Bull Terriers are so well known for.

The fact that he was an APBT didn’t bother us at all. He was adorable and sweet and just wanted attention and affection that his owner could not/would not give him. My natural instinct to save all things kicked in, and this time Fil felt it to. So we arrived home at 9 p.m. that same evening with a new puppy in tow.

For the first 48 hours, Bailey was a wonderful dog. He was snuggly and playful and dutifuly did his duty each time he was supposed to. Fil walked him religiously while I was at work and when I got home we worked him just as hard. We spent a ridiculous amount on toys – he was fully equipped with busy bones, kongs, squeakers, theraputic chewies and stuffies. We got him a kibble for dogs with hereditary joint problems (both pits and labs are prone to hip dysplasia and arthritis) a harness, a new collar and a brand new bed.

The dude was spoiled and we were happy.

But, after a few days, he started showing signs of aggression. We took it to be cabin fever, since it’d been raining and he was forced to go outside for a quick poo and pee and we were back upstairs before the deluge came. In turn, we played with him a lot in doors and took him on “road trips” to the pet store in feeble attempts to wear him out. He ran us ragged, with more energy than anyone expected. His previous owner had sworn he was a big lazy bum and liked to sleep all the time. Obviously she didn’t know him nearly as well as we did.

By Monday, it was all starting to wear on us. Bailey was a biter. He sanpped, bit, nipped and mouthed his way through every exposed part of our bodies, including our clothes and shoes. He happily gnawed on fingers and toes and anything in between while pawing at our arms, bellies and faces. He left behind scratches and bruises that decorated our exposed knees, necks and chests. This even extended to Monster, who was so good with Bailey it made me proud.

Fil had already expressed deep exasperation with him. He was violent when I wasn’t around, lunging after Fil or Monster while on walks, playing too rough with tug-of-war ropes (and yes, we never let him win tug-of-war, not once) or not stopping when told ‘no’.

We tried our best to train him. He sat like a champ, and could follow for days (but never would he consider the ‘wait’ command). But if treats were involved, that dog would perform brain surgery and promptly forget whatever was taught to him. Treats were life. Busy bones, Kong PB spray, training treats. His nose was crazy powerful and he could follow the smell of a treat from the door to my bedside table and sniff and snorf until someone obliged and gave him a treat. Except, no one obliged.

From the first day he was given “jobs” to perform – puzzle toys, fetch, obedience training – but it was never satesfactory. He was still bouncing with energy and full of snacks. It was too hard on Fil, left all alone for hours with a dog that refused to let her do anything. While in his kennel he would howl and bark and throw himself around. Even when we tried to soothe him with our appearance, he still went crazy and had to be let out. Fil got so far behind on laundry, Monster and I almost ran out of clothes for the week. Naturally over the weekend I helped as much as possible, but it was still too much for all of us to handle. When he wasn’t snapping at us for not paying him enough attention, he was chasing our cats and stuffing their heads in his mouth or getting beaten up by one of them. When he wasn’t playing tug-of-war he was looking for some other form of entertainment, like nipping on our pillows or jerking his blankets out of his kennel.

Fil had had it by Monday. He was fastly becoming an aggressive dog that no one recognized. He left bruises on my thighs and ripped holes in all of our clothes with his teeth. Monster’s face was scratched and Fil’s arms were covered in tiny pressure marks from Bailey’s teeth almost breaking the skin. We sat down that night and talked about our options. Since he wasn’t responding to any form of training (and believe me, we tried everything) and was regressing with his kennel training, we were worried that something was wrong with him. So I had her call a few behaviourists and see what they had to say. Both were iffy about him, one insisted she could try to help and in the interim charge us thousands for behavioural classes (80 hours at $120 an hour) and all that stuff. The other was more wary about his behaviour and was concerned that he may have a brain abnormality that might explain his behaviour. That, or he was simply an “only child” kind of dog. Since we have a son and two animals, we knew that wasn’t a good thing at all.

Even though reality was starting to dawn on us, I was a little apprehensive. I loved Bailey, and I still do. I had no intentions of giving up on him, but the evidence was mounting. The second behaviourist said she’d seen it before, young pits who are too aggressive generally don’t respond well to “average” training. Since he was starting to devolve, it would be days before he was drawing serious blood (he did break the skin on both Fil and myself once) and possibly seriously injuring Monster.

At that point I knew what had to be done. When Fil told me she said that, I knew Bailey had to go. There was no way I was letting a dog hurt my son or my partner, not while I was at work and they were all alone with no car and no one to help them. I would not let my son be taken away from me (and our two cats) because of him, either. I would not let him kill my cats because his prey drive was too high to control, nor would I let him possibly injure a neighbour kid and get me thrown in jail (that’s another thing, people were threatening to call animal control and the cops because he was very aggressive on walks, they had their kids running from him and screaming by the end of the weekend). So, I talked with Fil and we chose the hardest thing imaginable. We were going to give him up.

It pains me to write this, beacuse I fell in love with that dog the first time he got his paws caught in his leash and tumbled down a small hill at his previous owner’s apartment. He loved to lay in bed with us, and was so good when he was in the car (mostly because he was crated). I took a bazillion pictures of him bitting his cheeseburger, or his stuffed frog. I watched my son bond with him and Fil light up when he was being good and snuggly.

But the fact remains that he could have gone on to destroy our lives. Gotten us evicted, arrested or our son taken away. Our fears were well founded in research and discussions with well known behaviourists in our city. We couldn’t take the risk and agreed to take him on Tuesday to the local animal center.

Yes, they are a kill shelter (where they euthanize pets after they go unadopted for a while, or simply unadoptable pets) and that, too, broke my heart. But we didn’t have the money to get him into a local no-kill rescue center (they charge you, or make you wait 1-2 weeks before intake) before our neighbour called the cops (and yes, she was serious, as was the woman downstairs who was terrified of him and held the phone while she sat on the porch, just in case he did something truly terrible while outside) and we had a huge mess on our hands.

At intake, Bailey was given a green light and swept away for behavioural analysis in quarantine for 10 days. We hope that he got a pass from the behavioural board and will go on to be adopted by a wonderful couple… without children or other pets. He makes a very good first impression, with his cute face and friendly demeanor. We  also know he will make some family very happy, but just not ours. We are now looking for our forever dog, and this time we plan on going through the proper channels to get a dog that truly suits our family.

I’m still really torn up about Bailey. I’ve cried less today than yesterday, and yesterday I cried less than I did on Tuesday. Tuesday I was inconsolable, I bawled like a baby and could barely keep it together long enough to comfort my heartbroken son while we told him why Bailey was going away. We did not, however, tell him that Bailey might lose his life. Bailey had not lived a long life, nor did he get horribly sick and have to be put down. Our son’s grief would have been unimaginable, so we told him a lie instead. Still, my son cried and needed good old mommy cuddles to make it better, and even though the wound is still tender, our hearts are healing with the thought and promise of a new addition soon.

So, let this post (that will soon have pictures) be a memorial for our first family dog, Bailey J, who had eye boogers after a nap and would look you straight in the eyes while he peed. He was the most vicious cheeseburger squeaker in Au*stin, the most terrifying Wubba shaker and the smartest peanutbutter-licker in the world. He never laid on his bed unless he was having a busy bone, and usually demanded to be carried down the stairs, even though we never complied. We probably could have asked for a “better” first pup, better behaved and gentler, who could have grown to love our son and future children (and not eaten our cats whole), but it wasn’t meant to be, and I think he knew it. We will always love him and remember him in only the greatest ways. I can safely say at this moment, and for always, Bailey J was deeply loved.

Today is a new day, a new batch of dogs to look at on the animal center’s website, a new day to think about filling the puppy-shaped void in our family. (You read that right, puppy-shaped. That baby shaped void? Still there.)

In other news, the family is gearing up for winter (and sickness) with a big ol’ bug bomb visit in the next few weeks. We’re looking down the barrel of a lot of pre-Christmas prep work and finding new and fun recipes to do for this years family Thanksgiving.

Come February we’re going to start searching for a house to rent near my work, while Fil and I are hopefully working for our medical transcriptionist degrees. We’re looking forward to making a better place for ourselves, our son and our pets while enjoying the “maybe” of a baby.

Ink Me 2009/Monster’s First Day

Thanks to Calli, I am participating in the Ink Me 2009.

I have already posted my first tattoo (pictured here), but the explination didn’t accompany it. Mostly because that tattoo is fairly self-explanitory, Fil and I got the same tattoo (a triquetra blended with a heart) to symbolize our past, present and future and that our love is linked to them all. Insert “awwww” here.

My second tattoo was a bit more of a thought process, I spent a long time searching for something that I felt deeply about. Naturally, it turned out to be a Celtic knot (how can I not have my body decorated with the history I find myself so deeply connected to?) that symbolized motherhood.

Motherhood Knot

The little purple dot is Monster’s Celtic birthstone. I realise the ink looks poorly done, and it’s mostly due to my skin. Most of the ink got pushed out, and it needs to be hit again, hopefully by a different artist (perferrably female, since it’s on my chest) and such. It means a lot ot me, because there is loads of space to add more dots for more children.

I’ve noticed that in a lot of body ink renditions, the dots are placed on the outside of the heart. For me? I put him in my heart because he will always be there with me, on my skin and in my heart. (Insert louder, longer “aaaawww”)

Now, onto Monster’s first day of 6th grade.

He’s at a special school here in town, a Science Academy, that (so far) is requiring a lot from us. He needed special kinds of clothes (navy blue or khaki pants/shorts, grey shorts/shirts for gym) and loads of expensive school supplies. We’re flummoxed because said school is supposed to cater to lower economic status families like ours. Since we’re strapped for cash LMIL sent us $100 to get him school clothes and supplies, but we could only afford a few pairs of pants and the cheapest supplies we could find.

It sucks that we’re so strapped for cash, but luckily we had enough for new socks and undershirts (it’s wonderful that he has to wear a uniform polo, even if they were $18 each… THANKS DAD!) but that was about it. I’m keeping my fingers crossed hoping he doesn’t come home with loads more supply needs.

Perhaps the thing that made Fil most livid was that he was pulled aside and given a warning for wearing the wrong colour of navy blue (EVEN THOUGH I saw other kids wearing the SAME shade and another one wearing blue jeans!) even though we stood in front of the principal and he said nothin’!

But, what made me the most angry was that he didn’t get to eat breakfast, because the cafeteria was closed all morning and they were painfully late with lunch. My kid was so ravenous that he ate 8 chicken fries and rice and veggies for dinner. I plan on feeding him breakfast tomorrow and every day until I’m sure that school has their ass on right.

First day of 6th grade!!

He’s pretty cute, huh? And I know his belt is on all wrong, but I didn’t realise it until I got home and glanced over the picture. I hope he figured it out!

In other news, I still am jobless. My parents have helped a lot with bills and are going to help with rent, but if I can’t land a job soon we’re going to have to move to Michigan to live with LMIL until we can get on our feet. Fil’s mom managed to land me a job and we’d have the option of finding a cheap home up there. It’s definitely not something we want, but we may just have to resort to it. Bleh.

Bookish

A little update on Monster for those who wonder. He’s doing just fine, the “bruise” faded quickly, as predicted, and he had no further hang ups with people at school. His second to last day was blissful, I think, because he was in a wonderful mood. His last day, however, was off I think because he was an absolute crank (he didn’t sleep well, he had to dress up for the 5th grade graduation ceremony and he was nervous) and slept a lot. He made an ass of himself that night by being downright rude to me and I nearly sent him straight to bed.

He did, however, make A/B honor roll! That’s a first since he’s been off aderol! He had only one C before, but he managed to make that C in math a B-! I’m so proud that we’re keeping that report card to show him when he feels like he can’t do it.

Onto the books.

I’m a huge reader. I’m so bookish it’s unnerving to a lot of people. I get a lot of comments that I’m “always reading” (what do you expect when I’m on idle for about 85% of the day?) and the book is usually big. It takes me anywhere from 1 to 3 days to read a book. If I’m desperate to stretch out the reading material because I’m on my last book and it’s a Monday, I’ll only read a little a day to make it stretch.

I love having a library card, I was so right about stretching my literary legs this summer. I was delighted to check out 5 books this last trip to the library, and I’ve cut my way through half already. I’d like to keep a reading list, because I think it will baffle me come August to see how much I’ve gotten through.

Thus, the new page.

Can’t you tell I’m absolutely bored here?

Poor Monster

There’s nothing that breaks my heart more than tears. Tears from my Fil, tears from my nieces and tears from my Monster.

Last night I had to deal with lots of crying, my own tears and the tears of my beloved Fil. There was some drama and in the end I slept better than I have in the past. I woke up after 3 hours feeling alarmingly refreshed. I’m sure this high is only going to last for so long.

Before the argument last night I discovered a sort of terrifying U shaped bruise on Monster’s chin. It formed the shape of a U over the tip and went up to his lips. It was a deep purple that looked painful, but when I touched it he didn’t even flinched. He hadn’t realised he had a bruise and thought it was kind of amusing. He told us he’d been sucking a plastic cup to his face, which most kids are wont to do out of boredom. I immediately knew what he was talking about and kind of rolled my eyes. I did that too, but not to the extreme extent where my face turned purple, just a little red mark that went away after a few seconds.

However, Fil texted me about 30 minutes ago, informing that Monster had rushed in with tears in his eyes and the bruise having expanded to his moustache area.

I felt anger and fear wash over me. It’s a strange mix that turns your skin hot and makes your heart race. I was afraid he was hurt, that I’d brushed off something serious and his poor chin was severely bruised. I was also angry that some jerk at school had made fun of him and now he was crying because of it.

Fil and I engaged in text relay and I finally called because I was getting anxious. I wanted to hear his voice and make sure he was okay. I told Fil to give him an ice bag and some acetaminophen in case it was tender (no doubt he’d messed with it all day). I reassured him that it’d go away in a few days and that it wasn’t dangerous. He sounded a bit saddened, but okay.

That hot feeling receded a bit, but I’m still furious at the little jerks at school. It’s so hard to just carve out a little place in elementary. I should know, I was weird like he is. I’m so glad he’s leaving those kids behind for sixth grade!

*As a side note, I did a bit of frantic researching while texting Fil and found out that this occurrence (oval shaped petechiae around the mouth) is very common amongst little boys. While girls do this, too, they tend to ease off before they damage the blood vessels under the skin. Boys, however, take it too far and end up looking like a loon. Another stark difference between the two sexes!

Mother’s Day 2009, a nod to an unborn son

This seems to becoming a pattern with this blog. This is yet another Mother’s Day Post, post-Mother’s Day. And yesterday was my third Mother’s Day.

Like last year, it was by no means, special. We had a lovely brunch with my grandparents, parents and my uncle. We passed the rest of the afternoon by my grandparents’ pool while Monster swam and my grandfather played opera over the stereo. It was very relaxing and I felt like I was reset and ready to tackle another week, and another round of job applications.

I didn’t get any presents, not like last year, where Monster presented me with beautiful paintings which are now framed above our bed. I’m okay with that, because I have him and my wonderful Fil and that’s all I need.

Even so, I felt like last year was more about me than this year. Last year, my son treated me to breakfast tacos after midnight and Fil took me on a long and wonderful date.  However, I understand why that wasn’t the case this year. Fil’s birthday was on Thursday (my parents got her an MP3 player and my grandparents got her a gift card, she felt so loved and has not stopped talking about it since then), my uncle’s birthday is tomorrow (happy birthday, Uncle J!) and there are plenty of mom’s in my family to celebrate. I was thankful for the free meal and the wonderful family time. Everyone doted on Monster (as usual) and our mother’s day cards got grandmother and mother quite misty. A success, I declared.

Nevertheless, I can’t ignore how exciting last Mother’s Day was, how good we all felt and how easy it was to ignore the darker side of things. We were four days from our move and busy buzzing around the house packing everything we owned. There was so much to do I nearly forgot to spend a little time reflecting on the loss of Michael, our unborn son.

I have designated May to be my month of rememberance. It was in that month that I allowed myself to mourn his loss and repair from the devestating physical effects of a miscarriage. It was in that month that I named him. He was the boy I saw in my dreams that previous March, the boy with fat thighs, drooly cheeks and no hair.

I know that I will probably have this problem in the future. That when Fil and I hitch ourselves to the TTC train again, we will probably experience a lot of misery before joy. We are saddened that he did not stick, because he was our first and last chance with WonderSperm, the worlds most perfect donor (he looks so much like Fil, down to his smirk and he has such a wonderfully generous heart that I hoped he would pass on to my child) and Fil’s cousin. If you don’t care to jump back, our chance to use him was cut short (literally, a week or more) when he contracted HIV from his promiscuous partner. We mourn the chance to have Fil genetically linked to our child.

But this post is not to mourn Michael, who will always have a place in my ever expanding heart. I am happy to have Monster, who fills the corners of my heart with so much abundant love it’s indescribable. For all of you mothers, Happy Mother’s Day. You are powerful and strong and wonderful in many ways. If you are in a dark place, or find yourselves struggling with the day-to-day, let your children squeeze in and do what they do best, love you.

To all of those who are struggling to become mothers, whether it be again or for the first time. Don’t let Mother’s Day fill you with bitterness and resentment. Look at it as a day for things to come, when your life will be filled with pink flowers and handprint cards.