Caribou Coffee

     I just dropped Miles off at preschool this morning, then saw my doctor to help relieve my constant allergy symptoms and soon found myself at Caribou Coffee to relax and write.
     After I ordered my drink, I turned around to assess the seating situation. There was one large table open and two small tables. The small tables left little room for my computer and notebook but they were near the outlet. I opened up my computer to see if I even needed an outlet when I noticed that my screen was full of kid fingerprints. I proceeded to grab some napkins from the restroom then returned to my small table to wipe down the disturbingly dirty screen. In the meantime, a women entered the coffee shop and took her turn at assessing the seating availability. I did not want to take a spot near the outlet if I didn't need to so I quickly booted up my computer and noticed that I was fully charged. I gathered my bag, purse and computer and moved to the outlet-less larger table. I thought I was possibly doing someone a favor but I just I was wrong.
     The new patron, who had turned her back for a few seconds, looked at my swift move from small table to large table and must have believed it to be an act of competition because she commented, "well, aren't you fast." The disgust in her voice made me laugh, not at her of course, just at the irony of the situation. I moved in case she needed the outlet and she thought my actions were aggressive and selfish. Did I explain myself to this woman? No, I did not. It seemed as though she wanted to get as far from me as possible, so I respected the body language she projected toward me. I hope she at least enjoys her coffee!

Flu Shot

     I'm usually a pretty nice person. I like to fix trouble not cause it. I believe that people should be nice to one another and find ways to agree using peaceful solutions to problems. Now just because I am usually an agreeable person doesn't mean that I am always that girl. Case in point, the flu shot, or any shot in general.
     Between the ages of five and six I went to the doctor with my mother for a "check up," or what I thought was a check. It actually turned into a morning of terror in my eyes. The nurse took me through the normal routine of weight, height and temperature. Then the doctor came in to see me and everything seemed on the up and up. I was satisfied and ready to go, but the doctor had other plans for me. Soon the nurse entered the room armed with a shot and not just any shot, a booster shot. I know that we have all had them but they are huge and painful. I looked into my unassuming mom's face and simple said, "no."
     She seemed surprised that her usually agreeable daughter would take such a stand and then explained to me the importance of the shot. I could care less why I might need it, I just knew that I didn't want it and decided that I would go to great lengths not to get it.
     As my mom tried to calm me down, I watched the nurse prepare for my doom. When she was ready I started screaming and shouting no! My shocked mother stared at me in horror. She was so confused. She told me to sit still, that it would only take a few seconds and that it wouldn't hurt. I didn't care. I kept screaming and trying to find an exit. Four people plus my mother were needed to hold me down. I was like a caged, rabid animal.
     When it was all over, I said, "well that didn't hurt that bad." I thought my mother was going to kill me. Even though it didn't hurt, that did not stop me from experiencing panic attacks every time I had to get a shot from that day forward.
     The first time I brought my own five year old to get her booster shot I prepared myself. I knew that karma would find me and make me pay. But low and behold, Nola did not fuss or cry or even experience a bit of anxiety before or during the doctor visit. I couldn't understand it but I didn't think too much about it. I had dodged a bullet and I knew it.
     Okay, I dodged a bullet until this year that is. Last year, my four year old Miles followed in his sister's footsteps by sticking out his arm bravely and accepting the flu shot. He was so proud of himself. But this year has been an entirely different story. He has cried so many times about the shot. I casually brought it up about a month ago and he lost it. I couldn't believe it. Everything went so well last year, what is going on this time around?
     Then yesterday my parents were watching him while I was teaching and they had to go get their flu shots. He sobbed and sobbed and then we finally got it through to him that he was not getting a shot. We also reminded him that this year he could get the nasal spray instead of a shot. He could have cared less, flu shot, nasal spray, they all meant discomfort in his eyes.
     Tomorrow I am bringing both of my kids and myself in for our own morning of doom. I have yet to tell Miles about the appointment and will probably wait until the last minute. I know it sounds mean to do that but I understand his anxiety and know that too much information will not help the situation. I just cross my fingers that all goes well. Man, karma has found me and she bites worse than the flu shot ever did!

Helicopter Parent

     I am not a helicopter parent, you know the kind of parent who hovers around their child at all costs. Yes, I have stayed home with my kids for the last six years but I like my space too. So if my kids want to play by themselves or with their friends without me, great. That being said, my participation in Nola's school's ice skating outing may have painted a different story.
     It started off with excitement from both of my kids. Yay! We were going ice skating and not just anywhere, we were going to skate in the ice arena that housed the high school hockey teams. How cool is that? Pretty cool actually.
     The first order of business was to check out ice skates. Nola and I got our skates first, two pairs of brown, vintage figure skates. Then I asked for hockey skates for Miles so he could be like the big boys, but the smallest size they had was 12 and he wears an 11. I contemplated which skates to rent for a few minutes and since I didn't want to return later only to get hockey skates so Miles could be like the big boys, we went with the 12's.
     Miles skates worked out well and he was dressed and ready in no time. Nola went through three skate changes before finding the right fit and I went through two. The figure skates hurt my feet so badly that I eventually switched to hockey skates, something I should have done for Nola from the beginning.
     A half an hour later, we were finally ready to try out the ice. Nola did not like the unsteadiness of her feet so she grabbed a walker to assist her. Then Miles and I followed and the second we stepped onto the ice, he started screaming. He hated it. He had no control and so he screamed as though someone had ripped the head off of his favorite stuffed animal.
     Great, I thought, now what? We were finally ready to participate in our highly anticipated activity and my kids were nervous wrecks at best. Nola was in better shape then Miles so I decided to help him first. I let go of his hand and moved behind him. I then put my arms around his chest and started to glide from side to side. His tears instantly turned off and laughter ensued. Yay, my plan for Miles worked! Now I had to focus on Nola.
     She was fairly stable with her PVC pipe walker but not entirely happy. She shuffled around the ice slowly but would not let me out of her sights. She wanted me next to her at all times. It had to be her inexperience with skating because she is normally not that clingy. She didn't even cheer up when her friends were near her, she only wanted me. Oh, did I forget to say that Miles only wanted me as well. Now let's do the math, two kids, one mom, yeah that's right, it does not split equally.
     If I left Nola in order to skate with Miles, she would cry. And Nola does not cry. She's the kind of kid who could break her arm then take a big breath and say, "I'm good. Seriously, I'm fine." So to see her crying was so bizarre.
     "Bug, honey, what is wrong?" I finally asked her.
     "I want you to stay by me," she replied.
     "Well, honey, I can't be by you and Miles at the same time. I need both hands to hold him so you have to skate separately. I'm not going to leave you for very long."
     "I don't care."
     Man, I was getting nowhere. I decided to recruit some of her friends to help me but she only wanted me. And Miles, who was actually having a good time skating, only wanted me to help him. Although he did not cry when it was Nola's turn. He just sat patiently on the ice and waited for me.
     Needless to say, I was torn. Torn between my two kids and sore as hell. Yes I did find a way to make Miles smile while skating but it was killing my back to bend over and my wrists where he held on for dear life. Anyone who was paying attention to us must have thought that I was the most overinvolved parent on the planet. But there was nothing I could do, it was my kids first time skating and they were scared to death.
     When Nola continued to cry even when I was near her, I finally escorted her to the side and took her skates off. I should have gotten her hockey skates from the beginning because I think that pain was also a problem for her. She begged me to leave the ice arena but Miles wanted to stay so I convinced her to walk out on the ice with her boots while I skated with Miles. She had more control with her boots so a smile actually appeared on her face. We bummed around for a few more minutes then decided to head out and grab some dinner.
     I swear to you that this experience was both stressful and unforgettable. But the next day, it was all the kids could talk about. Skating this and skating that. I did not correct them but their tales of "fun" did not sync up with my recollection. I guess all that mattered was that they remembered having fun and weren't scarred for life, unlike my back which needed serious icing from two hours of improper form.

Age

     I recently turned 39 years old. Does that make me uncomfortable? Not really. I feel young and come from a long line of relatives who seem to take age with stride, so I truly don't obsess about it. That being said, when my age was put into perspective by my daughter, I did cringe a little.
     Nola and I occasionally watch So You Think You Can Dance. It is such a fun show and usually kid friendly. Well this year there is a dancer named Fik-shun and he is adorable. He is a twitch dancer which is like street dance or hip hop. He is great with his own genre of dancing but has excelled in other forms as well. So, last week, I was talking to my mom about the show and explained to her that Fik-shun was so cute that I wanted to put him in my pocket and take him home with me.
     Nola, who was sitting near us looked straight at me and said, "Mom," imagine a bit of an attitude with the word mom, "You can't take Fik-shun home with you, he's 18 and your 39!"
     I guess I did sound like a bit of a cougar talking about a boy who could actually be my own child should I have given birth at 21. So I now recant my statement that age doesn't bother me, in the right context, it's slightly alarming. 

I'm Not a Boy

     I suppose it's pretty obvious, since I delivered two children and all, that I am in fact, a girl. Why am I pointing out this well known fact? Well...it's my main defense in the Miles verses potty training saga. Okay, saga may be a bit of a stretch, but I may have scarred my little man for life by teaching him one seemingly strange step in his bathroom routine.
     Because I am a girl I found training a boy to urinate fairly challenging. So after many, many, many months of shameless treats, countless failures and bribes, Miles finally learned to pee unassisted. Of course we had accidents here and there but for the most part, by the time he was three and a half, he was potty trained.
     Now when I go to the toilet and conduct my business, I always end with a few squares of toilet paper to towel off if you will. The problem is that I took my toilet routine and bestowed it on my Miles. So after he urinates, he grabs some toilet paper from the roll then dabs off the excess. I know what you are thinking, doesn't she know that guys shake instead of dab? Yes, I have learned that over the years but I've seen Miles shake and his technique is ineffective and quite messy. Again, I am not a boy, so I had to improvise.
     On occasion, I have mentioned this approach to male friends and family members and I usually get an eye roll at the very least or an astounding, "Ang! The poor kid is going to get teased!"
     I feel as though he will grow out of this, eventually, hopefully before Kindergarten starts!

Trader Joe's

     My kids and I were en route to Trader Joe’s when I was informed that my daughter had left the house without shoes. Nola is usually a very responsible six year old so I found this information rather surprising.     “I thought I had flip flops in the car,” she relayed to me after I questioned her forgetfulness. Now that made more sense.
     “Okay, Bug, we’ll work it out.”
     Once we reached the store, I parked the car then met Nola at her door. She climbed into my arms and I found a way to place her comfortably on my hip.

     “Come on, Bud, let’s go,” I said to a crabby faced Miles. “What’s wrong, Bud?”
     He stomped his foot, folded his arms and mumbled, “I want mom to hold me too.”
     I stared off dramatically as the quick and easy shopping trip I had planned began to fade from my reality. “Bud, I have to hold Nola because she forgot her shoes, you can both sit in the cart once we get inside, or you could push the cart if you want.” I was hoping to earn brownie points with the cart pushing activity. Normally my kids fight over who gets to push the cart but today Nola would surely be riding.
     “No, I want mom to hold me too!” he snapped crossing his arms.
     “Fine,” I answered. “Nola and I are just going to go then.” Were we really going to go, absolutely not, but I had tried this approach in the past with much success and was banking on it working again. But do you think it did? Not for a second. My stubborn child, who actually acquired the gene from his mother, stood his ground. I hated to have my four year old beat me in a face-off, but a crowded parking lot was no place to teach him a lesson.
     So I returned to the car and saw that he was still knotted up with his arms folded tightly. I gently explained to him that we were shopping for groceries that would accompany us to our much anticipated cabin trip. His ears perked up and the wheels in his head began to turn. Miles would live on a lake if he could so I knew the word cabin would catch his attention. 
     Miles ultimately agreed to exit the car but there was a trade off, I had to hold him. So, I grabbed his left hand with my right then struggled to hold Nola with my left arm. She’s a skinny little girl but still weighs almost fifty pounds, two hands would have definitely served me better. When we finally reached the cart corral, I breathed a sigh of relief as I set her down. I placed Miles in the bed of the cart and Nola in the front seat. Her legs barely fit through those toddler holes but we eventually muscled them in.
     Let the picking begin. Prior to this summer my kids got along splendidly. They received the mom look from time to time but we never had that many problems. But now, at ages four and six, they had learned to annoy each other.
     “Mom! Miles keeps touching me!”
     “No I don’t”
     “Yes you do, Bud, I just saw you,” I replied.
     “I’m just petting her arm.”
     “Well, stop petting her arm.”
     “Yeah, stop petting my arm.”
     You can see where this is going…nowhere fast. Here were a few of my not so unique catch phrases:
     “I’m going to pull both of you out of this cart if you keep this up.”
     “We are going to leave without getting anything if you don’t stop.”
     “Stop arguing, you are making a scene.”
     This is the one that really got them: “You are not going to eat any of those little cookies on the way home.” Silence.
     “But we want to eat those cookies.”
     “Well, keep it up and you won’t.”
     To make a long story short, my kids did not have cookies on the way home. Instead, they sat in silence. Miles was sad and Nola was bitter. In the past, a sharp look put my kids in their place so this punishment, their first real punishment, was going to be memorable.
     They remained quiet on entering our house and soon their aunt, my sister, joined us. We were in the kitchen and I was still a bit crabby about my shopping experience therefore exhaled my angst in my sister’s direction. Nola, who was sitting in the other room yelled, “I can here you!”
     Oops! Sorry, Bug. How about we make a deal, I will watch what I say and where I say it, and you stop fighting with your brother. I think that it’s a pretty good trade off, don’t you?

Nola, the ghost whisperer

     For those of you who have read my book, A Life Out of Context, the name Dig will mean something to you. Dig was one of my closet childhood friends and that friendship followed into adulthood. In 2001, Dig tragically passed away and my world changed forever.
     Fast forward eight years and something amazing happened. Nola, who was two and a half years old, was playing by herself in her bedroom. I was one room away cleaning the bathroom when I heard her say, "Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig."
     My ears perked up and I left the bathroom to make sure I was hearing her correctly. "What did you say my Bug?" I asked her.
     She looked up at me and repeated, "Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig, Dig."
     The shock on my face did not seem to alarm her and she went on playing. Now, Dig's name had come up from time to time but not on a daily basis, so I could not believe what she was saying. Then she stopped playing, pointed at the wall and said, "he's in there you know."
     She said it so nonchalantly, yeah there's a guy in the wall and he's talking to me, big whoop.
     My stomach nearly fell out of my body. He's in the wall, I thought. I couldn't believe it. What's he doing in there? Wait...is he really in there? I felt so confused.
     Prior to losing Dig, I hadn't thought much about the afterlife but when we lost him, I prayed that it existed. Of course, should my prayers be answered then Dig's spirit living on was possible and I hated to admit it, but I was a bit scared.
     I took a few deep breaths and searched for answers, "is he nice?" I asked my baby.
     "Oh yes," she answered confidently.
     After a few seconds of mental deliberation, I decided to drop the fearful act and embrace the possibility that my girl was communicating with one of my greatest friends.
     Later that evening, when Nola's dad returned home from work, I told him the Dig story. Nola listened to me recall the event then pointed at the kitchen cupboard and said, "he's in there now."
     My eyes widened and I looked at Nola's dad who seemed a bit nervous. "Nola," I replied, "what does he look like?"
     She was only two and a half and didn't seem to understand the question. 
     "Honey, what color is his hair," I said modifying my question.
     Without skipping a beat she replied, "brown."
      "Okay," said her dad,"that's enough."
     Nola knew too much and although it freaked me out, I found weird sense of peace, because Dig may have finally met my baby girl.
     

Last Night

     Last night, around two thirty in the morning, my Miles crawled into bed with me. Usually Nola is the one to sneak in so it was a bit surprising to me. I snuggled him for a few minutes then decided to bring him back to his own bed. A tired mom is never a good thing.
     As I closed my eyes and tried to get comfortable, well as comfortable as two people can get in a twin bed, I heard a buzzing noise. My eyes opened and I looked around. Did I hear a buzzing noise? I questioned myself. A few years ago, I was diagnosed with tinnitus which causes a slight ringing in ones ears, I've learned to live with it but it caused me to question whether or not I had actually heard a bug fly by my head. Then I heard it again, my arms started swatting the air and soon I was squeezing my hand together in an attempt to catch the thing mid air. After I began slapping my head, I wondered if it was my imagination and I was beating myself up for no apparent reason.
     Silence soon followed. Did I get it? Did my efforts pay off? No such luck, because it only took a few seconds for the buzzing to begin all over again.
     In the meantime, Miles started to toss and turn. I looked over at him hoping I had not forced him awake by my out of control flailing arms. To my surprise, his eyes were open and almost a scary open. I wondered if he were even awake. Questions began circulating in my brain: was it terror in his eyes, was he hurt? There was that buzzing noise again. Before I could look up to find the invisible creature Miles spoke, "what IS that noise!"
     Ahhh...the expression on my baby's face was finally revealed. He had actually gone crazy; mosquito buzzing your ear crazy and I did not blame the kid, I was right there with him.
     "How about we go back to my bed, Bud?"
     " Yes," he answered. "Right now."

Innocent at first glance

     I love to take my kids to the park. They enjoy the monkey bars, the swings, the slides and interacting with other children. It's great exercise for them and a chance for me to sit and relax even if it's only for a few minutes at a time.
     Today, however, my parental bliss was damaged by some disturbing imagery. Now let's get this straight, I'm not some prude who has forgotten what it's like to be a teenager, I teach middle school so I can't forget. And I remember witnessing graffiti as a kid, for a good time call... or Carrie loves Steve, that kind of stuff, it was everywhere. I even knew some kids from the neighborhood who were busted writing curse words on the picnic tables at the park. What I am trying to say is that normal naughtiness doesn't phase me. What I saw today is burned into my brain, so I am going to pass it on to you with the hopes that I forget about it asap.
     While my lovely children were playing on the so-called innocent park equipment, I decided to look inside the tubes that connect the climbing platforms. I anticipated a few phone numbers, which I saw but was a bit unsettled by the large penis that sat above my kid's heads as they crawled through the tube. Really? An enormous penis. Why perverted teens? Why? That prompted me to do some more investigating and I was on to explore another tube. More phone numbers, some curse words and a drawing of a naked girl with her breasts hanging down, her knees spread and her vagina hanging out for all to see. What the hell? All of these innocent kids were playing under an image that, should it be found in a life drawing class, could be considered a work of art, but here at the park, it was much more pornographic. At that moment, I wished that I were armed with a black marker or some acetone.
     With some resistance, I decided to proceed to the last tube but this time I felt prepared because I was thinking like a perverted teen. But those teens got me again and I felt speechless. There on the last tube of disgust was a swastika with some verbiage related to Hitler. Who are these kids and why are they defacing property in this manner? I actually preferred the pornographic images to the Hitler references.
     When my kids and I left the park, I had it in my head to go back to the park and erase the graffiti as soon as possible. But now, as I am writing this entry, I am going to email someone in the parks and rec department. Maybe if they are aware of these markings they can assign someone to check the park tubes routinely. Erasing the stuff won't fix the problem but it will make me feel better, I'd like my kids to stay innocent for as long as possible.

Girl vs. Boy

     My thoughts on life have changed enormously since having children. I once believed that girls could do anything boys could do. But now that I have a son of my own, I stand corrected. I have personally never urinated on the shirt I was wearing.
     As I reflect on this idea, I suppose that I could if I had some sort of hose contraption or funnel. Or maybe if I were wearing a mullet type of shirt and it fell into the toilet, okay maybe then. But I am not talking about a shirt that was near the toilet, this shirt was on my son's body at the time and I am pretty sure that he soaked the collar as well.
     Miles, who may never speak to me again should he ever read this story, occasionally calls me into the restroom. Most of the time he calls so I can help him out with number two, but there are times when something has gone miserably wrong and a wet shirt was definitely one of those times.
     As I walked into the bathroom, I saw him sitting on the pot crying. Apparently, he had sat down to go number two but forgot to push his you know what down. The thing was pointing straight up and soaked his entire shirt outfit. And once his penis started shooting up he pushed it down which caused him to not only soak his shirt but his underwear, pants and socks too. What a mess. What makes this story worse is that it was a band night. Miles wears a white button up dress shirt and a pair of black dress pants every time he watches my dad's band play and that night, he was dressed to kill.
     I pulled my sobbing boy from his throne of shame and cleaned him up the best I could. Then I hand washed his sacred outfit and blow dried it with my hand dryer. We where short on time and I had to improvise.
     When we were finally ready to go, he was smiling and so was I. He had his band outfit spit shined and I had just been proven wrong, apparently girls can't do everything guys can do. And in this case, thank goodness.

I'm late, I'm sorry

     How many times does a person have to utter this statement before they get better at time management? In my case, the answer is unknown. In my defense, I came into this world three weeks late so when I say I was born that way, I mean it. That being said, I have been trying to get better. I used to be a half an hour late and now it's more like ten to fifteen minutes.
    This past weekend, my girlfriend/sister Angie had her Minnesota wedding reception. She and her now husband Jon had a small ceremony in Florence Italy in May then organized a larger celebration in July. And by larger celebration I mean a picnic in Minneapolis on Friday night, the wedding reception at the Walker Art Museum on Saturday night and a pool party on Sunday afternoon. As you can see, they are serious party people.
     On Friday night, my kids and I stayed at the picnic until 10pm. Their normal bedtime is around 9:00 so ten o'clock was not that late. The truth is, my kids have always behaved well after hours. I'm not sure why they don't fall apart like the average kid but they don't so I embrace my luck. Of course, I didn't want to push my luck the next day so we laid low to save our energy for the reception.
     I know that my time management stinks, so I planned to be ready by 5:30 to make our 6:15 deadline. Well, getting two kids and a myself ready for a wedding proved to be harder than I thought so we ended up leaving the house at 5:45. The museum was about a twenty-five minute drive then we had to park and walk to our destination. Man, we were going to be late.
     On a side note, when we arrived at the paybox parking lot, I heard a woman yelling, "ma'am! Ma'am!" I turned around to see if she was talking to me and she was. "I have a ticket that is good until tomorrow morning. Do you want it?"
     "Of course I do! Thank you so much."
     As the kids and I dragged our stuff to the museum doors I must have explained ten different times why we didn't have to pay for parking. My kids were very confused with the event that had unfolded.
     "So we get to stay overnight?" asked my daughter.
     "No," I replied. "Our ticket is good until tomorrow but we are going home tonight."
     "Then why do we have a ticket that will let us stay overnight?"
     "We could but we won't."
     "Why not?"
     "Because."
     "Because why?"
     "Hey, look kids, a horse and carriage." Thank you horses for saving me.
     When we reached our destination, there was a woman waiting at the entrance of the reception hall. "Are you Angie?" she asked politely.
     Oh man, I must be late if they are waiting on me. "Yes," I replied sheepishly.
     "Well come this way," she said directing my kids and me inside. "Here is a closet for all of your things."
     "Great. Thank you."
     "And this is Sara from D'Amico's. She will be handling all of the catering."
     "Hi, nice to meet you." Wow, what an introduction.
     Then we walked into the modern reception hall where I saw the rest of the bridal party. I waved but my attention was still on host. "When would you like us to start serving the Champagne?"
     I looked at her with my wheels turning. Oh, oops! I thought. Then I started laughing.
     When the host approached me at the door and asked if I was Angie, she believed that I was Angie the bride, not Angie the late bridesmaid. I felt a tad bit embarrassed but ultimately excepted the misunderstanding as my punishment for being late, again.  
     

The Hospital?

     So, I have been on a little hiatus. It wasn't a planned adventure that's for sure. It all started in the early hours of my daughter's sixth birthday. Luckily she was staying with her dad for the weekend but it still saddened me to be sick on the day I brought her into this world. After fours hours of non-stop...um...well...I guess I will just say it...diarrhea, I called my nurse hotline. Let's just say that they were more than concerned with possible dehydration and blood loss I reported. I was encouraged to head to the emergency room as soon as possible which made me feel worse. I can't say that I am proud of this but I am a terrible patient. I hate feeling sick. Yeah, yeah who doesn't, but I mean it, when I feel physically sick worry sets in and things just snowball out of control.

     I gathered my phone and my purse, looked at my sick ass self in the mirror (I really could have used some make-up) and made a run for the car after a quick bathroom break. It was about 7:30 in the morning and I had been up since 3:30 doing my business if you will so I was tired. I managed to call my sister on my drive to the hospital to tell her where I was going in case people were looking for me.

     Two minutes later my phone rang and I noticed that it was my second mother Kathy calling. As much as I didn't want to worry anyone, I answered her call. She was so concerned that she dropped her plans and decided to meet me at the hospital. What a sweet person. I knew that I would have to call my mom, who was at the cabin, after I talked to Kathy. They have been best friends for years so the word would get to her sooner or later. Her initial thoughts were to come home but I convinced her to wait and see what the doctors had to say before doing anything irrational.

     I entered the ER and was happy to see that it was a slow day. Of course, the fact that I was losing blood sent me straight to the front of the line anyway. I was escorted back to explain my situation but once the doctors heard that I had been overseas the month before, I was immediately put in isolation. They were afraid that I had contracted some kind of contagious infection and didn't want to spread it around.

     I could not believe what was happening. The day before I was playing in a golf tournament and twelve hours later I was quarantined.

     I was seen by two nurses and a doctor right away for an initial examination. I explained my symptoms and that I was a bad patient. They found my honesty somewhat amusing. And then I was informed that a CT scan was necessary. Great, I did not have time to be this sick. I had planned my daughter's birthday party for the next day and invited thirty guests. I explained my worried to Kathy and my nurse but then remembered.
     "Maybe I can't host a party when I'm running to the toilet every ten minutes."
     The nursed laughed and replied, "you would be a serious party pooper."
     Kathy and I laughed at his joke that was so wrong it was funny.
     After my CT scan the doctors informed me that my colon was inflamed and since I was still bleeding and having pain, I would have to stay over night in the hospital.
     No!! I thought. I want to go home.
     Then I said allowed, "no...can't I just go home?"
     The doctor smirked and replied, "do you think you can manage your pain by yourself?"
     I thought about the two doses of morphine I had had in the last five hours and replied, "no."
     "I didn't think so," he said smugly yet in a caring manner.
     As the doctor's prepared my new room, Kathy said good-bye and said that she would stop by later. Then I decided it was time to call my parents back. They were so concerned by the news of my hospital stay that they decided to come home and help me with my kids. I also chose to cancel my daughter's birthday party but my lovely mother hosted a smaller version with my family, Kathy's family and my best friend Stacy's family. It was still a good size party with twenty guests excluding the birthday girl's mama.
     My kids were worried about their mom as you can imagine. Since Stacy's kids attended the party, they were often preoccupied but my sisters said that they were pretty clingy to all of the adult women in the room.
     I felt so bad for my babies. It must have been so scary for them to have a sick mom. And as bummed as I was to be hospitalized, I was thankful to have such supportive friends and family.
     To keep my sanity, Stacy visited me while the party was in full force. She was my third guest after Kathy and my parents and it was nice to see her smiling face. The best part was that Stace had just completed her RD license, registered dietitian, and the knowledge she retained from her residency was still fresh in her mind so she helped answer some of my questions about infections and diet where digestion was concerned.
     The following day doctors still did not know what was wrong with me so I had to stay a third day in the hospital and wait for the results of my culture to come back. I called my parents to inform them of my fate and they seemed as stressed out as I was. As a way to control anything, my mom decided to bring my kids up to see me. They were so worried about me and just wanted to see their mama.
     I was just a desperate to see them but I looked like hell. I immediately called my nurse and found my way into the shower. I put on street clothes and a sweatshirt to cover up my IV. A needle in my arm would probably have put my kids over the edge.
     A half an hour after the phone call with my mom, I heard a knock on the door. It was my babies. They looked so scared as they entered my room. Their eyes were as large dinner plates and I didn't see a smile on either their faces. I opened my arms and said, "come here you too."
     They hesitated for a few seconds then both ran to me and gave me a huge hug. I was in heaven. Nola handed me a vase full of flowers and a card she had made. And then Miles handed over his card but kept hugging me, he's such a sensitive little man.
     I thanked them for thinking of me and for visiting me. It took about ten minutes for them to relax and once they did the remote for my bed and the television became a point of interest. I told them that I would do my best to come home the next day but that was wishful thinking because the following day I got the results of my culture, negative.
     "Negative? What does that mean? I asked.
     "Well, you do not have a contagious infection," replied the doctor, "so we can take you out of isolation."
     "Okay, that is good right?" I asked.
     "Yes, but we still don't know what's going on so you are going to need to have a colonoscopy. We believe that you have a form of colitis. We've narrowed it down to ischemic or ulcerative colitis."
     I had heard of colitis but did not know that their were different kinds of it.
     "A colonoscopy will help us to determine which kind you have and how to help you."
     I was not excited to have a colonoscopy but I wanted some results and if that was the course of action so be it. That being said, I had to stay one more day in the hospital. Ahhhh!!!!
     And by the way, the colonoscopy sucked. It hurt so bad. I must have been immune to the pain meds they gave me because I felt every twist and turn of that damn scope. My only good news was that my babies were going to visit me again. I did the same routine by showering and putting on my street clothes. And this time, I asked the nurse if I could meet them downstairs instead of freaking them out by coming to my room. She said that she would check with the doctor.
     The doctor decided to play a trick on me and had the nurse tell me that I had to stay in my room until I was discharged. I looked at the nurse sadly when she relayed the message and accepted the response. She laughed and said, "just kidding."
     "You're horrible!" I shouted with a laugh.
     She apologized for the joke and blamed it one hundred percent on the doctor.
     When my mom and kids called me I told them to meet me downstairs. We ate dinner and chatted. I mean they ate dinner and I sucked on some rice. The first two days in the hospital I went without food and the third day I was allowed oatmeal and rice.
     My son sat on my lap, desperate to be close to his mom, and my daughter sat across from me and looked up my sleeve, "what's that?" she asked.
     I gave her a sly smile, "that's an IV," I replied. I was hoping that Miles didn't hear me and luckily he didn't because he was more focused on eating his food.
     "I need that for medicine, babe."
     Instead of being scared, she seemed proud to know something that Miles did not.
     My fourth day in the hospital was my last because the results were in and they were good. I had ischemic colitis. It is a temporary colitis that heals itself and should not occur again, if I am lucky. They were not certain what caused the blood clot in my colon but the augmentin I had been on for a sinus infection was most likely the culprit. 
     I left the hospital excited to see my babies, my friends and my family. My healing process would take a few weeks but there were a few good things that occurred. I received some much needed rest and relaxation during my four day stay in the hospital and I lost about seven pounds. I would not recommend the colitis route for weight loss but I needed to focus on something positive from the  unfortunate situation that took four days of my life.

Shaving Blunder

     I think we can all agree that mothers are busy people. And busy people have to prioritize their daily tasks by importance. On my to do list, shaving and ironing are on the bottom. Of course, shaving moves up a little higher in the summer months for obvious reasons.
     Last summer, my parents hosted a party weekend at their cabin. Since we were going to be on the lake, I decided that for everyone's sake, I would shave my body, it was the least I could do.
     Once settled, we all boarded the pontoon boat and cruised around the lake. I was feeling relaxed and my kids were happy. Miles was driving the boat with my dad and Nola was hanging with the girls, it was a good day.
     I stretched my arms out on the back of the bench seat, took in the fresh air and talked to my friend and his daughter. Later, I joined another conversation which inspired me to tell a funny story. For dramatic effect, I used my entire body to explain myself and although people laughed, they also looked a bit nervous. I didn't think much of it but noted the nervousness.
     In time, I made my way to the back of the boat where I held my son for a while and eventually noticed a surprising site. I had neglected to shave my arm pits. Now on a normal woman, it would just be stubble, but on me, a busy mother of two, it was slightly rug-like.
     "Oh," I said. "It looks like I forgot to shave my armpits."
     "Yeah, we noticed," replied almost every girl on the boat.
     I was a little embarrassed but hey, it happens. This is where my friend Annie chimed in. "We noticed it when you were in the front talking to Luke. Your arms were stretched out and your hair was blowing in the wind. Then you started to tell that animated story and we got nervous. Your legs were moving and we were afraid that you would expose your untamed bikini area."
     "Is that why you all seemed to wince?" I asked.
     They all laughed hysterically, "Yes!"
     Well, luckily for all of my onlookers, I had shaved every part of me except my arm pits. I must have been distracted during the two minutes I had to myself in the shower. It's all just part of being a mom!
     

Popper is Funny too!

     Before my daughter could speak, she would strum an air guitar when addressing my dad. This gesture was appropriate because of his position as the lead guitarist of his band. Once she could speak, my dad would strum, point at himself and say grand-pa-pa. Nola did her best to imitate him which is where the term Popper was born. My son has carried on the tradition of the name and I expect that my sisters' future children will do the same.

     Adding to that, my kids adore Popper. He is a great grandfather to them and is greeted by screams of joy and hugs when my kids are near him. And his laid back attitude and positive outlook on life are contagious. For these reasons, if my dad ever seems stressed at any level, it is noteworthy, which is why this next story has to be told.

     This past weekend my kids were the flower girl and ring bearer in my cousin's wedding. And as any mother's luck would have it, Miles started to fall apart a few hours before the rehearsal and groom's dinner. I had to act quickly and by doing so, I decided that my only option was to nap him and be late. A late ring bearer had to be better than a crabby one. To save a little face, my parents decided to bring Nola along with them, at least one of my kids would be early.

     My parents actually left two hours early because the had to pick up my dad's tuxedo across town, in traffic and through Minnesota road construction. They needed extra time. Of course, we all found it extremely ironic that Miles and I arrived earlier than everyone.

     Apparently, the traffic and construction was far worse than my parents anticipated leaving them on countless back roads and detours that caused major frustration. Nola approached me at the church and said, "Popper was pretty mad in the car. He hit the steering wheel with his hand and said something like shhh..., I don't know actually, it was something with a shhh..."

     I tried not to laugh for many reasons. I was happy that the shhh... word was not part of her vocabulary, I knew that my dad must have been really lost to hit the steering wheel and Nola knew that if Popper was mad, something must be wrong.

     My dad's face turned a bright shade of red when I brought up the conversation. He backpedaled a bit and tried to explain the frustration he felt being lost and then eventually late. I truly did not blame my dad for his accidental outburst, I've known him my whole life and he is usually very even tempered. This was why I had to tell my mom, sisters and brother-in-law about the incident. When a laid back guy like my dad loses control, the humor of the situation must be embraced.

Rules

     What do you think when you hear the word rules? Do you get a warm, fuzzy feeling? Probably not. But rules aren't all bad, are they? For instance, traffic laws are necessary or your favorite sport or game couldn't be played without them, or how about rules to physics or mathematics, those have come in handy. I'm building up a case to defend myself can you tell?
     As a parent, I have created many rules for my children to follow. Have I done this as a strict dictator on a power trip? Not at all, they are put in place to keep the peace, to have organization and for safety's sake. Which brings me to the topic of the day: Bike safety and general road safety.
     Bike safety is important and I'm not just talking about helmets. An awareness of one's surroundings is vital when taking to the streets or in my kids sake, going on a bike ride...with their mom. I actually could not wait for my kids to be old enough to ride a bike further than the driveway. And as luck would have it, last year was our inaugural ride.
     I souped up my kids bikes, put on their helmets and started down the driveway. "Stop at the bottom of the driveway and look for cars," I said as if casually reminding them of something they already knew.
     "Okay, Mom!" they yelled as cute as can be.
     "Wait! Stop! You didn't look!" I hollered.
     My two kids slowly stopped their bikes, in the middle of the road mind you, and shot me looks of confusion. They had no idea how to look for cars and for some reason, I thought that my three and five year old children instinctively possessed a sense of bike riding. Well, I was wrong.
     So, like any good parent, I taught them the rules: stop, look and listen. I also repeated them every time we went biking. And every time I did, my daughter would say, "We know, Mom." In her defense, she did know them but there was a loop hole in her understanding. My daughter believed that she only needed to look the first time she biked from the driveway to the street. I couldn't believe it, after all of my coaching and talk of getting hit by a car and how much that it would hurt to get hit by a car, she didn't know that she had to look every time she entered the street.
     Eventually, we worked out a system where the kids were allowed to enjoy bike adventures as long as they could tolerate mom's rule reminders. Now everyone is happy, more or less.
     I also transferred these rules to the ever popular ball in road dilemma after witnessing my daughter run straight in front of my neighbor's car. Luckily the neighbor was paying attention and she was not hurt but I nearly had a heart attack. I sat both kids down and did my best to explain that they need to think of their safety first and then the ball.
     "You are more important than a ball. You first, then the ball. You," I pointed at them and held up one finger, "ball." I held up two fingers on my other hand.
     Yes, they laughed and thought mom was funny, but a few weeks later, I got word that my little speech had in fact impacted my babies.
     My sister had been playing soccer with them in the front yard of my parent's cabin. Let me set this up for you, my parent's cabin is located in rural, northern Minnesota, once you are about a half of a mile from the cabin you drive on a dirt road which takes you to another dirt road that leads you to the cabin which is a few houses away from a dead end. I think it's fair to say that it's a pretty quiet place.
     Anyway, the kids and their auntie had been playing for ten minutes or so before I decided to join the game. As I walked outside, the first thing I noticed was Miles standing in the middle of the road holding the soccer ball and naturally I panicked.
     "Miles!" I yelled. "You have to look for cars!"
     "I did!" he yelled back as he resumed play.
     My sister approached me with a smile and said, "he did look, you know. He ran right to the edge of the road, stopped, looked left and then right, then walked out to get the ball."
     "Oh, good," I replied feeling relieved.
     "I know that you have to teach the kids rules about safety and all but I have to say, it was pretty funny to see him treat the dirt road as though it were a freeway. I think I saw a tumbleweed roll by as he searched for traffic," said my sister as she elbowed me.

"Mom! Miles...!"

     My daughter should be a cop. She is extremely observant, is serious about separating right from wrong and actually embraces rules. She even keeps me in line when it comes to my poor time management issue. So it should be no surprise that she also keeps a close eye on her brother and has since he was born.

     This Miles' incident took place on a rural Minnesota highway near a stereotypical farm field. There were straight lines of vegetation as far as the eye could see, dusty dirt roads that entertained only the occasional car and farm houses no closer than a mile from one another. This was where the blow out occurred.
     We were only five minutes away from my best friend's home. Five minutes I tell you! When my cop daughter yelled, "Mom! Miles is eating his poop!"
     In all my years of dreaming up the perfect little family with the perfect little kids, one of my children eating their poop never entered my mind. Ever. I looked into the rear view mirror only to see my one year old son with his hand in his mouth and a look of disgust on his face. Well, at least he didn't like it.
     "No, no, no!" I yelled.
     This reaction startled him and he instantly withdrew his hand. It was indeed covered in poo. I turned off the highway onto the first dirt road I could find and flew out my door to rescue my Miles from himself. There he sat in a seat full of waste. There was shit everywhere. I slowly unbuckled him and pulled him from the wreckage. I just held him straight out in front of me and stared. I didn't know where to begin.
     While I pondered my next step, my daughter commentated, "What are we going to do, Mom? Do you have another diaper? Do you have any clean clothes for him? Gross, Miles. Why did he do that?"
     "I don't know, Bug. I just need an minute to think." Actually, I needed a bath tub and a washing machine but we can't have everything can we?
     I decided to open up the back door and look for my diaper bag. This was not an easy task while holding a dirty little man. And luckily, I did have a diaper but I was low on wipes. I truly don't know if anyone could have had the right amount of wipes to clean up this disaster but I was happy to have a few.
     I peeled off the soiled clothes and diaper then started wiping. Miles could walk at this point in his life which made me happy that I didn't have to set him down on the rocky dirt road. I wiped and wiped the child for ten minutes. All the while, my Nola kept asking me if I was done yet.
     "No, Bug, not yet...not now...a few more minutes."
     Once he was decent, I searched for a new outfit. I was prepared with extra clothing but I was not prepared for my son's car seat to be used as a toilet. I was out of wipes and at a loss as I stared at the nasty seat. What to do, what to do? I had to turn to my creative side. Everyone has a set of innate skills and one of mine is problem solving. I love puzzles, sudoku, design, I love creating; so, I had to look at my problem creatively.
     I searched my car and found a few small paper bags. I flattened the bags and covered the seat with them. Then I placed a blanket over the bags and set my freshly wiped son back in the seat. It still smelled like shit, but would work for the five miles we needed to drive.
     When I finished, I turned around and saw the mess of dirty wipes and crap filled clothes I had piled up on the side of the road. I did not have a plan for them. I had already used the paper bags I found in the car and I could not find a single piece of trash to help me contain the litter.
     After much contemplation, I made the rash decision to leave my garbage behind. Yes, I left twenty wipes, a pair of shorts and a child's t-shirt on the side of a country road. It was not an easy choice for me to make, my daughter does not get her rule following characteristic from the wind, but I could not find another option. My creativity was shot.
     As we drove away from the incident, my panicked daughter could not stop talking about Miles' clothes on the side of the road, "how are we going to get them back? What if the cows eat them? Mom, what are we going to do?"
     At that point, I was spent. So I answered her with the last bit of cleverness I could conjure up, "I'll call the farmer later, honey, and he'll mail them to us."
     She looked at me with much sincerity, "yeah, that's a good idea, Mom."

Italia

     So...I just went to Italy. Yes, this is why I have not blogged in over a week. Two very dear friends of mine decided to get married outside of Florence, Italy and I was lucky enough to make the trip. Now how does a single mother of two afford a trip to Italy? It's simple; her parents buy her ticket and pay for half of her lodging.
    Five years ago, it would have been hard for me to take such a handout but divorce does things to a person, and in my case, I have opened myself up to charitable donations. Plus, my parents know me to be a frugal person who would not have made the trip without their help.
     Money was actually my first obstacle, my second was leaving my children. Being away from my kids every other weekend is hard enough but now I would be away from them for a week and by  choice. My daughter is a tough girl so I was not as worried about her, my object of concern was my sensitive, mama's boy son.
     My kid's dad agreed to take them for the week and for reinforcement he called on his mother to help out. She lives out of state so I knew that it would be a treat for my babies to see her but I still worried. I eventually had a heart to heart with my daughter about the trip and as expected she handled the news well. My son is a different animal though and it is best to wait until the last possible moment to break such news to him. When I could wait no longer I broke it to him gently. I told him that his grandma was coming to visit and that I would work while he played with her then I would attend a wedding and finally I would come home to his sister and him. He kicked his legs a bit, stomped on the floor, hit his leg with his hand, he was mad. He softened a bit when I mentioned the words Mall of America, a place his grandmother always visits when she is in town. And when they came to pick up the kids, he went quietly and seemed...decent. That was more than I could ask for.
     I waved good-bye to my lovely kids then scrambled to pack and prepare the house for a week long absence. I had one hour. I thought the kids might get depressed if I packed in front of them so I waited until the last minute. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but after running around the house like a nut job and breaking a sweat, I decided that it was actually a crappy plan, well for me anyway.
     Have you ever traveled somewhere only to realize that the people you are traveling with find you annoying? I think that I am a fine person but apparently being late, being loud in public and videotaping events annoy people. Add to that jetlag and a headache that lasts two days and man you have not started out your trip on a good note.
     Thankfully, my headache subsided by the time the wedding occurred and I actually began to have fun. I missed my babies like crazy but thought I'm here I may as well have fun. And we did. We ate and drank and ate and drank. I was actually shocked to find countless thin Italian people. I truly don't know how they do it. I put on a pound a day while I was there.
     When the festivities finally settled down and I finally returned home to my kids, they greeted me with open arms. I hugged and kissed them like crazy. Then we snuggled on the couch for a time and eventually went to bed together at 8:30. I say bed not sleep because I did not sleep much that night. My son woke up three times in the middle of the night most likely to make sure I was still there and not some mirage. He would go right back to sleep but I would not. Then my daughter slept in my bed pushing her body next to mine which seems sweet unless you are a person who likes to sleep, then it's only sweet for a few minutes.
     In the morning, I experienced payback for leaving my kids. I can't tell you how many times they fell apart that day. Tears of stress kept releasing from their little bodies. How is it possible that the most lovely creatures I have ever met also drive me to extreme kookiness? I can't believe that kookiness is actually a word, no spell check warning. Well, we all know that answer to that question and it's parenting. It's a life-long job with ups and downs and it takes the right perspective to focus on the ups. No matter what, I love you Miles and Nola.

Migraine Drama

     I used to get an annual migraine headache which would start by affecting my sight. First, things would begin to disappear. For instance, if I looked into a mirror my chin might be missing. Then things would progress to a full on aura where I could make out about fifty percent of what was in front of me. And lastly, the headache would hit and wipe me out for a day or two. When this occurred once a year I could handle it, but now, with age, they tend to hit me every few months. Yay for me!
     One day, as I bathed my little man, parts of his face started to disappear. Great, I thought, here we go. Now, because I am familiar with the exhaustion that comes with a migraine, I tend to stress out as it brews. Yet, because I know how little stress helps a situation, I do my best to remain calm.
     "Hey Bud, I need to wash your hair quickly and get you out of the tub now," I mustered up slowly and in a controlled manner.
     "I don't want my hair washed!" he answered spastically.
     My vision was getting worse by the second so I grabbed a cup, dumped some water over his head and started massaging his hair with shampoo. You can imagine how well this went over. Tears started streaming down his face and he was yelling something about his eyes but I was a woman with a mission and the shampoo was tear-free.
     In seconds, I carried a clean, dry, screaming kid to his bedroom. There he protested every article of clothing that I pulled out for him; his pants had a hole, his socks were the wrong kind, not that t-shirt. You're probably thinking that his mood had something to do with the water in his eyes, but the truth is, Miles is a difficult kid to dress. He is so picky and irritating sometimes that the process can take ten to fifteen long-ass minutes. But not today, today mom was growing a migraine headache and had the patience of an overdue pregnant woman.
     "Fine," I barked. "Then don't wear any clothes." And I ran to the medicine cabinet to search for a bottle of Excedrin.
     I have a tough time taking pills. I get all psyched out and tend to choke as they go down. This can be a problem. So, in order to combat the issue, I often chew some food, bread works well, then I place the pill inside the clump, like you would for a dog, and swallow. I also meditate so even if the clump gets stuck, my calm state of mind will allow the clump room to slide down within seconds.
     While I searched the cupboard, I tried to calm myself down but the vision loss and screaming kid were making it an impossible task. Eventually, I found a bottle that resembled Excedrin and ran downstairs to ask my mother for help. Oh yeah, you should probably know that my parents took my kids and me in after my divorce. They have been very supportive and have helped me in so many ways that I could go on and on, but I won't, because this story is about a migraine disaster not how thankful I am to my parents. But I am, thankful...anyway, my mom advised me to only take one since Excedrin is highly caffeinated and I am a light weight in the pill department.
     So, I opened the bottle on my way upstairs and pulled out one pill; one large, horse-like pill. With my son still crying and my throat tight, I gobbled up some bread, got a glass of water and swallowed the mass. Well, half swallowed. The damn thing got caught midway down my throat. I could breath so it wasn't going to kill me but it hurt like hell.
     At this time, my daughter chimed in and yelled, "I can't take all the cry-ness. Miles needs to stop crying."
     This pushed me over the edge. Two crying kids were not helping this throat clogged mom. I ran downstairs to my mom's office, opened the door and hollered, "I'm choking but I can breath. I need a minute to get this pill down but can't do it with two sobbing kids." Then I shut the door and ran into the bathroom.
     My mom followed me shouting, "don't you close that door, that is how people die you know, they are embarrassed that they are choking then run and hide!"
     "I know this mom, but I can breath I just need a moment to relax and get this clump moving," I answered as I shut the door again. Then I put my head under the faucet, got some water in my mouth and swallowed. The water hit the clump and flew out of my mouth covering most of the mirror and half of my face.
     To add insult to injury, while I grabbed my shirt to wipe off my face, my dad opened the door to offer his help. Unfortunately for him, all he got was a clear shot of my naked breasts. Hey, I was in my pajamas without a bra and he just walked into a closed bathroom door. It was his gamble and he lost.
     I eventually worked the clump down my throat then sheepishly exited the bathroom. I knew what I had to do and that was to apologize for my hyperactive reaction that did anything but help the situation. What can I say, choking makes me nervous, I'm not that weird, right?

No She Didn't

     My daughter's bus picks her up at 8:53am. And because I am familiar with my late self, we leave the house at 8:48am. This gives us five minutes to walk half a block, seems reasonable right? Well, most days it is reasonable, so reasonable that I now know what it's like to be early.
     One morning, as we were walking out the door, my stomach grumbled. I stopped in my tracks and grabbed my gut. My daughter looked at me a bit confused, "What's wrong mom?"
     "Nothing really," I replied. "But I do believe that my coffee is kicking in."
     She had no idea what to make of that statement and I didn't stick around to for further questioning. In seconds, I heard my two kids outside of the bathroom door telling me to hurry up or we were going to be too late. I told them not to worry and that I would be out in a minute.
     A few minutes later, I threw the kids in the car and drove to a vacant bus stop. "Nobody is here!" my daughter yelled.
     "I'm so sorry, Bug. Don't worry, I'll just drive you to school."
     My poor girl sulked for a bit, she's a rule follower who likes a good routine and missing the bus was not part of her routine.
     I made a quick stop at home where Miles and I changed out of our pajamas and ran a comb through our hair. Then we headed up to the elementary school.
     As we darted into the school, we were stopped by one of Nola's friends and her mother. We both exchanged stories about why we were late and mine was extremely vague. I said something like, "I don't know what happened this morning, one minute we were on time and the next minute we missed the bus."
     To which Nola replied, "That's not right, mom. We missed the bus because you had to poop."
     Real smooth Bug, real smooth. 

Not Public

     I'm the type of parent who feels comfortable bathing with my children. The naked thing does not bother me. I see it as a time saver when you clean one mom and two kids simultaneously. It just makes sense. But this hasn't occurred without awkward moments like the two I will describe below.
     On another subject altogether, I am a single mother. For those of you who don't know any single mothers, let me tell you that single mothers are busy...very busy...extremely busy if you will. So being that I am a busy person, I mostly focus more on my needs than my wants. And when this happens, things get out of control, for instance, the maintenance of one's pubic hair. Yes I said pubic hair. Occasionally, I groom the hair but not as often as I would like.
     One day, as my daughter and I innocently showered together she screamed, "Mom! You're peeing!"
     I looked down to see water flowing from the long locks I had grown and watched as is streamed straight into the drain. It was worse than if I had peed. I tried to tell my daughter that I had not peed in the shower but she did not believe me and began to look at me differently that day.
     The next incident occurred after my daughter and I had showered. While we toweled off our bodies, my daughter asked me why I had feathers down there. Yes, my hair had gotten so out of control that it resembled some sort of feathery bush. Needless to say, I groomed myself that day. 
      
      

A close call

     My daughter is five years old, going on six, and has not quite mastered her toilet skills in the number two department. Because she has experienced occasional skid marks in her underwear and rashes on her butt cheeks, she asks for my assistance when poop calls.
     Yesterday, while I was telling a story to some friends, she pulled on my arm and said, "Mom, I have to poop."
     I told her that I would be right there and went on with my story. When right there arrived, I walked to the hall bathroom, tugged on the locked handle and said, "Goose, how are you doing?" There was no answer. 
     As I tugged on the door again, I looked up only to see my friend and second mother, Kathy, approaching me, "Ang, what are you doing?" she asked.
     In a goofy voice I replied, "Well, I need to wipe a butt and it's not mine." Then I laughed. She laughed too but not for the same reason.
     "You know Tom's in there, right?"
     My mouth dropped open, and a nothing came out. I had almost walked in on her husband using the jon. Thank god that door was locked.
     "Well, I definitely don't want to wipe that butt," I replied.
     My girl had apparently tried to enter that bathroom but since it was occupied, found another place to do her business. When I relayed the story to her, she laughed and laughed. "Tell that story again, Mom," she would say over the next few hours. I love that her sense of humor is so evolved. She going to need it being that she and I share the same blood and tendency for embarrassing situations.