A little hearing can go a long way

“Mom I can’t hear."  

What?!?!?  Not this again.  

When my Little Man was 3 we realized that he was pretty much deaf.  He was toddling through life reading lips.  You know when a little kid gets on your lap, grabs your cheeks and looks you in the eye and you think, isn’t that cute he loves me?  Well, my baby boy was doing that all of the time and I just sat there thinking he loved me so much.  Turns out, he couldn’t hear and was doing that to read my lips.  (Insert tear and heartbreak here)

Fast forward a few years, a few ear surgeries and a lot of Dr. appointments later and I think we are all in the clear.  Then I come home to “I can’t hear."

Crap, Crap and double Crap! 

I immediately go into super mommy mode.  I call the surgeon and insist on the very next appointment.  I call the pediatrician and book a backup appointment; I rearrange my work schedule and get Little Man out school in time for the appointment. 

Yep, ears are blocked, partly infected, partly gooey buildup and a whole lot of who knows what?  The Dr. was able to get the left ear clear and gave us meds for the right.  Little Man is now seemingly back to normal (or as normal as you can be on 50% hearing) and we proceed through our days – me being Supermom and him being Awesomekid!

Until he becomes the pitcher at the baseball game.  We are at the fields, I’m in the bleachers sporting my mommy gear talking to the baseball mommies, Little Man enters the field and takes the pitcher’s mound.   Not to brag, but my Little Man is a good baseball player, like naturally good, he can basically catch anything thrown at him and has really great hand/eye coordination.  I look at him and he is so excited to be playing Pitcher.

Then it happened… the first ball gets hit right at him and he can’t find it.  Next ball, hit towards him and it goes under his legs, then the next he catches but misthrows to first, and on and on.  It was like watching a person who had never played ball before.  I started shrinking down and trying to hide between the mommies.  The coaches were yelling, the dads were yelling, heck even the kids were yelling!  No matter what was hit towards him, he just couldn’t get the ball. 

Then I overhear a mommy from the 2^nd row bleacher “I don’t think that kid can hear” she says.

Oh CRAP!  That is right!  They put this big helmet over my little guy’s head to protect him from the balls, but it also must be blocking out all of the sound. I forgot to tell the coach that my Little Man was only playing with about 50% hearing.  I now shrink even further down into the cold bleachers.  How did SuperMom overlook the one thing I had been focused on all week?!?!?!

Somehow we made it out of the inning and my Little Man got relieved as pitcher.  He had a great rest of the game and the team won.

When I asked him about being pitcher, he told me it was “Awesome!”   I’m glad to see that my Little Man didn’t let all of the yelling from the fans and the coaches get to him. 

Wait, who am I kidding?  He couldn’t HEAR them!

Hamsters, Dogs and Frogs

“Mom I need a hamster” my little says as he sits down next to me.  “Buddy, you have a dog.  We aren’t getting any more animals” I remind him. “Yes, but Mom, my dog doesn’t DO anything” he says back.  Cliffy, our 9 year old half St. Bernard half Mastiff is basically a lazy lap dog trapped in the body of giant puppy. 

“Watch this mom” my little guy tosses the tennis ball in Cliffy’s direction and all Cliffy does is raise one eyebrow in a look that might as well say “You think I’m getting up to chase that thing?!!?!”. 

“See Mom!  My dog doesn’t DO anything” my little man huffs.

Good point, little man. I do realize that we have the laziest dog on the planet and he isn’t much for a game of fetch but I refuse to allow a hamster into my home.  Sure they are all cute and cuddly at first but in reality it is a rodent and I say NO WAY to rodents.

“Buddy, you have two frogs” I remind him.  (Side note: Thanks to my crazy sister I am now the very much stressed out owner of two African Water Frogs.  My sister thought they were the cutest Christmas present ever and just had to gift them to my little man.  Well, two years later I am still worrying about Max and Ruby, our water frogs.  Know what is harder than finding a dog sitter? Finding a FROG Sitter – I digress)

“Yes, but Mom I really want a hamster, something I can play with and love and teach tricks to.” My son is nothing if not persistent. 

“Little Man, you can play with Gogo and PopPop’s dogs when you want” I try the distraction method.

“No Mom, I really want my very own pet to play with.” “Little Man, you are just going to have to wait until you are older for me to get you a live animal to play with” I think the discussion is over.

A few minutes of thinking later, my little man comes back… “Fine Mom, I will get a fish.”  

“Buddy, how the heck are you going to play with a fish?” I ask. 

“Well, it blows bubbles and I can watch it.”

If life were only that easy…

Les Miles, Testicles and One Baby

One day a few years ago my ex-husband arrived at the YMCA to coach our son’s Tee Ball Team.  Most people would think “Oh, that is so sweet”  Nope.  He arrived wearing a bright purple LSU T-shirt with big YELLOW Letters stating “Got Lesticles?”  Umm.. Ok, for one I get the pun, Les Miles, Testicles, Lesticles as in relation to the daring plays the LSU coach calls. However nowhere in America is it ever ok to walk around wearing a shirt like that.  I mean, really?  Who wears that?! And moreover, who wears that to the YMCA Tee ball game?  Needless to say, I asked  him not to wear the shirt anymore.

 Fast forward a few more years to my house last week.  My little man is sitting on the toilet doing his thing, and for some reason likes to keep the door open and have conversations with whoever may be in ear shot. 

“Mom” I hear him say.  “What are these things called again?”  Oh no! I think, what in the world can he be talking about?  The mind of a 7 year old is always an adventure.   

“What things buddy?” I ask him.  “These things, they are testicles right?” 

 OH LORD, NOT THIS CONVERSATION!!  

 “Yes, that’s what they are” I yell from the other room.  “But what do they do?” he asks. 

 CRAP! Why can’t he have these conversations at his dad’s house?  “Um, Buddy they are for when you want to have a baby” I reply.  “But, I have two of them?” he asks.  “Yep, you should have two” I reply.  “But, what if I only want one baby?  I don’t need both of them right?”  “Umm, guess not buddy” I reply. 

 OH BOY! I am NOT ready for the birds and the bees talk yet.

 A few hours later we are sitting around the dinner table with my Mom and Dad.  My Mom loves me and really loves my little man, but every now and then she will question my parenting style, and in my defense my little man doesn’t do much to help my rep out.  For instance my little man loves to take off his clothes and shock my mom, usually he accompanies his nakedness with a song or a little dance – something that will certainly gain a few laughs from the crowd and deep stares from my Mom.  Or he will take on a new accent and style of dress, most popular but also most frustrating for my mom is when Sam gets all ‘ghetto’ on her and turns his head in just a certain way and pulls his pants just far enough down for some sag. 

So, here we are at dinner, enjoying a nice meal when my little man decides to be funny.  He tilts his hat, rolls up his sleeves, and pulls his pants low (Think Bieber at the AMA’s) stands up at the table, throws some sort of gang sign and decides in his most ghettorific voice to ask my mom if she has “Lesticles”.

Really?! Crap!  How the H.E. L. L. did my little man learn about “Lesticles”? 

That shirt was banned from my existence three years ago!  Moreover, why did he decide to bust a move at the dinner table and challenge my Mom to a duel of Lesticles?   He’s all poofed up and proud of himself with his new word and tough guy persona and my mom just sat there giving me the eye.

Let’s just say that I had Sam sit down, poured myself a large glass of wine and prayed he would ask his father about the birds and the bees.

Typecast?

The other day I was asked by one of our students to appear in his student film.  I must say I was pretty flattered. 

He must have seen me in some public speaking role, or maybe he overheard me give a tour or a presentation? Or just maybe he was impressed with quick wit and personality?

Like any professional actress would, I asked him what my role was going to be (Visions of Cameron Diaz in Charlie’s Angels or Reese Witherspoon in one of her romantic comedies flipped through my mind).

“Drunken Middle Aged Mom” was his response….

“Um, I’m pretty busy these days” was my only response that didn’t include tears or shock. 

I may be a mom, and I may like my wine, but I refuse to be type cast as Middle Aged!

No women really like showers.

Truth: No women really like showers. 

No, I am not talking about hot steamy with your man showers, we ALL like those. And I am not talking about the daily ritual of cleaning yourself showers, we all need those.  I’m speaking about the kind you have in the middle of a perfectly decent Saturday afternoon, they usually follow the words “baby” or “wedding”.  Dear Lord, all women DREAD those showers.

I have to be honest, well it is my blog, and honesty IS my policy, but I hate showers!  I have planned them, attended them and even been the guest of honor at them.  I still just can’t get excited about them. 

First of all, I have no idea why men aren’t invited and properly guilted into attending?  Why is it assumed that women are the only ones that want to spend their day with their friend, watching her open presents, discussing the intricate details of either the wedding cake or the best breast pump? I am sure some men would love to sit around and chat it up about things like colors for the flowers and whether the new parents should use a diaper genie or cloth diapers.

The second thing I don’t really get about showers is why the planners insist on them being at the most awkward time in the middle of the weekend?  Don’t we all have busy lives and save up all of our errands and family things for Saturday or Sunday?  Where was it written that showers must be in the middle of the day and last for hours?  Why don’t we have a happy hour shower?  Or a dinner party shower? 

Lately I have noticed (thanks to Facebook) that people are going all over the top crazy with their shower themes.  It used to be that you got a little card in the mail with the fill in the blank…
“Let’s all shower with love:_________.  On_____ at ____.  ____ is registered at_____”  easy invite. 

Not much fuss.  You knew the decorations were probably going to be either white for a wedding and pink or blue for a baby.   I blame Pinterest for the invasion of shower party planner craziness.  Now invites arrive in handmade boxes with ribbons, guests are encouraged to dress a part, and everything is themed and matched just perfectly for the special day.   As a party planning fan, I am all in favor of creativity and a good theme.  I am just a bit scared to see what the first birthday party will be like if the baby shower is already over the top!

Finally, my last reason I don’t care for showers is the whole “watch the person open the present thing”.  It is awkward.  No matter what end you are participating in it is weird.  When my family and friends threw me a surprise baby shower I was so grateful for the wonderful people who came to wish us well with the new baby.  But, the hard part was feigning excitement when you are opening your 30^th box of new born diapers, or getting hand washable nipple guards. (Yes, they exist)  More uncomfortable is being the gift giver and sitting patiently through the bride or new mom opening one present after the other, reading the card out loud, passing it around and the oooing and aweing over each little sock, picture frame and teething ring. 

I am not going to put down all showers.  Sometimes they are great way to catch up with old friends and family you only see on the shower/wedding/funeral circuit.  Also they can be great learning environments - you never know when someone may need you to make a wedding gown out of toilet paper or a bouquet out of old ribbons!

Sisters For Life

The other night I stopped by my old Sorority house while I was in town on business.  I wanted to see the renovations and get a quick glimpse at what has been happening at the house, it has been 15 years since I pledged.  I didn’t realize the girls were having a meeting and getting ready for recruitment of their new class of sisters.  I was invited to impart some quick words of wisdom on the girls.

I walked into the room and sat in the back, trying to blend (but, really who am I kidding?! I’m 33 and wearing business clothes, they are 19 and 20 and wearing cute tanks – but I digress).   I sat in the back and took in the room.  I saw beautiful faces paying attention to the girl who, I am assuming, is a graduating senior.  I saw a few girls whispering to each other and few more exchanges silly faces.  All in all I saw the faces of my sisters.  The girl who was standing was reading a story about sisterhood and what it meant to her.   Eerily (or maybe because I’m emotional) this girl looked JUST like Emily who read a very similar story when I was rushing.  They could have been twins! (Ok, maybe not, but the story, the room, the memories, it brought me right back to listening to Emily’s story and her reading a Maya Angelou poem in the formal in 1997).

Filled with lots of memories and even more emotion, it was my turn to speak to the girls.  No pressure right!?

I started by giving them a pep talk about how unique they are.  I encouraged them to spend the next week finding out what makes their house different compared to all of the other houses on campus.  Every sorority has a formal, hay ride and cute dates at the date functions.  I urged the girls to figure out what makes their sisterhood unique.  To seek new members that fit the sisterhood, not the events.  My brain quickly turned to lazy Sunday mornings sitting in the TV room surrounded by sisters debating which one of us was going to have to drive to Publix to pick up the sub order.  These days my Sundays are generally spent sipping coffee, watching morning TV and checking Facebook to see where my sisters are and what they are up to on their Sunday with their families.   My emotional self then turned to memories of getting ready for a night out, of fighting for a spot in front of the Hall Mirror and borrowing the curling iron, flat iron and even at times the crimping iron.  Silly as it sounds; I told the girls how much I missed those nights getting ready with 40 or so other girls. 

The girl who spoke before me talked about how she just knew her sisters were going to be there for her forever – she referenced her graduation and her wedding.  Yes sister, they will be there for your wedding.  But more than being a bridesmaid your sisters will be there for when you lose your first job and are afraid to tell your parents, when you have your first fight with your mother in law and you have no idea how to tell your husband, when you decide that your boyfriend, roommate, job, family, kids, and friends are all too much and you just can’t take it anymore – your sisters will be there for you in those times when you are growing up, grieving, and just plain dealing with life.

My colleagues once asked me why I stay in touch so much with my sorority sisters?  My answer was – they are the people who I can be me around.  Just me.  No explaining, no pretending, no makeup, no brand names, no titles and no meetings.   Sisters are the people in your life who met you, loved you and continue to love you no matter what. 

I didn’t have the time to explain all of this to the girls last night.  Honestly, I didn’t want to burst their bubbles.  They are full of hopes and dreams and to them the most important times ahead are formal and hayride and even a wedding.  I trust that they will pick the most amazing sisters to join their chapter this year, and I know that they will have the most spectacular school year ahead.

More importantly, I know that when they come back 15 years after they pledge they will have the best sisters and friends a girl could ever ask for.

It's only a week....

This week starts a new challenge for me.

No, I’m not restarting my 90 day challenge nor am I training for a new race, nor did I decide to take on any extreme sports….  I am becoming a ‘One Week On, One Week Off Parent’.  

For the past five years I have put up the argument that my little man needs to be with his Mommy as much as possible.  Sure, he can see his Dad whenever he wants, and yes I encourage long weeks away on family vacations with the “other family.”  But all in all, I knew that I had my little man at home with me most of the time.  I was content, my little man with me and all was right in the world.

Then it hit me!  My little man is growing up.  He has friends and not all of his friends live in my neighborhood.  He has sisters – you guessed it, they live at his Dad’s house.  He has toys and games and bikes and an entire little life and I am not part of it. 

I asked my little man his thoughts on going to his Dad’s for one week and my house for one week?   His response was something like this: “Mom, why are we STILL talking about this? I told Dad this so many times. I am o.k. with staying for a week.  I would like it.  Plus, really Mom, it’s just a week.”

Ok, little Dude, I hear you.  It really is ‘just a week’.   I can try to do this.

So, after much deliberation, a few long talks with girlfriends and other single parents and a few sad thoughts, I gave in.  I am going to try this out and see how it goes.   I packed up not one, but three bags of stuff for my little man – baseball gear, baseball uniforms for a week, swim gear, ear meds, summer homework, summer reading lists, school supply list and directions a mile long on all the ins and outs of having my little man for a week.

My little man was set and I was mentally prepared for my one week "off".    I dropped him off and unloaded his luggage while his step mom looked at me with crazed eyes and an overwhelmed expression.  Apparently, in all of the debating and fighting back and forth about our one week on/off program, my ex -husband forgot to mention to his wife that our little man will be with them for a week!  She will now be handling the camp drop off, the lunches, the pick-up and the homework, meals and all the other fun of having three kids at home for the summer.

I quickly hugged and kissed my little man and ran out of the house as fast as I could.  I swear I could see the steam coming off the step mommy and I was not about to be a part of that conversation.  I will be happily enjoying my “off week” and I might suggest to Super Step Mommy to repeat as I do  - “it’s only a week, it’s only a week, it’s only a week….”