Tomorrow...we walk

Tomorrow, we walk to defeat ALS. 

In memory of my mom.

Who lost her battle with this horrible disease.

It's too late for her, but it's not late to stop someone else from ever having to hear the words

"You have ALS."

It's only three words.

Three words that have so much meaning.

Three words, that to a person unfamiliar with the disease would think, "this is bad.  really bad."

Three words, to a person familiar with the disease would not be able think.

Because they would know that soon.

They won't be able to turn the page of their book.

Soon they won't be able to wash their hair.

Hug their child.

Tie their shoes.

Feed themselves.

Walk.

Breathe.

 

If you want to donate, please click the link below.

 

http://webchicago.alsa.org/site/TR/Walks/Chicago?px=2675921&pg=personal&fr_id=8850

Mom, I have a girlfriend.

One day last week, after school, PJ said to me

"Mom, I have a girlfriend?"

"You do?  What's her name?"

"Grace."

"What's this whore Grace's deal?"

Yup, that's me.  Calling a 5 or 6 year old a whore.

Mother of the year.

Suckage.

Me.  I suck.  Big time. 

I don't know why I'm not posting more. 

But I am posting today and it's gonna rock.

Maggie needs to be potty trained by late August so she can go to the preschool FOUR BLOCKS FROM OUR HOUSE that is cheaper than our current sitter.

PJ started baseball.  It's freaking adorable to watch a bunch of four year olds running around playing baseball.  Seriously.

Our pool is hopefully being installed May 10.

I say hopefully because I live in Chicago, yo.  We got about four gazillion inches of rain last week and I am sure people who were getting their pools installed in the past couple weeks had to reschedule, which means we might have to reschedule, but hey, with the way this weather is going, we won't be able to swim till July anyhow.

Turning 4 has turned PJ into this little kid.  He suddenly reasons, asks thoughtful questions, admonishes on bad behavior.  Is 4  a magic drug or something?  I mean, he seems SO grown up.

The past month has been pretty good.  We went to the Wisconsin Dells over spring break which was fun.  We've had a few nice days where we could play outside and finally enjoy our awesome new yard and our fantstic new neighborhood.

I got to go to Hooters, and let me tell you.  Boneless wings and TMI.  Go get some now.

This weekend is PJ's opening day for baseball and picture day.  Saturday night we're going to an event to support ALS and I'm very much looking forward to it.

Please come back to me, even though I keep slacking. :)

Today, you are 4

(This was supposed to post Friday, on PJ's birthday, but didn't).

Dear PJ,

Happy birthday! You are four years old today. I can't even believe it. I remember every minute of this day four years ago.

Four years ago today my life changed forever. Four years ago today you made me what I am most proud to call myself today.

A mom.

I remember the first second I saw you and held you in my arms. Tears streamed down my face. You were perfect. You had so much hair, and you looked just like your daddy. You were 16 days early -- no doubt trying to ease your mama's pain from her absolutely horrible swollen feet -- and I felt my heart was going to burst out of my chest with the love I had for you, instantly.

Your dad and I have tried our best to make your first four years filled with love, fun, care, and life. You've been to more states in your first four years than I went in my first 28.

Every day you amaze me. You are extremely smart. You are sweet and loving beyond compare. You are funny and silly and very much love to hear we are proud of you. You are a great big brother -- you have your moments -- but I never doubt the love you have for your sister nor the lengths you would go to protect her.

You are stubborn -- trying to get you to try a new food is a challenge.

You are smart -- you know shapes, letters, colors, numbers, you can play games on the computer better than I can.

You are funny -- you say silly things like "how are we going to fit the pool in the car?" or just be a goofball.

You are amazing -- watching you grow and become the person you are has been one of the greatest joys in my life, and it will continue you to be as you (gulp) get older.

You are loving -- always giving and receiving hugs, kisses, always wanting one more hug and kiss.  You always want to hug hello and good bye and your affection for the people you care about is always great.

PJ, you are my pride and joy.  You and Maggie are the reason that I have gotten through all the challenges and hardships life has thrown at me these past few years.  You make me happy beyond words.   Every day I look forward to seeing you and spending time with you.  There is nothing you could ever do that would make my love for you ever dwindle or lessen.  Each day, I love you more.

So happy birthday to my little guy, my first born.  May your year be filled with wonder, joy, love and fun.  Thank you for showing me what happiness really is.

I love you.

Always, Mommy

PYHO: Family

I have a very small family.   I have no siblings.  You know I lost my mom.  I have my stepdad, an uncle who lives in another state, a couple of cousins I rarely see.

My husband has a large family.  Who have embraced me as their own, and I love them.  And I am so happy to be a part of them.

Although she's nutty, my MIL is great too.  She's always done right by me, and my kids.  Sure, she's pissed me off, sure, she's said things that were appalling.  But she's a good mother in law to me.  And she has repeatedly told me that she knows she can't replace my mom, but she's always here for me.  Which I appreciate.

I have an SIL too.  Who I also love.  Who's a little nutty. And overly sensitive.

And pretty much exactly like her mother.

My MIL and SIL are rarely getting along.  They constantly get pissed at each other, then act like an asshole to each other, thus starting the whole cycle over again.

My SIL is married to a loser.  This upsets my MIL.  As a mother, I cannot blame her.  No one wants to see their daughter in this kind of situation.  But she doesn't know how to approach it as supportive, caring, concerned.

She comes off judgemental.  And bitchy.

And my SIL gets defensive.

And we are in the middle.

My SIL thinks my MIL favors my kids over hers.  And maybe she does a little.  We did it the "right" way.  We got married.  Got pregnant.  Our kids are better behaved.   

We also have invited MIL into their lives more. She's our main babysitter.  We get together with her for dinner once a month.

It's draining.  Having two people in your family constantly at odds.  People who are going to be at many of the same functions, many of the same get togethers, and have this constant tension in the air.

The passive-aggressive comments.

The sadness.  The hurt.

We are in the middle.  I just want them to be friends.  I love them both.  They are both important to me.  It's sad that they are in this kind of situation.

But I don't know what to do.

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PYHO: To potty...or not to potty?

You know it has to happen sometime.

You know you will have to set aside hours, days, weeks to accomplish this.

It's gonna be messy.

It's gonna be frustrating.

It's gonna be gross.

It's potty training.

I can honestly say, as a parent, potty training is the hardest thing I've had to do so far.

PJ is obviously potty trained.  We started just before he turned 3 (March of last year).  He was pee trained quickly. Poop training?

That's a whole different ball game.

It took an additional four months before he was poop trained.

Now we're on to Maggie.

She resisted at first, but she's doing better now.  Girl likes options?

"Froggy potty or Dora seat?"

"your bathroom or Mommy's bathroom?"

She will occasionally tell us she has to go. 

She still has accidents.

She has yet to poop in the toilet, and when she does poop in her pants, it's 9 times out of 10 the time she's wearing panties and not the pull up.

And then it gets all over her legs.

And her bellly.  And her arms.  And how the fuck???

Lots of extra baths during potty training.

They say girls are easier to potty train, and while that is true, TEACHING boys is easier.

"Hey buddy, stand here.  Point your weiner in the toilet.  Pee."

They can watch their dad.

Girls?  Sure they can see you sit on the toilet, but they don't see the pee.  It's harder.

You will never get so excited about pee or poop as you do when you are potty training.  You will dance, scream, yell, high five, and probably have rock star sex when your little one pees in the potty the first time.  And no one will understand, unless they too have achieved the success of getting a small person to pee in something other than their pants or the floor.

There's something rather gratifying about being able to say,

"Yup, he's potty trained."  You say proudly.

It's a sense of accomplishment.  You feel sorry for moms who are just starting.

And your husband?  Forget it.

"Did you take Maggie to the potty?"

"No, I asked her and she said she didn't have to go....oh she went in her pull up."

FACE PALM.

Take it from me mamas -- this battle is yours to win.  Alone.

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The Waiting is the Hardest Part

I feel like I may have had a prior post like this.

But alas.

If you're a regular reader of my blog (and thank you for being patient), you know I lost my mom to ALS in February of last year.  It was nearly three year battle, three years of waiting for the inevitable. 

The waiting is the hardest part.  The watching, wondering, seeing, praying. 

Watching the person you love suffer and wither away.

Wondering if they'll be here this time next year, next month, next week.

Seeing the light in their eyes fade, seeing their tears because they just want it to be over.

Praying that the sweet relief of death comes soon.

And then the feeling guilty, sad, anxious, pissed.

Guilty that you want someone you love to die.  You'll think what kind of asshole wants someone they love to die???

The kind of asshole who wants peace and freedom from suffering.  The kind of asshole that isn't one at all.

Sad that someone you love is about to leave you.  Sad that you can't remember the last time you were together and you weren't wondering when they were going to leave.  Sad that you can't remember a time when the person wasn't sick.

Anxious that you will be in the bathroom when you get the call.  Or laughing and joking with a friend.  Anxious every time your phone rings.  Anxiously checking it every few minutes to make sure it didn't stop working.

Pissed.  You've never been more pissed.  Pissed that someone you love is suffering.  Pissed it has to be this way.  And pissed there's nothing you can do.

And the mourning.  You're mourning someone who is still here.  They aren't here the way they should be; they aren't here the way you want them to be, but they are alive in the scientific sense of the word.  So the mourning goes on and on and on.

I'm not happy I am familiar with this. I am not happy that I can relate, that I am the person my friends and loved ones go to when something similar is happening to them.

I am happy to help them through.

I am happy to let them know it's okay.  All these feelings.  All this turmoil.

All this bullshit.

My dear, dear friend, Christina is currently going through this.

It's not her mom, it's her cherished grandmother.

And yes, she's older.  She's lived a wonderful life.

But that doesn't change the fact that the waiting?

Is the hardest fucking part.

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