Remember Bill Murray in "What About Bob"? There's a scene where he's tied to the front of the boat and yells out, "I sail now. I'm a sailor!" You gotta love it! It's just so stupidly funny, I can't help but laugh out loud every time.
Well, as fate would have it, that exact same scene came flooding back into my memory as I began climbing up a 48 foot rock wall this past weekend. I wanted to yell out for all to hear, "I climb now. I'm a climber!"
That might not be a big deal for many people. But for me, the person who's too scared to look over a second floor balcony...it's a big deal. I'm horribly afraid of heights. So, what got into me that made me want to climb this rock wall. Well...I simply thought it sounded like fun. Plus, Gavin was going to do it and if he could do it, so could I.
As Gavin and I sat there waiting for our turn, we talked anxiously about which 'route' we wanted. There were 4 different sections on this wall you could pick. Out of sheer 'politeness' I let Gavin pick the easiest one, even though I was secretly wishing he would let his scaredy cat Mommy have it. So, I willingly took the the next hardest. Once they showed me how to put on that silly harness, I felt like Spiderman. Adrenaline was rushing thru me and I couldn't wait to 'beat' Gavin up to the top.
What was I thinking? Did I suddenly forget that I was afraid of heights? I guess I kinda forgot that little fact. I was more concerned about how I looked. I know - how vain is that? But they made me either turn my hat backwards or take it off. There was no way I was going to climb a 48 foot wall with a bunch of people watching with 'hat hair'. You just gotta draw the line somewhere. So, I decide to put my hat on backwards and opt for the 'cool dude' look (so not me!).
By the time I finished primping, Gavin has already started up the wall and my only thought was to catch up. I almost broke a nail, too. The thought that I might break a nail had never occurred to me. Neither had alot of other things such as: What in the world am I doing? I have no clue how to climb a wall? Was I thinking this was supposed to be fun? Did I forget I'm afraid of this? Is my shirt still tucked in? Does my butt look big with this silly harness wrapped around it? You know...all the important things.
Amazingly, I made good time climbing half way up when all of the sudden Gavin called out to me, "Mom, I don't think I can do it anymore." Then it happened...I looked down at him and lost all my perspective. I saw how far up I was or rather, how far down the floor was. But I was able to keep my voice from shaking too much to answer, "It's okay honey, you don't have to. Just go until you feel comfortable. There's no pressure."
Once I turned back to look where I was going, I realized I couldn't focus. My hands had apparently chosen to go limp and loose all muscle control. My mouth decided to strike in the producing saliva department and was suddenly as dry as a desert. My legs felt like jello. Uh-oh. I know those symptoms. That happens every time I get up 'too high'. I tried to focus and just grab the next thing, what ever those little things are called you're supposed to grab onto that help you climb a wall. But when I tried to wrap my fingers around it, the muscles decided not to obey my mental command. I couldn't get my fingers to bend. My nerves decided to go into 'alert' mode and vibrate until I could no longer control them.
It was at that point, 3/4 of the way up the wall, that I had to signal that I was ready for my decent. The guy down below me who's holding my rope asks, "Are you sure?" Are you kidding!? Can you not see my whole body trembling or do I just look that silly with my hat on backwards? (I'm still very self conscious about the whole backwards hat thing). "Oh ya, I'm sure!" I respond. He gently lowers me most of the way down and then leaves me dangling about 4 to 5 feet off the ground for about a minute or two. I'm just sitting there swinging, looking like a sitting duck. I'm too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye and too shaky too talk...so I just dangle. Come to find out later he did it so Chuck could have his 'Kodak moment'.
Alas, I can now place my feet on solid ground...but only for a moment. My muscles in my legs forgot to kick in and I falter backwards into the rock wall. Insult to injury. Not only can I not make it to the top, I can't even stand when I get to the bottom. And then, I look up only to see my little 8 year old miniature Spiderman make it all the way to top. I'm so proud of him! He even pressed the button. He got a sticker. I didn't. This definitely calls for a rematch! Above all else, I am competitive and can't stand to loose.
I'm not sure that many other families have this random check...but we sure do. Twice, within the past week, I have found 2 of my children out in public without underwear. I think I have an epidemic on my hands. I do not understand their aversion to under garments. Should a mother have to make sure all in her charge are indeed clothed with panties or boxers before heading out the door each morning? I'd like to just assume that we all remembered this basic feature of our wardrobe. But evidently, I've made it appear 'optional' somehow. I think they do this to me for the shock value.
We have really come to appreciate the book, "The 5 Love Languages" in this household. It just seems to give us so much more insight into how to love each other better. Knowing that my husband's love language is touch and quality time reminds me to take advantage of opportunities to give him a random hug during the day, knowing that it will speak volumes more than if I brought him home a gift. On the other hand, if he offers to do the dishes for me one night after dinner, he's showing me more love than if he were to give me a foot rub. My love language is acts of service and quality time. Isn't it ironic that we normally show love to our spouse the way we want it. It takes so much more thought to love them the way that they need to be loved. It's all part of God's beautiful plan, of course, to keep us constantly dependent upon Him to guide and direct our steps throughout each day. When I'm following him, I'm thinking less about me and my wants and more about others. The same holds true for our children too.
Chuck and I recently had a wonderful revelation as to the love languages prominent in each child. Once you realize it, you see it all around you. Just in case you're not familiar with all of the love languages, they are: Quality Time, Acts of Service, Physical Touch, Gifts, and Words of Affirmation. Here's how our each of our sweet, little ones gives and receives love:
Gavin, at age 8, desires Quality Time above all else. He's naturally a very easy going kid, not much gets him riled up. He prefers that quality time by sitting and reading with me or learning new things about the computer from Daddy. He treasures our dates and the personal attention he gets from each parent concentrating solely on him and whatever he wants to do or talk about. He also shows love through Gifts. Whenever we're out on a date, he always asks to stop at a dollar store so he can buy Bennett & Chloe something with his own money. He spends a good 30 minutes perusing each isle in search of the exact perfect $1 gift. This is life and death decision making in action. If you ever get a gift from Gavin, you can know he put every ounce of thought he had into it. He seems to follow in his Daddy's footsteps and loves making me little notes or powerpoints on the computer. His gifts are very heartfelt.
Bennett, at age 5, receives love best by Physical Touch. The kid is always leaning on me if we're sitting on the floor playing a game, or sitting on a chair reading a book. He MUST touch. Wrestling is how he gets most of his touch in. If he doesn't get any 'wrestle time' in with Daddy during the day, you'd think he didn't get any love. Gavin and Bennett wrestle incessantly, so I think it's safe to assume that they love each other immensely. Actually, just the other day Bennett said, "I like being with Gavin. I just like to do whatever he does. I really like him." Which brings me to his second most valued language of love which is, Quality Time. If he doesn't get play time with Gavin each day, you'd think he lost his best friend. If he feels he needs more time with me, he has no qualms in saying, "Hey, Mom, I want a date with you. We haven't spent much time together lately." He's very in touch with how he feels and desires that everyone know how he feels about everything.
And lastly, Chloe. She'll be 3 next week and already has such a distinct personality. That is one of the most awe inspiring things to me....how kids are born their own little persons. From the minute she was born, she has surprised me in every way. I guess I had a preconceived idea of the way a little girl would be and she has blown each of those ideas out of the water and shown me who she IS instead of who I THINK she should be. God has taught me the most through this darling princess of mine. She is full of surprises. We've yet to figure out which love language is priority for her, both of these seem equally important, they are: Acts of Service and Words of Affirmation. Chloe loves to ask, "What I hep you wiv, mommeee?" or "What can I do?" Or if someone needs something, she is the first to yell, "I get it for you!" and runs off with her little girly run in order to help us. (Although, truth be told, she's not as giddy about helping when it comes to 'clean up time'). Any time throughout the day, I might be given the random complement by her, such as, "I yike your pripee shurt Mommee." or "Dank you for painting my prippee pink room, Mommee, I yike it." She loves to adorn me with princess names and titles - I can never seem to keep up with which one I am. But to her, that is such a loving thing to do. Whenever I call her by her princess name of the day, she can't hold back her smile and grins from ear to ear. She loves it when I acknowledge how pretty she folded the napkins that she set at the table.
How beautiful that God shows us what our kids need. How thankful I am for his constant guidance in raising my three favorite little people in the whole world. In learning how to love them, I'm learning how to give more of me and the more of my self that falls to the side, the more of Jesus my children will hopefully see. Thank God this is a life long journey and that we are only at the beginning!
At what point will they suddenly decide that it's not important anymore? Will I remember the day it stops? Or will it remain a sweet, cherished tradition for many more years?
These were just a few of the questions floating through my head around 7 this morning. I typically wake up first and have to lay there until all the kids thunder down the stairs and jump into bed with me for our much coveted 'Cuddle Time'. If I 'accidentally' wake up too early and decide to be efficient and start my day before the kids wake up - it is not a good thing. It normally involves me having to get back in bed and pretend everything is normal, like I just woke up. If I made the bed, it might just send one into a meltdown. Thus, sometimes I unmake the bed and jump back in just to show the kids how much I value our time honored tradition. So, it just doesn't pay for me to be efficient or wake up early.
Each child, from the time they slept in their own bed, would instantly come running to my side of the bed in the morning with at least one book in hand ready to cuddle and read. Sometimes we would end up 'cuddling' for a good 30 minutes. I had to begin to limit the amount of books they could bring in the morning. First of all, I can't stand my own morning breath and felt horrible that they had to put up with it while I read aloud 10 books immediately upon clearing the sleep out of my eyes. Thankfully, love covers a multitude of 'sins' and they never mentioned it to me.
The joy is just in being together. Talking about last night's dreams, what we should do today, what was their favorite part of yesterday, what powers their latest imaginary superhero possesses...you know, all the important things in life. If I don't write it down now, I'm afraid I might forget something that I've taken for granted for the past 7 or so years.
With each new child comes a new obstacle though. When Bennett was born, Gavin had to learn to 'share' Mommy as I tried to hold his book, read to him, and balance Bennett's bottle between my neck as I tried to feed him with no hands. Then as he got older, we had to decide who's book to read first and which side does each kid get. Trust me - side matters. Nobody wants to get stuck on the side that is closest to Daddy. For some reason, that's just never been the coveted spot. Then along came Chloe. I don't have three sides...so where does the last person in lay? This is a dilemma that still plagues us to this day. Chloe feels she has inherent rights to be glued next to me at all times. We are both princesses after all (she even greets me in the morning with, "Good morning, Cinderella!"). Bennett will take a diving leap from the doorway and try to jump on my bed just to secure the only other open spot next to me. Then that leaves Gavin getting 'stuck' laying next to Daddy or worse yet, next to a sibling. Recently, this problem has been solved in a very creative way, Chloe lays on top of me. Or once in a blue moon, someone is kind enough to 'give up' his or her spot. But I know some major bribing or blackmailing must have been going on behind my back to pull that off.
It used to be, that if 7 am rolled around and no one was snuggled up next to me, I began to worry that someone was sick. No one would sleep past 7 am on their own accord and no one would just not come in to see me. But as of late, sometimes they don't. Chloe, of course, is old faithful, she's there at the exact same time every morning. But often times the boys play for a while first, or read to each other, or go get their breakfast.
I know that day will be just around the corner. Time travels so fast anymore. The simple things in life are treasured here. Cuddle time reminds me of the simplicity, joy and excitement of childhood; of sharing silly thoughts with the person who cares more than anything in the world and who doesn't only pretend to act interested, but really is!
Not many people know that I come equipped with a hidden talent. Many who have known me for years may not yet be associated with this unfathomable skill I posses. Only my dear beloved husband is fully aware of this God-given ability.
Some who may not fully understand the skill set involved in this talent often refer to it as 'backseat driving' - but that just shows ignorance. My friend, I am not simply a 'backseat driver'. That does not begin to express the usefulness of what my dear, sweet husband has dubbed the Cori Navigational System - otherwise known as the CNS.
I have indeed suffered innumerable remarks in regard to my ability (i.e. sarcastic comments about my help not being needed). I think they come from a root of jealousy because most are just envious and wish they could perform such amazing mental driving calculations. It's a gift and a curse. Mostly a gift. No matter where we are, I have an innate ability to tell the driver the most efficient route, where construction may or may not be, where hidden cops lie in wait and what the speed limits are. Uncanny, isn't it.
Today, however, I performed one of my most remarkable feats. Listen and learn. Chuck and I took two separate cars to a store that was approximately 20 minutes away from home. I had to leave before him in order to get a child to practice. On my way home, my CNS kicked in. I couldn't squelch the urge to call Chuck and tell him the most appropriate way home being that it was rush hour. I called him and he did indeed pick up on the first ring (we're making great progress on his phone answering abilities, by the way). I informed him that if he took a right out of the parking lot and zig-zagged his way thru a nondescript area, he would then be right back on course with no time lost. However, if he attempted to take a left out of the parking lot, we would probably still be waiting for him even now.
Chuck was in awe that the CNS works even when it's not in the car with him. I told him that we were previously unaware of this special feature and boy, does it add so much more value to such an already awesome operating system.
Many times the CNS might come across as annoying, for lack of a better word, to the driver. But today it proved invaluable. If you're ever in a driving bind, you know who to call.
I recently had the privilege of going to the hair salon. It's a privilege because it is so rare (maybe once every 2 1/2 months). The kids get equally excited because they know Mommy is gone for a long time (2 whole hours alone) and comes back looking different. They wait with eager anticipation of what Mommy will look like.
Incidentally, Chuck had a little heart to heart with the boys about being a little too honest with what they felt I looked like (as in, "We don't think you look good in that" brutal honesty). He told them, "When Mommy comes back from the hairdresser and if for some crazy reason, you don't like her hair, what are you going to say?" Gavin responds with, "Tell her we like it anyway?" He's clueless. I'm sure Chuck would rather just concede and say, "That would probably be the smartest thing to do"... but thankfully he took the higher road and said, "No buddy. You don't need to lie. But if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything." The timing couldn't have been more perfect. This way, they were going to be on guard about blurting out the first thought that might slip into their head regarding my 'new do'.
I had been getting my hair highlighted for many years and recently made the ol' switcheroo back to my original color. However, the kids have no clue that I even had an original color. So, at lunch, I informed the kids that I would be gone during dinner to get my hair cut. Gavin comes back with, "You mean they cut your hair too?". Thankfully, Chloe is there to clear up the misconception of the hairdressing occupation and promptly informs Gavin that, "No...she paint mommy hair. Dat all."
The hairdresser is a very mysterious place to my boys being that they've never stepped foot in one. I've always cut their hair. Their idea of a haircut is kneeling on the floor in the garage while Mommy gets the electric razor out and shaves their head. What is all this talk of cutting and painting at a beauty salon? It is just beyond their realm.
Well...the moment of truth comes. I come home from my 2 hour reprieve and am met with wondrous stares from the boys. Their eyes are sparkling as if they were a puppy dog and I was holding a new bone out for them. They can't wipe that cute little goofy grin off their faces. Gavin was the first to say, "Mom, your hair looks nice." with as much genuineness as he can find. Why thank you, Honey. How sweet. Bennett echoes his sentiment but also adds, "Mommy, you look new. You look 20." Well, this is a first. I've never been told I look new before. That's kinda fun. And then Chloe adds, as she's petting my hair, "Mommy, why didn't she paint it purple?"
This morning the boys were kind enough to actually play something that Chloe wanted to play instead of forcing transformers, bionicles or legos upon her still impressionable female mind. Her game of choice was dollhouse. In her dollhouse she has a table and two chairs, a mommy, a daddy and a baby. Gavin chose the daddy. Chloe chose the mommy and baby. Bennett was the table.
I asked Bennett why he was the table. He said, "Everybody had already picked everything else so I chose to be a flying table." That must have spiced things up a bit in the world of 'dollhouse'. Let's give the kid a gold star for ingenuity!
"A day that will live in infamy." Very serious words spoken during a very serious time in our history. Funny how history tends to repeat itself. I even fancy myself a bit of a history buff, yet I never saw this one coming.
Remember the Battle of the Bulge, Bunker Hill, Custer's Last Stand? What do all these things have in common with my little corner of the world? They were all famous battles recorded for posterity. They were all smaller battles in a bigger war that ended up making us who we are today.
Similarly, we too, have just experienced a battle that will inevitably leave its mark upon future generations of our family. It has come to be known as "The Battle of Breakfast (at Dinner)". It was messy. It was loud. There were threats, tears and turmoil. We hearkened up from the depths of our muddled, history memories a small, yet influential battle called, "Custard's Last Stand". We too, had decided to take a stand at all costs.
We were on the defense, not a good place to be against a strong-willed 2 year old little girl. She seemed to be gaining ground. She pounded us with everything she had. For 20 minutes she repeated the same phrase non-stop, "I not want dis anymore. I no yike eggs." Her weaponry was a highly detonable whine. She knew her enemy would weaken within 30 minutes of this shrill sound, so she pressed on at full volume. Next, she unloaded the weaponry form known as "Large Alligator Tears Streaming Down From Puppy Dog Eyes". We didn't buy it. We had expected this line of attack and had just moments before changed our concourse so as not to see the alligator tears directly.
The incessant whine was beginning to bring me to my knees, but Chuck pressed on, encouraging me that this was a battle that HAD to be fought, we couldn't show our weakness now. We were going to win, we could just feel it. If we couldn't force our daughter to eat when she was no longer hungry, than, by George, what kind of parents were we? We made our stand and were executing solely on principle now.
Our strategy of leaving her alone at the table to finish her eggs seemed to inflict much turmoil. This brought about the "I'm going to cry so hard that it makes me gag" routine. We didn't see this one coming. We were going on past experience here. Every time we employ the "leave them at the table alone" strategy, it works. Nobody ever wants to be left at a table alone (except for Mommy - Mommy really likes that punishment). We felt we were only minutes away from a swift victory. We started feeling as though taking a stand on this issue and choosing to fight this battle wasn't in vain after all.
Evidently, we started our celebratory procedures too early. It seems that Chloe had indeed tried to put a bite of that dreaded egg into her mouth only to see it come out again in various other forms. The 'gag reflex' from her previous strategy was seemingly still employed and she used it to her advantage. She let whatever was left in her mouth spew forth upon her plate and herself, unwittingly causing damage to herself (getting her favorite jeans dirty - this caused even more of an uproar from her than the fact we were making her eat the rest of her dinner).
We were forced to concede. We couldn't make her continue to eat when a foreign substance was now inhabiting the very food we were trying to get her to force down. We raised the white flag and came to her rescue. Instantaneously, once we removed the object of her detestment from before her, she switched back to the fairy princess she had been earlier that day. Gone was the whiny warfare tactics, gone were the over-sized tears, gone were the looks of betrayal. We were friends once again. She even dared to smile at us.
What's the moral of the story? I'm not sure. I'm still trying to figure that one out. It appears to be: Never fight a battle with a two year old because she will always win. Wait until they're three to start choosing battles.
Although it is true that I am still a mommy in training (everyday I learn something new and interesting about my children I previously had not known), I am actually referring to my 2 year old daughter here. She fancies herself a 'real mommy'. End of discussion. If anyone tries to tell her differently, they wish they hadn't.
Since she does everything with extreme attention to detail, it makes sense that she would enter her new found career armed with as much knowledge about the job as possible. Where better to get all the answers from than your own Mommy. It is rather a convenient set-up for her. I am drilled with a million questions a day - a least. She watches my every move like a hawk. She immitates everything.
You can imagine the boys' shagrin at having two mommies in the house now. They can never get away with anything. She monitors their every move. She reminds them of things I've said. Everyone appreciates all the extra 'help' she provides.
She is constantly asking me things like, "Do mommies yike ayigators?" If I give a puzzled expression, she'll rephrase her question to, "Mommy, do you yike ayigators?" If I like them - then they're 'in'. If I disapprove, they're banished to the 'out' category in her mind. She'll respond appropriately, if I say "Yes, I like alligators." she'll say, "Me too. I a real mommy and I yike ayigators too. Ayigators don't fweek me out."
Now you might be questioning the use of the phrase 'freak me out' in my two year old's vocabulary. Funny story there. I kind of taught her that one. I made a lasting and indellible impression on her already highly impressionable memory. It just so happens that about two months ago I came across a mouse running thru my car. Not a sight that anyone would like to see. Especially me. I freaked out horribly. I immediately stopped and turned off the car (thankfully we were in a parking lot already) and literally jumped out. After I got out I yelled to the kids to "Get out of the car, quick, quick!!" I was too grossed out to explain why. A mouse just came dangerously close to my foot, maybe even brushed against it. How is any mortal supposed to act in such a close encounter with the rodent species?
Once I caught my breath and the children were all safely beside me in the parking lot I told them in a very weak and shaky voice, "There seems to be a mouse in the car. Get it. Please" Gavin was overjoyed. He'd always hoped to catch a mouse. I told him to look under the driver's seat floor mat. Unfortunately the suspect wasn't there. I'm now standing in a busy parking lot with periodic hee-bee-jee-bee shivers running down my spine while onlookers give me curious stares. Why anyone couldn't see we were in immediate peril is beyond me. All the doors to the van were wide open and we were all standing 3 feet away staring at it.
I guess this small episode left it's mark on my poor daughter. She questions me about it constantly. "Mommy, why you fweek out about mouses?" That's an easy answer, "Honey, Mommy freaks out about mouses because I don't like them. I think they're gross." She felt the need to inform everyone we saw that day about the mouse we had in the car and how her mommy freaks out. (I obviously need more mommy training in how to adequately handle my innante fear of rodents while around small children.)
Thus began the onslaught of questions from Chloe, "Mommy, you fweek about flies?" or "Mommy, me no yike mouses. I fweek out about dem too." or "Mommy we don't yike mean feens (queens) do we, Mommy? We yike fnow white." I assure her that we do infact like Snow White, we do not like mean queens. "Do mommies seep wid dere heads under dere pilwoughs?" This mommy does. Therefore, that must be the one and only true way to sleep in her little mind.
If I go to write down some item I remember we need to pick up at the store, guess who pulls out her trusty little pen and paper and 'writes' down her list too. If I start to make dinner, guess who toddles up behind me and says, "What I do to hep you?" If I sit down at the computer for even a minute, guess who comes up behind me to tell me that she needs to work on her 'purple yetters' (a word document we let her type on with purple font) - it is of utmost importance and must take priority.
She's highly offended if I go to the grocery store sans Chloe. Why in the world would I want to go alone? Who would be there to eat all the samples they hand out or run over to the bakery with such glee to grab a free cookie? We even play 'Going to Market Street'. She makes me be her and she plays me. It's a hoot.
But nothing is better than the unsolicited, random hug I get in the middle of day with Chloe telling me, "You my best fwend evur, Mommy." We may go thru some ups and downs during our 'training phase', but nothing compares to the uncompromising love, trust, and admiration of your children.
Her actions remind me of an anonymous quote, "Immitation is the best form of flattery."
I kid you not. This is the cake my HUSBAND so kindly and proudly presented to me on my most recent birthday. I thought it was a joke. I asked him, "Did you let the kids write this?" To which he replied, "No. The lady at the bakery counter did it." Hmmmm. Maybe the lady at the bakery counter needs to come to terms with the fact that she's not a good frosting writer. Then I was like, "You mean you actually paid money for this?" He nods his head, "But it has buttercream frosting. Your favorite. And red icing too."
Okay. How should I respond? This isn't the cake I had spent the whole previous two weeks hinting about. It isn't even close. And it has red frosting. Everyone knows that red frosting tastes terrible. I mean, yes, red is my favorite color. But if you really knew me, you would know that I hate red frosting. So, this takes me back to the question running thru my mind, Did the man I marry 10 years ago, who's known me since I was 12, really and truly pick out such a hideous cake and just give it to me as if everything is normal? Maybe he's giving me marital counseling as a birthday present. Maybe we don't really know each other as well as we thought we did. Maybe this is all a big practical joke and the real cake is hidden away somewhere, the one I've been drooling over every time I pass it at the bakery counter at the OTHER store I hinted about. He didn't even buy it from my favorite store.
And then to top it off he inserts these 5 inch high sparkler candles and lights them. True to their name they start to spark. Oh goodie...a possible fire hazard, I just love fire. Can it be? Did my sweet husband also forget my intense fear of fire. I mean a small 2 inch birthday candle I can handle, but a 5 inch sparkler that spits fire? What's happening to our marriage?
He has this huge grin on his face thinking I am just in awe at everything...he's so proud of himself. Since he thinks he's on a roll, he proceeds to tell me how proud I would be of his efficiency. He got my slippers 75% off at Target just the day before and while he was there he saw this wonderful cake and thought this was just way too perfect and the epitome of efficiency. I guess you can't argue with logic like that!
However, all was not lost. To his credit, I did receive a pair of tickets to the Symphony along with the slippers and cake. Oh how I love the Symphony! I guess our marriage is okay afterall.
I don't think I've ever laughed so hard when receiving a cake. I had one of those deep, belly laughs that makes tears involuntarily stream down your face. Laughter is a wonderful gift and I sure got an abundance of it on my birthday.
Lately, it seems, Chuck has been in charge of putting the boys to bed and I, Chloe. I haven't had the joy of those last minute cuddles and hugs and loves from my boys. I don't know what happened, or how it subtly changed, but it did. I realized this tonight as I was getting ready for bed myself.
I was remembering how, for years, every night when I would go tuck Bennett in, since he began talking he would ask me, "Tiss me yaya ba?" Which, when translated means, "Kiss me after bath?" He always wanted one more piece of me. Often times, he would stay awake until he heard my bath water running and knew I would be in to kiss him in just a short while. It seems he wasn't able to fall asleep until that final closure. Many nights I would go in there to see his smiling little face look up at me and tell me one more time, even if it was in a muffled, sleepy voice, "You look pretty, Mommy." Ahh, now all was right in his world and mine.
When did he stop asking me that? I wish for the life of me I could remember the exact day. I guess its just one tiny step in his progression towards a life without dependence on his Mommy. Thankfully they're only baby steps because I don't think my heart could handle it if we moved too fast.
I need to go kiss my little boy now because its after my bath and that is what I always have done and will always do as long as he lives with me...even if he never asks.
I
t is a pretty well known fact that I'm a huge clutz. I walk into walls, bump into corners of furniture and trip on a fairly regular basis. But I was unaware that I could possibly die from my clutziness. I almost died the other night. Let me further expound...
It was late and I was very tired. I had just turned off the computer and picked up a scrap book I had been working on and head back to my bedroom. I was walking with the book flat out in front of me, not held against my chest like normal. I round the corner to our room with a little too much velocity and forget that I'm holding a large object in front of me. I failed to take into account that I would not make it thru the doorway until I ran smack dab into it.
Everything else is pretty much a blur. All I remember is feeling like I was just hit in the heart. I dropped my book and tried breathing. I COULD NOT BREATHE. Then I start panicking. I realize my fingers and toes are tingling. I drop the book and start shaking my hands to try and get some feeling back in them all while trying to inhale.
Chuck then realizes that this was not one of my typical clumsy mistakes and realizes I am hurt. He was under the assumption that I just stubbed my toe. That is one of the major differences between us - I am a 'worst case scenario' type of person, thus, I am freaking out that I'm about to die. Whereas, Chuck, the 'eternal optimist' feels that I have a little stubbed toe. How did we end up together? Anyways...he comes over to me and leads me to the bed to sit down. After he placed me on the bed (I was still gasping for air) he turned around to pick up the book I dropped and place it on the counter. In that 2 second time frame, I had evidently passed out face down on the bed and started fribulating and convulsing.
Evidently he woke me up. Again, in his optimism, he felt I was joking with him. I don't know how to convulse and fribulate on my own. Why would I think of joking like that? He asks, "What are you doing?" Like I know?!? I had no clue what just happened. I asked him, "What just happened, Baby?" And he was like, "Okay, now you're starting to scare me." I felt as if he had just woken me up from a nap. I asked him, "Are the kids okay?"
Evidently, when I was 'sleeping' I heard alot of loud noise and woke up to tell Chuck to turn it down so it wouldn't wake up the kids. Weird. I know I'm weird, but that takes the cake for me. He told me, "Uh, no, Cori...it seems you passed out and I was shaking you to get you awake...there was no noise." Hmmmm - what do ya know. I then have an awful sensation that I'm about to puke and head towards the bathroom. I'm able to inhale small amounts of air, but it is extremely painful. I now lower my prognosis from 'death' to 'puncturned lung'.
Seems that I ended up bruising my ribs, inside and out and somehow jolted my body enough to momentarily stop my heart, thus, disallowing blood to continue its flow, thus resulting in tingly hands, thus ending in the grand finnaly of 'the faint'.
No need to panic though, I'm alive and kicking. I'm also walking thru the house alot more slowly. Breathing has resumed to its normal pace and I am no longer fribulating. Life is good.
