Mom Wins?

Dear boy has wanted the new XBox 360 game, Halo Reach, since before it was released. I didn’t have the money to go buy it when it first came out, and today I found that little fact granted me a victory. My son has had a head of very curly long hair. Kinda cute, but mostly annoying, especially when trying to look at him. He has the most amazing blue eyes, and until today, they have been covered by masses of unruly hair.

Today was that once a month holiday teachers like to refer to as payday. I don’t have $60 to buy a video game, but when on a whim I asked if he would cut off his hair for the game, he said yes. I was flummoxed at first, what with the ready answer and all. But I jumped on it, not wanting him to change his mind. After school, I told him that we were going. He seemed surprised that I was still willing, like it might have been one of those parental “sure, later” type of things. I clarified what I was expecting as far as the haircut went, and he still agreed, so off we went. Not trusting me on the drive there, he threw in his own stipulation; that we stop and buy the game before the chopping of locks. He even threw some logic at me, for which I was proud. He told me that if he refused to go through with the haircut, I could hide the game until he followed through, or I could simply return it. I knew he had a brain in there. I was so pleased, I agreed.

We stood in line, bought the game (at a completely ridiculous $60 price), and had our next stop in our sights. What was funny was that while I was waiting in line, I was playing with his hair, and talking to him about how it would look. The lady next to me in line overheard, and told me that she had struck a similar bargain with her son. Then she told me the best news: There was a Fantastic Sam’s in the next shopping complex over 🙂 I didn’t even have to risk that by the time we got through the line to buy the game, the haircut would have to wait.

It must have been divine intervention, because there was not a soul in Fantastic Sam’s when we got there. I practically ran to the door; amazingly, so did he. Whether happy to have it done, or simply to have it over with, was unclear. I took a video with my phone of the hair being shaved off with the clippers, falling to the floor in big, long, curly pieces. Then I looked at his face, and the little booger was smirking. I found out why when we were walking out.

I asked him how he felt with it all gone. His response? “Great. I was going to tell you I wanted it cut off anyway, it was getting on my nerves.” Child has a brain indeed. Little turd.

So, who won this one? I say we both did. He got his game, and I get to see those big blue eyes laughing at me when I think I know what the hell I am doing being a parent to a teenager. However, the haircut makes him look his age. Almost. I guess I lost afterall.

Dear Lord, there’re two of them in there?!?!

When you are pregnant, between 16 and 18 weeks along, there is a test you can have done (actually, they do this test unless the mother specifically requests that it not be done), that can determine if the baby you are carrying has any abnormalities. The specific things this test looks for are frightening: Down’s Syndrome and hydrocephalus, just to name two. I had the test with my son, and I am honest enough to admit that I am selfish, and wanted to know so I would have the chance to decide if terminating the pregnancy would be an option for me if the results were bad. I do not have it in me to care for a special needs child. Like I said, selfish, but at least I am honest.

I had the test done, and thought nothing of it, just like my first pregnancy. Then I got a phone call. The doctor called me himself, so I knew there was an issue right away. He very gently told me that there was an abnormality, and that I would need to go to a geneticist for further work to be done to determine the specificity of the problem. He told me that the appointment had been scheduled for me, in two weeks. Two weeks?!!? You cannot drop a bomb on an expectant mother like she might be having a baby with severe medical problems, or that the baby might not live, and then tell her to wait two weeks for more information. It is cruel. My husband had a fit and called the geneticist, and screamed his way into an appointment for the next afternoon. That wait was bad enough.

The next afternoon, we drove to the geneticist’s office and filled out the forms, and waited for our turn. Despite our current marital issues, my husband was a rock and my biggest source of comfort for me through this. I was blessed to have him with me. Finally, they called my name. We held hands and walked in the back, where I was weighed, and had my blood pressure taken. All was well. They put us in an office with a big desk straight ahead. The doctor came out from behind the desk, shook our hands and began to explain what her purpose in the process was. After we completed a family tree so to speak, I would then be taken to an exam room and given a special kind of ultrasound so we could take a peek inside.

The family tree went okay; we knew enough to give a decent history. The scary part was when she asked if there were any family members with Down’s Syndrome in either of our families. He said no. I said yes. I have an uncle who is mentally handicapped, on my father’s side. She made some notes, and then looked me in the eye. She gave us percentages. It was frightening. Given our histories, there was a 50% chance that the baby had DS, and on it went, until there was only 10% remaining. Just as she was about to tell us what the last 10% represented, there was a happy shout from the next room. I am having twins! We looked at her and she said, the last 10% could be that there is more than one baby in there and that this office saw about 2 cases a month. That man shouting for joy moments earlier represented the second case of the month. My heart sank. It never crossed my mind to tell her that identical twins run in my family. I found out later, through much research, that it wouldn’t have mattered if I did tell her that; identical twinning is a random act of nature. That, by the way, is complete bullshit. Just because science has yet to discover what splits the egg, they call it random, not genetic. Ask any person who is an identical twin, or who has identical twins in their family, and you will hear the same thing 95% of the time: That it runs in their family.

Next, we were taken to the room to do the ultrasound. I was a mess by this time, and trying to mentally prepare myself to be told I needed to decide if I wanted to abort, or how I would respond if they told me I had to abort. I put on the gown and laid on the table. The nurse put the cold blue goo on my tummy, and placed the ultrasound wand on top of it. She said the technician would be right in. We didn’t talk while we waited; what do you say in that situation? Thank God the technician didn’t keep us waiting. He came in, introduced himself, and asked my husband if he wanted to sit down. He said no, stood by my head, and squeezed my had reassuringly. The tech flipped a switch on the machine, then the monitor. We were looking at the screen carefully. The image that was on the screen was that of two little round orbs, nestled together quite cozily. I knew what it meant immediately and began to laugh. I laughed even harder when my husband staggered a bit, and asked for a stool.

The technician began to tell us what we were seeing. Two babies, two sacks, which meant that they were not conjoined, and one membrane and one placenta, which means that they were identical. The he told us that they were definitely girls, and that I was a little over 4 months along, and that they were a good weight and size for identical twins at that stage.

However…

After the euphoria of being told I was not having a baby with a plethora of medical problems wore off, and I realized I was having two babies that had a wonderful chance at being carried to term and healthy at birth, “Dear Lord, there’re two of them in there” is all my mind could muster. It took days to wrap my head around that one tiny detail of my second pregnancy…

Ahhh!!! It’s a teenager!!!

I am the mother of a teenage son.

My little ball of sarcasm, as I lovingly refer to him, is almost 14, looks like he is 10, and acts like he is a jaded 40 year old man. Some days I sit and marvel that he looks like me, and others I apologize for it. He has my temper, my aversion to interaction with others in groups larger than 2, and an unholy need to lace every statement with sarcasm. Again, some days I marvel, others I cringe.

The best part though? Is being able to laugh with him instead of wring his neck.

A Good Weekend? Gasp!

I had a decent weekend. Who even knew that was possible? I didn’t. At least not at this current juncture in my very weird life. It involved a used bookstore that just opened down the street from my house, the perfect Starbucks latte, 2 nights of bbq’d dinner, and a morning spent going to yard sales and church rummage sales. I found me some bargains, but more importantly, I relaxed, had fun, and enjoyed my time on the planet for the first time in months. I hope to repeat that euphoria next weekend too.

Another Day, Another WTH??

It just seems like I kicked God’s dog or something. Everytime I turn a corner, I am hit by something completely new and unpleasant. Today there were a slew of issues; family, work, personal. All 3 just turned sour on me. And the truly sad part? Tomorrow is only Thursday, and it is going to be a long one. Meeting at 7a.m. with the bigwigs about my performance, followed by all the regular tasks my job requires, followed by another meeting from 6-8p.m. All the while, I will still be dealing with the family and personal issues. It is never-ending it seems. And tomorrow, I will have to accomplish all of this, in heels. Ewwww. Ya know, I really should write that book. Then maybe I can travel the world for research. That would be swell.

Atonement

Can you ever really make amends when you do wrong? Can you ever really forgive and forget you have been wronged? Those are the questions of the day. I like to think of myself as a forgiving person; one who understands that to err is indeed human. I have been on the receiving end of someone else’s mistakes, and likewise, I have been the one to make mistakes that have affected others. I am no saint. And I completely grasp the concept of forgiveness, truly, I do. But I never quite forget what was done to me. If that is the case, then how can we say, with any authority, that we have in fact forgiven?

As I have mentioned before, I am currently dealing with the marriage that isn’t. It is not a pleasant experience. For those of you that should happen upon this, maybe you can throw some kernels of advice my way on how to deal with it all, because right now, I don’t feel like I am dealing at all. I’m taking the crawl- under- a- rock- and- ignore- it approach to the whole thing. I would very much like to forgive my soon-to-be-former spouse for the wrongs which he has committed against me, but I just can’t forget. It’s not like he says, sorry, really, and it just magically disappears; although, I wish it were that simple. And again, I am no saint. It takes two to get married, and it takes two to get divorced.

I don’t know. I suppose one could chalk this all up to the ramblings of someone going through a difficult time, and that’s okay. Maybe it is. All I know for certain, is that if things didn’t end badly, they wouldn’t end. Right? To err is human indeed.

Grrrrr

Okay, my eyes are crossing because I have been dorking around with this for a long time, and I still haven’t figured out what’s going on with it. Grrrr. Perhaps some sleep will help. I guess I’ll just wait until the 8 kids who have invaded my home tonight decide to go to bed. The party animals.

the why of it

What better way to start my blogging experience than by talking about me. That way, should you happen along my musings, you can get a feel for where I am coming from…sometimes. Maybe. Yeah, I’ll stick with maybe.

Now, I’ve read several blogs on this site, and I must say, they are all very happy happy, joy joy in nature. Stop reading right now if that is your forte. I am pessimistic by nature, and frankly, I am tired of apologizing for it. I started this to get some things out of my head and into writing; like an online journal with the possibility of feedback for my rantings, musings, ventings, whatever you want to call them. It should be cathartic. At least that is the master plan.

However….the best laid plans…Gotta love Robert Burns.