Oh. God.

Getting my son out the door for school in the morning is absolutely AWFUL. I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize publicly to my mother and father for all those years of being a complete pain in the in ass in the morning before school. My wakeup call would come at 6:15, with the bus showing up at 7:30. Plenty of time to get ready, eat breakfast, get my shit together and out the door.

No.

I remember my dad busting in, pulling up the shades, threatening me with anything he could think of.

I'm still that way. I HATE MORNINGS. I can completely relate to my son who would rather stay up late and sleep in. I can truly sympathize with him, but damn. We have to be out the door at 7:55 to beat traffic, secure a place in the "car line" at school, unpack the back pack, etc.

This morning was worse than usual. The Bug must still be on Hawaii time. I put him to bed at 8:30 last night and he was still up, trying to play with his toys at 10:30. You can imagine 7:15 this morning came awfully early for both of us.

When I finally got him to school - after fights about the following things (not getting to wear pajamas to school, the shirt I picked out, the shoes, the socks, the car seat, the car, the backpack, the cup, the cup he threw that I wouldn't retrieve for him, the parking lot, the tree, the price of tea in China among about 234289 other things) - we walked up to his teacher.

And God bless this woman. She sweetly said, "Oh, hi Bug! It looks like you are having a hard morning. Come on, Friend, let's go play together".

My child wiped his tears. Gave me a hug and kiss and headed out to play with his buddies.

Every. Single. Morning. Until. He's. 18.

I just know it. I'm getting paid back, I can feel it ...

Labels: herding cats, the bug, waking dead

Last night, HDH was reading The Bug a book about sharks.

They came across a page that described how dogfish are hatched from eggs. My husband took it upon himself to explain to our three-year-old at that moment that our son actually came from my belly. He ran down the hall, yelling to me something that sounded like, "HOLY SHIT I AM GOING TO NEED THERAPY FOR THIS ONE MOM!" or something like that.

After settling down (not really), he patted my tummy, cocked his little head to the side and said, "Momma, you got baby SHARKS in your tummy??".

Way to go, Daddy. Waaaaaaaaaaaay to go.

Labels: hdh-isms, the bug

I have absolutely no memory growing up of feeling like I could just go up and hug my grandpa (my dad's dad). It's not that he didn't love us, but he just wasn't the overly emotional 'touchy feely' kinda guy. And that was fine. He said Prayer at our family dinners, discussed farming, then fell asleep in his chair in the living room after dinner.

After my dad died, my grandpa became a lot more emotional. He had just retired (like DAYS before) and was putting the suitcases into the car to take a trip to visit family in Idaho when my mom called to tell him my dad had a heart attack. By the time they reached the hospital, my dad was gone.

My grandpa came out of that retirement to help continue running the farm and ranch he had helped my dad build. He'd talk about my dad and get choked up. He still didn't really offer much in the way of "I love you's" or what not, but still, we knew.

This past weekend at the reunion, I marveled at my son. He didn't know any of these unspoken rules we have on that side of the family. He walked right up to my grandpa, squeezed his legs and said, "I LOVE YOU!!" and walked off.



And he didn't stop there. He hugged every relative he could his hands on. He was full of love and had plenty to give.

I have another photo of my son hugging my grandpa, right after he'd finished hugging my grandmother. Because faces are involved, I'm not posting it ... but the absolute JOY on my grandparents face just makes me so very happy. They were beaming.

I love that unsolicited love so very much. It was a good reminder to me. And lately, my son's been a pretty good teacher.


"Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom."

Marcel Proust

Labels: family reunion, love thursday, the bug

Last week REALLY just sucked. Top to bottom, it was not a great week on record in HDW World. Have you ever had one of those weeks? You know, the kind where every time you turn around something else is going wrong? My grandma says of those weeks, "Well, it's either the hogs or the windmill". So true, so very true.

Without divulging all of the wrecks that made my week, I will say that I managed to try and kill myself about every ten minutes, though. Unvoluntarily, too, I might add.

For example, I was sitting at the computer Tuesday morning, having my wonderful coffee, and took a giant breath. And while doing so, something went haywire in my shoulder and upper back. I can't really pinpoint where or what it was, but it shot pain through my shoulder, my head and my LEFT EAR. What the hell? So, for almost four days, I spent every two minutes wincing, as the pain shot through. A pinched nerve? But from BREATHING? That'll learn me to breathe.

Saturday night, I was giving my three-year-old son a bath. I stepped out to get a towel, and I heard him dumping water out of the tub. I went back into the bathroom, scolding him, and slipped on the water, feet went out from under me and down I came. I landed on my right side, right on the end of my elbow - HARD.

While laying on the floor trying to figure out if I had broken myself in half or not, The Bug was shaking, crying, scared. And rightfully so. He just saw his mommy do the whole banana slip routine. I stayed down, and proved my point. And by 'staying down', I mean, "I couldn't have gotten up if I'd tried".

Later on, I got to thinking about a song by India.Arie that I love. The lyrics say something like, "slow down baby you're going too fast you got your head in the clouds and your feet on the gas" ... and that is just what has been happening to me this past week.

And for the first time ever in my entire life, I'm happy that today is Monday. A brand new start to a new week. I'm hoping I'll avoid spilled water, and not necessarily breathing, but at least avoiding the injuries that come with doing so.

Labels: bad week, lyrics, ouch, the bug

Aside from my absolute horror that I have a child almost ready to head off to preschool (I mean, when did he get this old? I swear I just had him!), I also am absolutely astounded at the process to GET your child into preschool.

When my son was a little over a year, my neighbor came to me with a packet of information from the preschool they took their girls to. She said, "You might want to start putting your name on the list now if they'll let you." Seriously - with a few years to spare?

The first house I grew up in was miles and miles from any town, let alone any school, and specifically a preschool. I can imagine my mom and dad scoffing at the idea of driving me twenty miles for an early education. When I busted my nose up on a cinder block at the age of three and had actually broken it, my parents opted not to take me to the hospital because the nearest one was almost thirty or more miles from our country home.

My education on the farm was fantastic, though. I wondered around the feedlot with my dad, feeding cattle, riding horses and playing with our big dog, Blitz. I followed behind my mom picking green beans in the garden. She had a giant coffee tin of buttons - all colors and sizes - and she'd help me sort them all. My mom painted the alphabet and the numbers up to ten on a wall in the basement, and I spent hours playing school and learning them myself. We read tons of books, listened to all kinds of music (every time I hear Dolly Parton's 'Jolene', I think of me dancing as a kid through the house).

With all of that said, it's hard for me to think that it took two years of work to get my son considered into a preschool. With the local community I live in booming with babies, there are waiting lists at virtually every place we looked at, even with our 'early' start.

I started investigating preschools. I started filling out applications (I mean, honestly!). When one place asked in their application what chores my son had around the house, I wrote: "He is the Master of Destruction - that is his job". I started making arrangements for school visits, trying to think of questions to ask, and feeling a little bit overwhelmed.

We applied at two schools. The first one being the place my neighbor suggested. The second one being one I'd found on my own, one that I thought my son would really do well with. I liked both places equally, and then hoped he'd just get into one.

So we waited.

Letter came from the first place about a month or so ago letting us know he'd be on the waiting list there. Translation: Sucks to be you.

I knew the second place would send out letters on March 12, and we'd likely receive the news on the 13th - which would be yesterday.

Mail truck came.

Big envelope (good sign) with a note handwritten on the front, "Welcome to 'NameofPreschool'!". I hate to admit it, but I squealed like a little girl and did a little dance. (ALL OVER PRESCHOOL!! Seriously!)

So ... one hurdle crossed. Now, we need to work on potty training and getting me through the "My baby is going to preschool" emotions that are bound to come along. He'll be ready for the next step, I don't doubt. I just hope I am, too.

Labels: preschool, the bug