I am
divorced. Some people look to the divorced for answers as though we’ve taken
the test, flunked it and now have the answers to how to not fail at marriage. I
did not receive the corrected answers to my failed test questions in my divorce
papers so I can’t really help there. Still, if I am asked for advice, I will
always give it. I have been asked on a few occasions for the subsequent
key-code or the secret handshake equivalent or whatever the hell it is people
think I know. Often times it isn’t what people want to hear but it’ll be the
truth as I see it, every single time. There was a guy that worked in my
building, I’ll call him Lloyd, who used to ask me about marriage and divorce
and such. He wasn’t married and had no prospects so my guess was he was bored
since he really was more of just a babysitter rather than anyone with real
responsibilities. One night he stopped me and was asking how to make sure that
the person you marry never wants a divorce. I guess since I am divorced I am a
novelty in this country considering no one else has ever heard of such a thing.
I tried telling him that you just have to both be into it and want the same
things but that sometimes people change and grow apart and it just is one of
those terrible things that happen. That wasn’t good enough for Lloyd and he
kept asking and asking and asking and coming up with new angles and ways of
bargaining to get me to tell him that he
would never get a divorce if he ever did
eventually corner some poor girl into marrying him. Then it came to the topic
of children and he wanted to know how to keep his pseudo-wife from loving their
non-existent children more than she hypothetically loved him. I told him there
was no way a person could ever love anyone more than they loved their children
and that he would be the same way if he ever in fact lost his virginity and had
children one day. This kept going, he needed the secret to keeping this figment
of his imagination from loving anyone more than she, the figment, would ever
love him and he wanted a guarantee on being married to his idea of whatever he
was after. Finally, I grew very weary and sick to death of his childish argument
and just said to him, “You know, your first marriage is just practice for your
second.” That was the winner right there. He left that instant and never asked
me for advice on marriage and children again. That was a stroke of genius if
you ask me.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Baby Ordering
Baby Ordering
Becoming an older brother was exciting for Alexander, as he
had asked me for a baby brother for years. The first time was shortly after I
divorced his father in 2002. We were having dinner and he looks at me and says
“I’m putting in my order for a baby brother.” which totally threw me for a
loop. Putting in your order? I explained
that since I hadn’t remarried and it was just the two of us that having a baby
now would not be wise for us and that maybe someday but maybe not. I hit all of
the high notes for explaining in very logical terms why this was not for us,
not now. You can imagine how far that went. We were shopping one day and he
picked up one of those little toys that has a tiny gun and little holster with
a badge so one could play good guys and bad guys or whatever. He was showing it
to me and explaining to me in the same logical terms I had spoken to him in
that this would be for his baby brother, James, and would be his Halloween
costume. I asked where he came up with the name James and he said he just liked
it. I decided to go another route with this conversation. Since he wanted a
brother possibly explaining that if I were going to have another baby it could
turn out to be a girl because it depended what God wanted us to have as to what
we would have. He didn’t miss a beat and explained back to me, very slowly so I
would understand this time, he was putting in his order for a baby brother. I
told him I’d think about it and hoped he would forget.
In the meantime, I got remarried and a baby became a
possibility. Alex never stopped pleading his case for a baby brother. I didn’t
tell him right away that I was pregnant when I found out. If something happened
it would be mine to deal with and not his. I had my first appointment with my
mid-wife who told me I was three months along, to that I told her I was not
three months along, that was impossible. So we bickered good-naturedly back and
forth and she decided an ultrasound would settle our dispute. It was scheduled
for the next day and I took my husband and Alex with me. Needless to say, we
discovered there were two babies. Yay us! On the drive home from the hospital
Alex decided that God had sent us two babies so he could have a brother and a
sister and they would be named James and Suzy.
Great, more conversations on the topic of names and sex of the babies.
He was five years-old and I didn’t expect this from him in any way. Carrying
twins is high risk so I had changed to a doctor who could better handle my
situation and had ultrasounds and office visits every two weeks. In that time I
found out that I was having two boys which was, to me, a huge relief. The
conversation at home that night was revolving around statements of “What about
my sister, Suzy?” We did name one of the boys James, Andrew James. It’s a great
conversation piece.
Food Fights and Other Lies
Food Fights and Other Lies
My twins had two days off from school due to Kindergarten
Round-up, preschooler’s get to be in kindergarten for a day and see what all
the fuss is about so the kindergartener’s vacate the classrooms to let this
happen. I needed to get out of the house so I took my little boys out to a tiny
local restaurant for pie. Naturally they decided on French fries but anyway…As
we were driving there to meet my dear friend Christy, Drew decided to give one
of his amazing explanations on how things are made or why they work the way
they do. Today’s topic was pie, and not just any pie but pumpkin pie. He
launched into his description and I was enthralled. You see, according to Drew
you have to cut off the top of the pumpkin. Sounds right to me. Then you add
all the ingredients into the pumpkin with the top lobbed off and stir those
together so that you get the inside of the pumpkin to come loose and then you
have the pumpkin that you need to make your pie. You then need to add oranges
to get the orange color. I asked him if the color didn’t in fact come from the
color of the pumpkin. Nope, not at all I’m told. I go with it, I know nothing
of pie making and who am I to say he’s wrong? It’s a well thought out
explanation even if we are a little fuzzy on what the other ingredients are.
I had
Chinese with my friend Rachel the other day and had brought home my little
leftover box. Before it was thrown into the recycle Adam saw it and was
fascinated. He just didn’t understand it. He kept looking at it and shaking his
head. He finally looked at me, pointed to the picture of a pagoda and a man in
samurai gear on the side of the carton and asked why would I want to eat
samurai? Trying to explain to him that it was not samurai that was in the container
but rather beef with broccoli was not going over well. I told him that the
picture on the side of it was not a picture of what the food looked like or
even where it came from but was just a picture from the culture. Nope, he knew
his mom and Rachel had eaten some poor samurai warrior for dinner.
Body Parts, Part III
Body Parts, Part III
My children
were getting ready for school one day, the twins were in kindergarten and had
been dressing themselves for a while by then. Adam, in his all-knowing way says
to me that I have never seen him naked. Huh? Ok, then. I explained to my
confused little child that I had seen him naked every single day of his blessed
little life, I had changed countless diapers, given innumerable baths to him,
been peed on by him so many times that I was clearly his marked property so he
was, in fact, wrong about that. His eyes got huge but his face gave nothing
away, he was not ready to concede just yet. He looked me in the eye as I stared
back at him and he said ‘Nope’. The witty banter had begun and I was not going
to be left out. My snappy comeback was ‘Uh-huh’. As we continued the war of
words, he began taking off his pajammies to get dressed for school. I let him
continue until he was buck naked and I said, ‘Young man, I’m seeing you naked
again right this minute’. He looks down at his starkness and looks back up at
me, we are smirking at each other, he’s finished here and he knows it. He grabs
his clothes and zips to the other room. Too late, I’ve finally seen my 5
year-old child naked.
We were
watching ‘Up’ for probably the 3,422 time one evening and my son Adam asked me
about a part in the beginning. Ellie and Carl want to have babies but
unfortunately find out that Ellie isn’t able. I start to explain that some men
and some women aren’t able to have children through no fault of their own and
that it is a sad thing. He needed more than that. ‘Why can’t some people have
babies?’. I try to explain that some
people have an issue with their body and that it prevents them from being able
to have children. This conversation goes on for a while and no way am I having
the sex talk with Adam, he would have so many questions that we’d never be
finished with it. As we close our discussion on the matter he looks at me and
says with a little laugh that reminds me of a crotchety old man, ‘Heh! Nothing
wrong with your body, is there?’ I have been pregnant twice and both were
planned, having twins was not planned but in all I have three children and one
of those children is making it sound like I’ve had a litter or two or that I
just have no control of myself and pop out babies left and right. I felt a
little dirty after that talk.
Adam and I were both heading for the bathroom at the same
time one day. I merely needed to run a brush through my tangled mop and it
would take me about seven seconds to do it. He had to pee and that would
probably also take only seven seconds so I asked if he cared if I just brushed
while he peed. He was only six years-old but still, I didn’t want to appear
rude. He said that it was fine if I wanted to be in there at the same time and
that he wouldn’t look. Huh? As I register this statement I glance over at the
little boy standing in front of the toilet. The boy who was peeing using one
hand and had the bottom of his shirt pulled up so that he could block the sight
of me brushing my hair with his other hand. To my way of thinking this was
backward considering that I exposed none of my body and he had. But he was
being a little gentleman by averting his eyes so as to not watch me while he
was peeing. Never let it be said that Adam isn’t considerate of other’s comfort
levels.
Body Parts, Part II
Body Parts, Part II
We live in
the Midwest and it does get cold here. Snow and ice are right at home in the
winter months. Happily we have a fireplace in our living room and it is kept
roaring in the winter. To sit on the hearth after being outside is a favorite
thing of my sons. Sitting there to warm up is sometimes not enough for Drew.
After a romp outside he came in, went to the fireplace, stood on the hearth
and, with his back to the fire, pulled his pants down, underwear and all, to
warm his behind. I looked at him with what must have been the most
unintelligent look ever to grace my face and said "What do you think you’re
doing?" He smiled and just stood there for another second, pulled up his
drawers and went about his business. I know that those layers of cotton and
denim can really hinder heat flow but really? To moon the fireplace? From my
girl’s perspective, it’s such a foreign idea.
Drew likes boobs, a lot. He was constantly trying to
grab at mine when he was about three years-old. I had told him that they were
mine and that we don’t touch other people in inappropriate ways and that boob
grabbing constituted ‘inappropriate’. He was of the opinion that we should
share my boobs because that would be nice. I didn’t get on board with this idea
so I tried to use a little reverse psychology on the boy by telling him that I
don’t grab his penis so he is not allowed to grab my boobs. To my shock and
utter dismay he stuck his little hips out to me so that I would see that he was
willing to share. Okay, more talking and explaining of why this was just not
going to work the way he wanted. He has got the idea of sharing down but we
aren’t going to share that. Ah, little boys.
When Alex
was little, maybe three years-old, he had told me he wanted to see my penis. I guess that seemed like a
rational request to him since I had seen his every day of his life. I explained
that I was a girl and didn’t have a penis and this seemed like a perfectly
rational explanation to me and should end the conversation. Okay, I was a new
mother and hadn’t seen the rest of the questions coming at me. He, of course,
wanted to know why I didn’t have one, how could I possibly pee without one and
what had I in place of the penis in question. Hmmm…I finally told him that I
was not prepared to have this conversation with him yet and that we would
revisit it at a later time in the far, far off future. How funny that Drew some
nine years later started asking the same thing of me. He thought we should
share my boobs because sharing was nice so the penis question was right up his
alley. I told him that boys have a penis and girls have a vagina…no I didn’t
really say that, that was that boy from ‘Kindergarten Cop’…what I said was that
girls don’t have a penis. To that he and Adam both looked at me quizzically and
Drew asked "How do they pee then?" Adam came up with the answer. "Girls pee out
their butts." As uncomfortable as I was with this subject I corrected him as
much as I could and told them both, as I had told Alex in the years earlier, we
will talk about it when they are older. They go to public school, I may never
have to have that conversation with them.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Body Parts, Part I
Body Parts, Part I
I hug and kiss my children all the time, I tell them when
they move out I’ll slow down on that. Adam and I were passing each other in the
hallway one day when I stopped him, leaned down to kiss him and he says in the
most serious way “Sometimes my underwear gets stuck in my butt.” I wanted to
laugh but as I am an inch away from his face I don’t laugh, I just continue to
look him in the eye, waiting for the rest. “I pull it out” is the rest of his
thought. I smile and tell him I think that’s a good idea, I kiss him and send
him on his way and then laugh my head off.
One night we were having some grilled
cheese sandwiches and watching TV. The kids were lying on the floor and were
actually being good. Drew has a problem; he needs help immediately so he asks
me to assist him. "Mom", he says, "will you come over here and scratch my
butt?" Honestly? This is what I have been reduced to? This is one of my duties
as ’mother’? This is a reasonable request from my five year-old? As tempting as
it is to walk across the room and be Drew’s hero, to save him from an itch on
his behind, to fulfill one more duty as his mother, to help him with this
crisis that has obviously vexed him into needing my help in the most dire way…I
decide to pass. Someday he’ll have a wife who will think that I spoiled him and
that he could’ve been a good man if I hadn’t ruined him. When it comes to
scratching his tush, he’s on his own. Take that future Mrs. Andrew Blodgett, I
didn’t indulge him too much.
When kids are
small there is that game of ‘got your nose’. You know, where you pretend to
take their nose with your knuckles and then stick the end of your thumb out
between the knuckles so it looks like you actually got their nose? I did that
to Adam once. Once. He screamed and freaked out all over the place with his
little hands covering where his nose ‘used to be’ before I cruelly snatched it
to leave him nose-less. He was yelling ‘Put it back! Put it back!’ before I
could calm him down and tell him it was just a game. I open my hands to show
that I didn’t actually have his nose, that it was still on his little face but
since it wasn’t in my hand that meant, to him, that I had lost it so I told him he was
right, I did have his nose and to move his hands so I could put it back. I made a big show of dusting it off and securing it to his face. So
much drama.
I was in the
kitchen one day with Drew and he looked particularly cute so I said to him
"How did you get to be so pretty?" He pointed to my tummy and looked up at me
then ran off. I took that as a huge compliment.
Sexy Bras and Would-Be Hippies
Sexy Bras and Would-Be Hippies
Being pregnant with twins brings lots of looks from
well-meaning people. Ok, not all are well meaning but morbidly fascinated with
the sheer size of you. I had a doctors appointment one day and my husband was
walking me to the elevator in the parking garage. I was waddling and gasping
for breath. One of the women in the elevator was looking at me with a cross of
sympathy and fear. I didn’t speak but merely held up two fingers. She nodded, I
nodded back; we understood each other perfectly.
When I was pregnant with my twins my doctor told me that one of them was breech (not head down) and he was the bigger baby so a C-section was in my future. I was fine with that, I was too damn big to care let alone disagree.
As I was
being prepped for my C-section I met one of my anesthesiologists. Young and
cute. As he was putting that huge freaking needle in my back for my spinal tap
I was wondering to myself about which bra I had on. Whew! It’s a pretty lace
one that is the most beautiful shade of periwinkle. Really? I am making sure
that I look cute and sexy for this guy, as he is about to help me in my journey
to deliver my twins. Sometimes we never stop wanting to be cute and check out
guys or to be checked out in return. Here I was, in all of my 240 pound glory,
about to become a mother again and the first thing I think of is ‘oh good, it’s
a pretty bra day.’ That pretty bra didn’t help me out at all after my twins
were out and one of my doctors told me that they were going to be putting my
uterus back in and had to push on my stomach some so I might feel a little
nauseous. I proceeded to puke my guts out. A little nauseous? I’d hate to see
what ‘as nauseous as you could ever possibly be, on your worst day, in your
entire life’ looks like because I swear to God that was the level I was at. And
who, of all the people in the operating room, got to hold my bucket? You got
it, hot anesthesiologist guy. Bet the whole time I was vomiting for him he was
thinking about that sexy bra of mine. Oh yeah, he missed out on this
sophisticated lady for sure and her sexy, lacy periwinkle bra.
When I found
out I was pregnant with my first child I decided on seeing a midwife. I didn’t
care for the nurses in the other practices and fortunately was pointed in the
direction of the midwives in the same offices. I was not a high risk pregnancy
so that meant I met the criteria. As my first husband and I waited in the
office for my first appointment I did wonder what I was getting myself into.
‘Midwife’? But I am open minded and so why not? Apparently this is something
that my two midwives had encountered before. As the first one walked in and
introduced herself she asked if we had expected her to be sporting a headband
and bellbottoms. Of course I said no, I didn’t want to irritate the woman who
may be in charge of getting me my drugs in the future. I did picture a hippy sort of chick, I must admit, and I'm willing to bet that at one point in their lives both these ladies sported tie-dyed something or other.
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