Now That's More Like It!

"I wonder what the hold up is?"
"I think it's that bus. Get into the left lane maybe. . . . . . . . . "
"Hey Fleash? I think you should move into the left lane"
"Nah - we're close enough to our exit."
"Go now! There's nobody coming!"
"There's no reason to - see? We're moving again!"
"You just can't listen to me, can you?"
"I would rather sit for a minute than have to fight with somebody to get back in!"
"Ya, but there's a ton of people up there waiting to get on that bus!"
"Nope. I'm staying put."
(sigh)

I can't help but look over at him and smile. Ahhh. Now that's more like it!

A Good Kind of Miserable

Thank God Andy is not in international sales, the armed forces or any other career that would keep him out of the state. I have always thought of myself as a pretty capable woman who is independent enough to take care of her family but not so extreme as to burn her undergarments. I knew I would be challenged when Andy left town for his training, but figured it would be a good opportunity to tidy up dark corners of the house and have some extra playtime with the boys. I was very surprised to find once Andy was dropped at the airport, I morphed into a helpless and emotional wreck. The mom in me is ashamed because I feel that I should be more focused on the boys. As such, guilt sets in and renders me that much more ineffective. It was my children who rescued me. After yet another fit of exhaustion last night, Elliott knew exactly what to do. He pulled on his dad’s shirt and pajama bottoms, lowered his booming voice and exclaimed “HONEY! I’M HOME!” My brewing tears were quickly dried as he marched around the house as his dad. I laughed and laughed as he ‘took care’ of Noah , and asked me if I figured out the check book. That kid rocks. So, if I failed at the “make good use of this time” test, at least I gained the knowledge that (a) I married the love of my life, with whom I am nothing without; and (b) my children are fountains of joy who know exactly what their momma needs. I am so blessed.

Homeland Security Leaving me Insecure

He leaves on Sunday to play with bombs and poisons.

I'm smiling over the lump in my throat.

(Say a little prayer for him, okay?)

Closure at 28?

Michael Jeffrey O'Neall: Biological Father. Mom divorced him when I was about 1 or 2 because he couldn't clean up his act (an addict). While young, I was shielded from the relationship he wanted because of his alcohol/drug abuse. He made contact with me twice other than my wedding (when I was 8 and 13). I was told he wanted to be close but I kept him away because of...

Allan Duane Eastman: Adoptive Father, a/k/a "Dad". Mom married him shortly after her divorce with aforementioned Jeff. He and Mom divorced when I was 7 years old. We stayed close until I was about 9. Then his forgetfulness set in "I forgot to pick you up", "I forgot your birthday", etc. Nevertheless, we stayed somewhat close for those years up until he remarried Kim (a/k/a “the psycho”) when I was 15. It was pretty cold. I was awarded with token visits by them and the family they started from time to time but it was distant. We revisited our relationship while he went through his divorce from “the psycho”. Looked like we had made our peace until...OOPPS! He and my aunt Kristy started their fling! Needless to say, it was creepy, disrespectful and annoying on a thousand different levels. Deciding a fling wasn't strange enough, they then decided to shack up together. I was angry at both of them but swallowed up my pride long enough to call and wish him a happy birthday. He was busy and asked to call me back. That was nearly 4 years ago. Oh wait - he did call once to say my grandpa had died. Unfortunately, Elliott was the one who answered. He told Elliott he was his Grandpa. "YOU ARE NOT!", I wanted to scream. I told Elliott that Allan is not his grandpa. He asked why and I told him "Does he call you to chat? Does he come over to visit you? Does he love you and baby sit you and sing happy birthday to you?" Our last contact with one another was briefly at the funeral of my grandfather when I was 7 months pregnant with Noah. He carried yet another unkind bimbo on his arm.

While it may be a passing fancy (as this particular fancy passes every 3 or 4 years), or whether it be a product of a new year, I currently crave closure on these two similar yet very different individuals.

With Allan, I envision myself simply telling him off. Maybe asking some questions whose answers will hurt. Maybe walking away knowing I should have left well enough alone.

With Jeff (or whatever he now goes by), I have no idea what I would say or expect. For scientific purposes alone, I would like to gain genetic information. Although I'm not sure if this package is sold ala carte.

I'm perplexed.

My Limited Budget Midwestern Remedy

Much to this worn out mother's dismay, home repair efforts have eaten all (if not more) of our fun money for the season. There will be no flights scheduled, no reservations confirmed nor no postcards mailed as planned. However, I have found a cure for the common cabin fever...

Look out Serengeti Water Park located in the heart of Owatonna, Minnesota, HERE WE COME!

(We might as well utilize our shrinking ability to convince the boys that the Owatonna water park is every bit as good as Disney World, right?)

Calgon?

When life is a little too much at times (i.e. TWO YEAR MOLARS...) one can't help but close her eyes tightly and fantasize about taking her spouse by the hand with a carry-on holding beach wear in the other to find seats 24 b and c.

The NEW Guy

We did it. I can’t believe it but we did it and it’s done. Our fluffy new family member joined us on Christmas morning, and while it was debated over and over for the days that followed, he is to be called “Max”. He is a Jack Russell Terrier (a shorty) and is 9-weeks old. The smallest dog I’ve ever seen! And unfortunately, about the same size as Noah’s favorite stuffed animal “Lamby”. Andy and I have fast become warden’s of the household, supervising each and every visit between Noah and Max to see that our not-so-gentle giant (“Lenny”, as Andy’s been calling him), doesn’t squish poor little Max. The supervised visits have become even more necessary in that “poor little Max” has grown quite fond of using Noah’s meaty calves as a teething ring. (It’s come to the point where you can’t tell their squeals apart!) Gromit is still with us, and although his new family is ready and waiting for him, we’re trying to be gentle about it. Elliott’s face crumbles at the slightest mention of a Gromit departure, so of course, Andy has backed out of backing me up. I’ve suddenly found myself alone in this very unfamiliar territory of breaking a kid’s heart. Gulp. Any words of wisdom? Anybody? Hello? “ECHO …echo…echo…”