Cage Free Monkeys

Validation

Its one thing to be 6 turning 7 and have a crush on a girl.

You offer to pull her chair out, you partner up with her when you get the chance, you even ask her to dance with you. You hold her hand during a party.

She is sweet and kind. She dances with you, partners with you when you ask, and holds your hand back.

But then one day, she makes you smile like never before when you get a birthday card from her and she tells you in her way-- that she likes you too.


Since his party, I have noticed him several times, pick up this card and look it over with the sweet sweet smile on his face.

Check out other Tuesday Moments Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky

Reliving The Past

Today begins a hard week, actually month for me. Seven years ago, I was 7 1/2 months pregnant. It was my first official day of maternity leave and I reveled in my new found freedom while mopping my kitchen floor midday.

The day itself was uneventful. I remember eating a bowl of hot oatmeal while sitting on my front porch watching the school busses go by--thinking I should be at work already. My only physical complaint of the pregnancy was my swollen ankles. The air was warm and it was sunny. The windows were open and I was in nesting mode.

It was shortly before dinner that I received the phone call. It was my OB and she had a very strange tone in her voice as she spoke with me. She asked if I was home alone. She asked if I was ready to listen to something important. I was loading laundry while we had this conversation as she had my latest sonogram results from a few days earlier and I kept loading while she talked not fully grasping what she was saying. Then I remember sort of dropping the handful of laundry and asking her to explain it again. We had already lost the twin of this pregnancy. How could this be getting worse?

I remember walking into the nursery while waiting for my husband to get home to take me up to the hospital as the doctor ordered and looking around. It was painted but not fully decorated. I looked at the layette outfit waiting on the dresser. I noticed the lack of diapers and wipes, bottles and equipment. I was no where near prepared for a baby--I still had 9 more weeks.

The hospital visit was a blur. IUGR was mentioned several times. My baby weighed 2lbs 12 ounces and was not only not growing, but it was shrinking. The size of a 25 weeker, the baby for some reason was below the 3rd percentile and failing.

They ordered bed rest and continued daily bio-physicals and ultra sounds. They added a team of specialists from a hospital with a advanced NICU. My days blurred into nights laying on the couch eating as much food as I could while wishing the baby to grow.

Four days later, due to signs of extreme fetal distress a C-section was ordered immediately. He was born in a near standing-room-only OR in a blur of controlled chaos.

He would spend the next 28 days in the NICU and I would spend those same days mostly split between the hospital and on my shower floor crying.

Last week I read a study where mothers of premature babies, especially those who had extended stays in NICUs, suffered from post traumatic stress disorder. It make so much sense to me now.



So here I am, as I always am on March 17th feeling like I am trapped in the movie Groundhog's Day. Reliving every moment. Seeing the clock and knowing exactly what I was doing 7 years ago to the minute on some days. I can hear the sounds and smell the smells. And this will stretch into April, as it does every year.

He will turn 7 on Saturday. He is healthy and fine, argumentative and strong willed. Brilliant and funny. But somehow I get stuck right back in this place every year.

And each year I expect it to be different.

Why My Son is Way Cooler at 6 Than I was at 12

Let me take you back.

1986. A middle school cafeteria. 300 or so 12 year olds danced around in the first real dance. The air hung heavy with Love's Baby Soft and AquaNet Hairspray. Whitney Houstan's "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" vibrated through the room.

There I was in a black and white dress, permed hair, and a smidge of makeup. Surrounded by my girl friends I whined and contemplated about how much I wanted to dance with a certain boy. A boy I had a crush on for months. We planned and talked and giggled and ran until one of my friends dragged me out of the girls room and over to him and asked him to dance with me. He did.

We danced for about 3/4 of the song--until he politely said he should return to his date since it was the last song of the night. I think I nodded. The girls and I ran back to the bathroom and you could hear the "oh-my-God-I-cant-believe you danced with him" all the way down the hall.

Yes. Pathetically uncool. That was my first dance.
Oddly enough I would dance with that boy again, as his date to the Junior Prom--but that was a long time away from that night. That night I was so uncool. I was 12.

Flash forward 24 years later.

My son stands in a banquet hall dressed in a shirt and tie. We are there for him to receive an award. He spies a girl out of the corner of his eye that he just adores in his karate class. He says to me--without hesitation or shyness or the patheticness I displayed years earlier--"Mom I going to ask her to dance with me." And he quickly turn and follows after her.

They emerge on the dance floor and dance with wild abandon. Smiles fill the room. There is no hesitation or awkwardness. Just dancing. For 20 minutes.

He accidentally falls- smashing his head on the wooden floor. He starts crying but pulls himself together for a split second to hug her goodbye as we dash out the door. Blood oozing...head swelling.

He ends up in the emergency room with a concussion. But all he can think about is those magical 20 minutes on the dance floor.

Knight in Shining Armor

Pride

One word: pride.

No Words Needed

Making a Splash

Tuesdays Unwrapped: Evidence of a Good Vacation

Tuesday Unwrapped: You're Never too Old to Wish

This may be my favorite Tuesday Unwrapped yet.
If you ask Michael about a bunch of topics, chances are he's "too old" for many.

Thats why I LOVE this picture.


He is at Build A Bear. During the stuffing portion, you reach into the bin of hearts, warm one up in your hand for your bear, and then close your eyes and make a wish. Here you can see Michael isnt too old to make a wish for his bear.


Its a sweet moment he has no idea was captured on film.

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Vacation- Rain, Ticks, and Dead Animals

The Kids Get Interviewed!

Stephanie from Syracuse University contacted us soon after the local news did last week to see if she too could grab an interview with those facinating homeschooling Medina's to learn more about homeschooling. Of course we love to spread the word about homeschooling so we were more than happy to participate.

The fun part this time: It was less about Mom and more about them- the actual homeschoolers.

So on went the microphones and they began their interviews. Mom got to say a few words too.

Oh, and watch for Stephanie to be showing up on your local news somewhere in the future--she's a great reporter!

Michael's New Scientific Activity

So apparently my son would like to be a geologist. He loves to excavate in the dirt to find rocks and "gems". Well, I guess his impatience finally got the best of him since it was no longer fun to slowly chip away at the dirt with a stick to uncover the mysteries hidden beneath.
He has begun "water blasting" using a high pressure hose to excavate and find what lies within the clay mud. His statement to me in the afternoon as I stripped him of the layers of mud; "I had poor results today. I'll have to try again tomorrow." God help me.

A Boy Who Loves Summer

Summer Days

Michael: The Dateline Special He Wishes This Was

Size DOES Matter

Well it does when your a Monster Truck.

Michael tried out a stunt ATV with a driver.

A moment of boy love caught on film--the equivalent of seeing a beautiful pair of shoes on sale.

Shhh...

The grandparents have left, the BBQ is over, the bon fire has been put out, the neighbors have gone home, and all is right with the world.

Homeschooling Co-op Day

Meg and friends making non-newtonian fluid (slime for you non-homeschooled people).



And Michael doing dam construction in the creek.

He Is Braver Than I Am

My poor baby had an absessed molar. It hurt so bad and he was on antibiotic for a week. Today he went to the dentist to have it pulled. I knew it would be pulled, I just played dumb and said that *somehow* they would be sure the tooth didn't ever hurt him again.

He walked back to he room without me and reappeared about 15 minutes later--slightly dazed, gauze hanging from his mouth, and his arms loaded up with goodies for being such a good patient.

He is fine; I need a Xanax. And the Tooth Fairy is en route.

My New Stove: A Happy Day For All

The remainder of my day was spent trying to remove the massive amount of craft paint from their clothing.