random hilarity

 

 No reason for this, except that The Hoff looks really creepy here and it makes me laugh.  Also, lemurs are not the choice I would make for evil minion, but here they look pretty compelling for the whole evil overlord argument.

Definition of The Minion.

Funny story.  When he was about 3, he asked his daddy what these things were on his chest.  Being proper and correct, his daddy told him they were called nipples, and everyone has them.  End or story.

Except, apparently The Minion heard this not as nipples, but as nickels.  So, now, when he randomly informs me that - while wrestling around with his daddy - he touched his nickels, I can't help but burst into hysterical laughter.  Which doesn't at all help the situation.  Because now he knows that he can talk about nickels in public and not only will I be horrified, but I will be horrified while laughing hysterically and begging him to please stop talking about it.

This every thing happened just the other day at lunch with a friend of mine, the delightful Princess of Evil, and I have to say, her immediate burst of maniacal laughter validated my theory that him saying nickels is HYSTERICAL.  Even in public. 

However, in trying to be covert in telling the nickels story, so he wouldn't know what I was talking about and start blurting it out in the middle of the restaurant (which, naturally, he totally did, thus the laughter), I was saying in stead of nipple he heard nickel.  But I said instead of "p-p" (spelling nipple).  Well, he latched onto that since that is one of his favorite potty words.  And then we had to try to divert him with spelling.  The first word that popped into my head was Mississippi.  But I spelled it wrong.  Missippippi.  So, now and forever more, The Minion wants to know when we are going to Missippippi.  His elementary school teacher will thank me for that one day, I am sure.

No reason at all for this.

It just cracks me up to look at it.

I guess it's not as funny if you aren't into the whole Harry Potter thing.

Also, it is physically impossible for me to say "Harry Potter" in anything other than a REALLY terrible British accent.

 

 

 

 I REALLY desperately want a Fembot doll.

Because - AWESOMENESS.

 

Minion artwork.

 
 

My mascot.  She's so cute, just looking at her makes me happy.

No words are needed here.  This is just eleventy million types of amazing.

 

 

 

The Minion's preschool has a little library.  Lots of donated books.  One day, The Minion brought this book home.

It's actually a kid's meal book from McDonalds or Burger King or something, and it's a bible story.  But the cover was just so shocking and horrifying, I had to take a picture.

Fiery Furnace indeed.

Another one that just makes me laugh.  The word pantaloons gets me every time.

 

 

 

So, that's the amusements for the day.  I will confess to painting my toenails in my office while the phones were going crazy in the main room.  It was amusing.

 

Also, comments are always welcome.  I do check.  So, if you have something to say, please, chime in!  I can't have world domination without some good feedback.



 

 }:->  QoE

 

Emotions are messy

I love being a mom. I love that The Minion wants to be right on top of me, all the time. Because I know that means that he feels safe with me, and likes being with me. I even don’t mind, usually, that I have a husband that works six days a week and is a musician, so his free time is limited. Most of the time I am even okay with the fact that I have no backup, besides him. I am the primary, go-to-gal for all thinks kid related. It’s just me. Everyone I trust, really trust, to watch The Minion has jobs and kids and lives of their own. There is no one that I can just call up spur of the moment and say, “Hey, could you watch him for a couple of hours while I go do _________?”

And usually, that’s okay. But sometimes, I just want a break. I just want to be free of the responsibility, just for a while. To be able to just get in the car and go. Doesn’t really matter where. The grocery store, to get a new pair of shoes, anywhere. Just as long as it is by myself and I can just do what I need to do without any other distractions or responsibilities hanging over my head.

But that’s not the way it is. And I am okay with that. Most days.

But then there are days like today.

I have a fancy wedding to go to very soon. And I need something to wear. Clothes are not something I enjoy. I am not into fashion. I wear it because it’s practical and functional. But clothes bring me no joy. Shopping for clothes is traumatic in and of itself. I do not like to shop for clothes. I do not like about 98% of what I find in a store. I don’t like the styles, the colors, the patterns. I don’t like dresses, feel uncomfortable even in long skirts. Don’t do sleeveless, or sparkly, or striped. No bold patters and designs. Pretty much, give me all black or dark plain things and I am good. And, because I am not a small girl, my choices are already limited. I can’t just walk into any store and grab something off a rack and have it be okay. It’s frustrating and stressful and I hate it. But, I have to have something to wear, so I have to shop. And you wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to find something … just one damn thing … that I can tolerate.

I don’t shop often. I HATE it. And if I find something I like, then I will wear it until it falls apart. I have some things, but I have actually gained a whole size in the past year, so none of the things I have even fit anymore. And that just adds a whole 'nother layer of ick to the situation.

So … let’s make a wretched situation even more terrible by dragging a kid along. A kid who is already not happy to be drug around from store to store, and even less pleased that it’s store after store of clothing with nothing to interest him at all. Sure, he has his game thing with him, but come on. I am miserable with this endeavor, I can’t expect that he would be any more thrilled about it. I don’t blame him.

Long story short -- I have exactly a week to find an outfit and so far nothing. Nothing fits right, nothing is what I want. Except I don’t even know what that is. I am upset and stressed and I just want to run away. Just get in the car and drive until I decide to stop. Alone. Blessedly alone. With no one asking me questions, No one saying “Mama, I want to go. Mama, carry me. Mama, when will you be done?”

More than anything, I want freedom. I want to escape my life.

And then the crushing guilt hits. Because my life is pretty great. I have a husband that I am still crazy about, even after 20 years. And even though he exasperates me and makes me nuts, there’s nothing better than being with him. I have a nice house. A good job. A wonderful family. And I have The Minion. This cute, smart, funny, crazy kid that loves me more than anything on this Earth. Who wants to be attached to my hip 24/7. Who doesn’t want me out of his sight, not even for a minute. Who is growing up way to fast, and way too soon will not want to be seen in public with me. I am so very lucky. And yet, some days … like today … I just want to escape. To be anywhere but here. To be FREE.

So, after another store of finding not a single thing that pleases me, of feeling helpless and hopeless and totally overwhelmed, I say I am done, and I take us to the car to come home. I can’t do it. I can’t look for clothes - when I hate everything I see - and keep track of him, and listen to him ask me a million questions, and try to just freaking think. And then the tears come. And then the sobs. It’s an ugly cry. A snotty, headache inducing mess. All while I am driving home.

Home.

The place I go to escape. The place I want to escape from. My safe haven, and also the place keeping me tethered to this anguished mental place I want so desperately to flee from.

So we go home. And still I sob. It’s like, once the floodgates have opened, I can’t stop it. I don’t even know exactly why I am crying. Am I angry or sad, or stressed or losing my damn mind? Do I just need a break, or is this the start of some sort of downward spiral? It’s on a day like this that I am grateful that alcohol holds no allure for me. Because at this moment, I can see having a drink, and another, and another, and another, until I can make it all go away.

I instinctively head to the bedroom, thinking I will curl up on the bed and finish my pathetic sobbing breakdown, maybe - if I am lucky - fall asleep, and wake up in a better frame of mind. In that moment, what The Minion will do during this time is not my concern. He knows how to get snacks and turn on the TV. We are at home. He will be okay. I just want the escape of silence and sleep in my safe space.

Except, I have to pee first. And when I come out, there he is. Curled up on the bed. In my spot. With the TV on. No relief there. Still the crying comes. Can’t stop it now. I can feel my eyes puffing up. My head stopping up. I know the headache is going to follow soon. But I can’t stop it now. I’m too far in.

So, I head to the living room. I go to curl up on the couch. I just want to curl up and cry. Except I can’t. Because The Minion has followed me. He’s right next to me. On the pile of pillows, in my space. I say, “I don’t want you on me”. And he says he isn’t. I scoot over and lay in the other direction, away from him. I just want some space of my own. And the sobbing starts again. What the hell is wrong with me?! I am angry. And sad. And frustrated. Anguish is a word that comes to mind.

And then, there he is. Squishing in behind me. I feel his little hand patting my back. The one thing I wanted to get away from is the one thing that makes me feel better. I get up and blow my nose. The headache is here now, full force, so that won’t really help, but maybe it will relieve a little bit of the pressure. My eyes feel like hot sandpaper.

So … here I am. I sit down at the computer, open a word document, and start typing. No thought process, just an emotional purge. There are still tears, but no more sobbing. The Minion gets his crayons and sits in the floor coloring across the room. Quietly.

Then he comes over here to where I am sitting, typing. And he asks me if he can watch Star Wars. And that does it. I turn around and say, “Come here”, and open my arms. He crawls up into my lap. I hug him tightly and tell him I love him. In a whisper, but fiercely.

And he says, “I am sorry I made you sad, Mama.”

I hug him tighter and tell him it isn’t him. And he whispers back, “Who is it?”

Completely emotionally undone. Those three little words just broke me. So, I said the only thing I could say.

“It’s me, baby.”

And then I blew my nose again, started a cup of tea, and put in Star Wars.

I still need an outfit. I still want a few hours to myself, to shop in relative peace (and anxiety). And maybe, when POF gets home from work, I will ask him to keep an eye on The Minion so I can run out for a while and get shit done. But I don’t feel trapped anymore. I don’t long to escape. I want nothing more than to cuddle that adorable little boy on the couch and watch Luke meet Obi Wan and Han Solo and save the galaxy. I still have a headache. But my soul sure feels better.

I still want “me time”. But right now, what I need is Minion Time. So that’s where I am headed. Thankful. Grateful. Lucky. Maybe no happy, not right at this second. But definitely content.

There’s no place like home

The one that was supposed to be sweet, maybe funny, and ended up being serious and requiring tissues ... Sorry about that.

As Valentine’s Day approaches, for some reason it makes me think of when The Minion was born. 

Possibly because at this point in the pregnancy I was miserable and ready for him to be OUT.  I was also starting to have blood pressure issues and some serious fluid retention, so it was beyond the point of uncomfortable.  I maintained minimal weight gain for the whole pregnancy until that last month where I gained like 20 pounds in fluid alone.  It was brutal.

We have the video somewhere of the day he was born, but we’ve never watched it, and I doubt we ever will.  My water broke at 4 AM, and I didn’t have him until 8 that night.  It was a s-l-o-w labor, basically sitting there at 2 cm all day long, until about 6 PM when things started happening very fast.

I don’t think about it too much because it kind of freaks me out.  See, in my mind, things happened very quickly.  Maybe 5 minutes from starting to push to him being whisked away.  But it was longer than that.  Much longer.  Even though I know the details now, it still seems so fast in my mind, and it makes me unsettled to realize that so many things were going on that I was completely unaware of at the time.

It’s all pretty much a blur in my mind, but there are a few things that stand out in my memory.

I remember the doctor yelling that she needed help with shoulders and then it seemed like people started pouring through the doorway out of nowhere.

The Minion was stuck.  And he was blue.  My mom was there, filming with the video camera, and at this point, when she realized what was happening, she lowered the camera.  I don’t know if she kept recording or not, and I don’t know that I could handle hearing all of it, much less seeing any of it, even now, five years later.

I remember nurses grabbing my legs and slinging my legs back so my feet were way behind my head.  I am not a small girl.  This amount of bending and flexibility, especially with a big pregnant belly, doesn’t seem physically possible.  Honestly, I am amazed I was able to walk afterwards.  I remember feeling pressure and screaming.

That’s when the doctor decided not to wait for help and shoved both hands in around his shoulders to yank him out.  My mom said the scream was like something she’d never heard – like I was being ripped in half.  I don’t remember the sound, just that somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I had screamed.  And then he was out.  Thankfully my doctor was a tiny little thing with small hands.  But even with that, I still had quite a bit of tearing internally from her yanking him free, and I was bleeding a lot.  Still, she probably saved us both, and that is awesome.  One of my favorite pictures is of her holding him at my 6 week checkup.  I vowed then that I would not have another kid without her, and if we do get lucky enough to have another one, I hope I can keep that vow. 

From there, it seemed like things were boom, boom, boom.  He was born, he cried, they brought him over to me, he was taken to the NICU.  But I guess there was a lot more time lapse than I really realize.  I know that I heard him cry.  And I remember the doctor saying “she’s throwing clots” and feeling needles jab into each thigh.  And I know she was down there, for a loooong time, sewing me up and getting the bleeding stopped.  I do remember cracking a joke with her about something.  At the time, she probably thought I was crazy.  But I really had no clue that things were as serious as they were, or that either me or The Minion had been so close to some serious crisis.  And I definitely remember her telling me that if we did this again, we were totally doing a c-section.

The nurse brought The Minion over for me to see him. I looked at that sweet little face, and I looked up at POF all happy and “look what we did”.  He was pale and a little shell-shocked looking.  At the time I thought it was kind of funny, him being all shocky.  I assumed it was just the whole childbirth thing in general because he does not do well with blood or me being hurt.  I had no idea that he was pretty much on the verge of a freak out because he’d just spent the last half hour standing against the wall while all hell broke loose, wondering if he was going to lose me and/or his new baby boy.  We don’t talk about it.  The emotions there are too raw and deep and scary, and I don’t think either of us really has the ability to go there and not lose it.  Still, after five years.

The hospital policy has all the dads take the babies to the nursery and get them checked in, so POF left to take The Minion down to the NICU for some tests and observation.  I was STARVING.  I had been without food for about 24 hours.  Mom had come in that morning about 7 AM with biscuits from Hardees.  As soon as they allowed it, at about 9 PM, I grabbed one of those biscuits and inhaled it.  I did not care that it was 12 hours old.  It was delicious.  My stomach immediately rebelled, but I kept it down and within half an hour they had me up and walking.

I was ready to move to a room on the nursery floor.  The Minion was still in NICU, so they took me down there first so I could see him.  They had removed the IV from my hand, but I was just out of it enough not to really realize that my hand had been bleeding, and I guess no one noticed.  The sheet that was under me had blood all down the side from my hand, and when I lifted my hand in the NICU, it had blood dried all over it.  So, first they had to clean me up, then I got to see the kiddo for a minute before heading to a room.  He finally came up about 2 AM, and I kept him with me pretty much the whole time.

And POF jumped right in.  I was out of commission for a good two weeks or so afterwards, having to stay off my feet, so he really had to take charge and be the primary caregiver.  And watching him with that tiny little bundle of cuteness was just about more than I could take.  Emotion overload, every single time.

He was a great baby, sweet, cuddly, hardly cried.  He was born on Monday, we went home on Wednesday.  I was breastfeeding, and I had concerns because I wasn’t really having the feelings I was supposed to have.  The “lactation specialist” told me that sometimes it took a few days for the milk to come in, that everything was fine, he was getting everything he needed from me.  That was totally NOT true, but I had no way of knowing that.

So, we came home, and the next day when he went to his first pediatrician appointment, he was severely jaundiced and had lost almost a pound.  I had what can only be described as a slight nervous breakdown in the doctor’s office.  My baby was starving and I didn’t know. I should have known.  I was a horrible mother.  He was sick and I let him get that way.  I was a MESS.  They popped a bottle of formula in his mouth and he sucked it down in about 5 seconds flat.  He was fine.  He was going to be fine.  I wasn’t a horrible mother.  I wasn’t failing epicly in the first 72 hours.  It was gonna be ok.

But there were more tests.  He had three heel pricks in as many days, and his cries when they did it just shattered me.  POF was an emotional wreck.  Worried about me, worried about the boy, watching him get shots and being poked and prodded, watching me have hysterics over it.  I don’t know how he managed to keep it together because we were definitely in a code red stress situation for about three days.

The Minion was going to be fine, but we had to but the special light blanket thingy on him for the jaundice.  He had that for a couple of weeks or so.  We called him the little glow worm.  He became a formula baby and I continued to breast feed as a supplement.  My milk never really came in, and he weaned himself to strictly a bottle by 5 months.  He gained weight back quickly and became a chubby happy baby.

I spent the first several months on constant alert, paranoid about every little noise or movement or poop that could maybe possibly mean something might be wrong.

And I had a lot of internal tearing, so I was in pain.  I dreaded going to the bathroom because I knew it would hurt so badly.  I had my muscled clenched so hard, so tight, all the time, that when I did need to pee, I couldn’t.  The only way I could was to get in the shower, with the water running, and basically hop up and down from foot to foot until the pee basically fell out.  Then, once I started to go, I was fine and could go.  But I could not go willingly.  Even after my 6 week check-up, when I was given an all clear.  It took me probably 8-10 weeks before I could force myself to unclench enough to pee like a normal human being.  I was taking probably six showers a day.  It was ridiculous.

I fought the first poop too, and that was practically an out of body experience.  It’s a wonder I didn’t rip the countertop right off the vanity.  But I survived it, and slowly things got back to normal.

Looking back, I think that maybe the whole almost traumatic birth experience is probably why I dote on him the way I do.  Why I coddle him, why he’s such a Mama’s Boy.  And definitely why I don’t really leave him with anyone, even now.  If I go somewhere, he’s with me, or he’s with his Daddy.  We keep him close.  I know that eventually he will get big enough that he won’t want to be up under us 24/7.  Some days I can’t wait for it, and some days I dread it.  This mama’s heart will definitely break a little bit the day my baby boy decides he doesn’t’ need to be attached to my hip quite as much.

So, on Valentine’s Day, I think about having my sweet little Tiny Terror.  How close we came to losing him, and me.  And how lucky we are to be together.  Our little family is pretty awesome, and there’s no place in the world I would rather be.

The Minion wants a brother.  And I want another little Minion for him to terrorize.  It hasn’t happened yet, but I am hopeful that one of these days, it will.

I did the I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar thing and had a natural childbirth.  Although the thought of a C-Section is even scarier to me, I know that’s the plan if we have another.  I figure I will have 9 months to obsess about it, so by the time it happens, it will be no big deal.  And the idea of watching The Minion corrupt the new addition with his master manipulation skills just warms my little black heart.

So, whether you are married or single ... in love or heartbroken or have a heart cold as ice ... This year, on Valentine’s Day, love everyone.  Give hugs.  Kiss your mom, your kids, your best friend - if she will let you (mine has a strict rule of only escorting her by the elbow once she's blind and senile).  Celebrate the joy of life and love.

And be thankful that you can pee without having to stand in the shower dancing a jig.

apex predator says blah

I've started a new entry three times today.

I have erased them all.

Each one is just more insipid than the last.

So, in place of that horrible drivel that I could not even force myself to re-read, I give you this:

Jersey Shore Shark Attack.  Another example of Syfy original movie genius.

Also, I kinda feel like that guy right about now.

(and I also kinda love that evil shark.  he's so ugly he's cute.  someone REALLY needs to come out with a line of plus toys made after the monsters in those horrible Syfy original movies.  i would own them ALL)

awesome friends

Been going through all my posts, adding titles and gathering some graphics to add to make them more fun ...

And I came across this. 

One of my friends is a yoga chick.  She teaches, and basically makes her body do things that makes my body cringe in horror.

So, naturally, when I saw this picture I thought of her.  And I just kept seeing it in the magazine.  And I realized that the expression on this chick's face was just creepy given that it was a tampon add.

See:

 

 

So, naturally, she sends me this in response ... because she is AWESOME:

 

 

She even threw in a tampon box to make it authentic.

 

Love her.



The draft that has been sitting there for two years, so i decided what the hell ... it's totally outdated and still oddly the same. You're welcome.

I sat outside on the ground the other day for almost 45 minutes, closely examining the grass, dead leaves, clovers, moss, and other things that were there. I did this with my kid, and I was amazed at his curiosity at discovering nature. It was pretty cool.

Of course, the ass of my pants was damp and covered in bits of nature when I got up, and my knees were stiff, but it was worth it. And the Minion was just as happy as can be. He is definitely gonna be an outside Minion, and that is a good thing.
 

I am so tired of hearing about politics. I know I should be paying attention and all that, but I tune it out after about ten seconds. Which is pretty much when all the asshats start chiming in with their two cents. It amazes me that people can believe the stupid shit that they believe. And that they can convince other people that it's true.

Government isn't about the people anymore. It's about big corporations that make campaign donations and lobbyists with special agendas. I would like to see our legislators vote based on what's actually good for the people instead of based on what favors they owe or what side project they are trying to slide through. It just disgusts me, so I tune it out.

POF is fascinated. He flips between Fox News, CNN and HLN to watch the different takes on whatever current event is happening. And it is laughable sometimes. The spin that Fox puts on things can be hilarious, and a little scary.

I didn't check to see, but I hope Rush is packing his bags. He promised he would. It's only right he follow through. Of course, he'd probably end up somewhere like St. Barts or something ridiculous like that.

I've been doing well with the whole treadmill thing. Almost every day for a couple of weeks now. But today I am not feeling it. I am so tired for some reason. I even laid down and took a nap with the Minion this morning. And I could still sleep.

I am ready for Spring. I am not a yard work kind of girl, but I am ready to get out in my back yard and make it pretty again. Maybe we might even do minimal effort in the front. We keep it kinda scraggly up there. POF's theory is that if it looks too nice in front, people will think we have nice stuff and want to break in. Probably another example of his crazy logic, but since I typically loathe yard work, I go with it. And for once, it actually does make sense.

I am tempted to delete this whole post cause it's boring and blah. But I am blah today, so it stands. I will try to think of something funny for next time. The Queen Mother does read this, so I can't tell some stories. She might know about some, but I don't think she needs to know about all my exploits as

Edit:  2/6/14:  See ... I just left right off there with no closing or nothin.  I will add this, because it amuses me:

 

Clean socks, lots of tears, and a touching parental moment

Raising a kid is hard.  Watching them grow and learn is amazing.  It’s also gut-wrenching.

This morning was one of those moments where I questioned my parenting skills, my sanity, The Minion’s sanity, and a found myself in the bathroom, blow drying my hair and crying.

It started with a pair of socks.

The Minion has a thing about socks.  He absolutely refuses to put on a clean pair each day.  He’s small, and not too terribly stinky for the most part, so I usually don’t fight him on it.  He will wear them a couple of days and then be fine with changing.  But not this morning.

Wednesdays are a late night for us.  We go to the Y after work and I walk and then we swim.  Last night we also had to hit the grocery store afterward, so it was after 8 when we got home, close to 9 by the time he inhaled two bowls of gorgonzola chicken pasta.  It was a late night, and I knew he would be tired and cranky today.  I just wasn’t expecting this particular level of rage.

Imagine little (almost) 5 year old Bruce Banner.  Mild-mannered, shy, sweet boy.  Usually busy conducting some sort of experiment that could change the world.  But then, suddenly, something triggers that temper, and he becomes a little green lump of RAGE.

That was my house this morning.  And while The Minion was RAGE, he didn’t exactly understand why.

So, it started with socks.  And then came the temper tantrum.  The yelling, the crying, the refusal to get dressed.  The demanding that I go away, not to even be in the same room with him.  He was so MAD AT ME.  But he didn’t know why.  Not really.

And this is where it gets hard.  Because (almost) 5 year olds have a LOT going on.  They are learning and developing and exploring all kinds of new feelings and emotions.  And while they might be starting to understand what some of the more complex emotions look like, they really don’t have a handle on what they feel like when they happen.  So, we basically operate on happy and mad.  Considering his father pretty much existed on these two emotions for his first 30 years, I am at least fairly well equipped to deal.

But he’s so small.  And so upset.  And it breaks my little black heart into a million pieces.  And usually, I cry.  I try to go in another room and have a few tears and be done, because it does upset him when I am upset.  But today, I cried.  I sat there on the edge of his bed, while he was smooshed into the corner farthest away from me, screaming at me to LEAVE HIM ALONE. 

I told him I couldn’t.  He knew what was coming and said he did NOT want me to hold him.  Didn’t even want me in the room.  Demanded I leave.  So, I asked if he would get dressed if I left.  And when he said no, I told him that if he wasn’t getting dressed, then I had no reason to leave.  And he screeched at me.  And I cried.  Because he was just so tortured in that moment.  All anger and not knowing exactly why.

I had already popped his butt once for throwing his clothes at me with a screamed no, so I decided to try a different tactic. I waited a minute, and I asked him if he was still mad at me.  He said yes.  So I asked why.  At first he couldn’t answer.  Then he finally said that it was because he didn’t’ get enough sleep.  So I clarified and said, “So, you really aren’t mad at me, you are just tired and cranky and don’t know how else to show it?”  And he said yes.

I asked him if screaming made him feel better.  He didn’t answer.  But he did make eye contact.  So I told him to go ahead, scream the mad out.  Nothing.  So I asked again if he felt better after yelling.  He shook his head no.  I asked him what he thought might make him feel better if yelling didn’t help.  He was looking down, silent.  Then, very quietly, he said, “You have to tickle me.  That will make me feel better.”

And let me tell you, in that moment, I cried big huge tears.  And he patted my head and I tickled him, first in just one spot.  Then, at his insistence, all over just to be sure it worked.  And it was all better.  Just like that.

I told him I had to finish getting ready and asked if he was ready to get dressed.  He nodded. I left to go brush my teeth and dry my hair.  And that’s how I ended up sobbing into my hair dryer at 8 AM.  But they were tears of relief.  I made it through.  It was an emotionally tense half hour.  My nerves were a bit frayed.  But I was able to help him work it out, to help him recognize his feeling and talk them through so that he felt better.  I felt like I’d just won the Super Bowl.

Two minutes later, he’s racing into the bathroom fully dressed, shoes on, frantically chewing his waffle.  And asking if he could play a game on the tablet in the car on the way to school.  Like nothing happened.  The Tiny Hulk of Rage was gone, and there was my sweet boy once again.

I know it will happen again in the future.  I know I will be frustrated and exasperated and aggravated.  But I also know that we can work through it.  Maybe next time I will be able to watch with a little more wonder and a little less anxiety.  Because seeing that little brain that I had a hand in creating actually make connections and figure stuff out is pretty damn amazing.  Stressful on this mama’s heart, but amazing to behold.