PHD in IBA- inner bad ass

I found this picture on-line a few months ago- I had to save it. Unfortunately I did not save where I got it from so I could credit it them (sorry!)

I just felt the need to save it. I was not sure why it resonated so much with me.

I think now I do- I am this Panda.

How you say? Really a Panda?

Yes- I look cute and furry- fluffy and chubby- sweet and doe eyed. However, very few people know my inner bad ass.

I am lethal and not nice, at all.

The other day I was having a conversation with The Hubs, playing out a situation- and becasue this blog is no longer anonymous I won't get into details, but it went like this:

Me: They do not want me on their bad side, hence they will play nice. They know it is in their best interest to keep me somewhat happy. The don't want to paint me into a corner, it will get ugly.

The HUBS: Honey, they have NO idea about your bad side.

Just then I saw the Panda.

I never pick a fight, I am non-confrontational in all aspects of my life, direct but non-confrontational. I do however have one deadly trait- I don't get involved unless I can go for the jugular and finish it. If I need to, I do not hesitate and I got for that jugular- I don't hold back.

There fore I am that Panda- huge inner bad ass- HUGE- I would say as big as my fat ass!

My baby is LEGAL!

So today is the first day that everyone in my household is over 18 (except Lulu, she is 14 in dog years.)

Yesterday my baby, my youngest son, turned 18.

It is so strange, I can remember the day he was born like it was yesterday. He was a planned c-section, I was a high risk pregnancy- I have a mitral valve prolapse and my first son had been an emergency c-section- which I guess made me high risk. I was 20, which now seems like a child to me.

My pregnancy was healthy, if stressful, I had already had a baby, was a newly wed and now had ANOTHER unexpected pregnancy- we moved to the States on Valentines day 1992, Stevie was born in July.

As his birth was planned, the doctor offered to schedule the c-section for the 4th of July, that year it was a Saturday. HELL NO! I wanted to see the fireworks! Besides my husband HAD to work on the 4th. That 4th of July I walked all the monuments in DC, stayed on the mall for the fireworks then took the subway home, something I now view as complete INSANITY as I was going to give birth in 2 days.

Sunday I rested during the day, and looked forward to a night with my husband. My husband worked nights, in fact he worked 2 jobs 4-12, then 12- 8am. Since we were having a baby on Monday, he had Sunday night off. We had a nice dinner at home, even thou my cooking skills at that point were truly atrocious, it was nice to be together. I was a treat to go to bed at the same time, but we didn't get any sleep! ha-ha I know my kids have no interest in this blog, but we had sex, lots of sex that night.

We were at the hospital at 5am- Stevie was born at about 7am. We were there alone, we had no friends, no family- we only had my parents and they stayed home to take care of our 15 month old son. My husband was 24, he was not in his own country and had limited English (which was worse when he was nervous.) I was knocked out by the anesthesia (something I hate, since I clearly remember seeing Alex the moment he was born and crying I was so happy to see him.)

My youngest son was born with polysyndactyly- on his hands and feet. He had extra digits, fused fingers and toes (with bone, tissure and blood vessels) and webbing. My husband was told as far as congenital birth defects presented themselves, his polysyndactyly was severe and was found in many complex and sometimes lethal groups of anomalies or syndromes. I at the time was out cold. I can honestly tell you that moment affected the rest of his life- the feeling of helplessness. His congenital birth defects- were all physical- it turned out to NOT be part of any syndrome- of which Down's was bantered about. Do you know how long genetic testing on medicaid took to get results, let alone see a specialist? Six months. Six months we held our breath.

The moment I saw Stevie, I knew he was going to be fine. I may have been girlish naivety or it may have been a mother's intuition, or more likely a survival mode. By the time he was in the 1st grade Steve had 7 surgeries, most before he was 2. At one point he had simultaneous surgery on all extremities, with an IV in his neck, he was tied to a crib in the hospital- it was gut wrenching. They had taken skin grafts from his pelvic area for his fingers and toes- For skin grafts to take, you have to be immobile. How do you immobilize an 10 month old baby? You put casts on him from finger tip to shoulder, elbow bent, from tip toe to upper thigh, knee bent. The fist few crucial days, you tie him to a hospital crib, lest his finger tips rip out the IV in his neck. AS I write this, I can tell you I honestly forgot how bad it was. Except that time, I was on the burn victim unit, because of space constraints. DC children burn unit- if you ever want to feel lucky in life- go there. If you ever think your kid is a pain- go see a child being treated for burns- you will see what PAIN is. the older he got the worse the surgeries were- when your baby can tell you he is so much pain and ask why over and over, you just want to die.

This post could go on forever- every surgery could be a book- I never think about it- once in a while someone who doesn't know our history will ask me about Stevie's scars and I will tell them about it. And it seems so foreign to me- such a past life. I forget how much my child has suffered- truly suffered. As a toddler, he would see anyone in a white coat, let's say an optometrist at the Mall and he would scream and run the other way! It has been easy to spoil him and treat him like the baby, even though he is only 15 months younger than my first born. When I tell people, after they ask- they always say- you were so young, wow- I admire all you did- you're amazing- to which my answer is mostly certainly- What other option did I have? Run away? Not care for my child? Not fight tooth and nail with every fucking Insurance company we ever had? Oh yeah, once we got insurance, because I was pregnant when I can to the US and could get Insurance- he was born uninsured. Not battle doctors, nurses and pharmacies to make sure my son got what he needed? Was it an option to go to bed and cover my head with a pillow and never come out? My friend laughed the other day and she said- yes! Some people do!

This was taken last night- my little trooper turned 18

Drastic Changes

Lady Godiva decided to cut his hair, all on his own. I was uneasy with the decision, I was not sure how he was going to look with short hair, I had grown very accustomed to his long hair.

He looks so different, so grown up, I miss my baby.

On the bright side, he donated his hair to make a hair piece for children with cancer. He is very sweet like that. For years he has been collecting the tab off soda cans and he claims they donate 5 cents for every tab. I don't know what charity or where he takes them, but he always has zip lock bags with those metal tabs in them.

OK...get ready, here are the before and after pics..TA DA DA DA

A is for Alligators all around, B bursting balloons

When I was a little girl we lived in Silver Spring, Maryland and as many children in the 70's. I was obsessed with Maurice Sendak's book: Where the Wild Things Are, I also was crazy about In the Night Kitchen.

My mother is an artist, so most of the books she bought me as a child involved gorgeous illustrations, and she never worried too much about the content. I remember her telling me In the Night Kitchen was banned from some libraries because the boy was shown naked and something about nocturnal ejaculation (yes, she used those words.) Remember, this was coming from the woman who took me to the natural drawing class with the naked guy, per my post: LOOK MOM A NAKED MAN!

At some point between 1977 and 1979 Maurice Sendak came to White Flint Mall, which was a brand new fancy pants shopping center with a glass elevator that descended in to a water fountain, about 25 minutes from our house. My mother took me to see him. Mr. Sendak read Where the Wild Things are aloud and once he was finished I stood in line to meet him. He was seated and next to him was an easel with black sheets of paper on which he made each child in line a drawing with colorful chalk on the black back round. When we got home my mother sprayed hairspray over it so that it wouldn't smudge. I put it under my bed, as it was the only place it could fit with out being folded. I would pull it out every night and imagine I was Max in a far off land being hero, dancing around a fire with my new found fierce friends.

We moved houses and countries, states and schools at least 10 times since I had that drawing under my bed, and of the things that I lost and were broken or ruined in the moves, that is the one thing I regret the most. Last night, I told my Mom about the movie coming out and how I was taking my boys to see it. I asked her if she remembered taking me to the Mall, she didn't, but she also couldn't remember what she had for diner 10 minutes ago.

Instead of focusing on my my childhood, I told her about how I bought all the same books for my boys, how to this day can still sing every damn song from I'm really Rosie, and make a different voice for every monster, and can make the 'weeeeeeeeeeeeeee" sound for 30 seconds when Mickey slides down to the Night Kitchen. So tomorrow night, after I leave the hospital I will take my boys (now 18 & 17) to see Where the Wild Things Are, and I am sure I will cry my eyes out, and one day down the road they will buy these same books for their kids, and then I will be able to dance around and sing and play all thanks to Mr. Sendak and my mom the artist.

Sexting

OK, this post isn't really about sexting....it's just that the other day that my post was called: Big Mama Boobies...um, I got like 3 times the hits I usually get, and I felt like the popular Queen BEE in NYCPrep (you have to watch this show, the douche-bagery is EPIC) and LOVED it...so I am thinking of either having provocative titles or all of them be BIG BOOBIES, just a thought...let me know what you think of that.

This post is really about just plain texting while you are driving, which should be called STUPID ON WHEELS.

This is where it pays to have a tattle tale...every family has one, it's usually the favorite child (yes, if you have more than 1 there is a favorite) You can pretend you're the Mother of the Year and love all your kids equally, we are not talking about LOVE, we are talking about favorite! How do I know this is true? Growing up, I was the favorite, many times it coincides with being the baby, or the cutest, sweetest and most lovely, or all of the above, just saying.

Anyway, I got a little tattle tale that lives with me and he tells me everything. He tells me about his friends, his brothers, himself (guilt gets to him) and about THE HUBS (his Daddy) which works just great for me!

So apparently The HUBS has been texting while driving. Not in front of me, of course, because we would both be dead, because if he was silly enough to text while driving while I was in the car, I would have WHACKED him so hard he would have blacked out and we would both be DEAD, right now!

No, he has been doing it, I assume alone (Thank GOD for good life insurance) and with the boys in the car (which he will answer to later tonight)

Now maybe I could live with this is if let's say we was Jeff Gordon, or Ricky Bobby, but he is undoubtedly the worst driver I have ever met. He will literally turn around and talk to the person in the back seat, he will drive with his knees while holding a coffee cup and talking on the phone (can you cay cup holder?) he will miss his exit because he is talking to you, oh the bad driving examples go on and on.

The funny thing is he really thinks he is a good driver and gets really annoyed when I tell him he isn't.

I know none of you are silly enough to be texting while driving, right?

Voo-Doo Ritual TONIGHT

So you may think I have some big plans for the weekend, but no, I am having a girls night in with my new friend, and based on a conversation the other day, this is what will be happening at my house tonight:

GF: So my sister went to this voodoo lady and she taught her this thing that can tell you how many children you’ll have and what sex they will be.
ME: um-hum – (my last 3 really good girlfriends have all tried to get me to have babies at the same time as them, it’s a weird obsession with my friends)
GF: So next time I see you, I’m going to do it on you and if it says you are going to have a girl. That’s IT!
ME: OK (I’m at the drive thru at Sun Trust and the tellers there always insist on talking to you and stuff, it’s so annoying!)
GF: I’ll just tell your HUBS, that’s it, you guys have to have another baby, we have to have a girl (the truth comes out, she’s has a boy and wants a girl too, not just ALL the time, so she wants to SUCKER me into having a baby for the both of us. I swear I will be like your live in nanny (yeah right)
ME: Well if Mr. X dies I’ll think about it
GF: Who’s Mr. X?
ME: Mr. X is the HUBS boss, if he dies I am sure The HUBS will get a promotion and then I can quit and become a FULL-TIME BLOGGER *ahem* I mean a STAY AT HOME MOM

Maybe I should start a FUND all the people who want me to have another baby (my youngest is 17) can send me MONEY, that way I can be a SAHM, only you have to hurry, I am 37, um, I mean 21!

I can also start a 2nd FUND, all the people who DON'T want me to have another baby can send me MONEY and when the last baby goes off to college (2 years) I can take that money and travel all over the world in great luxury (I'll blog about it of course!)

Either way, I'm keeping ALL the MONEY!

Too soon?

Too soon? Too mean? Should I have waited until CNN, MSNBC, and every other media outlet stopped broadcasting about his death at least 10 hours a day?

Can you tell my why Anderson Cooper (don't get me wrong, I LOVES the silver fox) had to do a segment titled "Where is Bubbles?" Really?!?

Look I like to get my gossip on-line all DAY long, Perez, TMZ, etc, etc, but at some point I want to watch real news, like the

• what's up with the President of Honduras or ex-president?
• Iran a nuclear threat?
• The ETA just detonated a car bomb in Spain?
• What's up with Korea?

The one thing on this list was not is Bubbles knows Michael is dead and if they should tell him.

Just sayin...

Flying Boy

The youngest Hairy's Birthday is July 6th, this sucks. It is in the middle of the summer, everyone is out of town on vacation or gone for the Holiday weekend, or away at their parent's who doesn't have full time custody, etc, etc, etc.

Besides, everyone who is in town (like me) is pooped from the crazy 4th celebrations. This year we had a Cook Out on the 5th, just to keep the party going, but not a single friend of little Hairy came over. The result was he was tortured by all the grown ups all day long. We made him play billiards with us, he played pool volleyball and by the end of the day he became the "human cannon ball." I will admit seeing 4 grown men throw my 140 pond baby 8 feet up in the air was not fun, he however thought it was AMAZING!

Thanks Jen for putting together Worth a Thousand Words Thursday!

Then and Now

Today I took my youngest to get his driving permit, he will be 17 on July 6th and could have gotten the permit almost 2 years ago, but in all honesty letting that child drive a car at 15 would have been a eminent threat to all people in Orlando, I'm talking CODE RED. Regardless, he didn't pass, so his Dad has to take him back tomorrow to re-take the test.

Before at 13

After at 16

Even the lady at the DMV called him a Silly Goose, if she only knew!

Thanks Jen for all the WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS THURSDAYS!

Wordless Thursday- My baby

This is my youngest son, he's 16, he will still hold my hand in public, kiss me good-bye in front of his friends and calls me "Mama Cakes" I like him, even if he is a boy, and becoming a hairy man like the others in my house.