12 ways a visit to the specialist is like a trip to Vegas
Thanks to bowel issues, we’ve had Sam on the lowest amount of medication he’s taken since early in 2013, and he’s managing himself infinitely better now than he did then. So emotionally, things are okay with him. But we’ve got to get his ass under control.
Back in April, he abruptly lost the ability to feel it when he shat. Completely. Panicked that his meds had caused the problem, I pulled back to only those he had been taking since before it started. That fixed nothing. Now, the pediatrician swears he has a bowel obstruction.… Read the rest
Fat raindrops smacked the windshield, and Scott turned on the wipers. Ahead, a church billboard warned us that the only true wisdom came from God. “We timed that perfectly.”
“And it was the most fun we’ve had as a family in ages.” I peeled my ball cap back and wiped the sweat off my face.
Caroline stopped playing Subway Surfers long enough to disagree. “Ugh. No it wasn’t. We nearly got hit by lightning.” Sam was entrenched in Frozen, or he would have seconded her opinion.
Scott and I exchanged a look. Pick your battles. We had measured that storm impeccably, even leaving ourselves time to pay for our blueberries and transfer them from the U-Pick buckets into gallon bags before the sky opened.… Read the rest
These are the signs of geekdom in my house. What signs do you see on a regular basis?
“Sam, why did you bite your friend?”
“Oh yes you did. Hard enough to bruise. His Mom told me.”
“Mom, I didn’t bite him.” Arms crossed, Sam stomps. “I pinched him.”
Holy moly, cats, it’s been three weeks. The Nutcracker cracked my figurative nuts this year. But it was good, and the kids had a great time, except for the moment mentioned above. I’m finally hooking up with Trifecta again, just in time for the editors to switch things up and put Trifecta and Trifextra in alternating weeks. This is good. It isn’t like I have time for many more than 33 words this week, even with the annual cracking of the nuts behind me.… Read the rest
Every Tuesday, Scott and I put on our wedding rings like armor. It’s easier than explaining, “We don’t usually wear them; they fall off. We won’t resize them. My grandmother touched them.” We dress in slacks and button down shirts. I strap on my ten dollar gold watch and poke through my golden heart earrings. He shaves as we drive Caroline to school.
Then he, Sam and I, jump on the highway for the hour-long commute to therapy. It’s exhausting.
We’re working with a graduate student clinic in Auburn. We’re very lucky to be there. The students, completing their practicums under licensed psychologists, have access to the newest theories, the things that might help Sam.… Read the rest
It was a Paul Simon kind of morning, a rhythmic kind of morning, and everything built around a peculiar beat. The Alabama sky was dazzling blue, and Sam put on clothes without a fight for the first time in a week. Caroline lost her belt, and she nearly forgot to wear shoes, but nobody shouted getting out the door, and the Darth Maul mask didn’t have to go into time out like it has so many mornings lately.
Sam read to me last night, each word precious and halting, a hard won battle of chosen sounds. I didn’t learn like this.… Read the rest
I swear I didn’t pose him. He insists on sleeping shirtless, and he’s always cutest at bedtime. The rabbit is called “Nobunny”
And this is the place
In the soul shaken darkness
Where I find my son
I went to my favorite writer’s conference last weekend. Killer Nashville was incredible, as always, and I came away with new insights, new friends, and a few things that I completely didn’t expect. I’m sure I’ll talk about those things at some point.
The day before that, I took Sam to one of the myriad of doctor’s appointments that dot his schedule and left so soul-shaken that I thought I wouldn’t be able to drive to Nashville.… Read the rest
“Mom, I need your help.” Sam leaned halfway out of the car, his belt still fastened, his body in almost no way restrained by it.
“What honey? Can’t you see Mommy is putting on her shoes?” I hated the accidental third person. I wouldn’t have said, “Can’t you see Jessie is putting on her shoes”. And my kids haven’t referred to themselves in the third person in years, so I can’t claim I’m echoing them when I morph into the person I call “Mommy is”. She usually comes with a slice of “Can’t you see she’s” followed by any number of activities.… Read the rest
“Let’s break this down, Sam. Caroline didn’t play Wii on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. It’s Friday, and she has had five minutes. That’s not
the longest turn in the history of forever.”
This weekend, Trifextra is Over The Top…or they want us to be anyhow.