surprise, surprise, surprise

The only thing I miss about being childless is being able to knock around town with big M without regard for time. That's it. Everything else I love more than when I was childless. I love my joys more. I appreciate my frustrations and hopes more. I like being a parent more than I like eating breakfast on the odd Saturday with my husband without kids. I also like and appreciate surprises more. Even though it's been really rough going at times, I've found I'm better than most with surprises like, "Your son will die if he eats any form of milk or egg and does not receive medical attention within 5 minutes of ingestion." I am also good with surprises like, "Your daughter has her own mind and will wear whatever costume she deems necessary: even if it is an impossible mash-up like a princess-ballerina-cowgirl-costume of her 3-y.o. doing that is not based in reality or your motherly desire for the order and tidiness found in other children." I am also good with surprises like, "Your son knows how to raise the roof and line dance." This latest surprise I discovered at the Halloween Party thrown by the school. Apparently, the Scots like to line dance and little M, being a social guy and game for most anything, has no fear on the dance floor. He rallies the boys to join the girls and will "raise the roof" when things get a little dull on the oaks. He will not, however, dance with his gestating mother. But that's I guess that's no surprise.

making Scotland work

That's me breathless from dancing "strip the willow" at a ceilidh on Saturday night. The ceilidh was filled with Scots who could dance, Scots who couldn't dance, men in kilts who could whirl me silly, and one particularly crusty old guy who just liked the polka bits of all the dances. The band leader taught the dances as best he could til he gave up and berated us all in good fun. "That's not really dancing," he said to me on the mike for all to hear, "but you can stay to keep the numbers even."

I'm reading "Einstein's God," and I'm surprised at the fundamental understanding my son has of Einstein's groundbreaking rules of the universe. The other day on the walk home, he said to me, "Time goes faster when you're moving. I don't like waiting. Waiting is slow and boring." "Yes indeed Einstein," I said. He said, "I'm not an Einstein. I'm just your son." I'm not saying my son is a genius. I've got proof of the contrary such as when he started to make fart noises on his arm on the walk home to make time go faster.

We danced til midnight and then had popcorn with our sitter and her mum til 1 am. New friends and a good sitter also make time go faster and I'm not smart enough to turn that into a rule of the universe, though I do have hair worse than Einstein's. We're very thankful that great people seem to find us where ever we land. I'm off to NYC for a few days with other good friends that have found us along the way. Time is sure to fly...

of money and baldness

Take a look at my kid. I've often thought that someone could make a lot of money off this mug.

I inherited the ability to talk to myself from my mother. She can often be found in her yard having sweet conversations with herself while pulling stubborn honeysuckle from the earth. I can be found muttering stories for this blog while walking this guy home from school. When I've muttered one enough, I sit down and write it out just for you. But, today, my writing process was scrapped.

Today, I was trying to save money for this kid's future. I was on a very long, long distance phone call with USAA. They don't have international 1-800 numbers, so the charge is all mine to incur. These are the kinds of things I'm very happy to do for my family. I like being a parent. I like worrying about his financial and educational future. I like sticking up for him and his allergies. I like him. Except, when on this phone call to save for his future, he cuts numerous bald spots in his sister's hair.

I was muttering more than blog stories today when I found my disturbingly shorn daughter playing happily with the transgressor pictured above.

I'm trying to figure out how to make money off that mug above as that's the only way I know how to pay off the cost of a hairstylist that will actually attempt to fix the inflicted baldness. Also, when I look at this incident in the big picture of who my son is, I have a feeling that this is not the only cost that I will bear. There's just no way I know how to afford his experimental nature without him footing at least some of the bill....

other than allergies

Try saying, "M is anaphylactic to all forms of milk and egg in any amount baked into any food." Then, if people don't understand what anaphylaxis is you must repeat the same information in a different way, "M stops breathing if he eats any form of milk and egg in any amount baked into any food." Mouthful. No pun intended. It wears me out some days, though it is always my pleasure to provide this safety buffer for him. Being new, even a year-and-a-half new, I must always be on my best behavior as I don't want to offend someone that I might need in an anaphylactic emergency. I've found I must always have his life-threatening allergies be one of the first things you learn about my family. I have found that, rightfully so, I get questions that cause me to remember the anaphylactic episodes in the midst of relative strangers. One of the reasons I wouldn't want to return to home is because a return means that I have to be new again. I would have to remember in the most unlikely places with relative strangers what happens when M eats one of the allergens that sends his body into anaphylaxis. I went out with some ladies the other night and it seemed that whenever the conversation came round to me his allergies came up. It was overwhelming for me.

A few years back, I was searching for something to keep a conversation going with a very boring person I had met. Work. I only knew about her work. So I asked about her work. She then brought up that she liked Irish Dancing. I asked why. She pointedly replied, "Because they don't only talk to me about work." Letting her rude comment reply slip by, I only thought to myself, "Well, I'd have more to talk to you about if you offered a bit more, Ms. Boring." Maybe I'm too boring to talk to? Perhaps I need to offer a bit more than M's anaphylaxis? Though, I can't see how one couldn't guess that there is loads more interesting about us than M's anaphylaxis. I offer the video below as a bit more about ourselves. We like costumes, cross-dressing, and saving imaginary animals in peril...for a start...

Sorry, once again, my technologically odd skills come to light. Please copy and paste in your browser window. Merci.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gcCrgIleqkQ

Salty and Sweet

First, you must know these four things about G. 1)Food is a serious occasion for G. 2)She dresses for the occasion, sometimes she even changes during a meal, a few times. 3)She prefers not to be interrupted. 4) She closes her eyes and chews when she's tasting a new food and has done this ever since her first bite of real food, banana. When I described how the banana tasted, she looked at me like I was a co-conspirator who understood how great food is.

You must also know that I trained parents to describe the world about their hard-of-hearing and deaf children with as much detail as they could muster. "Food" isn't just "yummy." Cheerios are crunchy and sweet and smell like Midwestern fields after a rain and remind me of my childhood and calm me down when I feel grumpy. I have raised both of my kids talking like a maniac to them until they started to talk like a maniac back to me. This outcome is great. They have large and fun vocabularies and they are not afraid to use the words they've discovered.

This outcome is also embarrassing. G and I were walking alongside a group of carpenters working on a house. The air was cool, the sun was out, our noses were running. G started to lick her snot. I said, "Ew. G. I don't think boogars taste very good. Let's get a tissue." She says, "Naw. Salty and sweet. Perfect." To which, the Glaswegians double-over laughing and gargling the words "salty and sweet" in their thick and lovely accents.