Chicken Noodle, part 2

In case you didn't believe me, needed proof, or just wanted to laugh. This is Silas after he ate last night. That shirt was blue when he started.

It's official

It's official. Life as I know it is over. You think I'm being dramatic? Read for yourself the conversation I had with Michael via instant message no more than an hour ago:

Michael: Silas can get out of his walker by himself

Me: WTF?! How?

Michael: Pulls himself up and out

Me: Well, that scares the sh** out of me

Michael: I went to go get a bottle. When I came back, he was standing in the seat.

Me: Did you tell him he was in big trouble?

Michael: I did. He just looked at me and said, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" He was very rude about it.

Me: Sounds just about exactly like him.

See? You thought I was being silly, but it really is that serious. I was not prepared for this. I assumed I still had at least a month before he could walk, and that made me feel like I had a few months until he could start climbing out of containment devices. But now he's gone and conquered the walker. Next will be the crib and then the playpen, and then I'm screwed. At that point, I'm not sure how I will ever shower again without another adult in the house.

At least you know you can look forward to the entertainment value of my ever-increasing neurosis.

Chicken Noodle

During meal time, Silas is a champ at blowing raspberries and/or turning his head away just as the spoon is about to land in his mouth and/or grabbing the spoon (in his vice-like grip) and wrenching it from my hand to wave it (and everything on it) around above his head. Therefore, by the time we are finished with a meal, his chicken noodle is generally all over him, all over me, all over the floor. It is one of the single most frustrating tasks of my day. He is so easily distracted that I find myself chasing his swiveling head around with a spoon full of drippy goop for twenty minutes imploring him to take a bite. He almost always finishes the entire jar, but that is only because I have (miraculously) learned to be patient enough to chase him around and make him eat.

I love food. Michael loves food. Have you seen pictures of Silas? He clearly loves food. He's a chunk-a-lunk. So, I don't understand all this making me work to feed him business. When he's hungry, he goes from zero to FEED ME NOW in a matter of seconds. Screaming and stomping and acting a damn fool. He sees the jar of baby food and a spoon and shrieks with delight (unless I've forgotten a bib and walk past him with aforementioned jar and spoon, at which point he wails even louder in his demanding little way). Each time I sit down to feed him, I think this will go smoothly. He will cooperate. The mess will be minimal. I put positive vibes out in the atmosphere. I try to minimize distractions. I talk to him about what we're doing and do the whole airplane/choo-choo train thing. Never works. Always the same frustrating mess of a meal.

Perhaps it's because baby food is disgusting, and I'm not mentioning any names (ahem, mom and Auntie, ahem), but someone(s) have been sneaking Silas french fries and mashed potatoes and only God knows what else. So, I've come to the conclusion that I am being punished because he knows there is something better in this world to eat than chicken noodle, and I persist in making him eat it.

P.S. No, he doesn't eat only chicken noodle. It's just my favorite baby food name.

Save your money, it always ends the same way

Last night, after I put Silas to bed, I put on comfortable clothes, ordered pizza and watched three romantic comedies (chick flicks) in a row. Outcome? True mental anguish.

Who the hell is writing these movies? Someone with a rich fantasy life, indeed. Please let me know if any of you have ever had a slow-motion reuniting with your soul mate in an airport/bus station/train station after a heart-wrenching misunderstanding tore you apart. No? You mean every time you and your "one true love" break up, you don't hop a plane to Belize? Ok, me neither. Just checking. And, while we're discussing it, you mean every time you and your "one true love" break up it isn't because of a misunderstanding that actually shows you both really care deeply for one another? No, sometimes one of you is just an asshole? Right. Same here. And, lastly, you mean every time you and your "one true love" break up your friends aren't getting in cahoots with one another to get you back together? No? Battle lines are drawn, shots are taken, hate is spewed, names are cursed? Yes. That's a more accurate depiction over here too.

It's not only the "happily-ever-after" ending kind of crap. It's also the fact that one (or both) of the characters is always a douche-bag to some degree, but the love of this perfectly-coiffed (who has that many good hair days in a row and never runs out of amazing outfits while also being perfectly on top of a career and social life???) individual always brings out the best in them and erases all signs of their formerly douchey behavior. It. Does. Not. Happen. In. Real. Life. (I slowed you down there so you'd have time to digest that). These movies are the reason that women think they can change men. These movies are the reason women are disappointed when they get earnest (albeit sometimes lame) shows of affection rather than grand gestures of overwhelming magnitude that leave them in a puddle of tears.

And we wonder why our men refuse to watch these movies with us. All the pressure we put on them to plan the perfect date, buy the perfect gift, remember every little detail about us? Chick flicks. We watch chick flicks and then pick our guy (or every guy we've ever dated) apart for not living up to a person who was created in someone's fantasy land (and was probably re-written 1500 times). It's truly damaging to a girl's self-esteem when she watches these things and thinks, What is wrong with me that I cannot convince my normal boyfriend with flaws to become utterly flawless? THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU. There's probably nothing wrong with your man either. He's probably just a normal guy who does normal guy stuff and gets on your nerves. Please note: they will all get on your nerves to varying degrees. The trick is cutting them slack when they do try and ceasing this search for a real life version of the lead in a romantic comedy.

I promise to cherish you as long as I live...

My wedding vows are framed. Judge Payton, the JOP who married Michael and me, gave me the actual page he read from the day Michael and I got married. I meant those vows. I meant every word. I still do.

Michael and I were in the middle of planning a big wedding when I learned I was pregnant. I had picked out a dress and a venue and my colors and bridesmaids. Then we found out I was pregnant (with Anabel), and we scrapped it all. Instead, I wore a $15 dress from Ross, we got married at the Collin County Justice of the Peace office, and my maid-of-honor was a girl I had met the day before. My mother-in-law-to-be made me a (very beautiful) bouquet, and my aunt paid for me to have my nails done all in red to match my dress. We had lunch at Fuddruckers after the ceremony, and we went to a little room in Mesquite (which my mother-in-law had decorated) for our honeymoon night.

In short, it was perfect. No huge, showy, dramatic affair. Just us. Just us declaring our love for each other and pledging to be there for one another for all time.

When Michael and I started trying to work things out this time, I sent a text message to his best friend asking him to help me let go of the things Michael and I had done to one another during the separation. His best friend told me, "I saw the love in both of your eyes at your wedding. That's something you only see a couple of times in life."

Michael and I are still struggling to find our footing after all this mess. He is, hands down, the absolute love of my life. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.

Michael, if you read this, I'm here, and I want you and only you. You are my best friend, the father of my children, and the only person in the world who I want to grow old with. Here's hoping that you'll be sitting next to me in that rocking chair when we're 90 and 88 years old. You are my husband, and I hope you will be my husband forever.

Maybe there's something to this Buddhism thing...

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while, but apparently one of the powers-that-be got wind that I have a little down time at work and decided to fix that immediately.

Then there is home.

Sometimes I really believe my little sister was reincarnated into my son. When she started pulling-up and trying to walk as a baby, my 7-year-old mind came up with the nickname "Dooders." She was always "doing" something. It stuck. She was Kayde Dooders her whole life.

Now my son can pull himself up on the coffee table, and he thinks it's fun to grab everything within reach and throw it on the floor or try to put it in his mouth. He's also got this fun new thing where he finds things on the floor and tries to stick those in his mouth. Just when I think I've gotten every, single thing out of his reach, he proves me wrong...last night he almost ate a dime. I feel like I'm chasing him around and saying "no" from the time I get home until the time he passes out. He's always "doing" something. So, sometimes I wonder....has my sister showed back up, or perhaps she sent me her little boy to raise since she's in Heaven raising my daughter?

My sister would have been 22 on the 16th. I miss her very much. So, it's nice to have a son who lights up my life because he is amazing in himself but also because he gives me glimpses of a mischievous little girl who left my life too soon.

Misery Loves Company

This carefully constructed house of cards is collapsing. This life is caving in on itself. There's nowhere to hide anymore. The pain peels the flesh from me and leaves me exposed to the elements.

I stand arms wide, sun beating down with tears pouring from my eyes. Let the darkness steal all my joy and let me remain behind with only my sorrow to sustain me.

There are no trees, no clouds, no rain, no relief. Just the miserably hot sun beating down and intensifying the ugly, bitter truth. My wounds along with the wounds I've inflicted. All of it stripped bare and laying stark naked before me.

We're all bleeding now. We're all full of hate and fear and ugliness. Our selfishness came in and made a feast of everything good and left only a carcass where there was once a healthy, happy home.