Fake coughing.

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN 5/16/11

When I was busy watching something on hulu last night (can't remember what it was, but I'm sure it was garbage...), I kept getting interrupted by Chris.

Not only did he feel the need to plop down next to me while he was on the phone, but then he started fake-coughing.

How is someone supposed to watch trash TV with someone coughing every few seconds? It's actually not possible, that's how.

Finally, my patience had enough. It had been a whole 7-8 seconds or so of this madness.

"Stop fake coughing." I sneered.

He actually laughed out loud.
But I meant business.

"Seriously. You are faking it. I can tell."

I'm pretty sure he rolled his eyes (I might be making that part up), but he finally got up and finished his conversation in the other room, and I got to finish watching my absolutely-un-important-brain-numbing-hulu, while wearing my "Least Sympathetic Human on the Planet" crown.

And guess what? I woke up with a strange cough this morning.

Carma.

Thoughts at the end of the day.

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN BACK IN MAY.

This blog is slowly dying. I can see it's pulse slowly fading.

Sorry about that Dad.

I'm going to try to do better; especially since Chris will be living across the world in 11 days---better keep him updated. {Riiiiiiiiight. I never wrote once. Not once. I'm an over-achiever!}

Anyway...

We did it.

We moved out of our place. (I thought we were going to die)

Chris got surgery. (It wasn't awesome. At all. Not at all. Not a little.)

We finalized  G-baby's adoption. (Can I get a Halleluja??")

Really, there have been several times that I couldn't help but throw my hands in the air and laugh out loud, because my other option was to cry like a baby because things just seemed slightly idiotic and out of control.

But here we are.

I'm sitting in our college campus sub-leased apartment, typing away. I just finished taking my last quiz for one of my classes, and if I have to take one more personality quiz for my class, I'm going to hit things.

Chris is sitting in the front room, no doubt icing his knee. It hasn't been pretty. The guy is a happy little keebler elf; but have you ever made a keebler elf immobile with a swollen appendage?? Oh man. Oh man... Let's just say this: last night he declared (maybe after I gave him "the look" and asked him not so patiently, "What is WRONG with you??" for the several-th time today), "Either I'm stoned from my pain killers and feeling loopy or I'm in pain and grumpy." Guess which kind of husband I like mooooore? 

It should be noted that when they went in to make a new ACL, they also discovered he tore his meniscus. So, he had a repair of ACL, meniscus, and then of course the patella tendon that they ripped out to manufacture a new ACL. Yuuuum. Makes you all happy and cheerful, don't it? 

Anyway.

After that happened, he actually completed his final competency oral exam. So he got to defend all that his big brain knows---- on Oxycontin. Basically, his professors let him give it a go, and then eventually patted him on the back and said, "You're a good boy, you are. But we really have no idea what you're talking about. We know you know this stuff. So we're going to pass you. Now go home and put that leg up." Ta da!!!

Go buddy.

Our life has been a whirl-wind. And as I look around this pathetic apartment, and think of all the chaos that has been life, I just laugh...

My gene pool.

I'm sure I have sufficiently killed off this blog. What's my problem? I guess I have commitment issues.

Cheers!

I felt the need to break the silence, because I would like to start a segment called: Crap my kids say and/or do.

But that's not so eloquent, ya know? I feel like I need to make a banner, with bright colors, and post it on, say, every Wednesday, to make it all official. But today is Saturday, and heaven knows that I don't know a thing about being creative/crafty/handy...

It's just that Hugh is such a little freak  rascal. That boy. I'm often left dumb-founded, and can only wonder, "What on earth? Where did he come from?" J has come up with some excellent one-liners as well, but within the last 24 hours, the amount of times I have had to sit back and clap my hands ever-so, with the weirdness of Hugh, is shocking.

Just last night, Hugh woke up for probably the billionth time last night, and quietly made his way to the bathroom. I wouldn't have known he was even in there, if it weren't for him screaming bloody murder, "MOOOOOOM!!! I'M DOOOOONE!" as he feels the need to each time he finishes his biz-ness.

As he was hopping off the toilet, he noticed to toilet bowl scrubber. Apparently, this is the first time he has ever noticed such a contraption (observant little 'un), because he grabbed it and said, "What is THIS!?"

"It's a toilet bowl scrubber." I replied, as I escorted him out the bathroom,back to his bed.

A couple minutes later, I passed by the bathroom, and heard some noise, so I stuck my head in, and gasped, "HUGH! Are you licking the toilet bowl scrubber?"

"Ya."

"It's dripping. Did you just dip the toilet bowl scrubber in the toilet...and now you are licking it?"

"Ya."

"Didn't you just use the bathroom a minute ago?"

"Ya."

"Stop."

Yep. That conversation just happened. You can't make this kind of stuff up.

And now, forever onward, it is recorded. So let it be written, so let it be done. And may you ever be enlightened for stopping by today...

A Day of Birth

I was asked to be a guest writer for SMITTEN BY. This was my submission:

I remember the exact moment I saw him for the first time. My heart
swelled, tempting to burst, my body immediately reaching towards his;
every breath he took was my own. Eyes fixed to him, daring to memorize
his every feature.

Smitten.

My arms ached as I held him, bidding time to stand still. He stole my
breath away, as I inadequately stumbled for words to reach my lips.
Instead, tears rolled down my cheeks, as my heart whispered.

He’s here. He’s here.

As we took turns holding him, we sang to him in the same way we did to
his brothers as they laid down to sleep; only this time, he would not
be waking in the morning. He was dying. Being over 3 months premature
is never a good way to start life. As the clock ticked, it numbered
his time with us, promising to take his life. While we felt surrounded
by angels and all things celestial, the atmosphere swung delicately to
utter devastation as we left the hospital days later without our son.
There was a tangible, thick agony that guaranteed to suffocate, with a
sentence of my own fatality if we ever got pregnant again.

As shattered fragments of my heart dared to cut deeply in the weeks to
come, everything in me ached. I felt like the gaping whole in my heart
constantly left me gasping for air. I could not comprehend how the
whole world was not mourning for the loss of a little boy; a perfect
little boy that never got to come home. Oh how my arms hurt to hold
him; to see him grow! I would have given anything. It consumed me.

Then my dreams turned on me. As I would sleep, my dreams would be full
of life with little children together. Happy. I would awake with an
aching heart, and dizzy head: there were more children. And happier
hearts! I was still mourning the loss of our son, and holding on
tight; I fought the unrelenting demand to move forward. My body
radiated an unexplainable sorrow, that was now seeping with haunting
expectations for our future. Days were full of trudging through
despair, while inefficiently shaking off all promptings that involved
expanding my little family.

Just living, felt heavy.

I remember one day taking a shower, and just sobbing with an angst
that radiated through my finger tips. I felt so overwhelmed with what
we were facing. Beaten. My mind was begging me to move forward, but my
heart continued to resist. And now I was broken. As I collapsed in a
ball on the shower floor, I needed more than a silent truce between
the two; the constant prodding to move forward fought with the grief I
had coerced to be my constant companion, clouded hope.

I was ready to strike a deal. I became determined to make a decision
that day: either we move on with our life, happy with the two children
we had with us here, or adopt. And it needed to happen today.

Everything changed.

By the end of this day, through experiences that can only be
categorized as divine intervention, the compelling, undying knowledge
that our next child was on his way, and we needed to get ready, could
not be ignored!

This realization prevailed through the months, and sustained me
through a different kind of agony, as we wearily searched for the baby
that was meant for our family. Relying on the sheer power of God to
bring our family together, I knew our next baby was out there. Knew
it. It was as genuine as a swelling, pregnant abdomen, only the
morning sickness and hospital stays were replaced with sleepless
nights praying for the unknown, clinging to my husband during times of
utter defeat, shouting with joy and thankful hearts, stumbling with
difficult choices and more loss, experiencing pure joy and
anticipation, enduring broken promises and self doubt, and living with
the simple hope that we would end up in the spot that was reserved
just for us.

Day dreaming of what our future could be, while not knowing any other
details, my mind would sometimes drift back to our son that left us
too soon. That gut wrenching pain would only come in waves now, which
was welcome compared to the resilient dark cloud that was once so
unrelenting and constant. Sometimes the wave would hover, reminding me
of what we lost, and I would hold on for the ride as it dared to pull
me under. Other times the wave would be more gentle, leaving as
quickly as it came, allowing me to smile, with the knowledge that our
family has an angel looking over us. Each time, instead of drowning, I
could swim.

For one son’s abrupt departure had paved the way for another.

And one day, we got on a plane and flew to Georgia.

I remember the exact moment I saw him for the first time. My heart
swelled, tempting to burst, my body immediately reaching towards his;
every breath he took was my own. Eyes fixed to him, daring to memorize
his every feature.

Smitten.

My arms ached as I held him, bidding time to stand still. He stole my
breath away, as I inadequately stumbled for words to reach my lips.
Instead, tears rolled down my cheeks, as my heart whispered.

He’s here. He’s here.

--------

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE MOST LOVED ONE YEAR OLD.

YOU HAVE CHANGED MY LIFE, MY PRECIOUS, DEAR BOY.

YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE.

Thank you for coming to me.

{All in a Month} PART THREE: The Graduate

Let's talk about Chris on drugs and taking a test.

Sigh.

Chris did, in fact, take his final comprehension exam, before knee surgery, like any normal person would do. After he passed, he scheduled his oral exam for him to defend his life's work (or just all the education he had ever received in his existence). His oral exam just so happened to get scheduled for the day after his knee surgery.

Ha.

Ha ha.

The day after surgery, I drove Chris back up to da OC (we were staying in Ramona---follow the story, ya'll) for his oral presentation/test/exam/idon'tknowwhatthewordisthatgoeshere. He was as high as a kite, doped up on pain killers. His knee was bloody and five times bigger than it ever should be, and it's safe to say the poor kid was in excruciating pain, even with being as stoned as he was.

He was a mess.

When I dropped him off, I couldn't help but think how ironic it was that he was preparing for the test-of-all-tests of his Kinesiologists life, and he just had Orthopedic surgery. Is that funny to anyone else, or only to me that has been his study buddy for the past billion years he has been in school, where learning about human movement has been the single most fascinating thing to him? Anyone? Anyone?

Moving on. I patted him on his back and sent him on his way.

A few hours later I went to pick him up--- I knew where he was because there was a random human sprawled out on the ground in front of the Kinesiology and Human Science building when I got there. I'm sure he was moaning and/or crying. It took him about 12 hours to hobble from his designated spot of death to my car, which was an agonizingly far 15 yards---give or take. I passed him a percocet as he got into the car. 

I asked how he did and he said, "Well... I tried really hard to focus on what they were asking me; and I think I did really well. Eventually they just said, 'Alright Chris. Ya know what? We're going to just let you go. We're sure you know what you're talking about, but maybe you need to go home and take a rest. We're going to pass you, but really, you need to go home. Go put that leg on ice, and take it easy. E-mail us when you're feeling better so we know you're still alive.'..... So, ya. I think I passed."

And I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. The poor dying creature just wanted to be swaddled and put to bed, but instead was being asked big long questions, with big long words like, "theory". 

Go figure.

And that was that. The end of his Masters career, summed up with knee surgery, barbiturates, and incoherent responses.