January you suck. February, you're not much better either.

I've been wallowing in a bit of a funk lately and I've been keeping it to myself.  It took me a while to figure out what was going on.  Generally, I'm not the kind of girl that figures things out on the first run.  Usually it takes a few cinder blocks to the head or some other form of blunt force trauma for me to get a good grasp on things.

Around here, when the kids are in a funk, it sorta rolls up to me until I put an end to it.  This time, the funks with me.  I've been the shitty one to live with.  I've been the one in a fowl mood.  Been writing downer posts and generally wanting to escape and get the hell out of my own life.

It's the time of year, I think.  The kids are in the grind of school, they're really starting to hate it, hate homework and everything else associated with that building.

Alex punched another kid at school and we're dealing with that.  His teacher's been out of town and will remain out for the rest of the week.  His routine is off, way off.  And the substitute is just that, a sub.  She doesn't know what the fuck is going on and doesn't really care that much to learn.  Alex, however, is hell-bent on letting her know all the rules and exactly which one she's breaking, when and how to correct it.  He's burning more brain cells worrying about the schedule, the class routine and how far off she is.  Its making me sick to watch him come unhinged the way he is.

Truth be told, I'm glad he knocked the little shit down a peg or two.  Honestly, he had it coming to him but really, the timing of things is not so good for me right now.  So much for not writing about school, eh?

And the whole time I've been in a funk.  Just pissed-off at everything.  Seething right under the surface.  I've been avoiding things and people.  But mostly I've been avoiding the one side of my closet.  I can't go back there.

It didn't hit me till I looked at the calender.  We're in January.  Getting toward the end of the month.

To the twenty-fourth.

The day my son died.

I hate this time of year.


My son died three years ago, when we were in North Dakota.  I couldn't bear the thought of burying him in the ground so we had him cremated.  His urn is in the back corner of my closet. 


I still can't go back there.  

Mom Fail

Just as a warning this is a little ranty today.  Shocking.  I know.

Its amazing how things can go along just great one minute and the next its all just blowing up in your face.  Blamo.  Lets just say I got mine yesterday.

Anyway, I'll get right down to business.

If another person asks me when "we're going for that forth child" I'm going to punch them in the throat.  Hard.

First off, it's none of your business.

Second off, as I told the lady who would not crawl out of my ass-hole about it yesterday that I did in fact have four children.  Since she clearly could not count to three and subtract one, she kept persisting.  So I got sick of it and blew a fuse.  After repeated attempts to change the subject and when she would not stop pressing the issue I told her again that I did have four children and, "my third one was up in my closet...in an urn."

Nothing kills a conversation like bringing up your dead baby.

And third, I don't want any more children.  Just the thought of another baby makes my ovaries shrivel up, my fallopian tubes close in on themselves and I spontaneously start cramping.  I am done with kids.  I am beyond done with kids.  I do not want any more.  Every night as I pop my pill I secretly thank those evil geniuses who found it their life ambition to mess around with hormones.

Furthermore, I do not feel the need to speak about this with random strangers at the pool.

I swear sometimes people are stupid.

It totally didn't help that Gracie has skipped her afternoon nap and instead went for a round of:  Lets-take-a-dump-and-smear-it-all-over-the-bedding-stuffed animals-blankets-crib-and-walls, cuz you know, mom'd like that.

So after I Cloroxed Gracie's ass and her room and anything else within a two foot arm span, I decided a change of scenery was in order.  Off to the pool we went.

As a side note, I really hope the chlorine level was up cuz I just couldn't bet the farm I got all that shit wiped off her.  What's that phrase, "you're never as clean as you think you are?"  Yeah, that came to mind.

As another side note, take a look at this plant.  Nothing gets your attention faster than your five year old daughter screaming at the top of her lungs at the park, "Hey Mom, I found a purple penis plant!!!"  

Ok, I'll cut her some slack on this one...

Anyway, I suppose I was itching to unload on someone and when this woman would not stop she got the brunt of it.

Add to it the kids have been biting at each other.  I left them alone for a few minutes in the basement and they were actually slapping the shit out of each other when I came back.  They were downright nasty with each other.  All of this in the time it took for me to use the facilities.

They were driving each other insane for the pure joy of it.

I went for almost the whole day trying to figure out why in the hell they were we having such a bad day and I couldn't figure it out.  And that in turn was pissing me off.

And then it hit me:  Alex caught the tail end of my conversation with the school nurse that I would drop off his asthma supplies and Lizzy's immunization record.

I dared utter the six letter word, school, in our house and he FLIPPED OUT.

Flipped his shit.  And you all know how that goes.  The rest of our day circled the drain.

Such a shame it took me till now to figure it all out.  I guess it falls under the category of Mom Fail.

My beautiful summer has been flushed down the toilet in under twenty seconds and my son's already twitching.

Damn it.

I've decided to link this to Shell's Pour Your Heart Out as I just posted on Monday with Shell about how great our summer has been going.  Amazing how quickly things change...

Big puffy clouds

My daughter and I have very few opportunities to spend time together, just the two of us.  So when the opportunity arose, we went to the park as quickly as we could. 

We went for a walk, looked at all the birds and watched the fish swim circles in the lake.  It was too early yet to catch butterflies and the few we saw, we chased after and giggled.  Reminded them we would be back when more of their friends came out. 

We sprawled out on the grass, looking up at the clouds. 

Searching. 

Looking for animals and flowers and all kinds of wonders to take shape and appear.

"Mom, it's nice to look up and see big puffy clouds.  Do you think Wyatt's up there?  You know, in heaven?"

The weight of his death was brought plummeting down on my shoulders and knocked the wind right out of me.  

Breathless. 

Silent. 

She was peering at me, out of the corner of her eye.  Questioning.  Trying to put things to rights.  She was finally asking questions.  My little girl, trying to wrestle with something she should never have to.  Something very few adults can find peace with.

She still thought of him.  Two years later and it still resonates with her.  I don't know why it wouldn't.  I think of him every day.  For some reason I thought she packaged it up nice and neatly and moved on.

"Mom?  Mom??"

"Yeah, baby" I whispered. 

I spied her, peering at me.  Searching, looking for a sign.  I continued,  "I know he's up there playing in the clouds.  See?  See that??  That looks like a lamb.  I bet he made that just for you."

"You really think so??"

"Sweetheart, I know so."

Safe in my heart

I mention this out loud only once a year.  This is the day my son Wyatt died.  The day my world stood still.  The day my world stood still.  When everything I knew and cared about seemed worthless.  Knowing, right then, part of me died.  Two years ago, today.

There are some things I remember with such clarity it stings.  Holding him.  The nurse coming to take him away.  Running into the wall face first and laughing hysterically.  Sitting on the front porch and knowing it was minus twenty and not feeling the cold.  The faces of friends, their shock, the anguish.  And remembering not a single word they spoke.  The drive to the funeral home.  The total emptiness.  The gift of Alex simply accepting it as a fact.  My daughter looking at me, asking where he went.  And not having an answer.

There are gaps too.  Enough pain killers can do that.  Afternoons slept away, staring out windows.  Waking up, seeing the sun, and rolling over.  Not answering a single doorbell yet looking at flowers all over the house.  The food I never ate.  I was too doped up to care.  I couldn't make sense of it.

It seemed to go in slow motion yet it went way too fast. 

And now I'm here, two years out.  The pain is still there.  I've come to accept it will always be.  I used to see him everywhere and some ways I still do.  In the nameless little boy at the grocery, the jingle of a wind chime, in the wisp of a wind, a gull at the beach.  All have the potential to send me reeling back.

But I'm here.  Now.  There are days when I catch myself being happy, truly happy, without the pang of guilt.  And I'm starting to be OK with that.

I have no pictures for this post.  I have tried but I simply can not.  Can not will myself to go to that file in my computer and look.  I'm not there yet. 

So after today, I will say no more.  Back he will go, tucked safely into my heart, where he belongs.