Miss Tricky Takes Over

Things, things, and things to do…I have a multitude of things to do. Operation “sleep all day Saturday” was an unprecedented success but has left me feeling a little shorted on weekend time. I keep hoping that one of these days I will be filled with desire to start checking items off my to-do list but so far I am not feeling much of a desire to do anything. I haven’t even sat down and written a to-do list, which is crazy when you consider how much I love to make lists.

 In happier news, The Spawn is finally starting to give a crap about this whole getting married business. At first he was dismayed that my ring isn’t blue (since he knows that blue is my “frayborit” color) and told us that we needed medicine when we shared our wedding plans with him. Since then he has come to decide that “little mirrors” is my new favorite color and he occasionally kisses my ring (it’s like I’m the Godfather!!) and tells me how much he loves the pretty ring that Mr. President gave me. As far as his actual comprehension goes, he tells us that the ring means “mommy and [Mr. President] forever!” which sounds pretty darn good to me.

 As for The Prez, he is thrilled to not have to call me his girlfriend anymore and is greeting me every morning with;” Good morning my fiancée…. my little bride-like thing!”

 And me? Well, I am down to only about an hour of staring at my left hand a day and just once or twice a week bursting into Muppet songs about getting married. I’d say that’s progress.

 Now someone please come move in with me and force me to do all the other stuff I have to do, okay?

Sweet baby jebus, The Spawn is back to school! That was a long 11 days. For real. I have never been so excited to put him on the school bus…. not that I don’t adore him. I am, however, looking forward to getting ready for work today without this….

 “Mawmy, are you drying your hair? That’s what you’re doing mommy? Drying your hair? For you can go to work? For you can go to your coptail work? Where you make coptails for the peoples? I like coptails. I visit you and you make me the coptails? What are you doing now mommy? You putting on your make-up? I will help you! Here mommy! Don’t you need these? (Reaches into make-up bag and hands me fistfuls of crap) Here mommy! I am helping you! Did you forget your earrings mommy? I will get them! (Scurries away and returns with earrings) Here mommy, your earrings! Mommy, don’t you want your earrings mommy? Mommy, I got you some earrings! Are you going to take the bus to work mommy? I like the bus but I am not going to school today, mommy. No school today! Here mommy, your earrings! Mommy aren’t you forgetting your lipstick? Don’t you want some lipstick mommy? Liiiiiiiip stiiiiick. I think you need some lipstick mommy…. Mommy are you done now? Are you ready mommy? Are you going now? Mommy? Mommy! Moooooooommmmmmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyyy”

 For real, dudes. That happened. If you think your life is ridiculous try starting the day arguing with your four-year-old about why you do not need lipstick.

I am not sure why this has been so difficult for me to write. I keep thinking that this year’s newsletter will be rather anti-climatic after last year-maybe that’s why I have been putting it off. The constant and often painful change of 2008 made it very easy to point to exactly what happened that year; an ordered checklist was easy to compile. 2009 was much sneakier and quiet. But now that I am looking back on it, 2009 seems like proof that 2008 happened.

 This past year was about committing to the changes I had made. This past year was all about settling into the person I had become. 2008 forever changed me- old habits and ideas fell away and I got a chance to re-define how I wanted to live. 2009 proved to me that I have changed. When all the drama and conflict subsided I found myself calmer and more centered than I have ever been before. Here’s to growth and maturity continuing in 2010!

 The Spawn, on the other hand, spent 2009 changing and healing and growing at an incredible rate. If you came to my house today and met the chatty, imaginative little boy who lives here you would find it impossible to imagine that he was the same little boy who’s tantrums and struggles I have detailed in this blog. He has more than blossomed- he has exploded! The changes in his diet and his new therapy have made it very difficult to spot the remaining traces of his disorder. We fully expect him to enter “normal” kindergarten next year, and though that brings with it a new host of challenges we are confident in his ability to continue to thrive.

 And then there’s Mr. President… That crazy man moved The Spawn and I into his home, was patient during the job search, helped to find daycare and a nanny and even attends school meetings on a regular basis. He is more than my squeeze; he is my partner. I am starting to think of The Spawn as ours rather than mine. When you find yourself being a single mom (autism or not) it seems ridiculous to think that you will ever have a relationship again. It seems ludicrous to imagine that anyone will love your child as much as you do or that you would let them if they wanted to. Obviously Mr. President’s love for him is different than mine, but I am amazed to discover that it is perfectly complimentary. We have built a family- and it was easier than I thought it would be.

I fell sort of down and off of the stairs on Thursday. I wish that I could claim that accidents like this are rare and infrequent occurrences in my life. Sadly, they happen often. So often, in fact, that when Mr. President heard the racket and came to the top of the stairs to ask what happened and I responded with “I fell down the stairs” he merely said “oh” and went about his business. I’ll set the scene for you….

 It is Thursday morning at approximately 7:20am. It is The Spawn’s second day of school and the first day he is riding the bus to get there. I go in to wake my sleeping boy and since he is delirious and not awake yet he jumps into my arms and says,

 ”Hold me downstairs, mawmy”

 So I do. Things are going just fine until about the second to last step. Somehow I miss the very last step and start to fall. Since I am holding a child my brain jumps into super-speed ‘minimize the damage mode’ and I start considering my options…

The scene of the epic fall...

As you can see from the above photo, we live in a very narrow row home. It would have made sense for me to free one arm and fall forward into the door and use said free arm to protect my loin-fruit from impact. Unfortunately the child had thrown my already poor balance into disarray and I found myself leaning far left and into the TV/coffee table area and with my feet miles away from any sort of floor type surface. Landing on top of my child on the coffee table would probably break most of his bones and while I was imagining that horrific outcome I neglected to free an arm, which might have been useful in breaking the fall. Suddenly a stroke of child-saving genius hits me- the couch! Aim the child at the couch! Just as I toss the baby into the soft and bouncy embrace of the couch, impact is made. The impact of all 175 lbs. of me in a horizontal free fall landing on one tiny little corner of our coffee table. Me, panicked:

 Are you okay? Are you hurt? It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, are you hurt?!?

 ”I’m fine, mawmy. Mt feets are okay- you go get me breakfast now? Pease mawmy?”

 Can you believe the little shit didn’t ask if I was okay? Maybe it’s because he’s four and four-year-olds don’t spend a lot of time thinking about other people. Maybe it’s because I am laying on a coffee table, unable to catch my breath and making that half sobbing, half-braying noise that injured people make so he just assumes that I am NOT okay – or maybe it’s because he wanted breakfast and didn’t have time for my antics. At any rate, his casual food request assured me that he made it through the ordeal unscathed and now I could assess the damage I had done to myself. The impact seemed to have occurred at the tender, fatty little area between butt and thigh, front and back, hip and…well…. thigh again. You know, this part…

That is an arrow, not anything dirty.

Shut up, that is totally what my thighs look like.

 The good news is that most of my left leg had gone numb immediately following impact. The bad news is that the parts that hadn’t gone numb were experiencing sharp, shooting, awful arrows of sharp, shooting, awful pain and that a goose egg the size of a cantaloupe had already formed on my haunch. (Do you call it a haunch on a person?) Oh yeah…. it’s going to be one of those bruises. It hurt to shower, it hurt to walk, it hurt to pee, it hurt to have pants on and it most certainly hurt every time I bumped my very swollen butthigh into things at work for the next fourteen hours or so.

 I wish I could tell you that swelling had gone down by now. It has not. It has also only sort of started to discolor. It’s a faint blue with an angry red center and there is a perfectly straight, ½ thick purple mark that you could probably use to take accurate measurements of our coffee table. That’s good news since Mr. President only had this to say about the incident…

 ”Your ass took a chunk of wood off the coffee table. It’s fine, that thing needs to be sanded and re-finished anyway.”

So, my favorite thing in the world right now, other than the delicious change in temperature around these parts-which is beyond heavenly-is listening to The Spawn sing along with kids show theme songs. I do not know why it thrills me the way it does but I could seriously listen to it all day long. For about a month he sang the Sesame Street song all day every day, now he’s more into Dora/Diego jingles and he just treated me to a rendition of Ruby & Max. It kills me. He has taken to requesting them during our weekend family sing-a-longs. (Wait, that sounded lamer than it should have. Mr. President plays the guitar and sings us songs and I chime in whenever he plays Johnny Cash. Nope. Still lame. Anyhoo…) and by “requests” I mean just starts singing “D-d-d-d-d-Dora!” whenever the Prez is playing and when we don’t join in he asks him to play “hesame hreet pleeeeeeeeeeease!” He just can’t understand why anyone would play Pink Floyd and The Eagles when there are Nickelodeon songs to jam out to. I suppose I can see his point…

Now back to the weather. Readers unfamiliar with an east coast summer should know that it is much like living in Satan’s sauna for a couple months. If those of you who believe in god think that he’s a kind and benevolent deity, I challenge you to spend late August in Philadelphia and then reevaluate your position. There were days last month when the whole universe felt like god-awful, gusting subway steam all over, all the time. Rain brings no relief, night just brings more dampness and standing within five feet of another breathing, sweating, heat-producing human being makes homicide incredibly tempting. BUT! The past week or so has brought such complete seasonal relief upon my new city that I find it hard not to run naked through the streets just to enjoy the sensation of cool air. I could write sonnets to the brisk mornings, I compose poetry about lightweight jackets and closed-toe shoes while walking to work each day. At least twice in the last week I have been a little cold. Okay not cold, but chilly. Chilly! I experienced a chill! I thought to myself, “my! I wish I had long sleeves on!” Oh September, how I do adore thee.

Except for a couple of things. 1. The Spawn starts school on Wednesday (I am only tolerating the horrible big-boy event because I got to go buy him new school clothes yesterday and it’s hard not to be happy about little boy hoodies and jeans and backpacks lunch bags.) and 2. I am not within travel distance of Edward’s Apple Orchard.

Today I am on a quest to find a suitable surrogate orchard and drag my unwilling family out to drink cider and such. Mr. President just tried to tell me that it’s too early for apples in a vain attempt to stay in bed with his New York Times all day- I pity this fool. I am an apple orchard expert. If Edward’s Apple Orchard offered master’s degrees then the time and money I have spent there over the years would qualify me for two. This poorly researched and feeble lie is not unlike the time he tried to tell me that cockroaches do not live in the North Eastern part of this country immediately after I pointed one out to him and made him kill it. While I applaud his effort to make me feel secure (read: blatantly deny the obvious in hopes that I will not make him chase down and destroy every roach in the city) he should have known that I have spent years compiling information on my insect enemies. No less ridiculous than his claim that there are no roaches in Philadelphia is his crackpot theory that there are no apples in September. Puhhhhlease.  There are and I intend to find them. Today. And after I drag him away from his paper and into the car I will deliver an informational lecture on Philadelphia cockroaches. What?

I’m a little annoyed today so I’ll keep this brief. Actually, I think it’s just residual annoyance from Saturday. There was a payroll issue and then I had absolutely ZERO bar customers Saturday night and those are just two things that shouldn’t happen on the same day-ya know? Not to mention the fact that on the way to work this happened:

Miss T: (to Mr. P) blah, blah, blah, something about Queenie (my oldest sister)

 Spawn: My Queenie?!? My own Queenie?

 Miss T: Yes honey, your Queenie.

 Spawn: Mr. President? Can Queenie be my new mommy?

 Miss T & Mr. P exchange shocked and horrified looks.

 Mr. P: What’s wrong with the mommy you have?

 Spawn: She’s dirty, I need a NEW mommy!

 Miss T: sobs and pouts.

What the hell? That is some bullshit! How is a four-year-old going to go and try and cash in the mommy warranty?!? Mr. President tried to admonish the boy and point out how sad he was making me but something tells me that the giggling he was doing while saying it may have taken away from the seriousness of his message. That kid of mine is a real jerk.

This new work schedule is putting a real kink in my online life. I’m busy and off the work both jobs to day but I thought I would share a few of the ridiculous things that have been said to me this week. Here goes…

Miss T: I feel like hot dog shit.

 Mr. P: You look like hot dog shit.

 Miss T: (dirty look)

 Mr. P: Wait…you look hot, I mean…ummmm…

 Miss T: (dirty look with pout)

 Mr. P: I am going to stop talking now.

~

Mr. P: Did you go potty?

 Spawn: No…I go later. My pee-pee is up.

 Mr. P: what? Go downstairs and go potty please.

 Spawn: My pee-pee is up! (goes downstairs)

 Miss T: I think he was trying to tell you that he has morning wood.

 Mr. P: No!…..what? wow…

~

Mr. P: You know, if we had a baby by the time I was 43 that wouldn’t be THAT old, would it?

 Miss T: If we had a baby by the time you were 43 I would have to get pregnant in the next 3 months or so…

 Mr. P: oh.  (quietly attempts to do math in head) really?!?

~

Mr. P: You smell like restaurant.

 Miss T: (quietly to herself) fuck you.

Another year of Miss Tricky has come and gone…. and I hate to be too cheerful, but it may be the best one yet. Out of the myriad reasons this year has been stupendous, there are two that really stand out.

First is The Spawn. It seems like everyday for the past two weeks I find new reasons to be amazed by him. It’s hard not to cry every time he sings. This morning he crawled into bed with me and sang his own version of Old MacDonald…

“Old bedonald has a farm,

eee, iiii, eeeee oooooooo.

The pig goes oink, oink,

Eeeee, iiiiii, ooooooooo!”

Last night he slept naked because he asked me if he could “sleep with my body”. All of this is incredible because it means he is engaged and interacting. In previous years life just seemed to bounce off him and never get in; he wasn’t a part of anything. Now he is a part of everything and is grabbing the world in big, greedy handfuls.

The other started exactly a year ago…

For my 27^th birthday a couple of small miracles happened and I got to actually make plans and go out. Some good friends of mine from back home drive the Jager bus all around the country and just happened to be in Southside (my favorite neighborhood in Pittsburgh) on my birthday that year. I secured a babysitter for the Spawn and made plans to go out for dinner with my parents and then out for some serious drinking with old friends. Dinner was lovely, my parents and I were starting to hit a stride in our newfound relationship and we stuffed ourselves on seafood and drank expensive champagne. I actually got them to stop into Jack’s for a birthday shot when they dropped me off to find my friends. (At some point I was walking up Carson Street listening to voicemails when I noticed two guys walking past me in the opposite direction. I don’t remember anything about them except that they totally checked me out. Who doesn’t want that on their birthday? )

I still don’t know which bar we were in when they introduced me to some guy they worked with- I suppose it doesn’t matter. I was drunk, it was my birthday, and I felt pretty and free and was having an amazing time when they insisted that I accept a ride home from that particular gentleman. Despite the fact that I had plans to meet up with some old Southside friends who I surely would have gotten into some debaucherous trouble with, I allowed myself to be ushered into his car.

I was far too birthday drunk to try and figure out directions and I know for a fact that his GPS took us the longest way possible but who cares? It’s my birthday and I definitely don’t know this dude from Adam! I do remember that I had a severe case of diarrhea of the mouth and that I ceaselessly scanned through his satellite radio the entire way home. So far so good right? Hot-mess, drunk birthday girl who won’t stop talking or pushing buttons in the car; it must have been dead sexy. We made it to my house at some point where I immediately marched inside, kicked off my shoes, grabbed a bottle of Cook’s Champagne (classy) from my fridge and dragged that poor man out on a barefoot walk through my neighborhood. We drank from the bottle, talked about life and he very wisely convinced me not to climb the fence and get in the pool.

I kissed him in my driveway. I kissed him because it was my birthday and I wanted to kiss someone. I kissed him because I was drunk and wanted to see if I could. I kissed him because he seemed like a good person to kiss. He was a GREAT person to kiss and when I pulled away he reached out instinctively and didn’t let me go. It was pretty fucking hot. That’s it, right? Birthday kiss with random stranger never to be heard from again…not bad for my first birthday as a truly free woman.

Except that I saw him again. The next night (where I embarrassed myself at a whole new level- another story, another time) and then that fool called me and asked to come see me again before he left town. I don’t know why but I let him. I let him come to my house where my kid and my friend’s sick dogs that I was watching were on a Sunday afternoon. The power was out and it was hot and sticky and all I had to offer him for a beverage was a Capri-Sun. He took it and we sat on my porch and talked. I was kind of a bitch to him. I was embarrassed and hostile and just threw my whole story at him and waited for him to be appalled. But if he was he didn’t show it and as he left to travel home he asked if he could call me.

So he called and we talked. Over time I discovered that he was the one checking me out on the street that night. Over time and hours of late night phone calls and visits and incessant texting I fell completely and totally in love.

This year I spent my birthday in his house with my son and my monkey-cat. (Oddly he spent it in Southside with my parents.) Life moves in strange and amazing ways if you let it, and some days I still can’t believe that this is my life. I guess if you are really lucky one year you’ll decide to steal a drunken, birthday kiss from a charming stranger who just happens to be the love of your life.

Four years ago right now I was lying in a hospital bed at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Milwaukee Wisconsin. I was playing six degrees of separation with my mother, sister and husband and some sort of wholly inappropriate punk rock music was playing in the background. Four years ago right now, I was 36 ½ hours into labor and was starting to push. (To you folks who don’t have kids – sorry, I promise that’s as graphic as it gets.) Three hours later (yes 3!!!! Hours of pushing!!!) a little boy entered the world.

I believe this picture was taken the next day. The only picture of him in his first moments was lost to a cell phone failure years ago. It’s entirely my fault as I had outlawed all cameras in the delivery room. That is my biggest regret of that day. As you can see above, I was the size of a small apartment complex and I didn’t think there needed to be any lasting proof of my fat, labor-exhausted, sweaty self. Dead wrong. One cell phone picture was taken of The Spawn and I in his first moments and it was beautiful. I wish I still had it.

 The thing that strikes me hardest on this particular birthday is how far he has come in the past year, and how patient with me he has always been. The day (and the days leading up to) he was born were an amazing indicator of the boy he would be. While I stumbled awkwardly through a never ending and painful labor, pushed forever and generally mucked up the whole process, he was constant and calm. His heart rate never faltered and he showed no signs of stress. Then he put up with all of it again a couple of years later. As I fumbled as a mother and a wife and then through a divorce and diagnosis- doing everything wrong at least the first 3 times I tried- he was an unwavering source of light and focus in my life. Easy going and loveable, reliably stubborn and aggravating and above all consistently understanding of my screw-ups, he is an amazing little man.

 This year I am blessed to be able to know, rather than guess at, his thoughts. This year he can say “birthday” and that he is four. This year he knows about cupcakes and songs and sharing them with his friends. This year he sang his own version of the Sesame Street song all morning and pooped in the potty “all by himself”. This year he is four. This might be the first year that he is really happy.

 Thanks for sticking with me through all my blunders Little Spawn. I love you.

Well since Mr. President has been gone all weekend (and therefore not providing me with any hilarity for my blog), you guys are all stuck hearing some more about the Spawn. I just dropped him off at daycare, which he calls “The baby house”, and we are all trying to figure out whose kid that was. Normally every morning is the same. He says he wants to go, I get him dressed and then during the 3 ½ minute drive there he gets possessed by demons and starts screaming about how he is “NOT GOING!!!!!!” He screams and wails, I drag him into the house and generally he spends the first 10 minutes of his day in time-out for throwing such a fit. We wash, rinse and repeat the same show on the way home. It’s good to have a routine, right? Well….not this morning. He pranced right in, took off his shoes and looked around for toys. The entire staff just stared at him. Miss Tracy came down the stairs asking if he was acting out and was answered by several, stunned no’s.

“What?!?” she said, while swinging him up in the air and tickling him, “who is this child? What is your name little boy?”

He was laughing and waving bye to me as I left. Now why can’t the little turd figure out that this is way more fun and do it everyday?!? Maybe he was just excited to go today since he’s been alone with me for the past three days…

Which reminds me, I am spoiled. I truly thought that I was going to combust on Friday night because I missed my squeeze so damn much. How dumb is that? We spent the first 10+ months of our relationship 300 miles apart and he had only been gone about 4 hours when I started to want him back. Maybe it was the juxtaposition of him being in western P.A. while I stayed in his place on the eastern end, a bizarre role reversal to be sure. Maybe it was simply because after a month of having a team mate in The Spawn war and someone to have a real conversation with around, I started suffering severe withdrawals. Isn’t it funny how quickly we grow accustomed to things? Luckily, the feeling only lasted Friday night. By Saturday I was back in my lone wolf groove and by Sunday I had even started to like it a little. I don’t know how this man tolerates me.

This afternoon I am off to a job interview at a lovely restaurant that I think I would very much like to work for…I expect all of you to have each and every part of your anatomies crossed for me all day long. If everything goes according to plan I will greet my returning squeeze this evening as a gainfully employed woman!

I think I’m going to go make today my bitch.