It's a Miracle and I'm a Whore

Once upon a time there was a little boy named Knox Jumby with big brown eyes and a shock of soft brown hair. He was the size of a peanut, weighing in just more than a pound of butter.

No one thought he'd live, he was born too early at 24 weeks, it was unlikely he'd survive. But this little boy was a fighter. He knew that one day he'd find his way to his rightful true home and into the arms of a Redneck Mommy.

So with the help of a children's hospital affiliated with the Children's Miracle Network, some dedicated and very talented doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists and every other type of medical professional you can shake a stick at, they gathered around this wee peanut of a boy and did everything they could to help him live.

He spent almost a year in the hospital during his first year of life, and this boy overcame every health disaster that came his way.

Soon, the good people at the children's hospital were waving good bye to him and wishing him well as he set out to find his true redneck mommy.

It wasn't the last time Knox Jumby needed a children's hospital. Sadly, he will always be a frequent visitor of the children's hospital. Without the dedicated skills of these professionals, Knox Jumby won't make it to adulthood.

Which is why today is so important.

Today at participating Dairy Queens across North America (yes, Canada and the United States) it is MIRACLE DAY.

Today, proceeds from the purchase of a Blizzard at DQ will be donated to the Children's Miracle Network. To help children like Knox Jumby. To help any child.

You don't have children? Your children are healthy? Why should you care? Well, because you never know when a blood thirsty leprachaun will leap out of the forest and rip the toes off a child you know or love with a rusty cheese knife.

Seriously. It happens every day.

Just go mosey up to any ward of a children's hospital and you will see. It's not all kids with cancer, or heart problems or broken bones from car accidents. You'd be surprised how many children are struggling to recover from the savage attacks on their lives by fairy tale creatures gone mad.

So I'm whoring myself out here people, asking you all to take a few minutes, spend a few dollars and support this campaign to make every day a miracle for a child somewhere.

Without the services of my local children's hospital, I'd never have met my Knox Jumby. They have saved his life, more than once.

Without the services of my local children's hospital, my son Shale would have died.

(Well, okay,so  technically he did die, but he would have died a whole lot sooner with out the Stollery Children's hospital, a proud affiliate of the Children's Miracle Network.  And I swear, and the coroner agrees, the fine people at the hospital had nothing to do with his death.)So let's just ignore the fact that he died and focus on the fact they kept him alive for almost five years.

And that was no easy task yo. The kid was born with a gibbled brain and more health problems than a creative human can think of. I totally cooked him wrong when I was gestating him. If he had been born twenty years ago, I'd never have been able to bring him home.

But because of the fine people who work tirelessly at the Children's Miracle Network and the medical professionals at my local children's hospital, I got 4 years, 10 months and 17 days with my boy.

Not that I counted or anything.

Ahem.

Oh look! Pictures to guilt you into buying ice cream!

Look! I like to wear a bucket on my head! I really am a little redneck!

Peekaboo Puppy! I know! My head was just in a bucket and now it's NOT!


You can eat ice cream and feel like a good person.

It can be your good deed of the day.

Don't know where a participating Dairy Queen near you is? Simply click this link and find out! (I'm totally prepared in my whoring today. I should earn a girl scout badge or something.)

Can't eat ice cream because you are lactose intolerant or too damn lazy to get off the couch to walk to the DQ?

Have no fear! Tanis is here! You can donate online and still be part of the Miracle of MIRACLE day.

You Yanks can donate online here.

(Really, I may as well just show you my boobs at this point. Plus my knees are getting really sore from being on them for so long.)

This post is brought to you by the pandering of a mother who has two children who wouldn't have lived past birth without the support of people like you.

So go forth and donate. Be a Miracle to me.

Don't make me post pics of my dead kid to really beat you into guilty submission.

Cuz you know I will.

I am a whore. As proven by this post.

*I totally rock at this whoring out stuff. I mean, dead kids, fairy tale creatures and shameless exploitation of children. I freaking rock! Now go buy an ice cream because my blind deaf kid can't eat ice cream because he can't control his swallow and it will run into his lungs and effectively drown him which means ice cream could kill my child and therefore you should totally buy TWO blizzards just cuz it's so sad a five year old boy could be murdered by ice cream.*

Father's Day Fuzzies

For all you fathers out there, surfing the internet on your very special day.

Happy Father's day.

And Dad?

Thanks.

I love you.

Shaking My PomPoms 2.0

I try to treat all my children as fairly as possible.

Chores are equally divided between the three kids with Fric and Frac vacuuming, each cleaning a bathroom and folding the laundry while Jumby is responsible for licking clean any furniture his tongue can find.

Fric and Frac have the same responsibilities and face the same consequences. I try very hard not to show favoritism based on who I currently am less annoyed with at the moment.

This equal opportunity mothering bit led me to a grade six award ceremony this morning where my darling and talented man-child Frac, was set to receive a class award for (get this) creative writing skills.

*Why yes, sparkle dust totally flew out my arse when I learned my son is TAKING AFTER ME.*

Heh.

So it was with great glee that I set out this morning to attend Frac's ceremony and watch my little mini-me Hemmingway accept his award amongst all the pomp and circumstance a small rural school can avail itself to.

I even made sure to comb my hair and put on a bra so as to be the most presentable Redneck Mommy I could be. (The things I do for my children.)

After my graceful entrance (where I tripped on my own feet and practically fell on my face in front of fifty or so other parents) I took my seat, making sure I was front and centre and camera ready to capture this illustrious moment in my son's fledgling career as class exaggerator poet.

Soon the entire flock of grade six students filed in, with an assorted look of boredom, excitement and misery on their collective faces, all scanning the crowd of adults to see which parents loved them enough to subject themselves to an early morning school assembly.

Once the kids settled onto the soft foamy blue mats that I had earlier tripped on, the ceremony started.

Nothing like a rousing version of O'Canada bellowed out by rowdy eleven year olds and tired parents all at once, to shake the cobwebs loose in the morning.

One award was handed out after another, with the parents all politely clapping as a child's name was called out and the ceremony stretched on for what seemed like forever.

*Note to teachers: When scheduling an award ceremony in the morning that has no end in site it might behoove you to show a little mercy to the parents and either speed things up or provide free coffee so we don't all die of boredom as we watch other people's children receive recognition for what our children have failed to excel at.*

Just as my ass was officially starting to grow numb sitting on the hard plastic chair and my palms were starting to burn from all the polite clapping I was doing, it was my son's turn.

The language arts teacher stepped up to the podium and started explaining what it takes to make an exceptional student and a brilliant writer. I listened with rapt attention as she prattled on and on about the merits of creativity and imagination and the willingness to expand one's small world with the poise of the pen.

I could see Frac sit a little straighter as he knew his name was about to be called. Some of his friends started elbowing him in the ribs in a friendly manner. The girls were all batting their eyelashes and blowing kisses in the air at my kid.

(Well okay, only one girl and she may or may not have looked like Big Bertha and my son may or may not have shuddered but still, the moment was magical.)

"And it is with great pride that I present Tanis Miller's son with this certificate of AWESOMENESS because, like his mother, he can weave words into magic and I am sure that one day Tanis Miller's son will be a world famous author rivaling only his mother in both critical success and retail domination at the book store!"

(Others may have just heard, "And it is with great pride that I present Frac Miller with a certificate in creative writing." I like my version better.)

With that, Frac stood up to soak in his moment of glory and I knew my moment of parental pride was before me.

I grabbed the pompoms I had stashed in my oversized purse and stood up yelling, "Go FRAC! WHOOT! FRAC-YYY. THAT'S RIGHT BABY. WHOOT! FRAC!!!"

The other adults in the crowd burst into laughter and chanted "FRAC, FRAC, FRAC!" as my son walked up the stairs to accept his Pulitzer Prize certificate.

(Oh okay. They all laughed as they clapped and shook their heads at my crazy antics. Thankfully they have all grown to know that I'm a nut job and they find it highly adorable amusing.)

Frac's classmates did start to chant "FRAC! FRAC! FRAC!" as they laughed at with me.

Frac looked out on me as he stood on that stage and his face was beet red but he was smiling through his mortification. He accepted his award with more grace and dignity than I could ever muster (he must get that from his father) and then he stepped up to the microphone to say his little acceptance speech.

"Um, thanks," he croaked out as he looked at his award. "This is really cool." Then he looked out into the crowd and saw me standing there, waving my silver pompoms and sighed into the microphone, "Sheesh MOM. You're such a nut!"

Canada's next great Literary God

The crowd burst into laughter and applause and Frac made his way back to his seat as I cheered again and then took my seat.

After the ceremony was over, the students wandered through the throng of parents and Frac bee-lined right to me, with a group of his buddies tagging along right behind him.

"Frac! I'm so proud of you! Your father is going to be busting with pride when he sees your award!" I grinned to him as I hugged him tight and kissed the top of his head.

Frac squirmed out of my grasp and looked up at me very sternly and said, "Mom, when we get home you and I are going to have a firm talk."

His friends started to snicker at my son putting his mother in her place.

Not one to be outdone, I simply smiled at him sweetly and nodded my head.

"Sperm? Sure we can have a sperm talk when we get home. Anything my little writer boy wants," I laughed as I tussled his hair.

His friends burst into laughter and Frac went a charming shade red.

"I said a FIRM talk MOM! FIRM! Not a SPERM talk!" he squawked.

"Anything you like kidlet. Anything at all!" I called after him as he hustled his teasing friends away from me before I could do any more damage to his street cred.

"Remember Frac: MOMMY LOVES YOU!" I chortled.

Really, he didn't expect me to only torment his sister in public did he?

Silly boy.

***And Yes, I really did shake shiny silver pompoms for him. I thought about waving a foam finger but it was too big to smuggle into my purse.***