The Third Eye

This year, my husband and I declared us miserable old fuddy duddies and refused to make any plans for New Year's eve.

Oh fine. For the sake of honesty and accuracy I'll amend that statement so that my husband doesn't have a coronary.

This year *I* declared my husband and myself miserable old fuddy duddies and refused to accept any of the plans my husband tried to make to ring in the new year.

For one stinking year, I just wanted to sit home in my pajamas, watch a marathon of Criminal Minds, and do absolutely nothing. I didn't have it in me to dress up, go out or host a get together. I wanted to start 2012 quietly. I just wasn't in the mood to play.

My husband and my teens, however, weren't completely on board with my lack of plans or enthusiasm. They were itching to go out and it wasn't long before both of my teens had arranged to go over to a friend's house for an impromptu slumber party to ring out the year.

My husband volunteered to drive them over to their friend's house because he is friendly with the dad. Fine. Whatever. Go abandon me for wilder pursuits. Go enjoy your night of merriment and frivolity because I am going to enjoy holding the remote control and changing the channel whenever I feel like it, I muttered back at them as they fled our house.

I was just happy to be home, with my Criminal Minds and my television remote.

An hour or so later, my husband came back from dropping the kids off and when he walked through the door and looked at me, he stopped short.

"Um, what have you been doing since I left Tanis?"

I looked at him blankly and waggled the remote. "Nothing. Watching television. Why"

"Um, have you noticed anything unusual about your face today? Looked in a mirror recently?"

"Well, I showered early and I looked fine then. But I think I'm getting an eye twitch. Why? Do I have spinach in my teeth?" I asked as I hopped up to look in the mirror hanging in our foyer.

And then I saw what was clearly freaking my husband out.

My right eye was swollen.

"Weird."

"Totally. But I guess that explains the twitchy feeling and why it kinda hurts to waggle my eyebrows," I murmured as I examined my face.

The next morning, my eye was so swollen it was almost sealed shut.

The morning after that, it looked like I was growing myself a third eye.

It's been awesome. Awesomely grotesque.

I mean I'm used to my face looking like this:



Except lately I refuse to wear my contacts and my hair is blazingly red so I probably look more like this:



Except of course when I'm playing with my computer. Then I tend to look like this:



I like to take weird pictures of myself and randomly send them to family and friends. It freaks them out every time.

But today, on day five, my face looks like this:



I mean, it's not quite normal but clearly there is no third eye growing like there was a few days ago, so I suppose that's progress.

So basically I wrote this post just to show you all that my eyelid is swollen, I'm still in my bathrobe and clearly I need a shower and some make up.

Awesome.

Carry on then.

Eleven

312 pictures.

That's the sum of my son's life in photos.

I know because I counted every single one, days after he died.

11 years ago today, I looked like this:



It's okay. You can totally laugh and call me a beached whale. I still twitch when I see that picture. I mean, really, how sexy can one gal get?

Less than 24 hours later came this photo:



Shale didn't yet have casts on his clubbed feet and I remember being horrified by the tubes and his crooked little feet. I didn't want to touch him. I was scared he'd break even further. I was stuck in this odd limbo of grief for not having a perfect baby and the horror of not knowing what to do with a broken one.

Then came the big button incident of '01.



My lovely child couldn't control his tongue and it kept falling back and blocking off his airway. Any time he was flat on his back or upright he'd choke on it. So the all knowing doctors stitched it to his lower inside lip in the hopes he'd be able to finally get off his stomach.

Three weeks later, he did.

Only to go back flat on his back again.

One lesson I quickly learned in the early moments of Shale's life is just when you think things can't get worse, they can.

Oh life and your silly little lessons, mocking my naiveté.



There was a lot of tubes and wires, surgeries and casts, transfusions and general hospital chaos filled panic but eventually it all led to this:



Shale finally came home.



His first birthday found me unprepared. I figured I wouldn't make a cake since he couldn't eat it but it didn't seem right to deprive his sugar loving siblings of cakey-goodness, so I bought donuts as a happy compromise. It became our January 4th tradition while he lived.  Of course, while I remembered to buy donuts I completely spaced on birthday candles.

Oh well, beggars can't be choosers and all that.

The days blurred by with doctors appointments, hospitalizations and the haziness of life in general.



He grew hair, learned to sit and give high fives.



He grew. Even past the age they told us he wouldn't.



He learned to walk. He taught us how to live beyond the fringe of normal and see the world with new possibilities. He taught us how to be the people we are today. He loved.

And oh, how he danced.



And then, he didn't.



It's an odd thing to celebrate a birthday of a boy who no longer lives. But I suppose it is no odder than loving a child who is simply a memory.

Time slips by and nothing seems to change just as everything is.

My son is still gone. I still love him. Most don't even know he existed for the years he did.

But today, as the sun shines through the parted clouds and glistens off the snow riddled with footprints, my family will take a moment to recognize how much he gave us and how grateful we are for the moments we had with him.

Happy 11th birthday kid.

 

The Gift of Bleeding Ears

Twas the night before the night before Christmas,

And all through my house,

Children are scurrying, much like a mouse.

I'm so not ready for Christmas this year. It's come too fast, it'll be gone too quickly. I wish I could slow down time and stretch it out, make this magical feeling of Christmas joy last just a tad longer.

Boo surprised us all by walking through the door two days early and my heart still hasn't quit racing. We were all sitting on the couch, like happy little potatoes, watching the reflection of the twinkling Christmas lights glare off our television set when all of a sudden his head popped up in the window behind us.

He banged against the window and then howled something about watching us to ensure we weren't being naughty but nice and I may have peed myself a little.

Generally, if you live alone in the woods with small children, and a large man starts banging on your window, it never ends well. At least according to all the horror movies the kids force me to watch with them.

Even my dog farted with spontaneous fear.

All I can say is that man had better be filling my stocking with something very sparkly to make up for his shaving a decade off my life span.

And speaking of presents, I have one for you. The Jumbster and the rest of us made a very quick video filled with tidings of non-frightening peaceful joy for all of you.

It's our way of saying thanks for sticking with us all year long and supporting my family by reading my blog.

And no, this gift is non-refundable and you can't exchange it for something else.

Although, after you watch it, you'll likely want to.

So, with that, I wish you all holiday peace this season.

Enjoy.



 

Pssst. If you're looking for a little something else to read to tide you over until next week when I get back to business, check out my Hogwash from a Hoser blog. I wrote about the types of wishes I like to make and I went nose to nose in a boxing round with the Bloggess about whether Santa is a flesh eating zombie or not.

Have a merry weekend everyone!