Saying good-bye

This has been an incredibly difficult week. Many of my feathered companions have needed to find new homes. My furry companions are leaving tomorrow. I am on an emotional roller coaster and I am a freaking mess.

Just pray for us, so much needs to happen tomorrow...so, so much...

Back to roots long forgotten

When our oldest son was little, his father and I would take frequent trips to Northern Virginia, where my family is (at least the important part of it) and of course our son went with us. We toured the Smithsonian, the Capitol, watched the lighting of the White House Christmas tree, meandered around the Mall, climbed the Washington Monument, went to the zoo, attended mass at the Cathedral. You name it. Then this most important year came, his last year of middle school, and with it, the privilege of going to Washington on a field trip. We were a little surprised that when the field trip opportunity arose, BB pitched it to us as an experience of a lifetime. I feared those memories were to be treasured, but by his father and myself alone.

With thanks to his amazing grandparents, this 'opportunity of a lifetime' came to fruition for my son. I was excited for him to take this trip, convinced that as he experienced these breathtaking things, the memories would come back to him. I was sure that as he laid his hand of the wall, and felt the names etched in stone underneath his finger tips, he would remember. I thought for certain that as he gazed up at the airplanes that so fascinated him in his younger years, he would think about those times...that the memories would come flooding back. I was wrong.

It makes me want to weep with the heartache of it all. The holidays spent throwing snowballs, and watching the most important city in our nation light up with the festive colors, the sheer stubborn determination that he would exhibit when he insisted to feed the machine his own metro card. All those memories made with love, carried and cherished all these years aren't with him. They are only with us. It makes me wonder as each of my children grow older, what will be the important moments, and what will exist only as chicken soup for this mother's soul?

Tiptoe among the tulips

My life right now is inside out, upside down, and sideways. I see precious little of my children. I see precious little of my fur and feather babies. However, I still bask in the love of good friends, a good man, and a wonderful family. In spite of the craziness that surrounds me and defines me at the moment...I still keenly feel, love, joy, and happiness. The question that remains is if there is a way to marry all of those feelings with the different roles I must play as a mother, partner, friend, and companion.

I know that I am being a little cryptic in my post. I ask that you forgive me for that. I will write something more detailed and definitive soon. In the meantime, will you all please tell me how you manage to play all the cards life deals you concurrently? Most of all, will you share how you manage (if indeed you do) from feeling inadequate in one venue while you concentrate on another? My inquiring mind wants to know...

Teen angst

I once had a friend tell me that teenage boys, "get those hormones going, and then they stay f#*ked up in the head until they start to get laid." At the time I thought it was a rather offensive statement, but I didn't entirely write it off since it was coming from a former teen boy. Actually, I still think it's an offensive statement but, would consider flying my teenager to Amsterdam to get high and get laid, if it meant that the child returning would somewhat resemble the one I gave birth to. Yep. I might just be *that* desperate.

My daughter texted me a link last night, it was along the lines of: WorldWideWeb.militaryschoolinformationfortroubledteens.edu

I guess I'm not the only one fed up with him. It can't all be in my head. Not if my daughter is researching potential boarding schools where we might deposit her older sibling. This thing is serious. This kid is killing me, and if that sounds like an exaggeration, he is in fact, torturing me into insanity. I mean, what mother sets her alarm to take her Xanax 45 minutes before her son's alarm is set to go off? Me. Clearly the answer is me, but, why should this be?

I tell people in stores in public places that he has Tourette's. That way they will excuse him and hopefully my clearly inadequate way of dealing with him. What does one say when their son utters a four letter word, or several of them strung together with as much hate as possible? I say nothing. I ignore him. I continue my shopping, placing my eggs carefully into my cart while I give curious onlookers a small sigh and an apologetic smile, "He has Tourette's," I say. What else can I do? I can't scream like a fish wife, or bend my six foot tall son over my knee. So? what do I do?

I take away his Xbox...he punches holes in my walls. I take away his cell phone...he goes after his little brother with a two by four. He controls the house. We tiptoe around him. We pray for him to sleep. We luxuriate in his absences. We have given up. We feel like we've tried everything legal to help him...to help us. So, what do we do? We have another 3 years, 8 months, and 14 days until he turns 18...not that we are counting of course.

Maybe my daughter has the right idea. Maybe military school is a good plan.

It's Friday...random style

I was on Facebook today, extolling the virtues of kitty cats and laziness, when my bloggy pal, Eric's Mommy, suggested I actually post something on my site. So, here goes Eric's Mommy, this post is for you kid!

My teenage son sprained his ankle yesterday. I am so immune to such types of disasters with the number of children I have, all as klutzy as their Proud mother, that I handed him an Ace bandage, crutches, his prescription strength Naproxen, and an ice pack, and decided to forgo the Emergency Room which would have done the exact same thing for him, eleven hours later. Who knew that the OCD mom, who assured he went to the doctor or hospital every time he sniffled as an only child, could evolve into moi?

The baby is officially mobile...and has found out how to scale the baby gate that separates my kitchen from the living room. Worse still, after watching his smooth moves...he has taught this neat trick to my two small dogs. When I wander downstairs at night and I catch the crotch of my...well anyway...my crotch, on this frigging gate, I have to ask myself why it is still there. The only person or thing it is effectively keeping out of the kitchen is me.

Money is still tight. Times are still tough. I could expound on this issue for awhile, but, it has begun to bore even me. Even typing the words, forced a yawn and a desire to see who has been kicking my butt at Words With Friends today. There will be nothing more at the moment about the Proud family economy, or any thoughts on our country's either, as we seem to be running neck and neck.

Cable on demand is a very efficient way to torture parents. Seriously, who needs waterboarding when you can just force someone into watching the same effing episode of Wow Wow Wubzy 40 times in a row? Does anyone in the CIA have small children? If I had anything to hide, I would have given it up, before Widget and Walden even came onto the screen, for the 40th time. I swear.

This subject brings me to my Irish twins. I am now able to begin to imagine how having real twins might feel. They speak a language of their own. Nobody else can understand a word they say, unless they deem it to be so. This loosely translates into the planning of chaos, mayhem, and painting the walls with my mascara...and we are none the wiser, because we never understand the evil plot, until we find ourselves in the midst of the broken guitar, missing Xbox hard drive, or Clinique wall murals. People, listen to me...DO NOT have children less than a year apart by choice. Really. It sounds cool and all...but, it isn't. Parents of multiples and for other parents of Irish twins...our reward is in Heaven. I hope.

I finally had my hair cut and colored. I went a full year (better than, really) without doing anything to it. Now, people tell me that they hardly recognize me. Seriously? I've worn my hair this way for 17 years, with the exception of the last 18 months, and now you don't recognize me? I find this slightly strange.

This concludes Random Friday. You all have a great weekend. Before I go though,
ergonomic keyboards were *not* and I repeat *not* made for hunt and peckers like me. Typing this post has started to make me wonder if I am having flashbacks...

It is wayyyy...past Monday

Blame it on the cable guy who was days late to hook up my service, blame it on the son, who insists to switch my desktop to his tv instead of my monitor.  Blame it on me being lazy...but, as Tanya reminded me...I am late.

Late with the blog post of course, not late late.  Thank goodness!

I have, what feels like a small army of children plotting my downfall.  I have the school board, collaborating with those same children, giving out days off like tic tacs.  It all seems to be leading to my demise.  Really.  Not just a bloggy demise, I mean, I've been there...done that...this is more of a blogging resurrection...slightly off track.

Cell phone blogging is not what it is all cracked up to be, so, when I retire to my humble abode for the evening, I shall get a real post up here, and, fix whatever I did wrong on our taxes.  I promise.

A new lease on life...and blogging too

Even though it would be my husband's fondest wish, my New Year's resolution isn't to diet, but, rather to make my way back to the blog world.  My little blog, so long abandoned, was such a great outlet for me, and diary of our lives.  From the Proud family to all of yours...Happy New Year!  And check back with me on Monday for updated pictures, a new post, and our family's latest news.  For now I'll leave you all with a picture of the seventh Proud child.