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I Need A Baby

But not just any old baby. I want another hour or two with my baby Jack. I’d like a chance to go back to those precious times when I held him on my shoulder and let him breathe deep, sleepy breaths onto my neck. I’d like to sit him on my knees and watch him have an argument with his hands, giggling at the shock and anger that flits across his chubby little face when an errant fist makes contact with his nose. I want to see that first gummy smile and hear little palms drumming on a high chair tray. I’m only asking for an hour or two. That’s not so selfish is it?

It’s not hard to figure out why I’m feeling so maudlin. This morning Jack had some minor surgery — nothing serious — just adenoid removal and ear tube placement to allow his eustachian tubes to clear and help get his hearing back to normal. He sat on the gurney, swathed from head to toe in warm blankets, coloring a picture of a dinosaur, and laughing at the effects of the happy juice they give prior to surgery. His dad grew an extra head, and I wound up with a double nose and teeth like a rabbit. We laughed along with him and did everything we could to keep him at ease up until the very moment they wheeled him through the doors where we couldn’t follow. Then I realized I probably needed medication as much as he did.

The wait wasn’t long, and everything went well. Soon he was back with us sleeping off a draught of pain medication. As I watched him resting there, so small beneath his mountain of warming blankets, I felt a rush of love so strong it hurt. Tears pricked my eyes as I offered silent thanks that none of the rare complications of surgery had found their way to our door.

And for the next half hour, I studied his face…memorizing details in this quiet moment, since so much of our life seems such a blur of activity. I was inordinately pleased to find the patches of light blond hair just above his temples were still evident. Why that mattered, I couldn’t say. Perhaps I just needed to find something that hadn’t changed drastically in these last five years.

I heaved a shaky sigh and confessed my weak and wobbly state to my husband, who promptly admitted feeling the same way. Together we reminisced about the miracle baby we remembered and the precious little boy that baby had become. And then, our sleeping beauty awakened, anxious to go home and particularly adamant that Fudgecicles be purchased as soon as possible.

He’s resting again, his dad and I taking turns snuggling him close and making sure he’s comfortable. As I study his profile and try to count the faint freckles that dust his nose, I wonder at the visual difficulties you develop with motherhood. Like a double exposure, the baby is overlaid with the boy. I think I understand why it’s natural for children to pull away from their parents as they mature. How difficult it must be to relate as an adult to someone who still sees you in a diaper, grinning toothlessly at your beloved stuffed hippo.

But for today, Popo and I still reign supreme. And for at least a little while longer, I still have my baby.

Posted in Family & Relationships, Parenting.

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By jodi – December 1, 2010

Pushin’ a Rock

There are times in the life of any parent, or so I would suppose, when the daily struggle to raise a child — or in my case MANY children — to a happy and fulfilled adulthood becomes a Sisyphean task. There are only so many times one can engage in yet another battle over the pointless — “Fine! Just give me the toy and then no one will play with it!” — or a war of the absurd — “Well, just how exactly is he looking at you funny? No, I’m not really seeing it…Look, could you please stop looking at your brother funny?…Okay? Happy now?” — before Camus’ jaundiced view of an unintelligible world begins to seem sensible, almost rosy. After all, with his worldview, there’s no point in worrying about success or failure — both hold no meaning — we are simply to take pleasure in each day’s activities, however fruitless.

Fortunately, I do believe that what we do today is significant not only in the here and now, but also in the distant future. And so it really is important that I do the right thing. It matters whether or not I discover which button to push with each child. How to motivate this one to a greater generosity of spirit, this one to better decision making, and instill in them all the social skills and graces necessary for them to one day navigate unassisted from the point of waking to the blessed relief of sleep.

It’s daunting, to put it mildly. Especially when I really, truly have no idea what I’m doing.

With three out of four of my children, I can indulge in a bit of back-patting. Smiling my modest Mona Lisa smile in the face of praise from teachers, caregivers and friends. “Well, we do try,” I say, casting my eyes down. Then meekly adding, “But really so much is simply how he came into this world.” Cue the self-deprecating grin, aaaaaand…scene. Honestly, I’m very good at modesty when I think about it hard enough.

But with the fourth, I’m at a loss. The struggle is constant with the rewards fleeting — often erased mere moments after they’ve been achieved by yet another glaring failure. It’s all a phase, we tell ourselves. He’ll grow out of it, and then we’ll find ourselves laughing over all this. We experiment with a few awkward titters. A brittle giggle cracks and breaks into an embarrassed cough.

And still we soldier on. Because leading a child from boyhood to manhood is a privilege, a sacred honor, and (most of the time) a joy. Nonetheless, I think I may begin collecting door stops, cinder blocks and cross-ties. Because once we do get these boulders to the top of that hill, I’ll be damned if they get a chance to roll back down again.

Posted in Family & Relationships, Parenting.

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By jodi – November 28, 2010

A Rare Bird

I think I mentioned finding the book Bird by Bird and how it has helped me confirm that I am, indeed, a writer — despite never having had anything published. To be honest, I’ve never even had the courage to submit anything, although I have high hopes for the next 36 years of my writing life.

But it’s helped in more ways than one. Up until this point, I thought I was the only person who had a mental script detailing exactly what I’d say if I:

1) Were suddenly invited to appear on David Letterman (or Conan, or Leno — Heck! I was prepared way back when there was only Carson!)

2) Unexpectedly ran into my favorite celebrity (Key: No gushing, but enough flattery to ensure I’m invited to their next wrap party).

3) Finally tracked down that girl who never failed to make me feel 3 inches tall in high school. Generally, this just consists of looking on in satisfaction while she totters past me on the sidewalk — obese, hirsute, and obviously syphilitic.

And it doesn’t stop there. I’ve taken the starring role in almost every one of my favorite movies. Or walked around as best supporting actress until I could figure out why she never took the lead. I’ve lived my entire life over — as a man, as a black woman, as a homosexual, as a vegetarian — and tried to picture which choices would have changed and which would have stayed the same. I’ve cast all my friends in Little Women or Steel Magnolias or Pride and Prejudice and marveled over how their personalities have changed the tone of each and every one. I’ve stolen snippets from their conversation and filed it away for eventual use. And I’ve pondered the magic involved in writing realistic dialogue, all the while marveling that Robin Cook has published novel after novel without ever managing it once.

And in all this time, I never imagined that other people might be walking down the street lost in Walter Mitty-esque musings — sometimes beautiful, sometimes grotesque, one moment devout, the other profane. But always, always tangible. So much so, that a return to reality often feels as jarring and unwelcome as a crash landing on Mars.

How many times have I heard, “Jodi’s not listening. She’s in her own little world,” and had to hold back from shouting, “Shows what you know! My world is HUGE!” Populated with people of all kinds, from all walks of life. They look like people I’ve known or met or simply saw once in the supermarket. They speak in stolen snatches of conversation. And they dance to the beat of their own drum — it just so happens I’m the one calling the tune. I literally cannot wait to introduce them to somebody.  Physically aching to bridge the gap between my head and my fingertips.

I know it will happen. I actually believe it now. I don’t know how long it will take, but one day the words are going to fly.

Posted in Rants & Raves.

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By jodi – November 22, 2010

Speechless

Today seemed like as good a day as any to take the fellas to see Santa. Since we’re a southern family, it also made perfect sense to drive to Bass Pro Shop to see their Santa — who poses beside real-live stuffed reindeer. For those of you who did not grow up in the south, I should probably explain that “real-live” is a perfectly acceptable adjective to describe things that are most certainly real, but not necessarily alive. It connotes the impressive nature of the object described. And those giant, dead deer are extremely impressive. Believe me!

Anyhow, I decide to dress up in my new, super-cute, burnt-orange, empire-waisted dress which I rocked with brown leggings, brown knee boots, and a little brown shrug. The piece de resistance was a handmade necklace with a wooden filigree heart pendant. I. Was. Smokin! Sure I got distracted by getting the kids ready, and maybe I was still feeling a little rocky from my viral illness earlier in the week — whatever the reason, I completely forgot to put on makeup, and didn’t realize it until we were arriving at our destination. So there was a small confidence drop while I came to grips with my drop from “Smokin’ hot” to “tepidly cute”. But it’s not like I was the one getting my picture made with Santa anyway. We rallied the troops and made our way inside where, after a few false starts, we finally found the end of the huge Santa Line.

Now nothing makes an interminably long wait better than having an insatiable talker queued up right behind you. Of course he noticed I had multiples, and thus began the long series of mind-numbing questions. How did we feed three at a time? Did we have to use our feet? How long did I carry them? Which one’s the oldest? Etc., etc.

It was bad. But if I’d known how much worse it was going to get, I think I would have turned around and left — even if it meant towing 4 screaming boys behind me.

It turns out “Captain Clueless” married his equal. Mrs. Clueless wanders up, is briefed by Captain Clueless as to our child status, then the female half of this dynamic duo turns to me and says, “So are you hoping for a girl this time?”

Imagine me stunned…gasping for air like a fish out of water…desperately trying to wrap my brain around the verbal assault that has just gone down.

“Umm…no. ‘Cause I’m not PREGNANT!” I snapped. Not really a clever rejoinder, but I had hoped the venom dripping from my fangs would fill in where my words failed.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Clueless. No blush. No stuttered apology. Just a simple ‘oh’, as if gutting a stranger were simply one more mundane task in an equally boring day.

I turned my back on them and tried to rearrange my face. I was successful for a minute or two, but finally I had to excuse myself to the nearby restroom. And what did I do once I got there? I locked myself in a stall and cried.

CRIED!!

Me!!!! She who does not shed tears except for Hallmark commercials and funerals. And sometimes that whole funeral thing is even a bit dodgy, as I only have a finite supply and sometimes unwisely use one too many during a chick flick. Finally I pulled it together, and was able to rejoin my family in line. The olive on top of my sh%t sandwich was the fact that Santa had chosen this moment to take a 15 minute break, so I was stuck with Captain Clueless who, despite his wife’s glaring faux pas, continued to try and force conversation. The whole. Entire. Time.

On a good note, the boys’ picture turned out to be completely adorable. And my husband says I look great and not at all pregnant. Of course, he HAS to say that, but it was appreciated nonetheless. Why was Mrs. Captain Clueless able to get to me when pestilence and death leaves me unmoved? I chalk it up to hormones and perfect timing. That and the fact that I desperately need to lose 15 pounds and I know it. I know it!!! See lady?!?! I’m aware!!! So keep your comments to yourself!

Posted in Rants & Raves.

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By jodi – November 20, 2010

Reason I Rock #312

I am an incredible children’s book reader. I do voices. I make faces. I engage my tiny audience and invite them to join in on the repeated lines. Basically, I just indulge my inner ham, and let the good times roll.

Today, I was Mystery Reader at Jack’s school. Remember when I said I couldn’t figure out what to read? Well I finally gave in and went with one of our favorites Room on the Broom which technically might qualify as more of a Halloween pick than a Thanksgiving tale, but I don’t care. I loved it. The kids loved it. And I’m told that I’m the only parent who the kids ever begged to “Read it again!” Which, of course, I gladly did with even more gusto.

It’s a gift. Everyone has to have a certain arsenal of “Mad Skillz”. Unfortunately, none of mine seem to fit snugly on a resume. C’est la vie. I’m still sitting here, basking in the glow of my own awesomeness, while all my insecurities are away on a temporary leave of absence. I wonder what it would take to get those bastards to STAY gone?

Posted in Books, Kids, Parenting.

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By jodi – November 19, 2010

Day 2.5

of the viral siege. I’ve darted out long enough to take the kids to school and pick the kids up from school. Oh, and I did the dishes from last night. But that’s about it. For the first time ever, I actually did all this in baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt. A sure sign that things are slowly descending into chaos. I look around at the clutter scattered throughout our living room and expect at any moment one of the boys will jump on the love seat and start trumpeting on a conch shell a la Lord of the Flies.

There’s a nagging urge to check everyone’s underwear drawer to see just how much longer I can keep this up. But tomorrow is the parent/child Thanksgiving lunch at Jack’s school, so I really do have to pull it together sooner rather than later.

One thing is certain, a stop by the UPS store is mandatory as the evidence of my on-line shopping problem is irrefutable. There are three boxes of returns that need to be taped up and shipped. The shirt was just a size error brought about by my delusion that there’s anything on my torso that can be categorized as “medium”. And the juicer I ordered has been deemed unnecessary after I received the “Big Book of Juice Recipes” and realized each glass would cost approximately $30.

And that is exactly where I am right now. If I were truly a great writer, I’d circle this all back around to some profound life lesson. As it is, I’m merely tired, mildly dehydrated and somewhat apathetic about my complete lack of control over even the smallest aspect of my life. Oh, and to top it off, I’m the mystery reader at Jack’s school on Friday and the librarian beat me to “The Very Grumpy Bear.” Since it’s practically my autobiography, I’m just not sure where else to go from here.

Maybe I’ll go do a load of laundry and dig through the bookshelf for “SkippyJon Jones.” My spanish accent is muy muy fabuloso, after all. *experimentally rolls an r then counts to 10 en espanol* Hmm…suddenly I’m not feeling quite so terrible.

Writing is awesome.

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By jodi – November 16, 2010

First

On the scale of mom days, I’ve had worse and I’ve had better. Although I’ve been battling a rather vicious stomach flu, the kids have been relatively well-behaved. We’ve read books together and independently*, sung lots of songs (mostly ABCs), and haven’t even considered turning on the television all this rainy afternoon. And to top it off, I managed to slip some chicken in the crock-pot at lunchtime, so there was something warm and tasty to serve over a bit of rice at the end of the day.

When Jason arrived home from work, we quickly washed our hands, put bowls in front of boys, and settled down to eat as a family.

“Celery Chicken!” Jason said with a an extra smile in my direction. We both know it’s a perennial favorite of his, so I try to remember to keep it in rotation.

“Nothing like bland comfort food at the end of a cold day, hmm?” I reply absently, picking over my own bowl, still not quite sure if I’m ready for even the blandest of fare.

“Can I have seconds?” Jack asks as he passes his bowl to me, narrowly missing the noses of at least two brothers in the process.

“Well!” I gush proudly, “Looks like this may be someone else’s favorite, too, dad.”

“Good job, Buddy! You really tore that up didn’t you?”

“Yup!” Jack said beaming. “Looks like I was the first one to get it down.”

Jason snorts and I suddenly come down with a fit of the giggles. Apparently, Nigella, Emeril, Ina and all the rest can sleep easy in their beds tonight.

*If you have pre-schoolers ready to start learning to read, may I strongly recommend the Leapfrog Tag Reader be added to your Christmas List.

Posted in Family & Relationships, Kids, Parenting.

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By jodi – November 15, 2010

Monday’s Obligatory Hour of Writing

A) It’s Monday.

B) It’s raining.

C) I have stomach flu.

And that is all I have to say at this time.

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By jodi – November 15, 2010

Stage Lighting

I had my act together this morning. Honestly! Everyone was fed, dressed, and ready for school. All they had to do was put on their shoes while I grabbed a quick shower and we’d all be “clean and shiny,” as Will likes to say. Like I said, I had my act together. But, as with any role, eventually you break character.

Stepping out of the shower, dripping wet and belting Etta James’ “The Rock” at the top of my lungs, I was met by a belligerent Sam demanding I put his shoes on for him. Now if ever there’s a time when I’m not at my best, it’s when I’m naked and cold, with my wet hair dripping icicles down my back. Plus, I hadn’t even made it to the second repeat of the chorus. Irritating.

“Sam, get out! Right now, mister!” I said in my most authoritative tone (this is sometimes mistaken for yelling, but I assure you, I am capable of quite a significant number of decibels beyond this one).

Sam countered with a whining protest. I sallied back with more authoritative tones. And the end result was me — still arrested mid-song, still naked, still dripping icicles — faced with a hysterical Sam who insisted he wasn’t going anywhere without his shoes.

I took a deep breath, cast my eyes heavenward … and caught God snickering. How do I know that? Well, I’m told he made me in his image which must mean his sense of humor is just as twisted as mine. I arranged my towel a bit more strategically and set about the mammoth task of talking Sam out of his tree. We discussed how mommy needs her private time. We talked about what a big boy Sam is and how he’ll get a smiley face if he gets himself ready for school. And, of course, we touched on how very sorry mommy was for yelling (Sam had trouble grasping the whole “authoritative tone” angle) and how she would try hard not to do it again. Finally, after much tears and snorting, he agreed to leave mama to finish her business while he waited in the living room with his brothers. You know, the two that are perfectly capable of putting on their own shoes. The ones Sam actually helped teach to put on their shoes, but I digress.

I toweled off, threw on my mom uniform –leggings, huge denim shirt, ballet flats — dried my hair at lightening speed and went to try and make amends. Sam looked up at me and said, with just a trace of leftover tears, “My shoes were just being so bad to me today, mom!”

“Rotten shoes!” I concurred as I helped him wiggle first one foot and then the other into his little brown tennis shoes. He even pitched in at the last and helped press the velcro down.

Then we were off, apparently none the worse for wear. And as usual, Sam was the last one into the school coming back twice for extra hugs and kisses, then blowing me countless handfuls of kisses from the steps and shouting, “Bye!! Have a great day!!” until he disappeared down the hallway.

Sometimes I have my act together for almost a full day. Sometimes it only holds steady for a few hours or minutes. But always, always, I’m thankful for the role I landed in this amazing production with this incredible cast.

Now, if I could just get a running supply of M&Ms and Mountain Dew in my trailer….

Posted in Family & Relationships, Kids, Parenting.

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By jodi – November 10, 2010

Letting It All Hang Out

I found two important books this weekend, one leading me to another. The first is “Bird by Bird” written by Anne Lamott and the second is “Writing Down the Bones” by Natalie Goldberg. The gist of each is that a person who wants to be a writer must — and this is the kicker — write. Regularly. Prolifically. Honestly. And more often than not, horribly.

So be forewarned…there will be more crummy posts coming. Posts that don’t make sense. Posts that might offend. Posts that are just plain, self-indulgent @#$%. Because I’m done waiting for the laundry basket to be empty, or for the kids to be in school, or for my thighs to be thin. All my excuses are out the window, and it’s time to bare all.

My name is Jodi. And I am a writer.

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By jodi – November 9, 2010