Tater: Mom, what’s for dinner?
Me: Breakfast
Tater: Ok. What’s for breakfast?
Me: Eggs, bacon, and waffles.
Tater: But I already had breakfast today.
Me: But this is dinner.
Tater: But it’s breakfast?
Me: It’s breakfast for dinner.
Tater: [long pause] I just don’t get it.
Last night Tater wanted to play “school” so I was the student and he was the teacher. He seated me in his papasan chair and stood in front of his white board easel in his room very matter-of-factly writing his name on the board. Mr. Parker Tayce was his full name but he wanted to be called Mr. Parker. He gave me the name Kyleigh Sarah Minchowski.
Mr. Parker taught his students all about letters and dinosaurs and cows. It was a very entertaining lesson. I was a good student and raised my hand and waited my turn. The teacher explained all about “levels” too and how if I misbehaved I would get “leveled up” to a different color and if I got to the black level I would get a slip sent home to my parents. Oh yeah, and Dick (who was downstairs engrossed in his PS3) was the school principal.
When lunchtime came around we made our way to the cafeteria (or upstairs hallway) and proceeded to unpack our homemade lunches. During our unpacking, the school principal was heard yelling a very bad, bad word so Mr. Parker ran downstairs and gave him a solid tongue-lashing for his inappropriate language.
As if this wasn’t funny enough, he returned to unpack his lunch reciting all of the items inside his “grown up lunch bag.” A Lunchable, soda, and chips. Then finally, ”a salad sandwich…and some beef”. Oh, and then he went to the counter and got a Dr. Pepper for his “second drink.”
We returned to class and for some reason Mr. Parker started replying “Sure thing!” to every question I asked. The entire school day lasted about 30 minutes and then when it was time for bed Tater told me he wanted to play school every single day for the rest of his life. I told him, “Sure thing!”
First things first: Bah-humbug.
It’s not that I hate Christmas (flog all you want for my un-PC-ness, I don’t care!) or the holiday season, it’s just that I’ve never been a huge fan of this time of year. Maybe it’s because people go insane, trampling each other to death for that plasma TV. Perhaps because the Christmas music starts in, like, July. Or maybe it’s because I don’t think we should wait until the last month of the year to practice good will toward men and peace on earth. Or maybe it’s because I’ve never, ever had a Christmas where I wasn’t missing at least one close family member. It just seems like so much ado and when it’s over, there’s nothing to show for it but a few new gadgets and an empty wallet.
There. Now that I got my true sentiment out of the way, I can move on. We are surprising Tater with a kitten for Christmas. Shhhhhhh….it’s a secret. This will probably be the last year where I can write about his Christmas surprises on this site because by next year, he’ll totally have the URL memorized and be able to access it and read every single word. He’s getting that good, y’all.
A couple weeks ago when I was working a shift at the hospital, the charge nurse mentioned that her cat just had kittens AGAIN (she’s a bit of a trollop this cat – it’s her second litter in four months. Bob Barker would be so disappointed), and the kitties would be ready for good homes on Christmas Eve. It was just too perfect to pass up. Dick and I talked about it for a few days and ultimately decided to go for it. Both he and I expressed childhood dreams of our parents surprising us with a pet on Christmas – and it never happened for either of us. One of the best parts about being a parent is doing things for your children that you wished your parents would have done for you.
Everything else will be incredibly low-key: a few toys, games and stocking stuffers. At first I thought that having the kitty under the tree with a ribbon tied around her would be the perfect way to surprise Tater but Dick convinced me that it will be all over once Tater sees that baby kitten and we tell him that it’s totally his. We’ve decided to save the kitten for last.
One surprised, gleeful five-year-old coming soon to a YouTube near you!
Last Thanksgiving was the last time I saw my mom alive – without the help of a ventilator anyway. I spent five fabulous days in Sitka last year by myself. Mom and I spent a great deal of time together but now it seems as though it was only a moment or two.
Last night I was thinking a lot about her when I got an overwhelming urge to read through a diary of sorts that I started for her nine years ago. It was supposed to be a Mother’s Day present one day – a collection of my thoughts about her and our relationship. I never gave it to her. And now I never will. I read through what I wrote with tears brimming then I started flipping through the blank pages when I found some photo album pages in the back of the diary. The pages contained pictures that I have no recollection of placing there. Pictures of Cody, Danny, the dogs and me. And this one:
That was taken 13 years ago just before Homecoming. I remember I was angry with my mom that night because I had just passed my driver’s test and was all prepared to drive myself (no date, of course) to the dance. But since there was two feet of snow on the ground and I was still a novice, my mother refused to let me drive her car. It seems silly now – of course she was right about it not being a safe choice. Still, at 16 it was the end of the world.
I sobbed uncontrollably when I found the picture but a few hours later I started wondering where the overwhelming urge to look in that diary came from in the first place. I hadn’t even picked it up in two years. I had forgotten all about the pictures. Yet somehow I found the picture of my mother standing beside me when I needed it most.
This picture was taken last year at Thanksgiving dinner. The difference in my mother face is remarkable.
I’m having a hard time being thankful this year.
I’ve been begging Dick to do a guest post for months now. His response is invariably, “I’ve been thinking about it.” So while he’s doing that – how about a pseudo-guest-post? Before my mom stopped blogging I spent hours on her site printing out every archive she had. I put her entries into a binder, separated by month, and created a photo collage for the cover using some of the best photos she featured on her site. I thought this would eventually be something I’d pull out during our annual visits and read to her. We never got to do that.
So I’d like to feature some of her best posts here every once and a while. Any writing skills I have stemmed from my mother’s love of reading and writing. She was witty and sarcastic and honest. And her writing was definitely good enough to bear repeating.
From March 2, 2005:
Not having seen the movies, I can’t comment on their message. But it seems a lot of knowledgeable people agree that the movies romanticize the “better dead than disabled” myth. Obviously, I don’t buy into that myth ’cause I’m still here.
Twice since I was diagnosed with MS I’ve briefly entertained the notion of suicide. “My” MS is very atypical. Once it started to progress in 1997, it was relentless and terrifying. I kept thinking that it would stop or slow down a lot like most of the cases I had read about. But it didnt, and with each step down I would think, “Okay, if it doesn’t get any worse, I can handle this.” That was my mantra for a long time. And I kept handling it because what choice did I have?
But twice durin gmy journey from there to here I got despondent enough to think, “Oh, hell no. This is just too haaard. I can’t do it.” Each time, the thought of my family stopped me dead (heh) in my tracks. I couldn’t bear the thought of them finding me or feeling guilty thinking there was something they could have done.
So I hung in there, and I’m really glad I did. Because the hopeless feelings passed, you see. I’m not at all happy with the turn my life has taken and the changes my family and I have had to make, and I’m really disabled (quadriplegic). But I’m still happy to be alive, and hopeful for a positive change somewhere down the road. This tired old quote is true: “Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.”
We had a very busy weekend that was both exciting and excruciating all at the same time. One of my oldest friends flew up from San Diego with her fiance whom I’ve never met. Desiree (who I’ve known for nearly 20 years and haven’t seen in five years!) and James arrived Saturday afternoon and we spent some time catching up before heading up to Bellingham for the night. James is a photographer – an amazing photographer – who was shooting a show for the band Transfer. And the show just happened to be at a club thirty minutes away from me! Transfer earned a few more fans just for picking a locale that gave me time with Desiree. Plus their music kicks all kinds of ass.
We checked into a hotel and headed downtown for dinner. We ate and drank and drank some more before heading to the club. Soon after the band started my stomach began to roll. I was only a few cocktails into the evening and I just knew something else was wrong.
I spent the next 12 hours trying like hell to sleep interrupted by bouts of the most violent puking I’ve ever done in my life. I literally wanted to die just to rid myself of the agonizing cramping and dry heaving.
I was finally able to crawl out of bed in time to say goodbye to James since he had to leave with the band. As I mentioned I didn’t know James until I met him three days ago. Desiree has been in a small handful of serious relationships since I’ve known her and I’ve been friends with each of her suitors. So I had a picture in my mind of what James must be like simply from knowing Desiree’s “type.” I must say that I was pleasantly surprised to find that James was nothing like any of those men. He was a million times more awesome. He was one of the most down-to-earth, gentle, funny, and sensitive men I’ve ever met. The four of us got along like we’d all been friends for 20 years. Not only was James an amazing person, but the way he loves Desiree is so apparent and so incredible. Witnessing someone who genuinely cares so deeply for a person you love is a fantastic feeling. And truly liking that person beyond their love for your friend is even better. I am so happy for Desiree – so happy that she found her match, the man that she quite completely just…. ”fits” with.
There are certain people in your life who are just a part of you. Spending time with Desiree is so easy and familiar. It’s an incredible thing to have such an amazing connection and history with another person. Saying goodbye this morning was hard. Because it had been so long since I had seen Desiree, I had “adjusted” to life without her around. But now I feel like I’m not quite whole again. She’s not just a part of my life, she’s a part of me. And that part of me is back in San Diego.
During homework and under his breath: “I can do this. My brain is in control.”
Mostly at bedtime: “Mom, you’re so beautiful. I wish I could look at you forever.”
Random singing complete with hip shaking: “Doncha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?”
After jumping in my lap and hearing me cry out in pain: “Oh, did I get you in your weiner?”
Crouched over the toilet like he’s going to puke: “I can’t go to school tomorrow because of this gas. I have terrible gas!”
To me – all scholarly like: “You should have spelled my name with an S in it. Because Tayce makes the ’ssss’ sound.”
After I’d removed his magnetic toy from the bathroom sink: “Hey! I put that there for decoration! Do I have to tell you a million times?”
So I’m finally getting off my lazy ass and doing a Halloween post. Tater had a fabulous time and scored more than five pounds of candy! He went as Black Spiderman – which I believe makes the third Halloween now that he has dressed as some iteration of the spider. Whatevs, he likes it.
I had to work a little on Halloween, representing Safe Kids Skagit County and handing out candy (and reflective trick-or-treat bags) in downtown Mount Vernon. Tater and Daddy joined me for some pre-dark trick-or-treating and that will probably be the last time we take Tater to those festivities. It’s a nice gesture – an entire street is shut down and all the stores and businesses hand out candy – but it is FREAKING PACKED! Two thousand kids and their families walk a half-mile drag in search of goodies and it takes forever – slowly pacing behind hoardes of screaming, costumed children does not a fun experience make.
This year was the first year that Tater could be on his own during the door-to-door trick-or-treating. Dick, Grammy and I stood on the sidewalks and watched as he skipped up to each house, rang the doorbell (and sometimes knocked as well for good measure), and held open his bag. He even used his manners and said thank you every time. As if this wasn’t awesome enough, he happily (well, sorta) accepted a mere two pieces of candy at the end of the night.
We finished off Halloween weekend with our first family trip to the theater for Where The Wild Things Are. It sucked. The end.
Lastly, we took this video tonight. Yes, I realize my kid is STILL in his Halloween costume (he will probably wear it to college) and yes, I realize there is a huge hole in said costume. Dick says that’s where the alien came out.
DAMMIT! Just click here for the video. My YouTube brackets plugin is PMSing or something.
My doctor and I have been playing around with my meds a little bit and I think we’ve finally found the right mix. Last week, even though it rained every day, I finally saw the sunlight for the first time in months. It’s like my brain woke up and went hey so ummm, yeah! Life is pretty damn okay! And look, here’s something to be happy about! And here’s something else! You should totally smile today! And dance around and sing! Because THIS IS WHAT FEELING GOOD FEELS LIKE!
Amidst all of the sunshine my co-worker Lori mentioned that even though I may say I feel better, my eyes were telling a different story. I studied them in the mirror that night and realized she was right. My eyes were puffy, I had big dark circles underneath and a glassy stare that made me look as though I thought pot was the new Prozac. I couldn’t figure it out and chalked it up a side effect that I really didn’t care much about because I felt so damn good.
On Friday, my chest began to feel very congested and I’ve now developed a full-blown cold (note to self: when you get sick during a pandemic influenza, people will automatically assume you have said influenza regardless of your symptoms and avoid you like the plague). This morning while bemoaning the puffiness and glistening of my eyes, I realized that if my mom were alive to see my eyes she would have told me a week ago that I was going to get sick. She was THAT good.
She always knew when one of us kids were going to get sick. This also meant that she always knew when one of us kids were feigning illness to get out of going to school. And yes, I realize that I’ve been blogging incessantly about my mom and that it doesn’t always make for an exciting read but you know what? DEAL WITH IT. Mourning her is a big part of my life right now. I want to write down all of the memories I have as soon as I can before I forget.
Anyways, the only reason I even told you that story was so I could tell you this one and marvel at the uncanny ability of both parents and children to really know each other. Tater was doing “projects” this morning and told me that he was drawing me a house. I asked him if it would be possible for him to just build me a real house instead and he answered, “No! I’m just a kid. I’m not a grown-up, just an artist!”
After a few moments of my chuckling followed by silence he added that if he was a grown-up he would “build me a big, fancy house with (picture much hand flailing here for embellishment) beautiful purple and pink sparkles all over it!” and I was all DUDE! HOW DID YOU KNOW?!?
