No pictures please

Okay so I have learned there is at least one big difference in the way birthday parties are celebrated in Washington and California. Or at least between my family and Mike's. At my parents house there were so many cameras and video cameras, it was reminiscent of entering our junior prom. There is documentation of all his presents, all his guests, and of course every single mishap that could have happened. Here, I made a perfect cake, and there is no evidence. No pictures of presents, or Cassady and Phoenix playing. Albeit it was a much smaller shindig, I still would have liked a pic or two. By the way, the Thank You cards are coming soon I promise!

The dead spot.

Six years ago this November my urologist told me I would never see thirty, because well, I have the kidneys of an 85 year old man. There was talk of donor lists and maybe someone in the family will match. I chose to keep these conversations pretty much to myself after it was obvious that no one took it seriously. My brother turned off the phone when I was calling from the hospital at 4:00 a.m. to say that my scheduled surgery was now emergency surgery. This was the second time I got this reaction when I called. The first time was in 1998, my very first kidney stone, though I didn't know it at the time. It was the start to the long and crappy story that is my kidneys. Why are we talking about this now? Well because it's my blog and it's about what I'm feeling, and what I'm feeling is a ball of numb where my right kidney should be. Now for damn near six years I have thought the doctors probably don't know what they are talking about. I had good insurance then and kidney replacement is a huge chunk of change for a surgeon. Whatever reasons I made myself believe that "it couldn't happen to me" do not matter much now. Back then I had no son, and it is for him that I am now sad. For a week or so I've got to hear about a man who is in the hospital suffering from renal failure and diabetes. I feel horrible for this man. But it also makes me feel happy for him, he has a huge support group of people who he knows love him. And if he dies, it will not be alone. I keep hearing about this man, and what I want to say is, "How can you be so sympathetic to him and not to me?" We have the same damn diseases. I've been in renal failure TWICE. And you know what I don't care if this sounds like a pity party, it's my right to feel the way I do. I am not asking for the world to feel sorry for me. But I am asking a little understanding right now. The state of his health scares the shit out of me, because it could BE me. Don't you see the similarities? Don't get me wrong, I am not afraid to die. But I finally have something to live for, Phoenix. And I don't want to miss a single second of his life.

SUCCESS!

On the 8th of August we had a little shindig for young Phoenix's soon to be second birthday. For this occasion I tried, and failed, to execute a structurally sound cake. In fact, it was California by the end, complete with fault lines. Against my better judgment I used a cake from a box, or rather 4 boxed cakes, but that didn't seem to be too much of a problem, except for the fact that the cake on the bottom was made with a different brand of cake mix than the top. I figured they were all the same, but oh no. Let's not even talk about the pudding filling that ended up more soupy than I'd like to admit. *grins* But at least now it's funny...even the part about the well meaning friend who "helped" me get the wide based palm trees stuck in the cake. I was going to chop the base off, but I got my first fault line instead. Oh well, they tell me it tasted okay. A. even tried to prop the one side up with a pan, which someone of course, immediately felt the need to move. My mom's refrigerator had blue/brown frosting all over the back wall of it by the time it was done. Thank you to whoever cleaned that up by the way. In the end when my mom chopped the rest of the cake into kinda squares and stacked them haphazardly on a plate, they looked the best. Ah well, at least nobody was there to see that.
Today I have Mike's parentals and his best friends coming over to celebrate Phoenix's birthday which was Tuesday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SON! He's two, or thoo if you ask him. So I thought I'd take another whack at it. And viola! it actually came out. My ocean looks like an ocean, complete with mottled blue coloring. Go me! My island is an island and the palm tree is not 3 inches into the middle of my cake. And the best part, NO FAULT LINES!, Well as of yet. I'd love to take a picture, but I can't because I blew up my camera a few months ago, but that's a whole new post.

"Potty" use with caution

The last few weeks have been filled with thoughts of how to potty train our young Phoenix. At first introduction to the potty he seemed vaguely interested. But as it stood up until two days ago, every time the bathroom door was unguarded he would just run in there and slam the lid down. If we tried to sit him up there he screamed. Well the other night we were getting ready for bath time and I thought what the heck. So while the tub was filling, I lifted the seat to his toilet and asked him if he wanted to try to go potty in the potty. I should have sat him on it first as I began to hear splashing immediately. He was sitting on the bath mat in front of the tub, the recipient of the shower was one of his poor, defenseless rubber duckies. In hind sight, I guess I should have put him on the potty and then said it.
It will probably be another month before we can try again as I think mommy yelling "Phoenix no!" didn't help the potty training process.

Mosquitos suck

While I was in California I was reminded of two things. First, that I am allergic to mosquitoes... crap. Second that there is at least enough "worst places to be bit by a f*ing mosquito" to make a top ten list. Here goes

In any order you like:

1. Between fingers and toes.
2. On the bottom of your foot.
3. Right on the edge of your lip.
4. In your eyebrow.
5. On a knuckle.
6. Elbow.
7. Anywhere on your ear.
8. On your butt, of course it's funnier when there are witnesses to you trying in vain not to scratch.
9. Right between your shoulder blades where you can't reach.
10. The fleshy part of your hand, right below your thumb.

So there you have it, the first of what I think is probably going to be a running thread.

Honey I'm home!

So we've made it back to Washington after a month long trip to California. The ride home was filled with Murphy's law though, and it was a rough trip to say the least. For example it Redding, CA where it was something like 113 degrees, our a/c fan stopped working. So even though you could turn the air conditioner on, and it was nice and chilly if you put your hand on the vent, there was nothing to blow the air into the cabin. That sucked, thankfully Phoenix slept through quite a bit of it. There was a period of time in which I felt sort of in a dream state. Upon returning my father said he could see in the car that I was getting sick. Apparently I had forgotten about my first bout with heat stroke. So in light of the climate control malfunction he decided to turn and head for the coast a little sooner than planned. It almost immediately started cooling off as we traveled west. Good thing too, because we got behind every single human on the planet who recieved their driver's license from a Cracker Jack box. We spent a goodly amount of time behind someone going nineteen miles an hour. But at least the whole route was under a canapy of trees. Oregon scenery is magnificent. Eventually we arrived in Newport, OR to visit my aunt, cousin, and second cousin who I had never met before. It was a first meeting for both Phoenix and Layla. She's two and a half. It was a short visit but I'm glad, because now we know that we only live 3 hours away from each other. Again we got behind all the lovely driver's on the road, but we eventually made it home.
What amazes me is the blistering heat right up until the sun went down even here. But by 10:00 pm we were in the middle of a lightning and thunder storm worthy of an award. And the lightning is different here. Mike's mom tells me it's not, but it is. In California, at least in my experience the lightning is in a very distinct bolt. In Washington it's more like the flash on a camera across the whole sky. And when it's cloudy it looks like there is a roof when the flash reflects off of them. Debby says there is more bolt lightning here usually, but I've never seen anything but flash lighting since I've lived here. Today it's raining and cool outside. I've already taken my first walk in the rain.

My dad flew a plane

Before I came to California for a visit my parents went to Alaska for nine days. While they were there they did some sight seeing and hanging out, eating, and looking for a place to go fishing. The fish hadn't came in yet so my dad's buddy chartered a plane to take him to a fishing spot. When they got over the Cook Inlet, the pilot asked my dad if he wanted to try it out. Of course he did and so there you have it. My dad got to fly a plane, and had the best time of his life he says and he always asks me I've told whoever it is I may be talking to that he flew a plane. Yes dad.

It's ok

I asked my mother what I was like as a toddler. I did this after about 10 minutes worth of her saying that maybe my kid is more like my brother than me. I sat there and watched her try to remember.

I thought about Phoenix and how he is so patient. How sometimes he has every right to push or hit or shove back. How he will forever try and walk away before he finally kicks you with everything that he's got. But for me it takes and eternity watching him wondering why is this kid so mean? And I can't help him, because I need him to defend himself. But that's the rub. It's my need, not his. I have strived so hard to raise him in peace. With no yelling, or ranting, or arguing, or any of that, that my poor child does not know how to react. He's never been hit, only spanked when he's in serious trouble. He has no concept of hitting for the sake of hitting. And his passive approach to these situations overwhelms me wholly. It takes a lifetime in mommy minutes for him to get angry. Maybe he is more like my brother.

When my mother looked back at me she said "No, you fought back". No more, no less. It's okay that Phoenix is more like my brother. I look back at my life, and at his life, and sadly realize that indeed I would rather my son be more like him and less like me. I am short tempered and fragile. He is even tempered and strong. It's okay that Mom always loved him more, he was the better kid from day one.