Silence

I read in the Post that some people are wondering why normally vociferous liberal bloggers are writing so little about the escalating tension between Israel and Lebanon.

But really, what is there to say about people who are willing to kill each other's children?

Life Without Mam

Today begins a week of craziness. First, we are off to Mam’s viewing this evening and funeral tomorrow. We’ll be staying in a hotel for the night, which the squeaker will probably love. Then we come home for one night before we are off to the beach.

It’s odd to start a family vacation by burying the family’s matriarch. Mam was 95 years old when she died. Until the last few years, her health has been excellent. And even in the last few years, the decline was relatively slight. Her hearing was poor, and she struggled with cataracts. She had a brief but serious respiratory illness. And she broke her hip, which required a few months of rehabilitation and therapy in a nursing facility from which she finally came home a few weeks ago. But her mind and her spirit never wavered, though she did seem to be getting a little tired and worn in recent months. The last time we saw her, the conversation was a lively as always – politics, economics, war, religion, questions about our plans and dreams. She was a forward thinking woman who voted in recent years for Green party candidates and lamented the policies of George W. Bush. She bought, washed, ironed, and boxed clothing to send to people struggling to make ends meet. She was a penny pincher who had no use for a car or telephone, but who donated money to charities and gave generously to her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

When she found herself in such bad shape that she wanted to go to the hospital, she got out of bed, dressed herself, fixed her hair, and put on her makeup to wait for the ambulance. The paramedics were puzzled about who they were picking up when they arrived. I’m glad that she was still herself until the end. May we all be so lucky as to die at 95, sound in mind and sound in body until our last moments.

That the circumstances were so lucky makes it hard to feel sad. She lived a very full life, and she was a colorful, vibrant person. But it is hard to know that I won’t see her again. It is hard to imagine that I won’t hear her tell stories from her girlhood. And it is sad that the squeaker will not remember her. I feel that I have lost the most tangible connection to my deepest roots. But I also know that I was lucky to have enjoyed that connection for so long. Love you, mam.

One Year Anniversary

Happy anniversary, O Blog.

What a random chapter of my life.

I had intended to tackle wide-ranging subjects in my blog, from law to politics to social issues. But the squeaker is much cuter and more entertaining than most of what goes on in the world, at least from his mama's perspective. And there are only a zillion blogs out there droning on endlessly about political wrangling and conspiracies, the latest legal snoozers, and the most dangerous social evils.

Of course, there are lots of mama blogs, too, but there is only one squeaker. So perhaps it's better that I ended up steering away from the big stuff to write instead about the little things. The big stuff matters, but really, it only matters because of what it means for the small things that make up our daily lives.

In any case, it's been a fun year of blogging. It's nice to have my own little space on the internet. And I've enjoyed discovering the plethora of entertaining, funny, clever blogs out there.

On to another year....

Goodbye Mam

New Words

The drama of last week has passed, leaving me a little worse for wear, but still hanging in there. Your kind comments and sensible reminders helped, as did a nice cold Woodpecker cider. I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s just say my continuing efforts to have a sibling for the squeaker suffered another setback, requiring a flurry of phone calls to doctors and insurance companies as well as a sad trip to the midwives. (Since I just changed jobs, I don’t even have my health insurance cards yet, which means it was a really excellent time for a medical emergency.)

But life goes on, in that peculiar, maddening, and yet wonderful way that it has.

We are preparing for next week’s beach vacation. The squeaker is curious and interested, but his mama is nearly beside herself with anticipation. A whole week! A beach house! A cute and charming little kid to share my favorite summer activities with! I can’t wait to show him sand crabs and ocean waves and sand castles and boardwalk ice cream cones. Many of my favorite childhood memories come from our family’s time at the beach.

The squeaker’s papa bought him a book called Bats at the Beach to help prepare him for the trip. The squeaker is still very excited about bats generally, and in the book, the bats pack for a beach trip and then enjoy the usual beach activities (though their time on the beach is at night only, of course), so the squeaker seems to enjoy it. I hope he won’t think that ALL marshmallows roasted over a fire have bugs in them, though. Tasty for bats, maybe, but YUCK. So perhaps the book is a bit misleading.

But the squeaker is an immensely curious little kid. So curious, in fact, that he was unfazed by the frustration and anger I expressed at having to pin him down and struggle to dress him, an ordeal that makes what should take 5 minutes take 20 minutes of agonizing effort instead. While he’s wriggling and whining and trying to escape, I yell, “THIS IS SO *&#*^@*$ tedious!!!!” (And yes, I used a very bad word – quite loudly – in the presence of my innocent two-year old.)

Does my yelling stop him? My profanity? My anger?

No. Of course not. He pauses in his struggle just long enough to say, “Mama, what does ‘tedious’ mean?” Yelling has no apparent effect, but use a word the kid doesn’t know and he stops in his tracks to find out what it means.

I told him it meant FRUSTRATING and ANNOYING. And then I felt better, hugged him, and told him I was sorry I yelled. But I think he was too busy savoring his new word to notice.

At Least It's Friday

The squeaker is officially obsessed with The Hobbit. I had no idea what I was sparking when I told him about the book. He says, "Mama, tell me about mama's book?" If I pretend I don't know what he's talking about, he gets specific: "About Beorn. When he turns into a bear." He sets his toy horses up and says they are for Bilbo and the dwarves. He seems troubled when I explain that Bilbo finds the magic Ring that Gollum has lost but does not return it to Gollum. He asks me why Bilbo keeps it, and my explanations about Gollum and his tendency to make meals of those he catches when using the Ring do not seem to make sense to the innocent squeaker.

Anyway, that's all for today. I'm stumbling through one of those rough spots life throws at you. Postive thoughts are most appreciated. Sorry to be all serious and boring (and vague), but there it is.

Cough Cough Cough

The squeaker has a horrible cough. I know this doesn’t sound like blog-worthy news, but if you heard this cough, you’d understand why it is in fact blog-worthy.

He coughs for an hour or longer. His face turns bright red. He cannot talk, eat, or sleep while coughing. He coughs until he gags and gasps for breath. He coughs until he has thrown up everywhere and is limp with exhaustion.

And then the cough subsides, and he doesn’t cough again – at all – until maybe 24 hours later. And then he has another coughing fit.

We’ve called the doctor numerous times. My husband took him to the pediatrician. Apparently, his lungs are clear and healthy. The doctors do not seem to think it is allergies or asthma. Just a cold – an evil persistent cold.

Last night, my husband became so concerned about a coughing spell that he rushed the squeaker to an emergency facility. The squeaker acted as if he was dying of tuberculosis in the waiting room, which meant that we were seen quickly by several nurses. But by the time the doctor stopped in to see him, we’d removed his soiled clothing, the coughing had subsided, and he was busy flying around the exam room, pretending to be a pterodactyl. He flirted with the nurses and wanted detailed explanations of what their medical equipment was for.

And then, hours past bedtime, we told him about bits and pieces of The Hobbit on the way home. The squeaker was particularly interested in Beorn, the man who becomes a bear at night. In fact, once we told him about Beorn, he wanted Beorn to be in every part of the story. We’d say, “Then, in one part, the dwarves are captured by giant spiders, and Bilbo…” And he’d interrupt, “And then came the giant bear!!”

The Squeaker Loves Wal-Mart

Sometimes it’s hard to know what your kid really absorbs while you go about the business of the day, zipping through the grocery store, stopping at the bank, putting gas in the car.

So I was amused yesterday to realize that the squeaker must soak it all up like the little sponge that he is. While I was clearing the dishes after dinner, he was flitting around the kitchen, engrossed in some story of his imagination and chattering away to himself. He often does this while he plays by himself, and if you listen carefully, you can catch snatches of books and many of the phrases he hears from mama and papa in his ramblings.

As I finished up the dishes, I became more aware of what he was saying. At first, I couldn’t make it out. But then I heard it quite clearly: “Thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart,” he said cheerfully to himself. Amusing and alarming all at once. And to think, he used to be such a fan of Target….

Oceans of Whales

I am so excited about our upcoming trip to the beach. It's still a few weeks away, but it's been ages since I have stayed at the beach for more than a day or two.

The squeaker knows from his books that whales, sharks, fish, starfish, seahorses, crabs, and lobsters live in the ocean. When I tell him we are going to see the ocean, he gets very excited about seeing WHALES. I've tried to explain that whales like very deep water, and that we won't see them at the beach. But he clearly thinks I just don't understand that whales live in the OCEAN. Sometimes, he'll explain that to me very patiently.

Anyway, I can't wait!

Companionable Squeaker

I can’t get used to blogging so infrequently. Where to begin? I’ve probably forgotten half the blogalicious things that have happened since my last entry.

The squeaker saw fireworks last night. He did not seem terribly impressed, but he was also not afraid, which is a good thing. A little bit of fear has emerged recently in his behavior. He says he’s afraid of the vacuum cleaner. And he’ll ask his papa to turn off Fantasia’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, since he doesn’t like the glowering Sorcerer.

Of course, it doesn’t help the situation that Uncle T told him that thunder MIGHT just be thunder – but it could also be nearby rampaging T Rexes. The squeaker doesn’t quite believe that the sound of thunder is a herd of carnivorous dinosaurs, but since he’s not 100% sure, he wants to be held when he hears thunder. (“Hold you…”)

He’s also taken to answering his own questions. He’ll say, “Want to read this?” and then continue, “Sure, we can read that.” It’s hard to resist reading to a kid who says that as he climbs onto your lap.

Plus, he’s very companionable, which is nice in a lonely world. Funny that a world of billions of people can leave a person feeling isolated at times.