Category Archives: Holidays and Gatherings

ICEBERG STRAIGHT AHEAD! AGAIN!

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We’re now pressing full steam ahead into birthday and holiday month, otherwise known as the month DG usually totally loses her sh*t. Not only do both boys have December birthdays but several relatives do as well. And on top of it all, Christmas. Not busy enough yet?? There’s the little matter of the anniversary of my Dad’s passing last year. I still don’t feel I’ve mourned properly. But I’m ready to move on and stop reliving the moment of his death over And over and over in my head. Because that kinda sucks, you know?

First up? Planning Bug Boy’s birthday. As luck would have it, this year was the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. Now, all three of you readers out there might remember that one of Bug Boy’s “Things” (sounds nicer than “OBSESSION”) is the Titanic. He is all about disasters, man-made and natural. Hurricanes? You have no idea how excited this kid was to be studying hurricanes in science class when Hurricane Sandy rolled through and destroyed the Mid-Atlantic seaboard. Not excited about the destruction, mind you. But the actual ONCE IN A LIFE TIME STORM.

Anywho, Titanic. 100th anniversary this year. And guess what? There’s a travelling exhibit going around the country. Guess which city just happens to be hosting it right around Bug Boy’s birthday? And guess who has a membership to the museum where the exhibit is taking place? And guess who is taking 10 boys to the exhibit for Bug Boy’s birthday, followed by pizza and cake?

No, not her. ME. Here in Philly! Sheesh. I thought it was obvious.

Where was I?  Right. Titanic, I made these kick-ass invites and we’ve got a group of nerdy science and math kids going. Can’t WAIT to hear them rip the exhibit to shreds, telling me which facts they’ve erred on and which parts were totally unrealistic. I’ll also get schooled on which theories were not factual enough to have occurred, for this I am certain. One year for his birthday the same kids watched a movie and proceeded to tell me EVERY SINGLE INSTANCE that was different from the book and how terrible it is. ASPERGER’S FOR THE WIN!

Last week we had Bug Boy’s conference. We chatted about his previous difficulty making friends, talked to the team about his increased socialization, his smoother transition into middle school, his difficulty in the beginning of the year that has now subsided. His grades were stellar and he made honor roll for the first quarter. A lofty goal, to be sure, but he INSISTED. And since he’s a perfectionist like his Momma and NEEDS to be competitive and NEEDS to be right about EVERYTHING (ahem) he also NEEDED to be on the honor roll. During his conference we told them about his goal to be on honor roll and how he thought he was getting canned from honors math because his grade was (WAIT FOR IT) 85%.  Yes, that’s a B. When he brings home a 93 you’d think the world was ending. In fact, the math teacher (keep in mind, 6th grade, honors math) snickered and told us that the whole class is AGHAST if anything comes back lower than, say, a 95? Which is an A. if they get an A-?  Might as well take away their favorite toys. That would be preferable to an A-.  Needless to say, she has a WHOLE CLASS full of Bug Boys. FSM bless her, she’s gonna need it.

On top of all that stuff? I’m trying to figure out how to make a TITANIC cake. Why yes, I am insane! I’m also a perfectionist (see above) so it WILL happen. Mark my words. I’m sure in a few weeks I’ll tell you about what an absosmurfly utter failure it was!  And I  know y’all will be waiting to hear all about it!

Two Funerals

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Dad and Uncle Bill.

Back to back they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other. Two deaf policemen heard the noise and came to kill those two dead boys.

One night, during the day, I was all alone with ten men, in an empty truck full of bricks and I ran over a dead cat and killed it.

Last weekend, as my husband prepared to go out of town for the week, I got word my Dad’s brother passed suddenly on Saturday.

His brother was ten years his junior. He had flaming red hair and a red beard and was a jolly guy. Sure, he was a grumpy pants like my pop sometimes but honestly? The two of them were like giant teddy bears. Big, tough, bearded guy on the outside that intimidated people with their booming voices and wild eyes. Gooey, marshmallowy, sweet, loving men on the inside.

If there’s one thing I can say about my Dad’s family is that they love. And they are loved. They know what true love is. They have it unconditionally. It’s one of the things I like most about my Dad’s family. No matter how long it’s been since I’ve seen my aunts, uncles, cousins it’s like we were never apart when I do see them. We may not be fancy folk but we sure do love one another. Really and truly.

I’m fortunate to have that, I know. Not everyone grows up with an open-door policy and a family that would drop everything in a second to be there for you. I know it is rare. And while it isn’t Ozzy and Harriet and we all have our moments of “fun” and conflict, it’s an amazing group of people.

I last saw my uncle Bill at my Dad’s funeral and at his bedside the day before he died. It had been a few years, I’m ashamed to say. He bolted in the door of the ICU, rushing in from the night shift he was supposed to work, I gathered by the fact that he was in his work shirt. I know he and my Dad had their moments and I think they were in the midst of a “not exactly but sorta-kinda speaking” moment. But they loved one another. And when we contacted everyone and told them my Dad wasn’t expected to make it through the night (and that we were surprised he was still hanging on) they all rushed to be there. And while my Dad passed, his children and siblings and wife and a few sons-in-law and a few sisters-in-law sat by his bedside, kept vigil and refused to leave.

It was a tiny room. There were probably twenty-five of us crammed in there. Uh huh.

I’m glad we had those moments with my Dad. Because we came together as a family, it allowed us to lean on one another and we were able to grieve together. I was able to hug my Uncle Bill and console him when his big, burly face was tear-stained. I was able to hug his wife and thank them for coming.

My Uncle Bill wasn’t fortunate enough to have that.

He wasn’t feeling well Saturday, told his wife he was going back to take a nap and she couldn’t wake him later. It was sudden. Probably a heart attack. We don’t know yet.

He didn’t have children. Well, technically. He and his first wife split and there were no children but then he remarried and his beloved wife had four children when they married. And then grandchildren and recently great grandchildren. And they adopted him as their Pop Pop. And they loved him and cared for him. He told them the same jokes he told us growing up. And he rough-housed and teased just like he did with us. And he dressed as Santa for the babies, just like he did when we were wee ones. At his service the other night I listened as his stepsons, step daughters, step grandchildren all got up to talk about what a tough nut he was to crack. But they were his family. His true family. His children and grandchildren. He loved them dearly.

It was the funnest funeral ever (no, really, it’s a word, look it up). No really. We giggled as we cried as person after person told their stories. and shared memories. They told his jokes(which were my Pop Pop and Nana’s jokes). They shared memories we also shared. They placed  his Santa suit on his coffin, the very same one he wore when we were babes. He was laid out in his trademark plaid flannel shit and suspenders. And had we had a viewing for my Dad, we would have buried him in his trademark plaid flannel shirt and overalls.  They were two peas in a pod, those two. Walking in there and see the casket brought back a flood of memories. It was like seeing my Dad there. I never realized how much they looked alike. I never realized how much they were alike until everyone stood to speak of his gruff teddy bear-ness.

It was really hard to get through.

Two funerals. Two brothers. In such a very short amount of time. And my remaining uncle and two aunts looked weary, sad and tired. So unexpected. So painful.

And here I have sat all week. Missing my husband’s comfort because he’s out of the country, staring blankly at this computer screen wondering what to write. As you can see, the words kinda flowed out finally, disorganized but truthful. I’m a mess (0f course, the massive sleep deprivation isn’t doing me any favors). It’s like living through my Dad’s all over again. Without the cramped, smelly room part. And more food (because we Pikes no how to eat, yo). But the same family, the same pain and sadness in their eyes, clinging to each other to try to heal.

One of my family faves. Uncle Bill snoring away, everyone else gathered around him. Barry Gibb, I mean, Uncle Bob in his finest seventies attire.

 

Valentine Vlog

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Hiya!

Oops, I did it again. Made a vlog. And I ramble. And can’t sit still and I move all over the place and twirl my hair and stuff.

This is why I’m not on tv. I mean, I’ve been on tv, but for a living. Like stuff.

Anywho, watch it here. And pay no attention when I try to show you the tree because I totally screw it up.

 

 

 

Also? I made a purty picture because I love memes (NOT):

I MADE THIS!

I Have No Idea What I Should Call This Post Because It’s All Random And Stuff. You’re Welcome.

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PHEW!  Boys are finally back to school (sooooo sorry to those of you still on winter break.) and I feel like I can breathe again. As far as breaks go, this one was a good one. Bugaboo wasn’t totally crawling out of his skin, he slept a little, ate a little and we kept him as busy as possible. WINNING!

We did stuff like bowling. Where Bugaboo hurled it down the lane without looking. Good times.

It was a tough break, though, for a variety of reasons. Firstly, because my father wasn’t with us. This whole dead-at-holidays shiz is The Suckiest That Ever Sucked. I get it, people die, life goes on,yadda, yadda. But my Dad was one vibrant soul and his death was so unexpected and happened so fast that we’re still reeling from it, see.

Add to that fact my mother. She hasn’t been feeling well, has fallen a few times and has ended up with some yucky injuries. BOO, INJURIES! BOO! YOU GO NOW! I have real concerns for her safety. Luckily for us, my very brave and crazy (read: STOOOOPID) sister is taking her on for a month or something  at her house in Virginney. That should give those of us above the Mason Dixon Line a break from stuffs.

The worst part about all of this is their dog. You remember the killer-attack-dog, Cujo? The little, destructive scamp of a dog? Yes. Well, he belonged to my Dad. Mom isn’t in the physical condition to take care of a dog, see. I know for a fact my Dad would have loved it if I took Cujo on when he passed but the truth is, Cujo (all eight pounds of him) is more dog than I can handle. He has major dominance issues, doesn’t get along with Daisy the Three-Footed Wonder Dog and needs some retraining. Plus, The Guy I Live With would no doubt divorce me if I even thought of taking on another hard luck case dog right now.

So. There’s that. And the fact that I’m already totally overwhelmed with my life. Cujo went to a rescue yesterday. The people there couldn’t have been more lovely and I’m super glad they were willing to take him on and love him and take care of him. He’s a nice dog, easy to take care of and honestly well-behaved. But the dominance and marking? Well, it’s kinda bad. And I’m not the person to take it on, no matter how guilty I feel about the whole thing. My Dad loved that dog. It was part of him. And seeing Cujo move on, well, made me emotional yesterday. Especially since it was a month yesterday that he was gone. Sigh. It does get a little easier, right?

True to form, Bugaboo went back to school yesterday and then was up ALL. NIGHT. LONG last night. And when I say all night I mean, woke up about an hour after I finally got to sleep and every time I put him back to bed and began to doze off, he was opening his door and pitter patter pitter patter downstairs again. Which means I am extremely sleep deprived, since he didn’t sleep that well over break and I don’t get naps over break. Which means in terms of sleep bank accounts I’m overdrawn for insufficient funds and stuff. And they’ve closed down my account for review and I have no access to it.

For those of you not good at math, it means that I’m hoping to sneak in a nap somewhere today in between babysitting the nephew and taking my mom home from the doctor. Either that or I’m going to bed WAY EARLY. If not, by tomorrow I’ll be back into manic-sleep-deprived mode, I’ll be frantically throwing things away, rearranging furniture, painting walls and accusing poor The Guy I Live With of all sorts of atrocities he isn’t remotely guilty of because I can’t think straight or rub two brain cells together.

Things I’m glad about this week? Friday we had the opportunity to go out with some friends to see a band at a place and we stayed up way to late and ended up at a diner at 2am for breakfast (where I got potato skins. All I can say is DROOOOOL.) and crashed just in time for Bugaboo to wake up at that precise moment but all is well because then he slept until 10am. And it was totally worth it going out, having fun, dancing until my feet hurt and eating diner food at 2am because I haven’t done that in about fifteen years. And I’m not likely to do it again for another fifteen. Or so. Or never again. Yep. No regrets there. Also? I owe my brother big time for dealing with the Bugaboo and staying up until 2am so his lame sister could get her dance on.

Meanest mommy ever. I made my kids get presents! BOO!

Then we went to bed at 10pm on New Year’s Eve because we’re exciting people and live a life of danger.

Happy New Year, y’all. Hope 2012 is a year full of win. You know, if the predictions are wrong and we make it to 2013 and stuffs.

Every Year a Little Better

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Here we are! Eight days into Bugaboo’s Christmas Break Extravaganza! This one has actually been fairly tolerable and enjoyable. Like, we have done fun stuff. And stuff. And we are getting a decent amount of sleep. AND! Our house isn’t in total disarray and destruction. At least we have that going for us, right? AMIRIGHT?

Dudes. Christmas Eve Bugaboo made a beeline for the fire truck with Santa on it, climbed up and sat with Santa. Well, he sat on the other side of his brother, who was sitting next to Santa (!) because it turns out strange men in red suits are tolerable when candy canes are involved. Anyways, Bugaboo leaned as far away from Santa as he could get, refused the candy cane (UH UH) and would NOT get off the truck when it was time to go. As in, refused, had to carry him off screaming and clinging to me lick a tree frog. A fifty pound, screaming and biting tree frog. So I was all, “thought we were making progress here!” and then I realized something.

Bugaboo had Santa visit at school.

The school Santa gave him a present when he visited.

Bugaboo gleefully opened said present and found a cherished item inside (slinky)

Next year momma won’t be a screw up and will bring a slinky to the firetruck Santa. Or m&ms.

Anywho, see it from his perspective? Gee, I practiced this a few times and suddenly the outcome was much different than usual. I am pissed off. Where is my slinky? And what’s with this candy cane crap?

Even better was Christmas morning. He opened the two things I wrapped. And looked in his stocking. And played with new stuff. I consider it a win.

In fact, this whole week? We have tried to keep it low key and low pressure. Tuesday was his birthday and we didn’t do cake or presents or anything. And he was fine with that. In fact, we gave him a list of places to go celebrate his birthday and he picked…a certain Swedish Furniture Store with awesome sticky buns and meatballs. Yep. For his birthday. And we can’t figure out what it is about that store he likes, since he sits in the cart and refuses to get out for most of it. He won’t even eat anything there. So. Who knows? Maybe because it always looks the same and is fairly predictable? All I know is he LOVES going there. We even let him walk around and show us where he wanted to go. He merely walked around the usual path, but backwards. And climbed in a few beds. That was fun. Then he sat in the cart playing spelling games on his iPad. Yep. Nest birthday ever!

Yesterday we went to this awesome sauce little railroad and road the old timey train, complete with coal burning pot belly stove. Bugaboo was all smiles. He actually waited in line pretty well, waited the twenty minutes it took to get on the train and sat beaming from ear to ear the entire time. Minimal meltdowns (except when it was time to leave) and he seemed to enjoy himself. Another win!

Wanna know why I am telling you this? If you read back over a few Decembers you will see we have made tiny bits of improvement every year. Each school break gets easier and easier. Each vacation is more and more tolerable. He handles it better each time. And so do we.

It can still be a little stressful (stim stim stim stim) but it feels so good to be able to, I dunno, enjoy the holiday a little bit? Instead of cringing at the mere thought of them? Even if he does go through six or seven outfits in one day, gets to the point where he is eating nothing but rice crackers and begs to go to the Red Bullseye Store at 6am on Christmas Day, I will take it. Every little step, every little triumph. I will celebrate it everyday.

Now then. Is it Tuesday yet? Because the other one went from ten years old to fifteen over night, complete with eye rolls and snarky ness and I am totally dropping him off yesterday.

Nine Years Ago Today

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My dearest, sweetest Bugaboo,

Cliche but true, the past nine years have zipped by and here I am with tears in my eyes, longing for that delicious, chubby baby with the world’s biggest smile. You came into this world in the wee hours of the morning (no surprise you like being up at that time of night, huh?) via emergency c-section. Not exactly what I had planned (natural birth, midwives). In fact, nothing about the past nine years has been what we thought. Not the turning over at a week, sitting and crawling at a mere three months, cruising by five months and walking at eight months. Shoulda been a big, red flag that we were in trouble.

The past nine years have been filled with intense emotions. For every sh*tty day there five awesome ones these days. Your smile and giggle when you wake up in the morning (for the fourth or fifth time) erase my exhaustion and fill me with hope. I love you so intensely, little man. We certainly have our ups and downs. Many, many downs. But those ups make it all worth it. Every blessed second, every sleepless night, every wall we have to reprint every visit to a specialist, every hour of therapy. It is all worth it, just to give you the best life we can give you.

I have to admit there ARE days when I feel like I just can’t do this anymore. I get so exhausted and feel so defeated, especially when you have an extended school break. The breaks get better and better as you grow and improve and make progress. I know they are very hard for you and I try to keep that in perspective. If I feel defeated and out of control and off schedule, I can imagine you feel ten times what I feel. Except you have no way to tell me. And that makes me so sad! I want to hear you talk, but even more I want others to hear you so they don’t count you out anymore. So they don’t give up on you. But don’t worry, we will NEVER give up. We will fight to our dying day for you.

You have done some new things lately. The other day when you came into the kitchen crying and I asked if you had an “ouch” you nodded yes! And you showed me your head where it hurt! I nearly fell over. Of course, I didn’t realize at the time that you trashed your brother’s room and I felt sorry for you for a moment. By the way, you are freakishly strong. I can’t lift that mattress from the top bunk, how the heck do you get it over the railing and onto the floor? I weigh three times what you do. Sheesh.

And this year you were all about Santa. Apparently practicing in school is a good thing. You opened two presents this year! And when Santa came on the fire truck Christmas Eve you made a beeline for the lights and sirens and wanted to hop right up there…but not too close…and see what it was all about. When it was time to get down from the truck you wouldn’t take the candy cane. Your brother looked a little worried. And then you wouldn’t get off. I had to carry you off screaming. But you liked sitting with Santa…well, two feet from Santa. But still! It wasn’t until the next morning I put two and two together and realized you didn’t want the candy cane because in school you got a little present from Santa. And you wouldn’t get off the truck because you expected the present because that’s how you practiced it at school. Whoopsy. Momma will be better prepared next time. My bad.

I am also THRILLED you know how to open the door locks and have made the whole hiding-the-key thing completely useless. Ahem. And by thrilled I mean a little annoyed. Ok, a lot annoyed. You keep me on my toes. We are rarely, if ever, bored.

As difficult as this life has been I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Every moment in the past nine years has been totally worth it just to have you in my life. You are a sweet, charming little guy who keeps things in perspective for me. Thanks for reminding me what is truly important in life and not to sweat the small stuff. Life is so much bigger. I can’t wait to see what the next year will bring us.

(Try not to make the surprises too difficult or, um, messy or destructive, mmkay? Like, no more water leaking through the kitchen ceiling or climbing into the fireplace or stimming on bleach and stuff? Because momma is gonna be forth and I have grey hair and I kinda need a break, mmkay? Thanks for that.)

Love,
Momma

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The Latest in Funeral Fashion

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Dad was in the Air Force. Me? Afraid to fly and get sick on planes. IRONY!

It’s amazing how your life can change in an instant. In a blink of an eye, even.

I know life changes every single day. That’s life, right? It just kind of happens. It’s like a box of chocolates (you never know what you’re going to get). I’m not beneath quoting Forrest Gump, you know.

What I didn’t count on? My father’s death. He was the leader in our family. The glue that held us together. The one with the answers, the supportive hug, the pat on the back. His family was more important to him that ANYTHING on this earth. When we asked him what he wanted for birthday or Christmas? His standard answer: Time with my family.

My father “got it” see. He knew that our time on earth here is short, relatively speaking. I mean, he got 72 awesome years. And then f*cking cancer destroyed his bowel and we had four short months. Four wonderful months, until his body just couldn’t do it anymore. But in the end we were all there with him. We all held his hand as he slipped away and told him how much we loved him. And then we planned his funeral. CHA CHING!

Boy, is that expensive. Oy.

We had a week after he passed until the memorial service (my dad donated his body to a medical school. Even in death he was kind and giving). Which should have been plenty of time to find something to wear, right?

Wrong.

See, my Dad was all about enjoying life. He wasn’t into being melancholy or drab. He was about being happy. Black was NOT ACCEPTABLE to him. Colors were. He wore colors. HOOOOBOY, he wore colors. Sometimes they were hard to look at. AHEM. As in, flourescent aqua blue tee-shirt under his white dress shirt for church. And denim overalls. It was a quite a sight to behold. Or his Hawaiian shirts. Fancy schmancy. He was quite the snazzy dresser. And by snazzy, I mean he certainly drew attention but my Dad was the kind of guy that was all I REALLY DO NOT CARE WHAT YOU THINK so as far as he was concerned, he looked pretty dapper.

Anyways, shopping. I dragged my three sisters out one by one. I took my niece. My neighbor’s girls. I spent every day, several hours a day, looking in every single clothing store in the tristate area (Delaware, PA and New Jersey, because that’s where I live. No, not New Jersey. PA. Oh, nevermind). As in, one day I hit eleven stores. One by one, my sisters and niece and sisters-in-law would find something to wear. One by one they vowed never to shop with Picky McPickyton again (and they mean it this time). Because I’m picky and I wanted to find something colorful. Something sky blue (his favorite color). Something cheerful and comfortable, because stockings and high heels just ain’t my bag, yo. Actually, yoga pants and sneakers are. Not exactly funeral attire. Unless you are my Dad. Maybe I shoulda just worn pajamas. Anyways.

Wanna know what’s in stores in December?  NOT BLUE.

My choices were black velvet, black polyester, red and purple. But no blue. Oh, there was some grey. How could i forget? But nothing blue.  I looked and looked and looked some more. I mean, it’s not like there’s a section at the big department stores called Funeral attire. Even if there was a section exclusively for funerals, I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t have found anything anyway. Mostly because woman’s clothing is too mature for me and I haven’t quite gotten the fact in my head that I shouldn’t wear juniors, see. This may be why it was difficult to find something to wear. I shop in the pajama section.

My sisters avoided me like the plague. They were right to do so.

The night before, with minutes to spare, I settled for a blue cashmere sweater that was on sale, wore it with a cream-colored tank, with a black skirt with black leggings (almost yoga pants. Almost.) under it and a pretty silk scarf around my neck. I thought I looked like a circus clown.

But at least I was comfy, right?

I walked into the church that morning and received a few dozen compliments so unless folks are really into circus clown attire, I am thinking I pulled it off. Not that my dad would care (this is a man who wore overalls to church, y’all) but I did. And it occurred to me that the reason I couldn’t find the PERFECT thing to wear was because I didn’t want to wear something to do my Dad’s funeral. I didn’t want to be at my Dad’s funeral. Because I wasn’t ready for my Dad’s funeral. I mean, who is really ready for that sort of thing?

But hey, in the end, he got his wish. Our whole family was there and the church was packed. We thought of him fondly and shared memories. We used several boxes of tissues and we smiled, hugged, shook hands and thanked people for coming. You know, standard funeral stuff. And true to form, Bug Boy pouted the entire time because I wouldn’t let him play with his iPod during the service. MEANEST MOMMY IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD. I mean, THE NERVE. Sheesh!

Now we’re back to reality. Finding the new normal. Trying to catch up with two weeks worth of laundry and housekeeping. Attempting to get decorations up so my kids don’t stage a mutiny and fire me from Christmas. I might even get cards out this year. Or not. That requires organization. One thing I ain’t? Organized. (Shhhh…that’s a secret. I don’t want tens of people on the Internet reading it or anything.)

And I have a nice cashmere sweater hanging in my closet.