Scars

Yesterday, Squib told me he didn't want to go to a friend's swim party because of his scar. (Leave it to my chitlins to skip all things laparoscopic and go straight for the scalpel...and other...things). It was the first time either one of them expressed a desire to hide any of their scars for any reason.

Squib's chest was cracked to reach his heart and repair it. He has a rather impressive "zipper" from stem to sternum, not to be too silly about it. Then there are all the puncture-type wounds for drains, etc. Beanstalk has a similar "zipper" from sternum to lower abdomen used to place his g-tube and explore what was thought to be a malrotation of the intestines. Beanstalk had to one-up every one by adding a scar for a subclavian line (the poor child inherited my veins) and two scars where--essentially-- his feet were cut off, the bones resculpted to correct the clubbing, and then were reattached. Obviously, Beanstalk "wins" if this was a contest.

But they are still here!!!!

How do you teach your children that those scars are battle scars from battles fought hard and won?! I walked them down the grey hallway and placed them in the hands of an anesthesiologist for each one of these battles. We nibbled our fingernails to the quick. We watched the clock. We feared. We prayed. We didn't care how they came out of it as long as they came out alive.

And they did! Each time I see those scars, I think, "We did it!....He did it!....We won!" "This kid is a fighter and he has a bad a** scar to prove it." Be ashamed of it? Oh, heck no!
I realize, though, that they want to fit in. They want to be like kids that have no "zippers." If it wasn't zippers, then it would be hair or clothes or shoes or things. But scars?

Those are signs of a warrior, kids. Few have made it through those and lived to tell. Be proud!
Scat

No wookin'!

Well, it's that time, now. At 7 and 10 (a few weeks shy of 8 and 11) the weebles are starting to talk! (Talk legibly is the only way we can describe it). There were times when I thought I'd never understand Squib and he'd continue to try repeating the same word again and again and again until I understood him the 40th time. Beanstalk was just eeking words out every third month (or so) if he needed to and not before.

Frankly, now that Squib talks, there are days I want to say, "would you please shut. up. now. please. thank. you." Oy! He even talks in his sleep. Talking wasn't really his speech issue. It was that he had trouble pronouncing things. Now I can understand him. It's fabulous! Really!

Along with all this, Squib is having a privacy streak. He tries to lock doors all the time. He's never used a door lock since there are all of two doors in our house, so he fumbles it all the time. He leaves it locked when the door is open and tries to slam it shut with the deadbolt out screaming, "no wookeen'!!!!" as loud as he can.

Beanstalk is using a lot more words. Lap, mama (I heard that 3 years ago), race, dance, cookies, water, please, thank you, etc. Also...the entire script of Despicable Me. Who knew? Apparently he watches that a lot at his Dad's. I put it on for the first time on Saturday and he could recite every character's lines w/inflection a hair of a second before they did. It was a little weird. We stared. Sad, but true. He did not notice because he was fairly swimming in vanilla wafers and water.

It sure is good to have kids that actually speak! In English!!
Scat

The Old Grey Mare

I was twenty-one when I had my first knee surgery (in February). It was on my right knee. The first surgeon scoped it to remove arthritic tissue and something called a plica that was supposed to have gone its merry way after I stopped crawling as a toddler. After I started falling all over the place and swelling and running a high fever and blacking out with pain during physical therapy it seemed to "people" that maybe something went wrong.

So we went to a second surgeon who's first question was, "Did it ever occur to him that the plica may still be there because it was still doing its job?"

Well, then.

That led to surgery number two (in July) and surgery number three (in December). 1993 flat out sucked. Mostly, it sucked doing the full semesters of college courses to keep my insurance (yay). The surgeon was rather appalled at what he found in there when he went to clean the back side of my knee caps off. "It was a hellish disaster area in there. I'll be shocked if she doesn't need new knees by the time she's forty! I'll give her a 30% chance of walking like she did before. What the **** did she do to screw them up this badly?" My parents had no idea. There was no accident or particular sports injury, so they suggested the only thing they knew.

Ballet?

Needless to say, I went to a new physical therapist as well. He did torture me. It was his job. He also knew what he was doing and in a relatively short time for someone destined to not walk again, I was up and moving around. It took a longer while to get a lot of my mobility back. Years. But, after I turned forty last year, I did run my mile. It was just something I told myself I was going to do when I got there with my very own knees (what's left of them).

I'll tell you what, though. They are starting to complain! I've fallen a few times. Stupid stuff. Moving chairs at the library. Caught my boot heel on the DishTV cable when it came loose from its hangers on the steps to the back yard. If my knees took that particular hit as personally as my face did, then...they are well and truly miffed.

So when Buddy asked me to do the spider monkey thing and rock climb over the stuff crammed into our storage unit to see if the mattresses were at the back, I realized three-quarters of the way into it that I was having more difficulty than usual and that maybe it was time to start training a new generation of spider monkeys. Since the trip involved climbing and lifting, there is more pain than just from hiking...and the old knees...

...just ain't what they used to be.
Scat

Phone Etiquette

This used to be a lot easier, I think. First, the phone was attached to the wall. When it rang you were inevitably unable to answer it a certain percentage of the time, so you gradually taught your children to talk on the phone. They just picked it up and spoke. No swiping or selecting FaceTime or speakerphone. No voicemail or answering machines. You had to learn a certain amount of etiquette like not telling people someone was in the bathroom or that your parents just left you alone at home or that you were all about to go out for a few hours.

Now, it's so much more complicated. Children (on average) are also so much more tech-saavy. Even Beanstalk, though he doesn't necessarily intend to utter a word, knows the touch buttons "do things" so he smiles and whispers under his breath and starts reaching out to poke things. My last conversation went something like this.

Me: Hello, Alex! Happy Birthday!

(Meep! Meeeeeeeep! Giggle...)

Beanstack: He's smiling and trying to mess with the phone. Just keep talking.

Me: I love you, sugar. I just wanted to call on your birthday and say I love you and I'm proud of you!

(Wrestling noises and stray beeping. More whispering in Klingon and the odd Beanstalk noise).

Beanstack: Oooohhhkay. I think he's done.

Me: Alrighty, you guys have a good night.

The phone call ends amidst somewhat of a din. Animal noises would not have surprised me. Now, Squib has this whole thing figured out and we have actually practiced good ways to decide what to say and how to remember them. Once. This was his latest attempt.

Me: Hello?

Squib: Hi, Mom!

(In the background I hear jostling like there is running going on. Pad, pad, pad, pad, etc.)

Squib: I miss you.

Me: Well, I miss you, too! What are you up to?

Squib: Nothing. (he sounds like I'm accusing him of a federal crime)

(He always says "nothing." We have yet to work on this part of conversation in general. If he were sitting right here, he'd say something like, "I've been making mutant ninjas out of baby turtles and they've been attacking the Earth in exchange for watermelons." Or something).

Me: Have you seen any good movies lately?

Squib: Yes. (but they, too, are state secrets)

(Sometimes I do beat my phone on my forehead. This is also when I hear his dad enter the room and say, "Where did you run off to with my phone?" Oh, oops. I sit here patiently and listen to the discussion about how Squib wanted to make the phone call in private, etc. But he's lost his train of thought, so he's done now).

Squib: I love you mom, bye! (like it's all one word)

The phone is already in his dad's hand and up to his dad's ear before I can tell him I love him, too. So I clamp my mouth shut. Nothing is weirder than telling your ex you love him by accident. Even if he knows it's not for him.

On Squib's part, he's counting the fact that he said approximately five things and isn't counting what they were, exactly. I don't know what he had on his list, but I'd be interested to know. He probably got totally derailed by the fact that he snuck off to have the conversation practice and didn't exactly tell his dad what was up and then felt like he got caught (which he did) and lost track of things totally.

So we are still in Phone Etiquette 101, it seems.
Scat