The Biggest Kitten I've Ever Seen

So first we must establish that I am not above bribing my child.  Not at all.  I don't have a problem in the world with dangling a carrot in front of his face.  Some people try to call this type of parental Jedi Mind Trick by more acceptable euphamisms... positive reinforcement, goal setting, that kinda crap.  I say bullsnit!  Call it what it is, I say!  It's a bribe.  Plain and simple.  And I'm totally ok with that.  It works.


Now that we have established that I openly and unashamedly bribe the boy, we can get on with the rest of the story.


The boy got hit most severely with spring fever.  So the last couple of months of school turned into a challenge to his ability to sit still.  This resulted in his "turning cards" on a couple of occasions.  Mama doesn't like that.  At first, I tried the "hit him where he lives" method.  Taking away his Wii, his bike, not letting him go play with his buddies.  That was moderately successful, but in the long run, it made me feel like I was always coming in after the fact and being the bad guy.  I didn't like that.  So, I reverted to my favorite form of behavior modification... I told him if he could get through the last month of school without turning any cards, he could get a kitten.  (This is where I refer you to a previous post for further illumination.)


Well, I reminded him what he was working toward every day.  I also told him clearly what his responsibilities would be if he managed to get a kitten.  And he did it.  He pulled it off.  So I had to hold up my end of the deal and produce the goods... well, the kitten.


Now, I might hate that damb ASPCA commercial, but I do agree that there isn't any better place to find a new pet than a shelter or rescue center.  So off we went.  As expected, there was plenty of oooh-ing and aaahh-ing over the baby kitties.  Petting and holding and playing and general cuteness, allathat there... But there were also adult cats that he made over.  So after an hour or more, I finally asked which one he wanted to take home.  I really expected him to choose this little black and white ball of fluff with a really sweet face.
But much to my surprise, he pointed down at his feet.  "I want this one, Mama."


An adult cat.  A fat, snuggly adult cat.  "She likes me.  She wants to be my cat."  How do you argue with that?
The man who runs the shelter asked, "What are ya gonna call her?"  Without hesitation, E answered, "GramCrackers."


Yeah, I don't get it either, but it amuses me.  I like to call her Cracka A. Craka in a *Chris Rock voice*.  I've been quit by at least 3 of my friends over that one.  Mostly we just call her Crackers.  Considering this is the same child who named our rat terrier Roger, I'm actually kinda ok with the name.


Anyway... Meet the big "kitten."  

Now, I have the rest of the summer to figure out what I'm gonna use to bribe him next school year....

Update

I just wanna say that God is Good! Great and Awesome actually.

I posted about my friend and her newborn just a while back.  I felt it was only fair to those who don't know her to bring y'all up to speed.  The babe has had his surgery.  He came through it like a ROCK STAR!!

The alarms, meds, bells, whistles, and tubes are fallin' by the wayside in short order.  If he keeps doing as well as he is, he will be home sooner than later.  That doesn't mean he doesn't still need our prayers for continued healing, growth and health, or that mommy and daddy and sis don't need prayers for comfort, strength, and blessings.  But, man.... they have had a long journey in a short time and come a looooooong way!!

So thanks to everyone who said a prayer or kept a positive thought or sent positive energy their way.  Keep it up.

If you wanna read up on Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, click the link http://www.breathofhopeinc.com/

And remember, 

March 31 is National CDH Awareness Day!

Rock Turquoise in support of the babies and families affected by this condition!

I hate it when I can't fix things...(UPDATED)

Turquoise Ribbon for Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia Awareness Day, March 31, 2010





Anyone who follows me on the Twittah or is a Facebook friend knows that my friend Adwina is going through the worst possible kind of parental hell on earth right now.

Dwina gave birth 10 days ago to a sweet, beautiful baby boy.  That's the good news.  The bad news is that he was born very sick, and has spent his whole life so far at Children's Hospital in St. Louis.

Every communication I have had with Dwina has been very hopeful, and everyone else I know who has talked to her has commented on how "upbeat" she has been.  And things are actually looking pretty good for Lil' Man at this point.

But today, on her FB status, Dwina finally let some of the hurt and anger out.

I, for one, applaud her!!  I wanna holler with her!  While we're all praying our collective asses off for Lil' Man's healing and for the family's comfort and support, I think it's perfectly normal, natural and expected for Dwina to be a lil' miffed at the Almighty.  I mean, she was a good pregnant mommy.  She went to the doc, ate well, took care of herself.... and it's just not fair that this arbitrary bullshit random congenital condition should befall Lil' Man.

And you know what?  I feel pretty sure that God ain't mad.  I think He's in His heaven, with a tear in His eye, saying to Himself, "You're right.  It ain't fair.  But I'm here.  We'll get through it, one way or another."

The Big Dude knows this is some ol' bullshit, and He understands that we're only human.  We tend to get in our feelings a little somethin' over stuff like this.  He gets it.  He made us, for cryin' out loud.  He knows how we are.

So Dwina... I'm glad you gave voice to those emotions.  The pressure of holding it back... or in, or down, or whatever... well, it could only result in disaster later.  I admire you for having the courage to let us see that you aren't impervious.  Like I told you on FB... If you didn't have moments like those, it would make you a Stepford Wife.  And that would be creepy and wrong.

I'm still prayin' my ass off for you all, girl.  And I'm holding that faith and belief in my heart that it's gonna be alright!




UPDATED (3/13/10 5:15pm):  Things are looking pretty good today!  Dwina's FB status from earlier today:

 "Blood transfusion went well!!! I got to do some care for him this afternoon!!! Which makes me feel like a mother!!! His fio2 is down to 73% and his o2 sats are great!!! He looks nice and relaxed!! Grandma sent me and Jeff videos of sis riding a bike, then checkin out the baby chicks at rural king!!! She looks like sheis having a blast at Camp Grandma/Papa!!!!! I get to see her tomorrow, YAY!!!"

To learn more about Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia (CDH) follow this link:

http://www.breathofhopeinc.com/

UPDATED (3/16/10 12:00pm)Things are again looking better!  Lil' Man was declared strong enough for surgery today, and is in the OR as I type this!  Expect news later this evening!

Anniversary Schmanniversary

My mom, 1989, just before she really started getting sick.

Ok, so that was a way disrespectful title to give the post I think I'm about to write.  And I say "I think" because I have every intention of writing about it, but I may falter and give up along the way.

I have in many posts spoken of my mom.  I've stated that she was a wonderful, selfless, giving person.  I've admitted that I gave her a ton of worry and heartache in my raising.  I've also come to understand how much I took her for granted and under appreciated her while she was alive.  She wasn't perfect.  Far from it.  But she is one person of whom I can honestly say this:  In all of her imperfections, she always had the best of intentions and the best interests of her loved ones at heart.  I am not gonna talk about all of this again today.

This date, the anniversary of her death, is also the anniversary of the hardest decision that my family and I ever had to make.  See, Mom didn't just die.  There wasn't any sudden or dramatic exit from this earthly plane for her.  It was a long and tortuous journey for her and for us.

Mom had severe lung disease.  She had undergone a major thoracic surgery in the mid 90's in a then experimental procedure.  She had had her ups and downs.  Times when she lacked the breath or the energy to do as much as eat.  Times when she was feeling great and could be active.  Many times, out of a sense of obligation or duty (mostly to her mom or eldest brother) she pushed herself to her physical limits.  Over doing it for a day cost her physically in weeks of  recovery time.  She never let anyone but me and my dad see that though.

I carry a lot of guilt because I know that some of the crappy decisions I had made during the 90's really took a toll on her. The emotional/mental stress always showed up as damage to her physical health.  Sometimes I wonder how many years I might have shaved off her life with my selfishness and immaturity.  I don't say that in a self pitying, fishing for consolation kinda way.  I mean that isht.  I really think that my brother and I had a lot to do with her decline.  I'm still trying to learn to live with that.

But I digress...

After years of treatment, surgery, rehabilitation, remissions and exacerbations, in 2003, her pulmonologist told her that if she continued on as she was, she had about 18 months to 2 years before she died.  However, if she had a lung transplant, she was looking at 5 to 10 more years, with the average being 7 years.  Of course there was the "fine print" as she liked to call it.  There was a chance she could die on the table.  The chance she would reject the organs.  The chance she would get a post op infection.  The fact that she was trading lung disease for life long immune suppression.  All sorts of stuff could go wrong.  But to her, all of the risks were worth the reward of not having to struggle and fight for every breath anymore.  Even if it was just for a short time.

She was on the "active" transplant list for a very short time.  She had moved from her beloved Mississippi back to Illinois to be within a 2 hour drive of BarnesJewish Hospital in St. Louis.  She was preparing herself mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually for whatever was to come.  She was ready for the wait, steeling herself for the disappointment, and still struggling to breathe.

Then the call came.  We were getting ready for church.  The phone rang.  I answered.  "May I speak to Eunice please, I'm calling for the transplant team at Barnes."  She got off the phone.  "Well, Cliff... we need to go to St. Louis."

Now, at that point, the surgery wasn't a definite.  They had a donor, but they wouldn't know if the lungs were suitable for transplant until they started recovering the organs. Still, she had to go through pre op prep.  She didn't want me to "drag the baby out for nothing," so Eli (then 1 year old) and I were going to go to church, then home to wait.  At the time, I was going to school (yes, I am the eternal student).  It was January 11, 2004.  Semester started the next day.  The last words my mother and I exchanged are burned in my brain forever.  "Mom, I love you so very much." "I love you too, Sissy... You have school tomorrow.  Don't worry about me."  Then she and Dad walked out the door.

So here is where my intentions and my strength of spirit are coming to a parting of the ways.  I intended to detail the long, hellish, surreal week that followed.  I just can't.  Maybe next year.  The synopsis of that week is disappointment, hope, loss of hope, desperate prayer, denial, anger, disbelief, renewed hope, stolen hope, more anger, guilt, more prayer and bargaining, despair, unspeakable sadness, agonizing heartbreaking pain and finally, resignation.  After a week on machines, never regaining consciousness, never taking that unburdened, deep and satisfying breath, my mom started into what I now know was multisystem organ failure.   She was shutting down.  She was no longer inhabiting her physical shell.

During all of hell week, at least one of us had been in the family waiting area at all times.  Until the morning of January 17.  Dad had gone to get an hour or two of sleep.  My Aunt Beckie, Dad's sister, was sitting in the waiting room in case anything happened.  She had to pee.  While she was in the bathroom, Mom went into cardiac arrest.  Without someone there to tell them to let her go, they resuscitated her.  Her heart started again.

When I arrived at the hospital, Dad told me and my brother what had happened, and he told us it was time to make a decision.  While none of us wanted Mom to suffer, we all felt like we were betraying her by admitting she wasn't going to get better.  We had all been carrying the guilt of "thinking the worst" for days by that time. But it was clear.  It was time to let her go. It was time to let her rest.

Every one went in 2 or 3 at a time and said good bye.  Then Dad, my brother and I went in.  We kissed her.  Told her we loved her and that it was ok to let go. They gave her morphine and ativan to ease the transition.  I couldn't watch them turn off the machines.  So I stood outside her room while the machines were turned off.  After about 5 minutes, Dad came out and told me she had gone peacefully.  We stayed with her a few more minutes before we went back out to the waiting room.

The next few days are a blur.  The funeral and visitation were nightmarish.  I remember feeling like someone was trying to pull my heart out through my chest.  I remember that I didn't know how I could hurt so bad and not go crazy or die.

For those of you who had the stomach to read all of this, I thank you.  I needed to tell it.  I don't know why.  Maybe to see how far I've come in the healing. Maybe to honor her memory. Maybe to exorcise some demons.

In years to come, I hope the memory of that week continues to fade.  But I hope the flame of my mother's spirit continues to burn inside of me and all of those who knew and loved her.

Rest in peace, Mommy.  I still love you so very, very much.

I Suck as a Mom today......

Elijah in the car going to school... when I was still a good mommy..

So today Elijah went to First Grade! I got him ready like a good mommy. I gave the pep talk in the car like a good mommy. I gave him a smile, a hug and a kiss as I dropped him off in front of his school like a good mommy.

Then I did the stuff good mommy's do while their kids are at school (and they have a day off of work). No big deal.

So, imagine if you will, my horror when the school called and said.... "We have Eli in the office. School dismissed at 2:00 today."

Ummmmm.... yeah..... I missed the memo. We're going to McDonald's and the park to make up for that one.

Epic Fail!