Mochi is a stuffed cat that was given to my older son by My Little Brother and then Future Sister-In-Law when they came to visit us in November of 2018.
To get it out of the way, his name is pronounced mow-chee.
According to Wikipedia, Mochi is actually "a Japanese rice cake made of
mochigome, a short-grain japonica glutinous rice, and sometimes other
ingredients like water, sugar, and cornstarch. The rice is pounded into
paste and molded into the desired shape. In Japan it is traditionally made in a ceremony called mochitsuki."
Even on a hot summer day, Mochi gives zero shits about his namesake
There is also Mochi ice cream, which I purchased...and it wasn't for me. The boys will eat anything labeled "ice cream" but I'm not convinced they liked it. It was as if they had this weird obligation that they wanted to like it because it's a ball of ice cream. I mean, what could go wrong? But the ball of ice cream is covered in this very chewy, and incredibly bland tasting dough, that's then rolled in powdered sugar. No, really, it's not very good, even with the powdered sugar. Maybe it was the ice cream flavor...cookies and cream...? Maybe I should try the strawberry flavored...? Maybe I should save my money, because Mochi ice cream is expensive, even on sale, and even with my Safeway Club Card and putting points on my card for gas. Right? But I did score some significant Parenting Points when I brought home the Mochi ice cream. Because at the end of the day, it's ice cream! But, really, from my adult perspective, it was pretty nasty. And, since it's still in the freezer...I'm betting the boys weren't down with it either.
My 13-year-old son's stuffy named Mochi plays a small role as the family pet in the movie Big Hero Six. If you haven't seen Big Hero Six, it's on Disney+, and it's worth checking out. As is the new show The World According to Jeff Goldblum.
Anyway, Mochi is a calico cat, and typically, only female cats are calico. However, according this dude I've never heard of, also known as "America's Vet," Dr. Marty Becker...a study out of the College of Veterinary Medicine at the University of Missouri, male calicoes do exist, but are very rare: only 1 in 3,000. When a male calico cat is born, it is due to a genetic abnormality. As
part of his genetic abnormality, Mochi is sterile...which is incredibly
fortuitous, because #JesusKnows we don't need any more cats running around. And, as a fan of abnormalities, we here at the Anderson Family Circus know how appropriate it is for Mochi to be a part of our family. #WeirdosUnite
#AndAlso my husband is legit allergic to cats. He's been tested. He's actually allergic to everything except dogs, horses, and the American cockroach. For real. Subsequently, our pet choices are rather limited.
While I have not been tested for allergies, I have absolutely zero fucking desire to have kitty paws with toxoplasmosis all over everything. And even if kitty doesn't have toxoplasmosis, it can be said that I have a strong aversion to having to cat buttholes being all over my counters where I prepare food. Fuck that noise. So, stuffed cats are great! #NoCatButtholes And, no, we don't need the #CatButt adult coloring book, you guys. #TheInternetHasEverything
Like most cats, Mochi only shows affection to one person, which is my older son, who is incredibly proud of his Cat Dad status. Other than that, Mochi gives zero shits about anyone or anything. Because he's a cat. Unless you have food. But, since Mochi is a stuffy, he's not really into food. However, he has ended up in our family dog's water dish. While neither of my boys confessed to anything, the game "Pounce, Mochi!" has come to an abrupt stop. Perhaps not shockingly, Mochi gave zero shits that he was in Abby's dish.
Because my son is autistic, as well as developmentally delayed, imaginative play has always been challenging for him. As a bit of a comfort for me, this phenomenon is well-documented in the research. The reasoning? People with autism spectrum disorder have a different brain; they are neurodiverse. It's not that my 13-year-old son is incapable...he will absolutely engage in pretend play with his younger brother...but my 10-year-old son typically creates the game. And because they both carry the #YChromosome typically their pretend play involves some type of weaponry and beating the shit out of each other. They are absolutely forbidden from Hapkidoing each other. #WhatWouldMrsVenturaSay
Pink Kitty is totally kicking Puddles' ass, while Mochi gives zero shits
Since Mochi has become a member of our family, I seriously just wrote that, my son's goal is to live independently and have a cat. While we do not know exactly what "living independently" looks like for him, we've talked about the idea of him living in a tiny house or a small mobile home on our property. Regardless, he'll need a bathtub so that he can have his almost daily Beatles Bubble Bath Break.
Pink Kitty and her re-re-re-repaired tail
My son brings all three of his stuffed cats into the bathroom with him when he takes his bath. They sit on the shelves. He received Puddles from My Little Brother and Future Sister-In-Law when they came up in July 2019. And Pink Kitty is an old lady...she's been around since my son was an infant...some cats live a long time, and she absolutely has 9 lives since she's been thrown in the washing machine numerous times in her life. Pink Kitty is very loved. My son is an avid chewer...her tail has been mangled and repaired a lot. I try to keep her tail looking it's best. Thankfully, my son has moved on to chewing a bite saber (no shit, click the link) and gum. He's a dedicated rule follower with the gum; it's written into his IEP at school that he be permitted to chew it as long as he disposes of it properly in the trash. And he does. Every. Single. Time.
Before he leaves for school each morning, my 13-year-old son who is developmentally six, sets all three cats up on the windowsill, where they wait for him until he gets home. They are an incredibly dedicated group of souls. Cats are my son's spirit animal.
Puddles, Pink Kitty, and Mochi watching their Cat Dad, in the yellow coat.
He set them on the windowsill when he and his brother played out in the snow for several hours. And even though he cuddles them around the neck, and we talk about the fact that you can't carry a real-life cat that way, and that real-life cats will cut you with their sharp little kitty claws if you attempt such nonsense, my son thinks it's hysterical, and in typical teenage fashion says, "I know, Mom!"
My husband and I have honestly entertained the idea of getting a cat. So I started talking with our son about the fact that a real-life cat is gonna poop in the litter box and that the litter box is gonna need to be cleaned every day because poop stinks. He said he'd clean the litter box. I am cautiously optimistic that this is perhaps something he'll be willing to do...but ultimately, it will fall to me, because I'm the mom. And it's a goddamn chore to get out to the yard once every few weeks and pick up dog shit, so I have zero desire to clean a litter box.
I know several people will disagree with me when I say that having an indoor-outdoor kitty is also known as "prey" in my neck of the woods. However, I cannot take the risk for being responsible for saying, "Here's this kitty for you as a long-term, loving companion" and then turn around and say "Oh sonovabitch! Well, I suppose that's the circle of life. Maybe we should watch The Lion King again...?
So for now, we're sticking with Mochi. He's filling my son's bucket for the time being. Even though he's kind of an asshole sometimes and he clearly gives zero shits about anything because he's a cat, this stuffed animal has truly been a wonderful gift for my son. Thanks Little Brother and Favorite Sister-in-Law. You guys have outdone yourselves.
Our whole job, as parents, is to keep our kids safe. Right? I mean, we don't want to just throw them to the wolves.
Well, maybe sometimes...kinda...
So, there's a new law, RCW 46.61.687, that goes into effect on January 1, 2020 right here in Washington that affects my 10-year-old son.
And he is pissed.
Like, so pissed he's stomping around in his room yelling that laws are stupid. And making some kinda racket and his brother, who is significantly larger, is laughing up a storm....
It's kinda funny...and kinda not. I mean, I completely understand being pissed off. But I'm also mostly a dedicated law follower. Mostly.
But this law is all about keeping our kids safe while they are passengers in moving vehicles.
Children up to age 2 must be properly secured in a rear-facing car seat.
Children ages 2-4 must be properly secured in a car seat with a harness (rear or forward facing).
Children 4 and older and less than four feet nine inches tall must
be secured in a booster seat with seat belt (or continue in harness
seat).
Children over height four feet nine inches must be secured by a properly fitted seat belt (typically starting at 8-12 years old).
My son is affected because he is less than 4', 9" tall. Like most 10-year-olds, he's incredibly egocentric, and is taking this change in the law personally. I've explained to him that when a law to protect public health is written, a lot of research is conducted by universities, hospitals, and other agencies working together.
So, she totally has her shenanigans together and she has seen a lot of kids who have had some pretty significant and life-altering injuries due to not being properly restrained when they were in an automobile accident.
She is also responsible for me secretly calling my 10-year-old "Mr. Pissedoff." He does not want to get back in a goddam booster seat, thank you very much! He was done with that shit two years ago. The previous law stated:
Effective June 1, 2007, children less than eight years old must be
restrained in child restraint systems, unless the child is four feet
nine inches or taller. A child who is eight years old or older, or four
feet nine inches or taller, must be properly restrained either with the
motor vehicle's safety belt or an appropriately fitting child restraint
system.
I've explained to my 10-year-old that the Washington State Legislature is responsible for writing and passing the law in order to keep kids safe, and that the three men who represent the 24th District are all very aware of health issues and tend to look at what the research and the data show about prevention prior to writing a bill, voting on it, and passing it.
And, then of course, the governor signs the bill, and it becomes law...just like on School House Rock.
He continued to glare at me. Because ultimately, it's my fault. Because I'm the mom.
I pointed out that most of the kids in his fifth grade class were probably going to be sporting new booster seats when school started back up in January. I told him that I can think of two, maybe three, kids in his class who are tall enough to not be in a booster seat. That this law would also be affecting some sixth graders...and maybe even a few seventh graders...?
He sustained his scowl.
I explained that the doctor who is the lead researcher and the reason the law has changed is a doctor who has seen a lot of kids get really messed up in car accidents...life-altering brain injuries, spinal cord injuries, kids end up in wheelchairs, and may not be able to feed themselves any more...let alone throw someone at Hapkido or kick a soccer ball very easily...and that really, her entire job as a pediatrician is to keep kids safe and healthy. She's not out to punish anyone or make life harder for people. That really, the whole philosophy behind injury prevention is to make it harder for people to get hurt. #Duh
He softened a bit and asked when he'll be four-foot-nine. I told him I didn't know...but probably before he gets to seventh grade.
He asked me when he'll be old enough to sit in the front. I told him that currently, the law says he needs to be 13 to sit in the front.
He asked me if I think some kids in his class will be without a booster seat, and will some kids still be allowed to sit in the front seat when they aren't supposed to.
And those parenting questions are always just tricky to answer...because you don't want to put your own judgement on another family...but the law applies to everyone...
So I said that it could be that maybe not everyone is aware of the new law...or that maybe some people aren't able to afford to get a booster seat for their kids...so those parents may need to contact Safe Kids Washington...?
It could be that maybe some people believe that they won't be in a car accident...and they're OK with taking that risk of not putting their kids in a booster seat, or in the back seat. That some people go through life thinking nothing bad will ever possibly happen to them...because that's just how some people roll...?
He said that he expects that some kids will still be allowed to sit in the front seat. I replied that probably, there will still be some kids that sit in the front seat that legally should not be...or some kids that, by law, need to be in a booster seat, but that each family will make their own decisions. In our family, we're getting you back in a booster seat, kiddo.
Forever frowning in order to get his way, he started to complain again. But I'd had enough...so I finally said that perhaps the kids who are not properly restrained aren't loved by their parents in the way that I love him. I told my seething son that if he really wanted to make a change in the world, he could contact the lead researcher...we can look up her email...and he can write her a letter in protest and explain why he believes what he does.
He looked me in the eye and said, "Nope."
And that was that.
So, I'm heading to bed because there may be a run on booster seats tomorrow.
I descended upon The Valley of the Sun on Thursday, a little more than 48 hours before My Little Brother was scheduled to be married to his Fantastic Fiancé.
Although my flight outta The Emerald City left on time, I had trepidation about leaving. Not so much because of who I was leaving. Or because who I was going to see. It was more about who I was seated next to.
Because, let's face it, you guys, on a jumbo jet, your seat mates could be your lifeline. I mean, we're flying by the Cascade Range and over the Grand Canyon, and do pilots take mental health evaluations? Jesus. What about that fella that stole a plane at SeaTac? It'll be fine. Maybe the pilot is Iron Maiden front man Bruce Dickinson. Heh. Randy'd be totally jealous. But Dickinson doesn't work for Alaska Airlines. Oh well.
Why is the grown woman next to me wearing glitter finger nail polish? And are they are all different but also seeming to match each finger on her opposite hand...? Oh lawd. This is my curse. I did nails in college and notice such things. Where's my oppressively thick Stephen King book?
Why doesn't her hair move very much? Her hair is past her shoulders. When my hair was long it moved all the time. She must be using a serious amount of hairspray, you guys. At least she, and her hair, aren't all perfumey and going to make me nauseous and want to vomit all over the place.
Wonder Woman Talisman
Wait a hot goddamn minute! Is the younger woman her daughter? Sister?
Lover? Wife? You can never tell. Well, they clearly know each other,
Doak, so be kind.
Oh Sweet Baby Jesus! She has glitter on her shoes! Where's my Wonder Woman Talisman? I bet she's really soul sisters with one of my favorite Paras, MR (You Glitter Queen, you!). Oh, well, I suppose I'll just look out the window. And read my oppressively thick Stephen King book. No ear buds or music so I can stay alert and aware. Because my seatmates may need to join #TeamAnderson and help the three of us bounce the fuck outta there pronto! You with me?
I had my new Vans on. The Boob Shoes. Because I needed something easy on-easy off getting through security. Also, just so ya know, the shoelaces say "Do It Yourself"...so these are totally on point for me and my family.
The Boob Shoes #Vans
And if I've got boobs on my shoes, she can have glitter on her shoes. It's all good. Just don't shed glitter on me, mkay? Because I'm not shedding my boobs onto you.
I've descended upon The Valley of the Sun before. The last time was
in the late nineties. When my husband and I were dating...and then when
we lived in sin...we'd head south on Interstate 17 from Flagstaff to
Phoenix for the day. It took about an hour-and-a-half back then...In my day...and because of the numerous mountains and valleys in Arizona, yes, it really was up hill both ways, you guys.
When I lived in Arizona, Phoenix was never a destination for an extended time. It was a
stopping place between Flagstaff and Tucson for gas and a bathroom break
when I'd head home for a long weekend. Phoenix was a place for
concerts. Except that time we were so poor in December 1996 we couldn't go see Garbage open for The Smashing Pumpkins. That defined serious disappointment for me.
So, long story short (too, late, I know)...the passenger next to me was a cervical cancer survivor: she had chemo and radiation, but she never lost her hair...the lucky girl. I told her that when I shaved my head, my older son chose to shave his head...but that my younger son freaked out and ran and hid and we couldn't find him for about 10 minutes. It was scary...to have Mommy look so different. Oh! And the younger passenger was a math major. So, cancer + math = BFF on a 3 hour flight to Phoenix. #Winning
The cancer survivor was heading to The Valley of the Sun for time with her family. She was also going to Sedona. As an alumnus of Northern Arizona University, I recommended she take 89A from Sedona up to Flagstaff. She asked what Sedona was like. I told her that the Yavapai Indians consider Sedona a holy place...but times have changed and sometimes there are people who tape crystals to their foreheads and sit in front of Bell Rock, waiting for a vortex to open. That usually the Vortex Seekers were harmless, but it was a good idea to keep your distance and not interrupt the energy exchange between said Vortex Seeker and the Vortex Site...because you sure as shit do not want to get sucked into a Vortex. It could be like a Black Hole and we'd never see you again. Also, be proud of me, you guys, because I refrained from telling her about Blow Job Rock. No really, it's a thing. You're welcome.
The younger woman was a math major and looking at Grand Canyon University. She asked me what it was like to live in the desert. I told her that during the summer, it's like living in an oven, and you cannot get naked enough to cool off when it's over 100 degrees for over 100 days, but that with the A/C on, you can cool a room down to 72* and have the perception of being cool. I told her that wearing pantyhose in the desert is akin to wearing a scuba suit and trying to walk in water: ZERO FUN. And that, while 100 degrees for over 100 days is completely oppressive, your face will not actually melt off like that Nazi at the end of "Raiders." She was like 16 and did not get my cultural reference, you guys. She said, "But it's a dry heat, right?" And since she's lived her entire life in Klamath Falls, Oregon, and really had no idea WTAF a "dry heat" is...I simply said, "Yes. It's a dry heat," and left it at that.
And, yes, the two women knew each other because they met on the plane from Medford, OR to Seattle. Then they happened to sit next to each other on the flight from Seattle to Phoenix. Sometimes life just works like that. Why they chose to fly Medford-Seattle-Phoenix and not Medford-Portland-Phoenix wasn't discussed. And, really, it wasn't important. My seatmates were delightful and it was a great way to descend upon The Valley of the Sun.
I landed just before lunch and the plan was for The Kid to pick me up at the airport. And so he did. Here we are.
Me and My Little Brother. He's super adorable.
Upon My Little Brother picking me up at the airport, we drove 30 minutes all the way the hell out to East Mesa because he needed up some photo booth thing for the reception. Then we drove 30 minutes back to Phoenix because I was starving. And it was hot. Not melt your face off hot. That shit usually goes down in July. But it was hot for this #PNWWoman.
We ended up eating a delicious vegan lunch at a restaurant called Green New American. An old friend who lives in The Valley of the Sun said this place was delicious. And since The Kid knows his food because he spent a lot of his college career waiting tables, this place was on point and tasted nothing like sticks and leaves. French fries covered in vegan ranch dressing, vegan cheese, and red hot sauce? With a "burger"? Sure. Why not? #WhenInRome
I'm thankful we had the time together, just me and My Little Brother, alone. We had some pretty rich discussions about things related to his wedding: Our Parents, members of the Egyptian Cohort who were also descending upon the Valley of the Sun, my husband and our kids, and life in general. When I asked him if he was happy, he said yes. And I truly believe in my heart that he is.
Since his Beautiful Bride was in clinic until after dinner, and needed to manage the Egyptian Cohort, The Kid and I made a plan to have dinner with just Our Parents. Really it was for me to get eyes on them and for The Kid and I to have time alone with Our Folks. And, it was during this time I learned more about My Parents and their capabilities as senior citizens...and how scary it can be to age.
The last time I had eyes on My Parents, it was in the spring of 2016. It was after My Cancer Adventure...and about six weeks before my husband was diagnosed with his own cancer. And when I last saw them, it was in Tucson. So, seeing them in Phoenix...not in their natural environment...and out of their comfort zone...combined with the myriad emotions that come up during weddings...it was bound to be eye opening for me.
Before My Little Brother and I arrived at the Airbnb my Future Sister-In-Law arranged for My Parents stay at for the weekend...well let's just say that may or may not be a blog post for another time. At this point, I'll simply say that teaching people who are not tech savvy to use an electronic keypad to unlock the front door didn't go over well...my Dad's flip-phone ran out of minutes...and the "helpful neighbor across the street who seemed nice" because he let My Dad use his phone to call My Little Brother...and then My Dad repeated the keypad code to My Little Brother and the neighbor ended up with the code for the keypad...which is essentially the keys to the house...yeah....
So, my entire family is very thankful the owner of the Airbnb was incredibly compassionate, came over and disengaged the electronic keypad, and gave My Senior Citizen Parents a plain old key to get in and out of her rental property. My Little Brother the Public Defender diplomatically pointed out to Our Folks that for all we know, the "nice neighbor" could be the neighborhood meth dealer and my Dad just accidentally gave the keys to the house to him. #Whoops
In a way, I left my family in the Pacific Northwest with all of it's health issues...to go to the Desert Southwest to manage my family with all of it's health issues. It was setting up to be quite a fun-stressful-supportive-crazy-once-in-a-lifetime experience in the Valley of the Sun.
I think perhaps, the best thing I did for myself was getting far the fuck away from my male housemates, physically, geographically, mentally, and spiritually for four full nights last week.
It's made this nasty GI bug that has impacted all four of us significantly more tolerable.
While in Phoenix I had no idea that my family would, within 36 hours of my return, be welcoming me home with what some folks call "the stomach flu...."
I've been up to my eyeballs in bodily fluids, including my own, starting with my older son waking up twice in the wee hours of Tuesday morning with vomiting. In a positive spin, he made it all the way down the hall and into the toilet, both times. He's come a long way.
Typically I'm the parent who deals with puking, while my husband is the parent who deals with Kids in the Night (that's got the potential to be a teen horror movie, so I'm claiming it now!). However, my husband, being a very kind man, dealt with the older boy in the night...knowing I'd be home dealing with the day shift. Because the older one always gets hit harder.
When I was in Phoenix, I spent all day Friday in bed. I was unable to keep down any food or water. I ran no temperature. Maybe I had something...but it felt more like a hangover...so I'm rolling with that self-assessment. It was secretly kind of nice...just the no obligation thing...not the puking thing.
I think perhaps I know myself pretty well...and am humble enough to say I'm still learning about myself and my life.
While in Phoenix, I had the opportunity to learn about how my relationships with each of my parents have changed. For most of my life, I battled with my mother. For reasons I can only speculate on, my dad appears to be angry at me. I think perhaps he's incredibly frustrated with his situation.
Never in our wildest dreams do we anticipate our life turning out as it does. I never thought I'd be a college instructor...or the mom of a child with disabilities...or a yogi...a breast cancer survivor...a tonsil cancer caregiver.... Similarly, I think perhaps my dad never anticipated that his retirement would be about caring for his wife in her rapid decline. Her brain is atrophying...she has very little color in her face...she's lost weight compared to the last time I saw her at the end of March 2016.
She's become quite happy...or at least she appears to be. I took my parents and My Little Brother to dinner on Thursday night in The Valley of the Sun. We went to some #GoddamnFancyPantsPlacePlace in Scottsdale called Postino. It was delicious. The Kid knows his food. And points to him for picking a place that accommodates his veganism and my need for real cheese. #Duh
Anyway, after dinner, we four made a stop at Safeway because the Airbnb my folks were staying at didn't have any food in the fridge...because that's how Airbnbs work. Incidentally, the Airbnb arrangements were made by the Beautiful Bride. Needless to say, The Newlyweds learned a lot and My Folks will not be staying at an Airbnb again.
So, naturally there was a huge discussion about who should go in the grocery store, make decisions about what people were going to eat, and be quick about it. #FuckThatNoise #ImOnVacation So, go Dad, go! You take your boy. I'll stay in the car with mom. Bro, gimme your keys so we can lock ourselves in. My ringer is on in case Dad needs to ask Mom questions. But you text me. Do not hand him your phone and let him call because then we will never leave Safeway, dude, you know what I'm sayin? Take your time. Trust me when I tell you he needs the mental health break. Dividing and conquering is how to parent The Parents. It's all good. It's why I flew solo.
As my mom and I were sitting in the car, even though she asked me at least three times how old my boys are, or what grade they are in, we had a delightful and relaxed conversation. I patiently answered her questions. I also explained that The Boys were not here for many reasons, including school, expense, sports, and stress. She completely understood. I told her that they enjoy things like Living Room Soccer, Hallway Baseball, and World Wrestling Federation: Living Room Edition. We had a good, and much needed laugh together.
So she appears happy. My dad...not so much....
While at the wedding reception of My Little Brother and his Beautiful Bride, I gave myself opportunities to have conversations with folks who are my parents' ages, people I know they consider close family friends. These people have been a part of my family as long as I can remember. Apparently, whenever my dad brings up my mom's health, and specifically her brain health, to my mom...my mom gets pissed and doesn't want to talk about it. And that's completely understandable. Denial is their coping mechanism. Alternatively, they are incredibly private people.
In my research and teaching of the health of aging...hopefully we make it there, right? Anyway, the research shows that strategically, it's best to not argue with them. In fact, it can just get you in trouble. I think perhaps my dad needs to develop some strategies to help himself best help her.
To help them both, I've printed the information in the "printer friendly" version from above link and will send it down to them. Because #JesusKnows that had I chosen to print the page, my dad would've become overwhelmed and thrown it away. The Internet is such a trend.
My dad is a prideful man and appears to be completely satisfied with his "ignorance is bliss" mentality towards the fact that he's not on the Internet...no, really, I wish I was making this piece up. I distinctly recall living in Flagstaff, attending NAU, 23+ years ago, having a Math T/A require we have an e-mail...? WTF is this email nonsense? And who in the goddmamn does that T/A think he is requiring such shenanigans? Seriously, you guys. Is he really that important? Yes. Yes he is. #MathProfRockStar
I recall my dad calling the Internet "trendy"...he said it was a soup of the day. #JesusDad #IThinkPerhapsHeDoesntKnowWhatAHashtagIs #GodLoveHim #WhatElseCanYaDo And now, the Internet and the Information Age is just how the world works. And no, my dad's got no #GoddamnClue about Amazon. Netflix? Prolly not...Maybe a DVD Player...? But I'd bet money the VCR still blinks 12:00. I know for a fact it's a VHS and not Beta.
If you haven't jumped on the Web...well, as my dad said, he's on a stage coach and everyone else is driving a car. I think perhaps a better analogy is he's chosen to remain with the Flintstones, and damn near everyone else is like the Jetsons! Bless his heart.
Anyway, I've also printed a picture of me, My Little Brother, and our folks, the
night before The Kid got married in an elaborate ceremony (more on that
to come). In typing this, and putting some pieces together in my head, I recognize
this could be one of the last pictures the four of us take while my
parents, my mom in particular, is coherent. I'm not intending to sound cold...it's just reality, you guys.
My Little Brother, Mom, Me, Dad. The night before The Kid got hitched.
Today is Friday and it's the first day my older son went to school since Monday. My younger son had a horrible night and didn't sleep...because of the GI bug. My husband drove my older son to school, and went to work...but ended up canceling classes and came home. I'll leave soon to pick up my older son, and make a couple of stops on the way...including getting a card for my parents, and a stop at the Post Office to mail the card, the info on dementia care-giving, and the picture of the four of us. Hopefully the picture will distract her, jog her memory, and my dad can keep the paperwork on the down low. We'll see.... It may just end up in the trash. In my heart, I know I've tried my best and set boundaries.
Ultimately, at the end of the day, to my dad, it doesn't matter that I'm a college Health instructor, and I research and I teach about topics such as aging. It doesn't matter to him that I have years of experience caring for my son, whom I love very deeply and who happens to have myriad neurological disorders, struggle to simply get through the day sometimes...and that he needs a pretty significant daily dose of anti-seizure medications to stay healthy. That doesn't matter to my dad. Like I said, he's got a lot of pride. From his perspective, I don't have a clue what I'm talking about because, the bottom line for him is: I am a child. I will always be a child. I will never be an adult. In. His. Eyes.
I think perhaps this has something to do with the fact that he's never seen me parent. I've never traveled with my children to Arizona. The last time my parents were in my home in Washington State, my 13-year-old son was ten months. You read that correctly. Ten months old. And, no, they've never even met my 10-year-old. It's horribly unfortunate and quite disappointing that my kids do not know...will never know...my folks.
But, I'm allowed to be a selfish bitch, and if you don't have the courage, the capacity, the ability, to deal with me, my husband, our kids, and our numerous health issues, of which I'm quite outspoken, then you don't deserve us. No matter our connection prior to those numerous health issues. You don't get us dad, and mom. My Little Brother, and his Beautiful Bride: they get us. He came up during My Cancer Adventure. And in the space of 10 months, they came up to visit us TWICE. They get us. Just like I told every guest at their reception when I made an awesomely witty speech and toasted them. They. Get. Us.
Except when they got married. Then they only got me live and in person. But, they still get us as a family. Because that's what family does.
They get it.
On a slightly different note...and bringing us full circle back to "the stomach flu"...it's my blog, so I think perhaps I'll get on my soapbox now...
I think perhaps...actually I know people that say "the stomach flu" make me want to poke out my goddamn eyes.
There is no "stomach flu" people.
The flu, or influenza, is a respiratory infection. It hits you in the lungs. Not the gut.
And while I recognize that folks have the best of intentions when they say "the stomach flu" it really tends to be a pet peeve of many health care professionals I know. So, please, use the correct terms. If you have "GI issues" and are dealing with barfing and hoping to make it to the toilet before you have liquid come out of your ass, then you're more than likely dealing with Norovirus. Alternately, you could also be dealing with Ebola, but that usually involves hemorrhaging. Like, bleeding out of your ass. And, Ebola hasn't yet made it to America. Hopefully it doesn't.
Also, you can feel free to watch this nifty 60 second video that the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention made about the flu. And refrain from whatever your stance is on vaccines. #ScienceWorks
I can tell because throughout the morning, in small doses, he was able to handle a variation of the BRAT diet: bananas, rice, apple sauce, toast.
Keeping down a hot soft pretzel (available in the frozen food section bc ain't nobody got time for that!), an apple sauce packet, a banana, and a red Popsicle. I know I'm not supposed to give a red Popsicle to a person who has been vomiting and has diarrhea. But seriously...? It's a reasonable risk, you guys. #JustEat
He's also been keeping down water. Which is really good. Especially when compared to yesterday when he couldn't keep water down. And in his world, that means he didn't take his anti-seizure meds. Of which there are plenty.
So far, with this GI distress, he's missed three doses of his anti-seizure meds, and naturally, he's at an increased risk for seizures. #Duh #CauseAndEffect #Science
I've been watching him closely and haven't seen too many. From his initial diagnosis when he was 4, I've remained cautiously optimistic that he'll outgrow his seizures. Many kids do.
Even though he has a rare form of Epilepsy called Lennox-Gastaut Syndrome...and those kids usually don't outgrow their seizures. I remain diligently optimistic. Because, according to my son's Pediatric Neurologist: my son doesn't do things by the book. So, maybe...someday...he will outgrow his seizures...?
When sickness runs through our home, my child with special
needs gets hit the hardest and longest. It is unfortunate. But it makes sense. Because of the
numerous anti-seizure medications my son takes on the daily, his excretory system
is working harder, making him more at risk for kidney stones. And, he's
already predisposed to those since both paternal grandparents have had
them. I've heard women who have experienced both vaginal birth and
kidney stones...hopefully not simultaneously...have said they'd rather
give birth again than pass a kidney stone a second time. I can't say for certain, but it seems to me there's a lower level of long-term commitment with passing a kidney stone than giving birth. #WTFDoIKnow
And,
of course, his digestive system is working harder...so his liver is also
affected by the meds he takes. And he takes the meds so that he won't
seize. And if he seizes...when he seizes...his brain stops for a few seconds.... And, yes, it's stressful to watch. every.single.time.
So far, he's missed two days of school. He may or may not go to school tomorrow. In our house, we say "We'll deal with tomorrow tomorrow." So that's what we'll do with that.
He's concerned about missing Fun Friday. I'm concerned about getting more food and liquids into him and out of him in the healthiest way possible.
While he's not moved off the couch in two days, he's definitely feeling better. And for this I am thankful. It remains to be seen if he'll be at school tomorrow.
Oh! JOY!!! The boys are fighting over what to stream!
#ThankJesus I went to Phoenix so I could come home and get my Mom on at the Boss Level.
And don't worry, you guys...the wedding blog is coming.
I am home today with a sick teenager who has GI issues.
But, today I am choosing to celebrate, because also on this day...
Forty-seven years ago I was born.
Seven years we were at the Autism Center in Seattle, and when I signed us in I accidentally put my birth year instead of the actual year.
Four years ago I completed radiation treatments for breast cancer.
And even though I'm planning on being up to my eyeballs in bodily fluids and laundry for the next several days, I am healthy and can be present with my kid during this trying time for him.
Due to events that are beyond my control, I'm flying solo to My Little Brother's wedding.
He and his Fantastic Fiancé have decided to get married in a church.
Not just any church. Like, if it was A Little White Chapel, in Vegas, my family would be more likely to make more of an effort swing that...maybe.
Alas, My Little Brother and his Fantastic Fiancé are getting married on Saturday in Phoenix, in the Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria. My future sister-in-law is an Egyptian immigrant. She and her family moved to America when she was about five years old.
And the ceremony is gonna be at least an hour.
By way of comparison, Vegas weddings are like 5-15 minutes, depending on the Chapel. When I worked at the Treasure Island Hotel and Casino's Wedding Chapel, the longer versions of the ceremonies were 15 minutes.
Yes. Yes, I was a professional Wedding Coordinator on the Strip. It was before grad school. I can tell you that not everyone is happy on their wedding day. So, being a Wedding Coordinator is actually part of the reason I went to grad school. My 9-month stint in Corporate America enhanced my record-keeping skills, and as a mom of a child with special needs, those skills are employed frequently.
My children are not church trained.
Circus trained? Yes.
Church trained? No.
And neither my husband or I have any desire to church train our children.
I certainly planned on taking them...My Little Brother's wedding...after all this is a once in lifetime event...and my kids worship their Uncle...and #JesusKnows in my family, with the myriad health issues that plague us, we certainly need to party and celebrate whenever we are given the opportunity.
Well-meaning friends who attend various church services said that most churches have a family room...? Like I could take my kids if they started acting like the monkeys that they are...?
Nope. Not happening. But thank you, well-meaning friends, for the suggestion.
When people who are autistic are taken out of their comfort zone, and expected to be on their best behavior inside of a place where they've never been in...a church for a minimum of an hour...and let's face it, it'll be more like several hours because pictures...there will be no chilling.
I hate to think of the discomfort and stress my older son would have...the increased case of the giggles...the increased chance of him wetting his pants. Not to mention the different shades of red my husband's beautifully bald head will turn trying to manage his own frustration and subsequent anger with the entire situation...no, thank you.
As parents, our primary job is to set our kids up for successful experiences. Yes, our kids need to fail every so often. But I'm not hauling my monkeys all the way from the North Olympic Peninsula down to Phoenix and expect them to sit quietly and not interrupt their Uncle's wedding...when they are hungover from traveling like they never have before in their entire lives...all in heat and sun they are not at all accustomed to...and, let's be honest, when it's 85 goddamn degrees outside, would you want to sit in a church with a fancy outfit on? No. You'd want your ass in the pool. With SPF 20 Million. Because my family of Pacific North Westerners have pasty white skin...and as a cancer survivor...SPF 20 Million is required, yo.
When My Little Brother and his Fantastic Fiancé came up to visit us in July, which was the second time inside of ten months, they graciously told my husband and I that if we needed to not go to their wedding, they totally support us and our parenting decisions.
Due to life circumstances, My Little Brother is the only person from my family that came to help me, my husband, and our boys when I was going through breast cancer treatments in the summer of 2015.
My mom's brain health is declining; dementia is a bitch. And the way my parents tend to cope with life-altering health issues is to not address it. Denial is a powerful coping mechanism for them.
And I get it.
But I don't.
Because if I didn't speak up when my son was three and having these weird eye movements, who knows what would've happened. Turned out he has epilepsy.
And had I chosen to not speak up when I found a lump in my breast in February 2015, I'd probably be dead. Cancer sucks.
Had I not pushed my husband to persevere through his own battle with HPV-caused tonsil cancer in the summer of 2016...we'll he'd probably be dead...and my kids would be orphans...because that's just how life shakes out for some families...and that totally sucks.
My point is, I choose to parent my family very differently than my parents parented me. (Is it socially acceptable to use three different forms of "parent" in one sentence?) It's not good or bad. It just is what it is.
And, for those of us who are parents, we know our kids better than anyone. My Little Brother and his Fantastic Fiancé know my kids pretty well. My parents, on the other hand, have no idea who my kids are...they have never seen me parent my children...the last time my parents were in Washington State, my older son was 10 months old; he is now 13 years old and in 7th grade. They've never even met my younger son, who is 10-1/2 years old and in 10th grade.
I know that this past springtime I said I was gonna train my monkeys to get on a plane, however, plans change...and ours sure did. Honestly, part of me says there's no fucking way I'm gonna haul my kids all the way the hell down to Arizona and back to Washington State at any time because my parents have put forth zero effort to get to know my kids. So, they don't deserve to spend time my kids, especially during the school year. And regardless of when you travel, traveling is expensive.
So, the best decision my husband and I made was for him to stay home with the boys, while I fly solo to Phoenix. Do I wish they were with me? Kinda. I'm not gonna lie, I'm thankful for the much needed break. Do I wish things were different. Of course I do. But I can't change it...so why waste time and energy on things you can't change?
The bottom line, My Little Brother loves his Fantastic Fiancé so much that he's willing to learn about the religion she was raised with and get married in that particular church. And my husband and my kids love My Little Brother so much that the best choice is for the Male Andersons to stay
home.
#AndAlso my husband is legit allergic to cats. He's been tested. He's actually allergic to everything except dogs, horses, and the American cockroach. For real. Subsequently, our pet choices are rather limited.
