I'm Sick. Tons of leftovers. already back to work. Christmas is OVER!?!?!?

One of my clients (I'll call him Tom) has been talking about how his older brother is coming home for Christmas. His brother is stationed in Cambodia, and he hasn't seen him in 15 months. My first day of work, Tom told me about how he was going to the airport with his parents and grandmother, and how excited he was that he would be able to spend time with his brother, through New Year's day. All last week Tom kept saying 'I can't wait until the 19th or 20th!'

Well, Friday, we find out that his brother is coming in on the 18th, and he decided he was going to come to our office to surprise Tom. We were all so excited. Last night I laid in bed, willing it to be today.

Today.

This morning, Tom comes in, and starts talking about his brother, and how it is only 2 more days before Thursday. The rest of us are smiling, practically bursting with excitement, because we KNOW today is THE day. I didn't want to use the bathroom, for fear that as soon as I sat down, his brother would show up. I didn't want to make phone calls, I didn't want to do anything but stare out the front door, waiting for his brother. And he's not even my brother. I can only imagine how Tom felt!

So, we had someone staking out the front door, and when his brother pulled up, we all ran over by Tom, camera ready, bursting.

His brother walked within 10 feet of Tom before he looked up and saw him. Tom looked at someone else, then looked back at his brother. He stood up, and said 'Is today Thursday?'

He was so surprised.He was speechless! He started introducing everyone to his brother, and when his mother told him we had all kept it secret, he was again surprised, saying he was going to get us all back for this. Finally he said, 'Am I dreaming?'

My eyes filled, because I was so happy for him. I had looked forward to the look on his face since Friday. And it was priceless. It was the best surprise I've seen in awhile.

Seriously, who the hell had the bright idea of blogging every day? What idiot thought she could get the Christmas shopping done, get used to getting up early, get her sleepy-head toddler up in the morning, work all day, cook dinner, take care of the now-crabby-ass toddler, blah blah blah...what the HELL was I thinking???

So, no blogs for several days. Still not done with Christmas shopping. Not even close. My kiddo is still fighting some sort of cold or something-fever one day, fine the next. coughing, runny nose 'Mama, Mama, MAMA! My nose is eeeeeeeeeeeeeeecccchhhyyy!' (itchy) For the love of pete, I love the kid, but she is getting on my last frayed nerve with the whining and crying and snotting and coughing. Sigh. Why do we have kids? And here I am, up late, exhausted, and trying to blog so as to keep my own promise, TO MYSELF. Ridiculous.

Blog, smlog. Oh, and dog-

My dogs have officially gone crazy. Seriously. They have finally lost the last of their cute little brain cells. They used to have 23.13 acres to roam, sniff, frolock, etc. Now they have .13 acres, and I think it has finally gotten to their heads. All last week my older lab, who is always so good on any given day, got out every day. Several times every day. Just roaming the neighborhood, terrorizing the high-society neighbors. Add the cold, the rain, the clogged french drain, and you've got the perfect mess: a muddy, cold, needy 75 lb. dog. So, I had to lock him in my garage, and spend about 40 minutes trying to brush the mud off of him. And dumb me, I leave my other lab outside, thinking, 'oh, she can't get far-she's chunky-monkey, and she's got a gimp leg!' HA! HA-says my dog.

I wake up Saturday morning to...silence. Usually she whines at the back door-'food, food, food-it's been a whole 12 hours since I last ate!!!' But there was silence. So, I go to inspect, and she's gone.

Now, in the past, she was the dog I always had to worry about. She always got out when she was a puppy. She was caught more times than I can count, down the street, 'frolocking' with a damn bassett hound. I used to stand on my back porch and just YELL her damn name over and over, only to notice that she was in the far back corner of my property, chowing down on cow crap. ugh. This is the same dog that also loved to roll around in cow crap, oh, and the same dog that got hit by a car while out frolocking one early morning.

But, I thought the fact that she is now overweight, combined with the fact that she has a 12 inch metal plate in her front leg..would keep her from digging out.

It did.

She couldn't dig. She can't actually bend that leg so well, so no digging here.

She broke out.

As in, broke my fence.

Slammed her fat butt into the fence and broke free.

I found her lying on my front porch, covered in mud. Must have felt the need to roll around in the mess her brother left behind when he dug out.

So at this point, I had two dogs, wet, muddy, miserable, in my garage. Not really a good place to keep them, seeing as the dumb dog of the bunch once ate rat poison.(that is a blog for another day!) I'm not too comfortable leaving her in the garage  with a bunch of chemicals. So, my dogs are now on vacation.

I shipped them off to my mother's house, until they (the contractors?) finish my yard, my fence, and fix my french drain. Oh, and I guess we need some new sod now too.

Okay, so I'm totally stealing this from a blogger I read all the time (Dooce), but YOU.HAVE.GOT.TO.SEE.THIS.VIDEO!!!! If you love animals, it will tear you up, I swear!! I sat blubbering like an idiot in the dark, and now I'm going to cuddle with my dogs. Oh gosh.

click here after you grab some tissues!

So much for blogging every day. I skipped saturday and sunday for a variety of reasons:

~exhaustion

~putting up the Christmas tree

~decorating the house

~attempting to Christmas shop (ha! with a 2 year old)

~ice skating at my sister's birthday party

~watching the cowboys kick ASS!

~ and most important of all: My 2 year old is fighting a cold, or some other lovely virus, so she was whiny, snotty-nosed, coughing, crying, and just...well, a 2 year old.

Sigh....so there goes the whole month of blogging. jeez.

There are many things in my life that I have had to give up, for better or worse. Some were not so difficult: I didn't drink an ounce of alcohol while I was pregnant. I can give up candy or ice cream for the 40 days of Lent each year. I gave up watching The Bachelor (there was some withdrawal there) with hardly a tear.

Other things were more difficult: Burying my childhood dog, Victoria, who lived for 12 long, lucky years. Burying my grandparents. Kissing my partying life goodbye when I decided I wanted to have a child. Saying goodbye to kids on my caseload, whether I wanted to or not. Agreeing to getting a fake Christmas tree, when I really didn't want to agree at all.

It's still difficult to deal with the fact that I no longer have the buff, strong, firm body that I had when I was 17. It's unpleasant to come to terms with the fact that my husband and I are not the same teenagers we once were (although we like to think we are sometimes, when we tie one off). I had to say goodbye to little tiny onesies and cute baby outfits, when my girl stopped being a baby. That's a tough one!

I've had to say goodbye to friendships. I've had to say goodbye to people I really cared about, bonded with, felt a connection with.

I've had to fight for (and sometimes lose) things I really believe in, and fight with people I love about those things.

But, the thing I cannot say goodbye to is.....

the blanket my grandmother gave me when I was a very little girl. It is currently in my lap as I type this. Go ahead, laugh. It is warn out, faded, threadbare, and covered in dingle balls, all at the same time. But, it is soft, comfortable, cuddly, warm, and MINE. I love it. In high school I used it for warmth. In college-ditto. Now-ditto. But, it has been a source of comfort too, during difficult times in my life, when I am worn out, stressed, tired, sick, sad.  And now, I have a 2 year old who says 'I want my mommy's blankie' when she is tired or cold. Oh hell, I have a blankie, and I'm 29. So can I really ever say anything about her little tiny blankie, when mine is full size?

It's not just that it is all of the above, but it is also that it is from my grandmother, who I truly adored, who is gone from my life in the physical sense. Except, not when I have this blanket. Then she is here, with me.

So tell me people-does anyone have something they cannot say goodbye too, embarrassing as it may be??

When I was younger, my parents were foster parents. They actually decided to become foster parents in the hopes that they would fall in love with, and adopt, at least one child. One of those wishes came true.

We had several little kiddos live with us over time. Two sisters that were silly, giggly, and a bit out of control. The older of the two tortured my dog for so long, that when she cornered him under our dining room table, he finally retaliated and bit her face. Stitches were needed. Not long after, my dog 'went to live on a farm', according to my mother, and it took me literally about 18 years to realize that he was put down, not sent to a farm.

A little girl who was quiet. I barely remember what she looks like; I only remember that she was found inside the cab of an 18-wheeler, hungry, cold, and afraid.

I think there were a couple of other kiddos, but it's all becoming a bit hazy now. I remember waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of muffled crying. It was always a surprise when I woke up in the morning, because I never knew if there would be a new baby, toddler, or child sleeping in one of the rooms down the hall.

L.M.* came to us when he was a little over a year old. He was malnourished, neglected, and little. He was blonde, with huge dark brown eyes, and he was a bit serious for his age. His parents were young, and his mother was actually in jail and pregnant with another child, when he came to live with us. He had a brother with special needs, who went to a foster home that was trained in caring for the medical issues he had.

Over time, he warmed up to us, and changed into this silly little boy, one who liked to laugh, loved to swing, and adored my mother. ADORED. They were very close. I was too young to understand the kind of bond between a mother and child, but I saw the love between them.

I cannot remember what his voice sounded like, and I do not know how he felt about us. I do remember he was born in January. He ate one thing at a time on his plate at dinner. He was afraid of my father. He liked to wear 'big boy' sunglasses. He had gorgeous eyes.

He stayed with us well over a year. He came available for adoption, as did his brother, and I believe my mother really wanted to adopt him and his brother, to keep them together. My mother could not bear the thought of living without L.M.

However, L.M. and his brother were adopted by someone else, someone who could care for his brother's needs, in another state.

L.M. was taken from us.

I will never forget it. I have snapshots in my mind of that time period:

My father sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his stereo with headphones on, grief written across his face like graffeti.

My mother's tear-streaked face as we drove away from dropping him off. Her hands on the wheel, driving through a parking lot, turning back to look at L.M. one last time.

L.M., outside, screaming and crying for my mother, his mother.

His empty bed, empty room, the empty, silent house.

The lump that stayed in my throat for several weeks, the guilt that consumed me, ate at my skin until I was raw and worn down.

See, I loved L.M., but I did not always show it. I was young. I was 9. There were times that I didn't want to be bothered by him, which is normal for siblings. But I was so torn up about the fact that he might only remember my being mean to him because I was annoyed with him. I was so afraid he would not remember how much I loved to hug him, how much I loved his little feet, how much I loved him for loving my mother so much.

None of us were ever the same after L.M. Seeing pictures of him still puts a lump in my throat, and there is so much sadness in my mother's eyes when his name is mentioned.

There are many things I was too young to understand about the whole process, the entire situation, about the decisions that were made. As an adult, I understand them, but the 9 year old me is a bit angry about why it happened the way it did.

A little over a year after L.M. left, my brother Matt was born. His name is Matthew because it means 'A gift from God'. And that is what he was.

And I was so melancholy about having a brother again. I wanted a sister. Why? Not because I could dress her up in my dolls' clothes, but because, in my mind, a sister would be less complicated, less likely to break my mother's heart. Or mine.

But, he stole my heart with his serious little face. And any time I wanted to just scream that he was annoying me, I would check myself, because I knew I was lucky to have a second chance.

I jumped at the chance to feed him, rock him, change him, bathe him, parade him up and down the street.I didn't complain when he followed me around outside when I was playing with neighborhood kids, at age 3. I didn't mind that he got more presents than I did at Christmas. I loved when he snuggled on the couch with me, watching TV, at age 5. I'll never forget when he caught me watching Cujo one night, and he hid his face in my lap. It never bothered me when I would wake up early in the morning, to find not only his warm little body in my bed, but also all of his and my stuffed animals under the covers (age 7). And I have to admit that I was extremely annoyed when he hung my bras and & underwear on the ceiling fan in the living room to embarrass me in front of my friends (age 9), but I can laugh about it now.

There are other things I will never forget about my brother, which I won't detail here, because some things are just too close to my heart.

I am so thankful that we all had a second chance at having a boy in our family. I wouldn't trade him for anything, for anyone, in the world, even L.M.

I don't think my brother understands the enormous amount of love we all have for him. Or that he helped us heal. I think he gets annoyed by our love and attention, and feels we are smothering him, when all we are doing is trying to make sure we are never without him or his strong presence. We adore him. We are afraid to lose his love.

I adore my baby bro. He lives a couple of hours away now, and it kills me. I am happy for him, proud of him, but still miss him. Selfishly, I want him here, in the metroplex, so I can see him every day and hang out with him. But I know he has to do what is best for him, and live his life how he wants to, because we are only young once.

I just hope he can someday have a child and feel this way too.

(*L.M.-I only gave initials to save us all a little heartache).

I read a blog this week asking what awesome expensive gift I would ask for. Not the whole 'I want world peace' or 'I want my family to be safe and healthy' (although I do!). So....I've been thinking. If I could ask for anything, and price didn't matter....here goes (again, if I posted on a snazzy blog site, I could give you links to the pics of these cool things!):

~A bicycle-nothing super-fancy, but something to get my ass in shape.

~Shoes, shoes, shoes.

~lots of sexy undergarments

~ This! unique necklace

~This bracelet by David Yurman

~This for my dining room (click on the close-ups; although you need to see it in person to really appreciate it's massive-ness!)

~ A trip to somewhere tropical

~A badass old car, or old jeep

~A horse (don't even giggle at me!)

~A beach house all of my own

~A trip to S. Cali

~Art from this guy

Sigh...I'm not sure what else. I'm really not all that into expensive jewelry. I just would like to have a few valuable pieces to pass on to my children and grandchildren (and I do already have a few). I don't like living in excess (although sometimes I feel I do), so these are all outrageously expensive to me. But if I won the lottery, I'm sure I would think of these things at least once before I put money in college funds for my daughter and sister, paid off all of my parents' debt, paid off my own debt, and donated the bulk of it to several charities. I'm just too down to earth or nice or giving (or a combo of all of them!) to really ask for such expensive stuff!!!

All set topost a funny story this evening, when I received a text message from a dear friend. I won't go into detail, because it really isn't mine to tell, but let's just say it is devastating news, and I am soooo sad for her. Her and her husband have a gorgeous little girl, who is a couple of months younger than my girl, and they have been trying to have another baby for several months now. They are so incredibly blessed to have their little girl, because the pregnancy was so stressful-they were pretty sure there were going to be some major health issues when she delivered. But! This gorgeous girl was born (premature) healthy, overall, with very minor issues compared to what was originally thought. This experience did not deter them from trying for baby 2 (as it shouldn't!).

I was so excited for them....I know they have been through a lot, and I wanted them to want what they want-another baby to join their family.

For now, that doesn't appear to be happening. And I am so sad. I wish that I could drop my crap right now, at 10:45 at night, and drive to her side, and make it right. But of course, I don't have the power to 'make it right' or make her feel better. I am feeling lucky, and blessed, and so happy that my little girl is healthy, sassy, on target, HEALTHY! I do not want to complain right now about how she makes me repeat myself over and over, every day, or how she fights me to change her diaper....I just want to go stand over her crib, watch her sleep with her booty in the air, and thank God for this blessing.

And that's exactly what I'm headed to do right now.

I'm thinking of you, Steff. I am so sorry.