Good-bye to a Friend

We got a call last night, from the mom of a college friend. The call you hope not to get. The one with “terrible news.”

I met C. at one of my first college parties at UMass Amherst. I was shocked that he was from my dorm. What a coincidence at such a huge school! He didn’t laugh too hard when he told me the entire party, pretty much, was from my dorm.

Later in the semester, he began inviting my roommate and I down for movie nights in his room, where much of the second floor congregated. Usually there were joints, sometimes a keg in the closet across the hall. Always there was a good movie, and a sense of belonging that I needed. We watched the Life of Brian and Platoon. We ordered pizzas or buffalo wings, or trekked out for Chinese luncheon specials.

I met Brian while hanging out in C.’s room, and we started dating a few months later. These were some of my happiest college memories.

C. could be an arrogant wise ass. Our rapport had a brother-sister, teasing quality. Back then I still had a way of isolating myself socially. One day he looked at me and said, “You know what your problem is, Kris? You don’t trust people.” I never forgot that moment, because he was right. I’d stopped trusting people for a reason, but hadn’t quite realized it. I thought I just had no personality. His observation opened my eyes a bit, and helped me start to heal.

Most of the time, though, I couldn’t take C. seriously, because he always drank too much. I came from a family with alcohol problems, parent and siblings included, so I saw nothing cute or funny about it. Still, Brian and I considered him a friend.

We kept in touch over the years. He came to visit Brian and me in 1995, when we lived in Framingham. We were into tennis at the time, so we took him that Saturday morning to our local court. He was pretty good at tennis and I, well, I sucked. I attempted to play with Brian while C. sat on the sidelines, giving me “pointers.” I started out by telling him to “shut up,” then quickly degenerated into screaming at him like a six year old.

My behavior embarrassed me. I wondered if he hated me after that. As I thought about it last night, after I read “loved tennis” in his obit, I realized I wasn’t mad at him for picking on my mad racket skills. I was mad because he drank until 2 am the night before, then began drinking again when he woke up at 9 a.m. I was mad because at the breakfast place we brought him to he kept swearing loudly. I was mad because I realized his drinking had escalated to the point that he couldn’t even enjoy a warm summer morning without alcohol.

The last time C. came over, Ben was a baby. He had lost his license so we picked him up at the train station. He hadn’t changed, and after that weekend I couldn’t allow him in my house again, not with kids around. Brian went to see him for the last time a few years ago. He came home shaking his head. C. was into the hard stuff, no longer just alcohol. I guess that’s a downside of being a working drunk: you’ve got money to spend on drugs, too.

Last spring he called as I was getting dinner ready. He was blotto’d, but I listened to him anyway. At one point he said, “You know what I was thinking? You’re a writer, you should start a blog!”

I smiled. “I do have a blog. I’ll send you the link.” A few days later he sent me an email: “Haven’t talked to you in forever.” He didn’t remember our phone call.

That was our last contact. I never did send him the link.

C. loved spicy food, as in make-your-pores-bleed spicy. He loved science fiction novels; he gave me his beat up copy of Ender’s Game, which became one of my favorite books. He loved watching movies, too, and talking about his “glory days” as a star baseball player in grade school and high school. He loved a good game of Risk, or a strategic computer game. He loved his family, and much of his life centered around his mom, siblings, nieces and nephews.

At one point, C. seemed to have it all: good looks and the grades to match, "star" status on his baseball team, a strong family. Then alcohol and drugs took over, and his life became one that I imagine vacillated between pain and numbness.

I hope his pain is gone. I hope he feels joy now, because I don’t think he’d felt it here on earth, not for a very long time.

C., we love you. Rest in peace, my friend.

Happy 5th Birthday, John

John turned 5 years old today. He claims he's been waiting to be 5 for a long, long time, ever since he was born, in fact. Today that dream came true.

All babies are cute, but John had that little bit extra. People loved Ben's blue eyes and Ava's cheeks. With John, though, it was always The Unbearable Cuteness.



These days, John's still cute. He's also sensitive, smart as a whip, easy to please and a general pleasure to be with. Except, sometimes, for the talking.

John can talk any listener under the table with his long, detailed explanations and recountings of the most minute details of any conceivable topic or event. All day long I hear about the good guys, the bad guys, the machinations of the Transformer, that 4 plus 4 equals 8 and how "one-zero-zero-zero-zero is a REALLY big number, waaaay bigger than 9, isn't it?"

He is also the king of the one liner. For example, Christmas morning he dropped his stocking and ran from the room, yelling, "I have to pee!" All was quiet for a moment. Then we heard him exclaim from the bathroom, "Everybody gets to go pee on Christmas!"

This morning I walked up to him as he ate his breakfast, peanut butter and jelly sandwich. (Which is, by the way, the perfect food, the one he wanted to bring to Christmas at his uncle's). I leaned in and said, "Guess where I was five years ago?"

"In bed?" he guessed, as if I'm ever in bed.

"Yes!" I said, holding up his scrapbook. "I was in the hospital, with John, my little bundle of joy. See, there we are. There's Ben. He was Ava's age when you were born."

I let him look the page over for a moment, then turned back one. "There I was on Christmas day at Uncle Mike's. See how big my belly was?"

"Wow!" he said, dropping his sandwich. "Your stomach was even bigger than it is now! That's amazing! Isn't it??"

Your amazing, kiddo. Stay 5 for a few years, would ya?

Will you help me pick a Christmas picture? Please?

I know, I know, I should've ordered pictures already if I planned to send them. I'd given up on it, actually, then yesterday I noticed all three kids dressed in red or green, and no one had big red patches on their face from the globs of boogers draining from their noses. Sure, Ben has a black eye, but that just adds interest. I grabbed the camera, and snapped a few that I like:

Candidate 1

I wish Ava's finger wasn't in her mouth. Ben's baby blues are on nice display, though, and John's smiling.

Candidate 2

Three pleasant looks! Also, I plan to Photoshop out the chairs in the background. As you can tell, this wasn't a planned photo shoot.

Candidate 3

What I love about this is the way Ben looks so "big brother," the way he's holding Ava's arm, and John position and sweet expression. I could crop in a little closer; it is a little out of focus though.

Candidate 4

In a lot of ways, this is the best shot. I just wish Ava and John were smiling a bit more.

So there you have it, my four last chances at sending a late Christmas photo. What do you think? Which one should I send? And what about you? Did you send a photo this year? Are you sharing with the Internets?

The Fun Continues

I just wanted to pop in and tell you that, after our stellar weekend, the week has turned out pretty "swell" too. Last night, with Brian more than 200 miles away, I locked myself and the three kids out of the house. Ava had no shoes on, Ben no coat. I didn't have my purse or my glasses. I also had bad breath, if you must know. As I sat in our rental car contemplating driving to New Hampshire to get a key from my mother (and chastizing myself for not giving my neighbor a key), I realized the car was out of gas.

In the end, Brian reminded me that I could find a house key at the car dealership that was installing a new transmission in our minivan. I drove my neighbor's car there and got it, then brought the kids home so we could fight about doing homework and what to eat for dinner.

Just in case my 10 readers are jonesing for some giveaways, here's a sneak peek at what I have for January: AirBuddies, Fox and the Hound 2, High School Musical Remix and Madea's Family Reunion. I plan to watch these over Christmas break, and write up some reviews on them as well.

In the meantime, I will be simultaneously baking goodies, growing money on trees, and trying to lose 15 pounds in 16 days. Fa-la-la, folks!

My cat died. Merry Christmas!

We had one of those weekends. Friday morning, after 10 days with a head cold, Ava spiked a fever and a nasty cough. Brian, in turn, thought he had a sinus infection; John informed us that his “throat, head, nose, chest and stomach” hurt; and Ben’s nose kept filling with green stuff. I needed a big “Quarantine” sign for my front door.

After three calls to urgent care, one midnight vigil waiting for a fever to break, a CCD class, one birthday party, two doctor visits and three trips to the pharmacy, Sunday evening was upon us. All five of us were milling around in the kitchen. My kitchen was destroyed because of three days of carrying Ava nonstop. Brian had just walked in from buying children’s Tylenol, and I’d just finished putting the chicken soup together when Ben said, “Dad, Shadow’s dead.”

Sure enough, there was Shadow, on the dining room floor. Dead.

I ushered the kids into the family room. Brian took the egg noodles off the stove, then took Shadow out to the backyard. Ben cried. At first he kept saying, “I want a kitten!” I suggested we mourn Shadow before talking about that.

A little later, I told Ben we could say a special prayer for Shadow. "Let's do it now," he said. So we stood there in the kitchen, with our heads bowed. After I said a few words, he took over. “Please give her a cozy bed,” he said through tears, “and when she gets scared, please, comfort her.”

Right then, Ava toddled over and, as she has hundreds of times before, picked up Shadow’s water dish and handed it to me. “Here!”

"Thanks, honey," I said. I put it on the counter and took Shadow’s food dish from her. Then it was my turn to cry.

In a fitting denouement, Brian left on a business trip this morning.

Despite the chaos around here this week, I’m not whining. No, really, I’m not!

First of all, Shadow lived for almost 16 years. The last several months, she didn’t have any tummy trouble. Last Friday, I spent a good 20 minutes brushing her. Friday night, Ben, John, Brian and I all sat on the couch watching Santa Claus Is Coming to Town, while she curled up on top of us getting patted. Saturday night she went outside for a bit and got some fresh air. Her passing was very quick. All in all, her last days, and we’re grateful for that.

Also, thank God for antibiotics. Ava took her first dose Sunday at noon, slept for two hours and awoke as her perky self. She's still sick, but she's on the mend. John got checked out and is infection-free. Brian also seems to have shaken off his sinus thing.

As for me, I feel much better. All my tests -– from breast MRI to urine -- came back normal. My 10-week stint in physical therapy paid off, with my back pain dissolving last week as unceremoniously as it began. While it could act up again, I feel optimistic. For now, I'm just a healthy hypochondriac.

Things are still busy though, and I'm sure you can all relate. After all, it's "that" time of the year. I promised myself I’d quiet down during Advent and spend some quality time with the kids (and myself), so I won’t be posting much, if at all, until after the holidays.

Merry Christmas to all of you! Whatever holiday you celebrate, I hope you find much joy and peace this month and throughout 2007. See you on the other side.

Portrait of a Yucky Lunch Box

Just so you know I'm not exaggerating about what Ben's lunch box looks like when he returns home from school, here's a picture.



So now, you can see, the soft lunch box never stood a chance.

This was actually a good day, since he ate most of his banana sandwich. Each day as I take the lunch box out of his back pack, I kind of gag before I even open it up. I need to get creative with what to put in there so it doesn't come home covered in banana-apple guts.

Tuesday Giveaway: The Winner

We have a winner of the Doodlebops CD, and her name is Jenny. Congrats, Jenny! Please send your address to clouth@gmail.com, and I'll send the loot right out to you.

The Tuesday giveaway will be on hiatus until after the holidays. If you're a previous winner and still haven't received your stuff, don't worry. Everything will be in the mail as of tomorrow, so you should have it in time for Christmas.

When did lunch boxes go soft?

If you've ever done battle with a soft, insulated lunch box, you'll appreciate my latest post at DotMoms.

"Looking at the box's supple white interior and the delicate cotton threads holding it together, I knew it wouldn't last. But I had no choice ..."

Tuesday Giveaway: Rock & Bop With the Doodlebops

UPDATED: I forgot to mention that The Doodlebops are offering fans the “DOODLEBOPS EVERY DAY GIVEAWAY” Sweepstakes. For a chance to win a daily prize pack and a grand prize of a trip to California to see The Doodlebops Live!, log on to www.doodlebops.com every day now through December 15, 2006 to register to win the Doodlebops Prize of the Day.

My boys never watched the Doodlebops, and at 5 and 6, I guess they'll never be fans. In fact, when I tried to put it on for John, he didn't just cry, he screamed "Turn it off!" as he ran from the room. For toddlers and preschoolers, the Doodlebops are dancing and singing fun. For John, the Doodlebops are blue, yellow and purple alien people who haunt you in your nightmares.

When my 20-year-old relative saw the Rock & Bop with the Doodlebops CD on my kitchen counter, she scooped it right up. "Oooh, I love the Doodlebops!" Since she's the one who turned me on to House and Grey's Anatomy, I listen to her entertainment opinions. She went on to explain that they are great singers, and the music is way better than the Wiggles (another kids' band my boys never liked).

Although my boys never warmed to the music, they are just older than the Doodlebop's target audience. I've listened to the CD several times myself, and I would say "Pop & Bop" might be a more accurrate description than "Rock & Bop." Still, it features good-quality singing and is well produced. The songs contain lots of positive messages, about being there for friends, the joy of reading, and not fearing the dark, to name a few. Of all the kids' music I've reviewed here, this is definitely my favorite.

I still have not watched the show, which my niece describes as "sensory overload." Sounds perfect to me! How else to keep my 17 month old entertained for 60 whole seconds? Baby Mozart and Dora the Explorer haven't managed to do that yet.

I'm willing to let go of my review copy, plus I have two figurines to throw in as well: Dancin' Deedee and Rocking' Rooney. If you push Deedee's head she wiggles, and Rooney plays the guitar. I could only find these dolls and the other Doodlebops toys online at Ty's Toybox, and as of now Deedee and Rooney are sold out there. Could it be that these dolls are hot property? I had no idea! (UPDATED: Turns out the toys are available exclusively at www.doodlebops.com via Ty's Toybox).

If you'd like to receive my review copy of Rock & Bop with the Doodlebops and the two figurines, leave a comment between now and Thursday at midnight, EST. If you have kids ages 5 to 7, especially boys, please tell me what music they like to listen to. Good luck!

Mall Musings

I braved the mall with the kids last night. John will be the ring bearer in his cousin's wedding the night before New Year's, so I had to get him fitted for his tux. He did great, standing still for the measurement, not complaining about the stiff collar. Ben, however, tried on top hats, crawled under an 8-foot row of hanging pants sending them in different directions, and tipped a mannequin over. Is this normal behavior for a six year old? Don't answer that.

Afterward we visited Santa. The Monday Night Mall Santa was a bit feeble. A 50 pound kid on each leg seemed a little more than he could handle. He had one of those scraggly, yellow real beards. I realized this when John started grabbing fistfuls of it and lifting it up into the poor guy's face. I believe his last word to John was, "Off."

Is it bad that I kept my eyes on the Mall Santa's hands the entire time? Maybe it's because I just watched a video at the church, as training for teaching CCD, about keeping kids safe from molesters. One of the molesters featured worked as a mall Santa so he could grope kids. So when his hand rested over John's lower belly last night, I couldn't help going into mother bear mode. I think he noticed me watching, but what can I say? These are the times we live in.

I got suckered into buying the $22 picture, damnit. He snapped it and Ben had the cutest smile on his face, as did John. I thought, "How many more years will these two boys sit on Santa's lap together?" and agreed to buy it. When I got the print, though, it was all fuzzy. I mentioned it to the guy and he said, "Oh, that's just the way the printer is." Nice, huh? They charge $22 for a picture and don't even bother to calibrate the printer. Next year, I will seek out Santa in a non-mall location where I can snap my own picture. I hereby swear off mall Santa pictures forever!

As I passed all the stores I couldn't shop in because I had my kids with me, I realized that I am not as done with Christmas shopping as I thought. I still have 8 billion annoying little things to do, including attempting to get a picture of the kids and mailing out cards. I am seriously considering sending cards without pictures this year. The world will not end if I don't do Christmas pictures. Even as I write this, though, I'm wondering what I can pull out of the closet to dress the kids in and what video or food item I can use to bribe the them to smile.

One last mall item: At John's preschool, they learn about a different country each month. This is the first week for Spain. So last night, in the bathroom at the mall, John said, "I'm all done!" I went into the stall and he added, "Mom, 'I'm all done' is Spanish for 'Wipe my butt.'"

Tuesday Giveaway: The Winners

Ok, we have some winners:

• Lindsey
• Lisa H.
• Jenni
• Jamie

Ladies, please send your address to clouth@gmail.com, and I'll get the loot right out to you. Also, I have dolls with blonde, red and black hair, so if you have a preference let me know, and I'll try to accommodate it.

Also, if you need a gift idea for a toddler girl, check out the comments from the Polly Pockets thread. (Be sure to read the Haloscan comments, too.) I had never seen The Doorbell House, the Learn Through Music Plus or the My First Baby Doll Set. There are many other excellent ideas there, too, which is funny since Brian thinks we're not buying Ava much for Christmas. *snicker*

Thanks to all who entered, and for all the great gift ideas!

Day 31: Wait a Minute ...

I had a dream last night. I nightmare, really. I double checked the calendar, you know, to make sure November really had 30 days and not 31. And I realized there were 60 days! Nooooo!

The NaBloPoMo experience proved worthwhile for me in the end. When I post something and don't get comments or feel like a dork for some other reason, I tend to crawl into my Web-hole and clam up for a while. This month, I couldn't do that. Well, I could have but I would have been a big NaBloPoMoLo(ser), and the goody two shoes in me didn't want THAT either.

The one transformative aspect of this experiment is that I now know I can spit something out here more efficiently than I thought. Over the years, many of my ideas for posts have withered and died because I kept waiting until I had TIME to WRITE them. In reality, I should have just sat down and banged it out, right then. From now on, I think I'll be more disciplined at posting Monday to Friday. Either that or I'll pull the plug on the whole thing. Who knows.

In case you missed them in the flurry of posts exploding all over the blogosphere this month, here are my three favorite posts from NaBloPoMo.

• Grocery Check-Out Epiphany (I'm trying to start a revolution, people.)
• Teaching Preschoolers to Respect Mom's Privacy (Who knew toilet stories could be so fun?)
• An Affair to ... Roomba (The end of my fantasy. It's still hard for me to talk about.)

Lastly, here is my favorite writing quote of all time, from Annie Dillard's The Writing Life. I think it applies to blogs as much as to any kind of writing, and captures the spirit of NaBloPoMo beautifully. Post it now! Thanks Ms. Kennedy!

“Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now.” - Annie Dillard