Who knew I could smell so bad?

This is my week with T.  Wednesday I was suddenly struck cold, right through to the bone. I even pulled the heater out at work when I was covering my second’s break because I was so cold. Went home, slept, went and picked up K and came home to T. In the evening it wasn’t so bad. But it hit hard over night. I awoke drenched in sweat my hair could almost be wrung out. Gross right? Well I felt worse.

I called in. Something that I had promised myself the last time that I was going to avoid doing for the next six months. I moved and my head throbbed, my eyes squinting because the light was too bright. I had blinds closed, glasses off and it was painful. My hips, my legs, my back ached. I slept almost all day. I did not take T to soccer. Ordered him pizza for supper because I could not move to cook. I have never felt so helpless and useless a mother as at this point.

T tucked me in and gave me his stuffed puppy to cuddle with. Along with his blanket. His dad knew I was ill so he picked him up and off to soccer they went. Home at 8:30 I tell him his bedtime is 9:30 and I am trusting him. He was in bed at 9:30. Friday a.m. I woke up again covered in sweat and my sleep had been so disjointed but I had to go to work. I groused and groaned and snivelled and groused some more, but off we went.

I am glad that I went in. I pushed through my day and as I did I began to feel so much better. By the end of my shift I was no longer forcing my smile or my laughter. Not cured mind you as my head was still throbbing. I made T clean up the floor because it hurt to bend over and pick up the mess on the floor. Hint 2 I was feeling better: the mess that had accumulated in two days of being ill, was annoying me.

Woke up this morning feeling good. Wee headache but livable. Only to discover that T puked in the middle of the night. He also had a wee accident. And he was cold.

It is Summer in the City in our city this weekend. He had to go. ‘Mom I am fine.’

I caved. He pushed through it. I am going to say this kid has way more stamina than I do. I do believe he is built like his chichi and refuses to allow illness to deny or keep him from anything.

As we are walking home, holding hands, I know yet again my guy isn’t feeling very good. Because what healthy 8 year old boy wants to be seen holding his mother’s hand as they walk down the street? He is also complaining that his legs are aching.  ‘Mom when we get home I just want to lay down on your couch.’

As I am sitting at the computer T is laying on the couch. He has not eaten yet, another indication of illness. I look over and use the bribe food: ‘Hey if I make mac and cheese you gonna have some?’ ‘Sure mom.’

Okay, and he is warming up. Maybe he is like chichi and not his wimpy mommy when it comes to sickness.

I start making the mac and cheese and he is patiently waiting. I am playing on the computer, minding my own business, eye on the timer when all of a sudden……pooot poooooot poooot pppppoooooot ppppppppppoooooooooot.

I look over at T with wide eyes and say what was that? Like I don’t know.

T stares at me I think in slight suprise. And than I am guessing that the smell hit him. His face twitched, he gasped and said ‘I didn’t know I could smell like this mom!’

And I laughed as I got up to stir the noodles and said ‘and you can’t even get away from it.’

****T did attempt to get me to smell said disgusting fart by insisting he required a kiss. I held my breath until far enough away.

 

The Bird who likes to Poo

T has taken an interest in my poetry. While hanging out with Auntie K on Wednesday before his doctor appointment, they created this brilliant piece of work. I however may be a tad biased.

I met a bird named Blue

He took a poo.

And than he flew

And took a poo.

Than Blue knew

He took too many poos.

©T Doerksen

May 29/17

A Mother’s Guilt

“Mom! Mom!” I bolted upright from a dead sleep sure that some new crisis had arisen. “What buddy?” I groggily call back trying to find my glasses. “I am all cured. No stomach ache, no headache!” “That is great buddy, but it is only 7 a.m. go back to sleep!” June 3/17 @ 6:55 a.m. 

This is my week with T. My heart. My soul. I watched him cry and sob as his head throbbed and his tummy hurt. I felt as though that pain would cleave me in two. I could do nothing to help him.

After our doctor appointment on Wednesday I text my boss to let him know that T was down and out for the next two days. I was in a way hoping that he would tell me that I should take the time and be with my son. For it is my week and he is ill on my watch. The offer was not made so I had to take my ex up on his offer to watch T for me. He felt that he ‘owed’ me.

Thursday morning he arrived to pick T up. T was still asleep when he got here. I woke him up and he stumbled up the stairs. Whimpering a little at the pain but a trooper still. I worked at 5:30 this morning so again asked what the plan was. Which is when I found out that T was not going to be home until today when I got off at 2. I walked down the stairs, my heart breaking in two and I cried.

Nothing mattered to me. I went to work, and thank goodness it was quiet. I spent my day tidying my desk and getting all my paperwork caught up that I had been neglecting for the longest time. Got organized. Do not need my boss to put down that the thing I need to work on is maintaining a clean desk. (In an aside, I have read that a messy desk is the sign of an intelligence person so who am I to argue?)

I text my ex. I tried calling. I could not get through. My heart begins to race. T never gets sick like this. The last time he was this sick was at about a year and a half, and we were in hospital for three days while he had pneumonia. I was scared sick, than feeling that I had failed him as a mother.

My evening was relatively quiet as I sat here. I text the ex a couple of times. I asked that T call me. I waited. And than he did. In tears. Telling me that his tummy hurt. Asking me why I had to go to work and could not come and get him. I tried to be so strong. I told him how great he was doing because he had not asked for Advil since 6:30 a.m. and it was 9:30 p.m. I asked how the pain was. Had he eaten? I could hear his fear. I told him I loved him and could I please speak to his dad?

I burst into tears when my ex got on the phone. I demanded to know what he was doing to help T. I was livid because I could tell that he had been drinking. His dad came out. It was a party. (Yes there is some lingering anger issues here) He tried to tell me it was all good. The I did not need to be there, he was. And I said to him “That is not what this is about. I am his mother. That I cannot be there to hold him, to help him kills me. When we get off the phone you go inside and you cuddle him. Promise me!”

He promised. I think he was chastened. I was sobbing. My baby needed me and yet I could not be there for him.

Do I not trust my ex to do the right thing? Not at all. However, I felt that he did not quite see how extreme this was. Our son is never sick. Sniffles, flu, but down and out? Never.

This morning I lasted until 9 a.m. before I text to see how T was. And was told he had not eaten. That he had puked. And I freaked. This was an escalation, not a getting better. Now I am panicking. I made an appointment with the Quick Care Clinic because, well, I am a mom and I jump to insane conclusions when my normally healthy child is so ill.

On Wednesday I got everything done before 8 a.m. Today, I was done by 7:30. I do what I have to do. But that is not where my heart is. I argue with my phone when I received messages that are not about T. I tried calling my ex and finally shot him a message saying that his house line was screwed and to please let me know what was going on with my son.

When I showed up at 2:30 to pick up T he did not come out to greet me. I was concerned. Asked the ex where is he? In the house.  I went in and he is laying on the couch his head covered and I look at the ex and say ‘He is still sleeping??????’ T pops up and looks at me. ‘Hi mom.’

Than he stood up. Oh dear lord, really? The pants he wore were six inches above his ankles. I looked at the ex and went really? What the hell are those? T bursts into tears and falls on couch covering himself with his blanket. I rush to him and apologize, brushing his tears away.

I tell him we will stop at home and change before the appointment at the Quick Care Clinic. That is when he tells me he does not want to go. His dad and I cajoled and he agreed. We walk outside and he trips falling head over heels. This has not been a good week for my baby.

His head is aching a little and as we drive along I try to hold his hand. He is not in the mood. Still a little weepy. When suddenly he announces that he is starving. I look at him and ask what he has eaten today? Nothing. We drive along and I tell him he has a choice. How is he feeling? Does he want to see the Nurse Practitioner? T tells me that he is feeling better. He is hungry.

I ask again what he would like for supper? He says to me you mean lunch right mom? Okay buddy what do you want? McDonald’s mom. I am really hungry.

I stared at him. The good mom is already nattering away, ‘Jay don’t you dare. He has not had anything substantial to eat in 72 hours. That is not the way to go.’ Mom who is experiencing reality and relief ‘Jay let the boy have whatever he wants so long as he eats it.’ T did ask for milk with his happy meal and drank it all. As well as eating everything.

As I sit here typing this, he is curled up in his bed, eating half a freezie watching Youtube. He was cracking jokes and making fun of me earlier so I know that he is on the upswing.

T is my life. Nothing and no body matters more to me than he does. That I could not be there for him each and every day that he was ill, when he required his mother to hold him and cuddle him, rips my heart asunder. The stress and fear that I felt because he was not in my presence, where I could ensure his well being, was crippling.

T is my life. He is my heart. He is my soul. He is my inspiration. He is the reason why I want to achieve and be a better person. And he is the only boy (man) who has the ability to rip the heart from my chest. And I will love him forever.

 

Are you dying?

Mom is a trained nurse. She is tough. When the bro and me were younger we so did not even dare to get sick during the week. Mom even brags about how good we were, always saving our sickness for the weekends. I can only remember staying home once and that was when I had Scarlet Fever and only than because we had a babysitter coming to the house.

My brother has asthma and rarely did he have an attack the precipitated a visit to the emergency room. I recall, again, only one incident. And it was late. Or later in the day on a holiday. I want to say Thanksgiving but am not sure.

This has lead me to going to work and pushing myself hard when I should be at home. In bed, sleeping and sipping hot drinks. Not cashiering and talking to/sneezing on my staff and customers. I have to suck it up though for I constantly hear my mom asking me if I am dead. (Inside joke dead or in the hospital the only way one was allowed to stay home).

Flash forward to yesterday when T is at M’s because Auntie K cannot watch him after school. Apparently he crawled right into K’s bed and told M had had been cold all day. I talked to him briefly re soccer and at first he wanted to go but two minutes later M is calling me to tell me he got out of bed and began to cry.

By the time I got home he had been let into the house and was curled up in his bed. I could feel the heat coming off him. I was able to persuade him to take a Tylenol which seemed to bring the fever down. Still had a headache and his tummy hurt. I fed him some soup and he was off  and into bed by 9 p.m. without a fight. Asleep in like 2 minutes.

Had to wake him up this morning at 5 to take him to the babysitter’s. Again I could feel the heat coming off of him and he began to cry. It hurt his head to stand and walk, his tummy was hurting again. I felt horrible but needed to be at work. I dropped him off with heavy heart and went to work.

My mind was not there. I went through and got everything done in record time. Everything from settling the store to getting inventory done. Watching and waiting for  8:30 a.m. so I can call the doctor’s office. In the two minutes it took me to get through this morning, our family doctor was fully booked up but we were able to get into the same day clinic.

I was frantic when Auntie K called to tell me T had a temperature of 103 but she had given him some Tylenol and he had eaten an orange. I no longer even had a thought about work. I watched the clock to 9:30 when my second got in. Raced through the doing of exceptions and tobacco daily inventory so I could be out by 10 a.m.

I ran across the parking lot which should give you an indication of how scared and worried I was. I may move at a fast walk but rarely do I break into a run. Got home transferred T from the van to my car. Talked with Auntie K for a few minutes and than we all went our separate ways.

T brings his stuffed dog into the doctor’s office. He ended up wearing my coat because he was freezing. And he cannot get comfortable. Wants to lie down but has grown so big that he is draped across my lap. He sat with his head on my lap and I ran my fingers through his hair and across his back. T was not happy. He had no questions and even my attempt at a lame joke went completely unanswered.

Finally we see the doctor. His temperature is down in the normal range. Ears and throat are good. Headache not good but manageable. It is the stomach that is of concern. And of course in my head dances the possibility that his appendix is the culprit. He told the doctor where it hurt while she was poking and prodding. Thankfully it was not his appendix.

Viral gastroenteritis. An inflammation of the stomach lining due to a virus. Usually includes all T’s symptoms with the added bonus of diarrhea and puking. Thank goodness T does not have those two symptoms. Diarrhea I can live with, but I am a sympathetic thrower upper. The minute I hear someone throwing up my own begins to rise. In all his life T has puked on me once, he sat up in bed and blach! I made the ex clean it up.

So we came home. And he took over the couch. Binge watching Teen Titans and suffering with the pain as best he can. He finally caved and had half an antacid which I was told to give him because it might help. I am making him drink a bit of milk and praying that he does not end up throwing that back up. (Milk thrown back up is disgusting.)

Where I may not look after myself and see the doctor unless I am in deep distress, I do not wait for T to get that bad. But there are sickness rules; if you are sick you are not allowed to play with your friends. You may watch t.v. but there is none of this racing around, you have to lay on the couch. T willingly follows all these rules. Which is when I know that he is truly ill. Oh yeah, and he had no questions for the doctor. Usually, he asks tons of questions as he wants to know everything. Today none of that.

Would you jump too?

When I was a little girl and well let’s face it right up until the time that I moved out of the house, I did not get all the things I wanted. Cabbage Patch Kid phase, I was the only kid on the block without one. One of my friends had two and I was green with jealousy. I cannot quite recall the other things I wanted in life that all my other friends had but what I can tell you is my mother’s comment on all these passing phases. (And yes I realize that having a Cabbage Patch Kid now would earn me some serious cash but alas, I am missing out. Thanks a lot mom.)

My mother was a single mom in a time era where divorce was still frowned upon. But that is a subject for another story. Here we are discussing her absolute disdain for popular phases and my desire to follow them. (Just remembered another one, in grade 7 it was Melissa Jeans with a white stripe down the side. Finally got them as they were on the down swing. And the pair I had were defective. The zipper refused to stay up. I walked around half the day with my zipper down, showing off my scarlet granny panties for everyone to see before one of my friends alerted me.)

Our conversations would always start off the same. ‘Mom I really really need a Cabbage Patch Kid.’ ‘Jay, it is really close to Christmas just wait until Santa comes.’ So I was excited. Ten years old and although I knew Santa was my mom, I had expectations. I wrote a letter I believe to Santa. And than came Christmas. There was no Cabbage Patch Doll under the tree. What on earth! Santa always got me at least one of my asked for gifts on my list. Why had he forsaken me?

Now every smart child knows that the time to ask for a much needed item is not during the holiday season. So I waited. And waited. My Amma passed away just before Christmas that year and in January I was struck with (as the doctor put it) good old fashioned Scarlet Fever.

Finally I asked again for a Cabbage Patch Kid and this was my first (probably not but the first time I recall it) introduction to what would become my mom’s famous last words. ‘Jay-lyn Anne you are not going to die without a Cabbage Patch Kid. If all your friends were to jump off a bridge would you do the same?’ I think I may have made a smart ass comment about knowing how to swim but alas, it failed to impress.

Let us fast forward 33 years. There is a new fad in town. It is called a Fidget Spinner. It is a plastic toy for kids to keep their hands busy. Are you kidding me? It is literally a piece of plastic that kids spin around their fingers. M has indicated to me that it is kinda neat but I am appalled.

She bought K one. I said when I saw it, no way in hell is T getting something dumb ass like that. His dad has agreed to ‘make’ one for him at home in the shop. Not sure if his dad is waiting for him to forget or will actually make him one. I do not care. I refuse to spend money on something this dumb. Which brought back the statement ‘If all your friends jumped off a bridge would you too?’ and I understand now where my mom was coming from.

T and his dad came to the store to shop yesterday. We had a conversation about the Fidget Spinner and how I most certainly was not going to buy him one. With a slight pout and whine T asked me why not? I did not use the statement my mom used on me but I did tell him that the reason why was because his interest would last as long as it did for his talking Elmo and Chuck the Truck. He asked how long was that? I said one day!

As I said one day to him, the statement if all your friends jumped off the bridge would you do it too? And I finally understood what my mom meant.

I am not the perfect mother

I am not the perfect mother. Hell I do not even come close. I am the mother whose car is a disaster, who although I have all his shit packed, will still forget to pick up her son at the sitter’s before heading off to soccer practice. Because well that just happens when you are single mom and you need to be in six places at once.

When I was a child I hated my mother’s punishments. And truly they weren’t punishments they were corrections to my behaviour. As an adult omg my mom is my hero. (Having said that mom read ahead with caution). She set boundaries. She made me responsible for my actions. She made me the incredible person that I am (okay so that is tooting my own horn) But I am following in her footsteps so she must have done something right.

So this evening I am having a conversation with a friend. We are discussing boundaries and how her kids seem to ignore hers. So I am listing off all the things that she can do. All the things that my mom implemented with me. Things that worked. And as I read over my suggestions I start to envision what she is seeing.

She sees that little old lady with her glasses perched on the end of her nose. Steely eyes glaring. Pin curls that were contrived in the 1950’s and have never changed a bit. Her bosom is a shelf that cannot be breached, her waist thick and barely there. Her stockings roll up at the knees because she can’t be bothered to pin them up at her thighs.

Oh my dear god, that is so not me. So I needed to enliven the conversation. I needed to let her know that I was not the perfect mother that my voice portrayed in the messages I sent. So, I told her the following story.

I am a single mom. I have needs. I have desires. I have an eight year old son who at this point and time does not need to know that his mother is a being with a life beyond him. (He will learn, but right now I can hide this aspect of my life) So when T is around I am the celibate single mom who lives for her child.

Alright folks (mom I suggest you stop reading here) I am going to admit the truth. I may be single. I may not want to introduce a multitude of men to T’s life which would only serve to confuse him, but I am a sexual woman. And I have a drawer full of toys. Yes mother if you are still reading I have toys!

So and I am absolutely positive that I am not the only one that this has happened to, but I am putting this out there. I was having a rough night and T was being a little shit. Arguing and fighting. Telling me how great his father was. I was incensed and a little pissed. He would not go to bed. Finally after a bath at 10 and listening to him chant mom over and over and over again I caved and told him go to sleep in my room! I can move him back to his when I go to sleep.

Silence ensues and I lay back on the couch, ready to watch another episode of whatever I was watching when T comes into the living room.

‘Mom what is this? I found it at the end of your bed?’

I look over and omfg he has my vibrator. I cannot even be ashamed at this point and time; because this folks, this is why we as parents have boundaries. He is flicking it around and I bolt off the couch screeching ‘give that to me.’ Poor child thought that he had done something wrong.

As he stares at me with tear stained eyes, confused and unsure as to what he has done wrong I implore him; ‘Buddy I have never ever asked you to lie or say nothing to your dad. But baby this is a secret we need to keep okay?’

‘Mom what is that?’

‘That is a toy for mom.’ I admit lame ass reply but what the hell else am I suppose to say?

‘Oh so do you use that when you are sad? You play with it to make you happy?’

As I choke on my laughter and shake my head, tears glisten in my eyes. Oh yeah I am still waiting for my ex to confront me about the fact that T found my vibrator. I am still absolutely horrified that he found it. But this leads me back to my mom, who set boundaries so never once did I ever find her sex toys. (Sorry mom please forgive me.)

I am not the perfect mom.

 

 

It only took a year……

T and me, we started this new journey of life a year ago this month. I upset his daily routine by moving from the home I shared with his father into an apartment. I upended his life by falling out of love with the man I thought I was destined to spend the rest of my life with. Shit happens. Wrong people marry and to carry on would have resulted in a child who would have had commitment problems as he aged. (Look at myself and the bro……children of divorce, father was a total louse and neither of us were/are interested in marriage.) So two years ago this upcoming October I told my ex that I no longer loved him and well……how could you not see the problems?

That is not what this is about. When T and me moved, I had my mattress (a king size that I still am not use to sleeping in alone. Am finally beginning to sleep all over but for the passed year I have still been sleeping in ‘my’ spot-makes it easy when I don’t want to fold clothes, they go on the other side ha ha ha) T had a mattress. I got my bed frame, a romantic piece of work. All curly curves and open and a light color!!!!!! My ex liked everything dark thus I am rebelling and everything I now have is a light color. (This includes my new clothing save for yoga pants and shorts. They are still black)

Let us fast forward through a year of trying desperately to get T to sleep in his own room. I have bribed him, I have cajoled him, yelled at him. There have always been excuses. The ‘moo moo’s’ have returned to live in his closet. (Imaginary scary animals that are not cows from when he was 3) The angry people living under his bed despite it being on the floor. It has been a disaster zone from day one.

I promised him that when I received some money this weekend that we would go to Ikea and finally get him a bed frame. Only problem is the money was suppose to be deposited into my account and instead they sent a cheque to my ex. (Long story short back pay for ex for last year’s CTC from government) so no money in my account. I was going to wait until next weekend but M finagled the truck from her son so I decided what the hell? The ex will give me my share next week and off we went.

As seen in the picture up above, T is pumped. This is the same bed frame that we looked at last year. Exactly the one that he wanted. It was 15% off. Done. And than we walked around Ikea. And I listened to T whine and mutter about how he was dying of thirst. No word of a lie, he followed behind me panting and pulling at his shirt like it was 600 degrees in there. I am pms’ing. I was ready to kill him. When I had to go and get the trolley to lay my large boxes on I told him to stay with M. And she knew so she kept him for me.

Got home and a friend came over to help me put the bed together as opposed to M and me doing it. And thank goodness I asked. I would still be attempting to put that bed together right now had he not. M would be cursing my name. Cursing T’s name. But sometimes I can be a little smarter. My bed frame, king size was so easy to put together, here I was assembling some bomb or something because oh my god!!!! The directions were so complex and really why is there nothing in writing? Why all pictures? Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

As you can see though, T has his bed frame and loves it. Bed time last night and in he went no problems. And his room is clean. Today I am going to Rug Doctor his carpets and move his couch in there. Once I have a table for him, I will bring out the spare t.v. and hook the Playstation up for him so he can watch Netflix and Youtube. Despite the way I was feeling yesterday I am thrilled that T is happy. And it isn’t like I can’t use the newly purchased bed frame to milk a few chores out of him. ‘Cause that is just how this parent rolls. (LOL)