Memories

Feb23

This week has been one for the record book, my friends. For one, I took a shower every day. Amen. Secondly, I’ve never seen Ruth as sick as she has been. On one hand, you like the cuddles. On the other, you just want to go play outside while yelling to Stay on the sidewalk! like the good ole days.

We’ve been bed mates, this girl and me, and usually we’d just tuck in at her normal time around 7:30. But one night we stayed in the living room to watch Survivor with Ryan. Don’t judge. You watch Downton Abbey and from the sounds of it, it’s become just as cut throat on the surviving side of things.

So while we watched, Ruth let me cradle her. Don’t forget to check out the bleached out towel look displayed in the drafty window. It’s so in this season, and I’m ahead of the curve.

And it reminded me of a memory stuck in my head of being cradled by my mom. I must have been in 2nd or 3rd grade because I was big on her lap. I remember being rocked with a glass of Sprite offered every now and then. I don’t think we had a rocking chair in the living room, maybe it was a rocking arm chair? Or maybe it was just mom rocking her body? Anyway, it was dark with the only light in the room coming from the TV. It was quiet too, so everyone must have been in bed.

This is probably what it looked like:

Me on mom’s belly. Remote in mom’s hand.

And I could almost guarantee that we were watching David Letterman. I’ve no idea why I’m so confident in the matter. Maybe because another memory I have is not being able to sleep and walking into the living room to find my mom eating crackers with cream cheese and salsa. She didn’t tell me to go to bed, she let me sit with her and shared her plate. And David was on.

So there.

I told Ryan about my memory and he also shared one, from about the same age.

He remembers laying on his mom and listening to her talk on the phone, and was comforted by the sound of her voice.

Okay, she probably wasn’t that crazy-looking. But just so everyone knows, this is how I look whenever I laugh at what you say. That’s if we talk on the phone, because I’m not a phone-talker. I know I’ve shared this before, but it’s because people actually listen to what I say while on the phone. I can’t distract them with facial expressions or hand movements. And that intimidates me, so no, I’d rather not thankyouverymuch. It’s no offense to you.

I remember my mom saying, There’s no one like mama when you’re sick. Ruth will run to the door when her daddy gets home and basically ignore my existence. But once that sickness comes on, she’s all mine. And that’s just fine by me.

Eyeliner and Cigarettes

Feb21

See who this is?

It’s the spokesperson of FWA (Future Weirdos of America). The pink flannel, the wind jacket, the shoes. Oh, the shoes. Black patent leather lace-up boots. It really should be called Future Loners of America, but then I remembered that even Jared Leto had friends while wearing those shoes in My So Called Life.

So at least there’s that. But all I see is Ruth with raccoon eyes smoking cigarettes behind the school.

And probably still using sidewalk chalk as her drawing medium.

I’m not taking all the blame either, because she’s the one that pulled those boots out of the basket and asked to wear them.

Dang, she does make me smile, though, that weirdo of mine. I like weird. And I hope she is.

But at this moment, she’s not weird. She’s sick. Really sick. Like, she lays on the couch while Ryan and I watch back to back episodes of old Arrested Development sick. But she’s not laughing.
See? Weirdo.

It seems like only yesterday that she was reading her books, always stopping on the Bookmobile page.

And it only seems like yesterday that we rolled her up burrito-style after a long bath.

She laid there for at least three minutes without moving. I can never roll burritos right. Stuff from the middle always blow out the bottom and her legs are no exception. We only kissed that burrito stuffing though. We didn’t wipe it off our sweater and plop it into our mouth like we do at the dinner table.

Yes, that was just a few days ago. But now she’s in day three of an all-day napping marathon. It’s been hard work for me. I’ve had to sit next to her on the couch and read,

or lay next to her on the bed reading or sleeping. Someone’s gotta do it.

But she has woken up occasionally to moan and call out for us.

Or to puke.

If there were a Mom-olypmics, I’m pretty sure I’d medal in the “Catch The Puke In Your Hand” event. You should see how fast my hand shoots out to catch it. I’d probably only get third place, because the silverist would catch the puke while changing a poopy diaper with her other hand. The gold medalist would catch it, reduce it in a skillet, and turn it into some disease-fighting tonic.

So yeah, just third, but at least I’d make the stand.

I do miss my busy little girl, but I can’t deny that spooning her for 20 hours a day has been a highlight of the season. I sure do love her.

Les Mis

Feb8

Hi. I’m an addict. A Les Miserables addict. From the moment I saw the trailer for the movie, I started playing Les Mis songs to Ruth every day. And then I’d cry and she’d comfort me by bringing over my shoes. That’s her way of showing love: bringing you your shoes. I wish she’d bring over chocolate chip cookies, but I’ll take what I can get.

So since my mom also cries at the soundtrack, we made plans to see it over Christmas break. She admitted that she actually didn’t want to see it with anyone except herself, but my sister and I still forced her because that’s how we are. No bringing shoes from us, apparently.

Ryan took a photo to commemorate the occasion. This is mom’s stressed smile, but at least now i understand why she wanted to be alone. That’s a big bone.

We met up with Amy at the theatre. She had arrived a little bit earlier and knew it was us because the car door opened and I jumped out before the car stopped. I get excited. Sue me.

We bought our tickets and I asked the guy in the ticket line to please take our photo. He looked up and was literally half-blind with cataracts or something.

So I immediately launched into how actually I really need to go to the bathroom and man, that line for the popcorn is so long, maybe we don’t have time for a picture because HOLY COW is that someone sneaking in?!? Look!

And then we ran through. Ugh, I hate myself.

I’m glad we got there so early though, because the theatre was packed.

Mom analyzed all of the seats and decided this was the best one. The only thing we didn’t do was stake an American flag into the cushion.

Finally we settled in. The matriarch and her servants. Mom was still nervous with anticipation… and because we took the dog bone away.
As we’ve discussed before, all of us Wewers have some sort of type-a in our blood. The level of it depends on who is around us. If it’s just me and Ryan, then look out folks, I can go overboard. However, if another sibling is in the room, I can relax a bit because I know they’ll take care of business.

Someone’s gotta take care of business and I get tired of that someone always getting a bad rap. Those that float along can only do so because the type-a’s pave the way. Right? RIGHT?

Cough.

But it is nice to float, I have to admit, and I can do so with my family. So it made me chuckle when my mom asked me if the angle from my seat was satisfactory.
Uh, yeah. Pretty sure I can see the screen.

But she wasn’t convinced. So we moved further inland, bringing our imaginary flag with us.

And I marveled at my new angle.

If we hadn’t moved, I’m sure I would’ve hated the movie.

But I didn’t. I’ve already seen it four times. It is fantastic, and can I whisper this without being lynched? I like it better than the stage production.

Please see it. Please. Your husband will like it too, I dare ya to try. At the very least, you’ll be happy that you’re not watching it with a type-a person. Go float to the theatres, people. Now!

When The Cat’s Away

Feb7

I’m luckily in a position where I can run up to KC and visit family while Ryan goes on business trips. Holding Ruth in my six-month pregnant arms while squatting over a gas station toilet because gawd forbid I take the time to put down toilet paper and then lifting my six month pregnant leg to flush the toilet even though in two seconds I’ll be washing my hands at the sink sometimes makes me question if it had been a good decision or not.

We normally make a couple stops to various Walmarts to walk around and have a change of scenery. But in general, she’s a good road tripper. On the way home, she slept for two hours and then sang nursery rhymes with me (and the cd) for the last two. No stops, no not much crying, and content for the most part.

I normally try to start the trip right before her afternoon nap, but Ryan’s flight was in the morning and I was just itching to go. So after playing with her next door neighbor on the sidewalk for a few minutes, we took off. And am I glad we did. Because not three hours after we arrived, she got sick. Like, unidentifiable chunks down my shirt, in her hair, everywhere sick. I had to strip down to my birthday suit in front of my mom and jump in the bathtub with Ruth.

I told myself it was just a practice run for when she (hopefully) arrives at this next one’s birth. I think back on Ruth’s birth (click here to read it) and am amazed that I literally walked around buck naked with no care in the world. It makes me cringe. And now you’ll cringe with that image in your head… and my work on this earth has officially been completed, goodbye.

After our bath, Ruth slept on my chest the rest of the night. It was nice to snuggle her normally busy body.

The next day we started to see a glimpse of the old Ruthie, but her eyes still looked tired. Or maybe she was just sick and tired of me pointing out circles everywhere, including on grandma’s sock.

Ryan’s trip lasted 5 days and by the third day, Ruth was officially back to her old self again.

And by old self, it meant that she would have nothing to do with me or grandma but only wanted grandpa (“papa”). We tried everything. Grandma put on some cds to try and dance our way into her heart. We thought we had her too, watching her stand in grandma’s shadow. But really I think she just wanted to stand as close to the kid-unfriendly fireplace as possible.

Again we thought we had her when she started playing with the little people. On her knees she started rocking to the music. It made grandma laugh, but no dice from her end.

So we each got up and tried enticing her with our dance moves.

I even put my pregnancy at risk by jumping around with her on my shoulders. What I won’t do for acceptance.

Nada.

But then she went to papa and all was well.

He even got kisses. Whatever, Ruth.

And he was followed while trying to go to the bathroom. Double whatever.

I have a suspicion it’s because they have the same sleeping face. Evidence A:

In other news, literally, Ruth got her first dose of O’Reilly’s talking points. We rolled out the little TV into the living room because I’m lazy and demanded it be done from the cocoon I created in the love seat. Ruth was quickly taught how to turn it on and off. Her hair acted as the antenna.

At first she was excited but it quickly went sour when she actually started listening. That’s what the news will do to ya, Ruth. Don’t become cynical just yet. At least wait until you’re two.

I tried to take her mind off of it by building a mini village for the little people. I’m tempted to get on ebay and just order a large lot of these, I love them so.

The toilet and vanity are my favorite. Hope he lit a match.

But Ruthie preferred to press the applause button on this little remote thing. She is officially her mother’s daughter.

When we first arrived, before she vomited all over my chest, I did my little joke for the grandparents.

Ruth, what does a cow say? Moooo

What does a sheep say? Baaaa

What does mommy say? NO!!

Later, I expanded and asked: What does Daddy say? NO!!! What does Grandma say? NO!!!

Then, What does Grandpa say? Papapapa

Yep, Papa was spared the Mommy Dearest interpretation. Mom suggested I get it on video before it becomes too rehearsed. So here it is… but little did I know that Ruth had already discovered the secret world of making people laugh. Watch her look at grandma when we ask her the question.

What does Grandma Say?

As I told a friend the other day, I’m really starting to feel like Ruth’s my little friend now. She makes me laugh out loud, makes me pull out my hair, makes my heart hurt, and makes me want to give her kisses all day long. Her dad feels the same way, with less pulling out his hair, but just as many kisses.

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