KEEP BELIEVING

Dear Gavin and Grant,

You are capable of catching a 9" circumference baseball in a glove opening less than 8" wide.

You are proficient at banging an 8" circumference tennis ball with a 10" racket in the front driveway.

You are adept at knocking the cover off a 9" circumference baseball with an 8" circumference baseball bat when thrown at you from over 30 feet away.

You can swish a basketball 27 inches in circumference into a hoop only a few inches larger 8 feet in the air.

Heck, you are talented enough to hit an aluminum can less than 8" tall with a 6mm bb from a gun over 20 feet away.

Dear Brian,

I cannot muster the mental energy to write to you lately.

Everything else in my life - from establishing my trust, to researching counseling, to handling life insurance and social security, to managing a constant stream of whining and never-ending fighting that is physically escalating each day - is draining all of my mental resources.

I am spent. I am sorry.

I miss you, Brian. I love you.

KEEP BELIEVING

As a result of Brian's illness, it is no secret or surprise that I find myself in a role reversal situation. For instance, I am the primary driver now. In fact, I am the only driver now. I was used to sitting back during our cross-Illinois and Missouri trips and being in charge of the IPOD, the DVD player and the children's requests. Now, I find myself constantly saying, "Mommy can't do that right now because I am driving a car." I am getting used to the role reversal, but some days I just get a little angry at it.

Last week, I hung all the Christmas lights outside. I made the boys help me as it was a beautiful day and I truly needed the help. Still, a task that only two years ago Brian performed.

Also, I find myself trying to fill, for lack of a better term, VOIDS in the children's lives - those areas where I know they crave the male companionship and camaraderie that Brian would normally fill but simply can't. They long to go to the sporting goods store with Dad to look at camping and hunting gear instead of the grocery store with me looking at jasmine rice. They long to wrestle and horse-play with Dad instead of sitting and reading and coloring with me. I know this. It is so contrary to my intuitions, but I make myself do these things in order to give them the normalcy they deserve and the type of attention they crave.

We received our first significant snowfall yesterday and last night. Over 4 inches of incredibly HEAVY, WET snow fell on Central Illinois. In the middle of cleaning the kitchen post breakfast, I looked out at the boys playing and decided to don my snow gear and let the messy kitchen wait for me. (It did, unfortunately.) We built a snowman. I took them sledding. And when they decided they wanted to have a snowball fight, I decided I was finished. Some things I just won't do. Instead, I attempted to shovel the driveway. When I realized that 1/4 of the width of the driveway filled my shovel with snow too heavy to lift or budge, I decided I was truly finished and I came inside.


This morning, as the boys were getting on the bus, I watched them dredge through about 5 inches of heavy wet snow and slush, so I decided to get out the shovel again. I blazed a path from our house to the bus stop for their comfort and pedestrian ease. I also thought about Brian. Today he goes for his MRI. His Mom or Dad will be coming to pick him up. I didn't want him to have to worry about maneuvering through the snow, so I found myself heaving cumbersome shovel-fulls of snow off the driveway. I sprinkled some salt on the icy spots and I am hoping it does the trick for easing Brian's trek to the car. I have learned from watching him that it is easy to take many things for granted. One of those things is the ability to move gracefully. He can't stop himself or balance himself when conditions or his body fail him.

I have also come to know that as much as the role reversals sometimes get to me, they certainly distress Brian even more.

KEEP BELIEVING

Things are getting back to normal here at Chez O'Neill. When I look back over the last two weeks, I really can't believe we all survived with our sanity.

I would say sanity is relative, though.

Thursday I spent half the day crying my eyes out. I don't know why. I was overcome with emotion that I believe was FINALLY released when I got home from the hospital, felt like all my men were relatively healthy or at least improving and BREATHED for the first time in 14 days.

Gavin now has a phobia of the hospital. He is afraid to tell me when he doesn't feel well. I have explained that just because he doesn't feel well doesn't mean he will necessarily go to the hospital. Also, I have explained that the hospital is, in fact, what helped him get better. At home, he would have become sicker and sicker and could have died from his lungs not working right if we hadn't gone to the hospital at some point in time. He said they lied about putting a straw in his arm. It was really a needle first. Ah, true, wise Gavin. Necessary evils to get kids to cooperate.

Brian looks like he got in a bar fight. He has a raging black eye. Behind his ear is an enormous bruise - black and purple. His abdomen looks like he took a couple of kicks to the gut with its bruising. And the top of his head has a stitched up slit that looks like a beer bottle had its way with his scalp. This is all from the surgery - the bleeding that was not visible from the procedure making its way out of the system.

Grant is acting out. He has become a bit aggressive and destructive. Saturday, while I was away at a baby shower, he had his way with the big screen TV downstairs. Nerf gun war, apparently. There were little Nerf dart marks all over that were easily wiped away. However, the large scratches, MOST, but not all of which buffed out were a result of the NERF GUN attacking the screen. Grant's hand was on the opposite end of the gun.

Then Grant threw a fit in the store yesterday when I explained he was not getting a cookie because he disobeyed me again about keeping his jacket out of his mouth - the same jacket which now has an inoperable zipper due to the same mouth and teeth that can't stay away from it. He took off his jacket and swung it wildly in the air as hard as he could hitting an innocent lady as she walked by. When she heard my horror and shock-filled gasp, she sheepishly looked back and said it was okay. I think she was afraid of what might happen to the adorable, wide-eyed little boy whose mother was foaming at the mouth if she would have made a big deal about it. He was obviously going to have a consequence for his actions.

I threw away an $85 tennis ball today. On purpose.

When I arrived home from the baby shower on Saturday, I was told our basement toilet was clogged. The guys had spent a large portion of the afternoon trying to remedy the problem to no avail. One of my nephews had taken a large dump and it was thought this was the culprit. Plunging did nothing. I bought a sort of snake de-clogging tool and it also did nothing. In fact, it would not penetrate the neck of the toilet. So, I called the plumber today. The plumber tried the same things unsuccessfully. He then shop-vac-ed out the poop water and found a TENNIS BALL lodged in the neck of the toilet. INTERESTING. I am pretty sure my 8 year old nephew did not use a tennis ball to wipe his messy little bum. I know from this post, I wanted the boys to work on their aim, but I meant it a little more anatomically than athletically.

When Grant got home from school today, I explained that the plumber had been here and fixed the toilet.
Me: Guess what? He found something in it.
Grant: A tennis ball?
Me: Yes. How did you know that?
Grant: I guessed?
Me: Uh- huh. I see. How did the tennis ball get into the toilet?
Grant: I don't know?
Me: Yes you do. How?
Grant: I think I don't remember.
Me: I think you need to remember.
Grant: Ummm. I THINK I was going pee and I had the tennis ball in my hand, but I set it down on the edge of the toilet and I think it probably fell in. Then I finished going pee, I think.
Me: And you flushed the toilet with the tennis ball in it?
Grant: Yes, I accidentally forgot to get the tennis ball out first.

So, I explained that accidents happen and it is gross when things fall in the toilet, but he should have told us this happened because we could have saved a lot of time and money if we knew what the problem was. If he ever drops something in the toilet again, he needs to tell us RIGHT AWAY and NEVER FLUSH IT FIRST.

So, does anyone know the going rate for 5 year old child labor? I have $85 owed to me.

Lessons learned from this: If you want to save some money and not call the plumber after your toilet does not respond to plunging and snake routing for declogging, you can wet-vac the water out and find the lodged item. However, having someone else suction dung-water out of my toilet to find a feces covered tennis ball is worth EVERY BIT OF $85 for 25 minutes of work. EVERY PENNY.

KEEP BELIEVING

This past weekend, my sister, Mindi, her husband, Matt, and their 3-year-old, Logan, came for a visit. As always, we had a most splendid time - a few beers, Euchre, late nights, reassembling our trampoline (worked out for us anyway - another story), a little bowling and lots of good food (all made by me this time - I just realized we didn't go out at all did we, Min?) They had spent the 3 nights prior to their visit here banished from their own house due to a major ice storm that hit their town and landed them without power for 48 hours. By Sunday, they were gravely missing their own bed and their house. About an hour before they were going to depart, the boys were getting rather wild and Gavin decided he wanted to go outside to play. I suggested they jump on the reassembled trampoline. Grant and Logan decided to follow. It was windy, wet and cold that morning, so I suggested wearing snow pants. Mindi was hesitant due to the conditions and commented they would need another bath if they got into the mud. I assured her they would be fine – worst case their outer layers get a wee bit muddy and wet on the trampoline. No big deal. I gave Mindi a pair of snowpants and an old coat for Logan so he wouldn't get his own all wet before their 4-5 hour car ride. We bundled the kids and sent them out back. Within minutes, we noticed no jumping, but lots of little-boy mischeivious shrieking. Here is what they decided to do instead:



Mom, you don't need to go to the spa, I've got a mud wrap right here for you.

Look, I've already done my backside. This will be REALLY easy to launder, btw!

Gavin, this would really look good on your face!

Here let me show you!

Oh! That Gavin and Grant are always so NAUGHTY! I would never get that muddy!

Never say NEVER!

Just a cute picture today of my now 4 year old Grant. Grant was not quite two in this picture. I was changing his diaper when the phone rang. Here is what he did during my 5 minute phone conversation: