After a ridiculous amount of working out (after child who destroyed my body, but is worth it all, goes to bed) and FINALLY eating right for longer than a month, I was able to confidently purchase a....bikini. That's right. To wear out in public. Well, if "public" is my mom and dad's pool....

I went into Victoria's Secret with Caleb. He is very well behaved in that store; unlike any other I drag him into. I don't know what it is exactly. I do know I don't need/want to know what it is exactly. I picked out a suit and headed to the scary place, aka the fitting-room, to see how hideous or passable I was going to look. Caleb came in with, of course. Although, I do believe it would be a very lucrative business if there was someone to watch the children whilst the fitting-room traumas occurred. Especially in Victoria's Secret. Then no one would have to hear, "Mommy! I see your boobies!" Or, "There's your butt! I want to kiss your butt." ...ahem.... Oh, the embarrassment. Yet, still, tonight, I took him knowing full well I wanted to try on a bikini and was willing to handle the inevitable exclamations that would carry through-out the store. Shockingly, he said not a word. He was too busy pretending to be Larry from "The Night at the Museum" to notice what I was doing. That is until I was trying to get dressed and had placed the bikini top down in his vicinity. He picks it up and stares at it inquisitively. He looks at me, looks at it, looks at me, looks at it. Enter inevitable LOUD exclamation:

"I am going to put this on. I am going to put my tiny boobies in it!"

.......stifling inevitable laughter.........

"No, honey. That's for me."

"For your boobies."

"Well, yeah."

End scene. Not so bad this time.

Sometimes I really hate the fact that I am divorced. Yes, I am lonely (there, I said it), but that's not why I am hating the single-mom thing right now. I hate that Caleb doesn't have a sibling. And who knows when, or IF, he ever will.

I went to to dinner tonight with a friend I haven't seen in years, his wife, and their two girls (4 and 5,) who are just adorable. One said to the other, "Hey! When we get home, do you want to play with ::enter something I never heard of and can't remember::" "Yeah!"

There was something about that dialogue that, at first, just made me smile and remember the good ol' days of my sister and me. Then I looked at Caleb. He was sitting there. Alone. Doing his own thing. Perfectly happy. But alone. It's hard to explain what exactly came over me in that moment, but I felt incredibly sorry for him. I felt like I failed him. And that feeling is sticking around tonight.

I feel so inadequate. So utterly inadequate. I can't give him a sibling. His father and I are great friends, but couldn't stay husband and wife (talk about the cruelest of irony). We failed at our marriage and because of that.... Well, here I am. I do all that I can to let him know that he is loved and safe and LOVED, but something will hit me out of nowhere and I will feel like it's just not enough.

To preface, every night for the past few weeks, Caleb has yelled from his bed his final words of the evening (that is if he goes right to sleep, which is happening less and less these days. Well, nights. Anyway, I digress....). "Good night! Don't let the bed bugs bite! Or the dinosaur come!" Don't ask about the dinosaur. I still don't really know where any of that comes from. It's one of those things I hope he can explain to me when he is older. Or that I will have to ask God when I see Him. I digress again....

This morning Caleb woke up with a huge welt on his forehead. My instinctive Mom reaction: “What happened to your head?!” Caleb’s instinctive child reaction: “Nothin’.” Well, it was somethin’. A spider bite. Two actually, one on top of the other. Add that to his recent bruise above the eye. The poor kid’s face looks unfortunate. Cute. But unfortunate.

“Looks like a spider bit ya, bud.”

He looked at me with his eyes filled with a certain sadness: “I let the bed bugs bite?”

It was one of those moments. You think you can’t love someone more and then he says something like that. Man, he makes me melt.

I always thought I would be awesome at playing with my kids. I would be the coolest mom and would rumble and tumble every spare minute I had. Then, I had a kid and awesome…I am not.

1. I get bored. SO bored. Playing with dinosaurs or cars just doesn’t thrill me quite so much. I try, though. Everyday.

2.He has WAY too much energy. I can only run around like a manic for no reason for so long. And crawling on the floor rescuing unknown imaginary people from the gigantic fire that supposedly surrounds us is exhausting.

3.I do it wrong. He tells me so. The other day he told me I was the train conductor, so I said, with a tip of my “hat” (I felt like getting into character….), “Ok! Woo-woo!” He looks at me like I am some sort of moron. “Mom. The whistle is over there.” Silly me. The whistle is at the FRONT of the car. Not the back. This is a constant conversation. I engage in his world and am quickly let to know that I have no idea how to BE in his world. That’ll depress ya real quick.

4.He has new friends. New IMAGINARY friends. And I get in their way. All the time. I’m sorry. I can’t see them! I don’t know that “Boy” hasn’t made it in the car yet and that is why you are standing outside of the car in still silence, patiently waiting for him to get in first. Forgive me for intruding in your method of proper car entry.

Basically, I can’t keep up. I try. I miss having an imagination like his. And he has one heck of an imagination. It is fascinating to watch and it makes me a super proud mama because it really is very cool of him. I wish I was better at being apart of it all. I have to say, Caleb did explain to me last night how "Boy" needs his bone to be thrown if I am to make "Boy" happy. So, maybe, just maybe, Caleb is letting me in on some of the secrets of his world.

Cleaning the house sucks. Point. Blank. Period. But add a child into the mix. A three-year-old boy to be exact. Holy guacamole! Cleaning the house turns into a NIGHTMARE of epic proportions.

Case in point: While on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor (worst job ever), Caleb wonders into the kitchen, walking on said floor.
"Don't walk in here! I am cleaning it. Remember?"
"Oh yeah..." He walks away. Then, STOMP STOMP STOMP.
"Get off the kitchen floor!"
Sulk...sulk...sulk....
Scrub....scrub...scrub....
STOMP STOMP STOMP squeeeeeeeeeeeeek.
"GET OUT OF HERE!"
"Soooorrrrryyyyy Mooooooommmmmyyyyyyyyyyy."
He peers at my from his playroom, JUST far enough away so I wouldn't yell at him again. "Why are you cleaning?"
"Because the floor is dirty."
"Why is it dirty?"
I don't know if you have ever had questions that just needn't be answered asked over and over and over again at the WORST time, but it's slightly infuriating.
"WHY is it dirty? Because ::enter dramatically expressed profanities here::" Ok, so that was what went through my head. I do have some restraint.

Later, we moved upstairs. He did not want to stay in his playroom because he wanted to be with me. Sweet, right? WELL. As I am scrubbing the tub, I have my back to the door but FEEL his presence. Sure enough, he is right behind me with a turtle that needs a bath right now! After I refuse that request, however persistent he was on the turtle's dirtiness, he disappeared for a while. That is, until I am fully involved in cleaning the toilet. I feel that presence again. There he is. "Whatcha' doing?"
"Cleaning the toilet."
He leans in the get a closer look. "Why?"
"Because you need to learn that ALL pee needs to go in the potty ALL of the time, and then I wouldn't have to do this everyday, multiple times a day."
"Oh. Maybe Saturday."

Saturday.... Is that a metaphor for, "Sorry, Ma. But get used to it. This is your life! ::evil laugh::" I think so.

I am constantly writing in my head. When there is any time that I am alone (i.e. in the car without Cabster, walking into work (the parking lot is a good distance away from my building), or falling asleep) I am writing in my head. I have a million ideas for a novel, I have to write my essay of intent for grad school, I love updating via facebook/twitter, and now I am blogging and am constantly thinking up posts or comments on other people’s posts. Something will happen, anything, and I go, “Ooo. There’s a post. Or a status update. Well, if I blog about this I will have to expand. Maybe a status update is enough. How will I phrase it?...” My stream of consciousness is me trying recap what is happening right then and there in a witty and entertaining way. It’s crazy. And sometimes annoying. Especially when I am finally able to sit down to write and I forget what I wanted to say. Hate that. I have heard that poets are not able to view the world around them without constantly trying to put poetry to it. Maybe it’s the same for all writers. Or maybe I am self-indulgent. Or nuts. Or both.

**I have a post in the works that is less fluff than the one below, but sometimes we all need a little fluff.**

Last night's Bachelorette was...interesting. And frustrating. First, I never liked David, but WOW. His lack of respect and choice of words shocked me. Jillian's obvious disdain, and embarrasment, during their conversation was somehow missed by Davey. In fact, he was convinced she was totally into him and playing hard to get. What? Really? Sometimes I watch these people and I am just in awe at their lack of ability of being able to perceive reality. (haha. Oh, the irony.) Why he ever thought it was okay to talk to her that way and then believe it was not only fine with Jillian, but made her want him.... ::sigh:: Then Wes. I really dislike him. If I was willing to R-rate this blog, you would see how much I dislike him. He's not even worth the time to write a synopsis about; however, I will say that I am most put off by his cowardliness. I think it's just ridiculous. Don't be a coward. Fess up and move on. It was infuriating to watch it all play out. I had no choice but to yell at the TV, repeatedly, with wild arm thrashings. And all that just to have Jill give him a rose. I wanted to punch him. Seriously punch him between the eyes and watch him cry. Ok. Done with that... I was very happy to see Michael and Jake are still going to be around. And think Kipton, or is it Kypton?, is going to be the one in the end.

By the way, if YOU are reading this, I am very happy for you, and even though I don't know if it counts because we are both divorced, I would happily dance in a pig trough. :)

I have to say. What frustrates me the most is not knowing how to say how I feel. I HATE that. For me, at least if I can verbalize what is going on inside then I can handle it. I feel so lost and well, pissed off, when I can't just say what I mean. And I can't. Right now. I FEEL but can't put into words what I am feeling. So I got up and wrote this in an effort to, I don't know, release something. Today has been an emotional roller coaster. I'm tired. I want off. I want clarity and direction. I WANT TO MOVE ON! Think I just said how I feel....

Onto a tangent, today Caleb learned about Isaiah. His Sunday School teacher, you know who you are, did an AWESOME job. He told me all about Isaiah and his vision while we ate lunch. Caleb was particularly fascinated by the burning coal. I used the conversation as an opportunity to talk about God's love and forgiveness. Along the way he asked, "What's his name?"
I reply, "Who? Isaiah?"
"No. The other one."
"God?"
"Yeah! God. He loves me?"---this was asked with much enthusiasm.
"Yes, He does. Very much."
With his eyes wide and his mouth open in a huge smile Caleb goes, "Will he play in my playroom?!?!?!?!"
What do you say? I smiled and assured him God would love to play with him in his playroom. Now how to explain when Caleb is asking why God hasn't showed up yet, that He has. He really has.

While putting to Caleb to bed last night he says:

Caleb: Mommy, I have a question.
Me: Ok?
Caleb: Well.... Let me think. Don't let the dinosaur come. Ok? Don't. He will beat you down.

I have no idea....

By the way, I hate coming up with titles for my posts, so I am going to do like Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman did. No titles. The first line will act as such. I am just not very creative.

My baby

Caleb is going to be 4 in August. That little bit of truth is completely astounding to me. 4 years old. It doesn't seem possible. The past 4 years have been some of the most difficult of my life, but through it all, he has been my everything. That's not to say he never makes me want to rip my hair out and jump out a window sometimes...a lot of times...,but he has one of the biggest hearts that a child can contain. And he is a constant reminder of having faith, pure faith. Faith like a child. I just love that. Aside from all of this wonderfulness, he cracks me up. Seriously. Every day he comes out with something that just makes me laugh. I really wish I was better at writing all of his little -isms down. So, I will try it out here. At least start with these:

To preface, "Boom, Boom, Pow" by the Black Eyed Peas somehow became a favorite of his. It came on the radio and I say, "Hey, Caleb! It's our song." To which he replies, "No, Mommy. This is my song. It is not our song. You cannot sing it. Just me." Ok then. Then, we pull up at our destination and he goes, "We have to wait. The song is not over. Stay in the car. Ooooookaaaaaaaay?" Uh...ok. Whoops, the volume turned all the way down, and oh no!, I can't fix it. Sorry. No more, "Boom, Boom, Pow." ---I was late for work. And he forbade me from singing the song! Maybe if I could sing too I would be more willing to let it play out. Just saying.

Just this evening we were playing and he climbed on my back. He never does this, but I suppose a weekend with Daddy has reminded him that it's fun to try to knock down grown-ups. I decide a horsey-back ride would be fun, but too soon realize it was not so much fun and stopped. He goes, "Give it up, Mommy!"
"It's giddy up."
"Oh. Gid it up!" Close enough.