A Birthday Post

My husband was adopted.

His mother relinquished her parental rights to him just hours after he was born 36 years ago today.

He was placed into the foster care system for about three weeks and, then, went to live with the people who raised him: his mom and dad.

His biological mother was 18 or 19 and had black hair, as does my husband. We know a few things about her like this from "non-identifying" information that the state of Ohio allows adoptees access to. His father was a brick mason, as was his father, and was 23 years old. They lived in a town in northwestern Ohio that neighbors where my husband was raised.

It haunts me that out there, somewhere, is a family that my husband never met. He could have brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. There may be oodles of aunts and uncles who share the same black hair and dimpled right cheek that he and my son have.

His childhood was good. His parents loved and cared for him. He traveled and played an instrument in the band. He has no burning innate desire to seek out this unknown family.

I do, though. I would like to hug the woman who birthed my husband. I would like to her to see him and know that he did okay. I would like her to know that she made a good choice because she did. She really did.

I would like to tell her that on this day, his birthday, he is happy and surrounded by those that love him. I would like to tell her that he is loved and holds no ill will for her, although his feelings towards her are so confusing and muddled.

So, on this day, which is a happy day in our household, I always find myself wondering what that woman, once a young girl, must feel. My heart aches a little for her and the loss that she probably feels on this day.

Thank you to the woman who chose to bring my husband into this world and make a choice to provide him with a life and home that she was unable to. I would like to thank her for her unselfish and brave actions.

May this "birth-day" be just a little sweeter for her.....




Happy Birthday, RxMan!

What NOT To Say To Your Wife If You Want To Get Lucky

Kellan selected this post of mine to share with her readers on her new site, On The Flipside. Many of you have already weighed in on this topic, but please go over and help welcome Kellan to her second and newest blogging venture!

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My husband and I were in bed.

The lights were dim. The tv was off.

He leaned over and started trying to feel me up kissing me.

A moment later, he pulled back, gazed lovingly into my eyes and said," You smell like chicken."

"WHAT!?!?!"

"Cooked chicken." He is puzzled by my horror. "That's a good thing!"

Yeah, not for you, buddy....


Guess who brushed his teeth and used Listerine before bedtime for nothing????

Life With A Drug Dealer

So, MamaGeek, my blog crush, answered my plea for questions with this one: "I have been DYING to know what it's like to be married to an RXMan. I mean is it like a doctor? Does he know EVERYTHING about healing and medicine and all that jazz? Does he love pesky customers?"

My answer to that would be: yes, yes, and NO.

The end.

Ha! Just kidding!

He does know so much about medicine and illness and is a real blessing to have around when your kid is sick and needs Motrin in the night- I don't even need to slide on my glasses to read the bottle, I just tell him to do it and he happily bounds to the kitchen and doses it out.

He is also very handy to have around at medical visits. Doctors, sadly, treat me 110 times better when he is with me and they find out when I not so casually blab that he is a pharmacist his chosen profession. We are given prescriptions more readily and, often, can get antibiotics as a courtesy with a mere phone call. (Don't hate me, please.) I try to schedule all appointments with doctors when he can be there because the appointments are simply more effective and enjoyable.

On the downside, dude loves medicine.

I mean, loves medicine.

If I have a twinge of pain, Mr. Drug Man is right there with a glass of agua and a handful of pills. In his world, virtually everything can be cured with a pill, suspension or ointment. In my world? Medicine is for sissies.

Sounds like a match made in Drug Heaven, doesn't it?

As to the customers? Honestly? They are the downside of his job, in many cases. Customers simply don't understand that he must be 100% accurate, 110% of the time or they. could. die. People don't want to wait for their medicine when they are sick, tired, and in a hurry. He appreciates this but the pharmacy isn't a McDonald's either. Each prescription is "cooked to order," if you will. Think of it more as an upscale restaurant. Order an appetizer and prepare to wait a little while for a good and safe experience. (Also, he doesn't control what your insurance charges for your medicine! I swear! A technician submits the info into the computer and the insurance company responds with the cost. It is a fact. Don't scream at your pharmacy employees when your co-pay is wrong. It is your insurance company's fault!)

Some people are very appreciative of a pharmacist, who, by the way, corrects hundreds of errors made by careless physicians every day: some that are small and unimportant, others that could really hurt someone. Most of the time, the pharmacist remedies this without the patient even knowing.

Sorry for the soapbox, which I try to stay far away from in blogdom, but this is a subject that I hear about incessantly am very close to. My husband is blessed with a great job that affords me the opportunity to be a student and SAHM. Is it perfect? Hellz No! Would he sign up for it again? I really think he would just go on to medical school where people are more respectful of the profession and the hours (in family practice) are better.

Thanks, MG, for the questions.

Daddy

When I met my husband I thought he was a really nice guy. I thought he was courteous, polite, respectful, and a little dorky. But I didn't even think about what kind of dad he would be, 'cause, well, I wasn't looking for someone to father babies.

Well, let me tell you- I sure hit the jackpot. My husband is right up there in the realm of superhero dads. It's true. This man was born to be a father. He delights in his children. He endures dance recitals with a smile (and, yes, he got to go!), he cheers at softball games, he changes crappy diapers with little complaint. He even gets up at 5:30am every. single. day. and lets me sleep in just so he can play with his son before he goes to work.

So, on this day, I say thank you to him. I thank him for my beautiful children, Claire and Liam. I thank him for his help and love. I thank him for being a part of our lives.

Happy Father's Day, RxMan.

Now, all of YOU: stay away from the pharmacy today. Seriously. The man needs a break and you can get your meds tomorrow or at Walgreens, CVS or Eckerds. So, let all the dads who work today have a break and stay home! Thank you very much!

The One About Men and Poop

Okay, we have an ongoing situation in my home.

My husband spends entirely too much time perched on our toilet. I don't get it. His feet hit the floor in the morning? He's gotta poop. He eats breakfast? Poop! Lunch? Poop. Dinner? Poop. Home from work at 9:30pm? Poop.

Now, seriously, what in God's name makes it so this man has to relieve himself 110 times a day? Honestly. I go once, sometimes twice a day, if I've eaten outside of the house. (TMI?)

I was beginning to wonder if he was trying to escape my children and myself by setting up camp in our bathrooms. That didn't make sense, though, as there are no TVs in the bathroom and my husband loves him some TV, particularly if there is a Wii and guitar attached to it.

So, then I thought, does he have a medical problem that causes him to need to do THAT 110 times a day? He assures me that he doesn't. He tells me that if something goes in, something must come out. Hmmn.

Then I came to the conclusion that the truth lies in something I figured out about 10 years ago. My husband? Yeah, he's full of... sh...poop.

Is yours?

How I Met My Honey...

How did I meet my husband? Ahh, what a story. We were both stranded in an airport during a large snowstorm and there was only one room left at the only hotel near the airport and... No, not really.

We worked together.

We both were employed by the same national pharmacy chain. He was a rookie pharmacist and I was a pharmacy technician turned manager trainee. We met at a store where he was training as a new pharmacist with the company. I hung out there a lot in my off time (loser, I know) because many of my friends worked there. One evening I stopped in for a quick visit and he was there and our eyes locked and the rest is... Nope. Nothing so magical. One evening I stopped in for a visit and met him and thought, he's kinda cute for a nerdy pharmacist. (That is also what I wrote in my journal that night, too.) I hung out until closing time and we ended up walking to our cars together and I gave him every chance in the world to ask me out or make a move but, alas, he did not seem even a wee bit interested.

So, I went home and thought little of him from that night on. That is, until I was asked to go work in a town about an hour and half from where I was living at the time. I knew from the grapevine that this is the store RxMan also worked in. He seemed really nice and at least he was a semi-familiar face and close to my age. I phoned him at work and asked him some questions about the area (I was going to move there) and he was utterly clueless as to who I was. I guess I made quite an impression, right?

I moved into my new digs (a dreadful little apartment with scary neighbors but all I could afford on my meager salary) on Thanksgiving Day and began working the next at my new store. RxMan and I worked together quite often and, as a former tech, I was a big help to him in the pharmacy. We made plans, only as friends, to go to dinner a few days after I started at the store. I was interested in him but got the impression he was not; friends worked for me because I was new to the area.

We went to the Olive Garden and ate like pigs. (Seriously. He was a friend, not a date so I didn't worry about it.) We talked and laughed and really had a great time. I thought he was a really swell guy and was going to make a great friend and I was thrilled with that. Then we went back to his really, really nice and safe apartment and watched Independence Day and drank an awful lot of alcohol.

Alcohol and two people in their early twenties? Yeah. You know where this is going, don't you?

I remember doing shots and remarking that there was no way I was going to be able to drive home even though it was barely a mile away. He assured me I could sleep on the couch. Again, the alcohol told me that he surely wasn't an ax murderer or serial killer.

Then we were standing in his tiny kitchen and we locked eyes and the next thing I know he kisses me. Really. It was one of those fireworks kisses where your stomach dances and your heart races and your breathing becomes shallow. It was really a great kiss.

I stayed that night. (Not on the couch but no hanky panky either. I swear!) In fact, I didn't ever sleep in my dingy, scary apartment again.

And that is how I met my husband.

For more stories like this, go here.

What's In A Name?

My son has upwards of thirty words. (Yes, I am keeping track because I know this is going to be asked at his upcoming well visit.) He says "no," "ball," "kitty cat" and several others. Of course, we think he is a genius and applaud all of his new utterances.

Unfortunately, though, he has one word that he will not say: "daddy."

He said "dada" right on track and it continued until around his first birthday but somewhere along the line, my husband became "Mommy," too. At first, we just laughed and passed it off. My daughter had a thing for a while where she called my husband "Daddymommy" and it passed nearly as quickly as it came.

"Mommy" really seems to be sticking with the boy, though. I am "Mommy" and so is my husband and my daughter. She, of course, loves it and enjoys the special name. When the kid really wants me he says "Momma" and I know he means me. But when he wants his dad: "Mommy!"

It didn't bother my husband until recently. We have had several situations where in public my son shouts "Mommy" and clearly wants my husband or his attention. This embarrassed RxMan. I think it sort of emasculated him and you know how men are about their penises. *sigh*

So, we have begun Operation ReTeach Him To Say Daddy. And so far? It is failing miserably. My husband has tried not responding to him until he says "Daddy" but if he stuck to his guns, the kid would never be held by his dad again. In the past few weeks, I have heard him say something along the lines of "daddy" once and it was at a whisper and I am not absolutely sure that is what he said.

We've tried "daddy", "papa", "father" and "dad" but the kid insists on "MOMMY" and usually in all caps. Yeah. That makes my husband ever so proud and secure in his manhood. I think the boy just has his signals crossed and truly thinks his dad's name is MOMMY, like his sister's and his, well, his other mommy.

So, I come to you, internetz, some of the savviest mommas I know to share ideas on how to whip this little bugger into shape or at least share a laugh at my husband's expense with me. Any ideas on how to get the kid to call a spud a spud?

Thursday Thirteen #14: Anniversary Edition

Friday, March 7th is my 10th wedding anniversary.
Here is a list of 13 things I like about being married.

• Having a built-in date for functions.
  
• Having someone to kill the bugs.
  
• Having someone to mow the lawn.
  
• Having someone to sleep with.
  
• I tell my husband all the time this is why I stay married to him. I love having another person in my bed. Unfortunately, this one snores really, really loud...
• Designated driver!
• Someone to cook.
  
• I am not a cook. Fortunately, my husband is!
• Someone to set the clock on the electronics.
  
• Someone to keep me grounded.
  
• I am a spaz and a drama queen. I worry like crazy about stupid things. My husband is very easy going and keeps me sane.
  
• Someone to deal with the stuff I don't want to.
  
• Like contractors and repairmen; I hate calling these kinds of people and having to talk to them.
  
• Someone to laugh at my blog, even when it isn't funny.
  
• A shoulder to lean into and cry on.
  
• A hand to hold during good and bad times.
  
• Someone who loved me in a wedding dress and still loves me in my mismatched, threadbare pajamas, with morning breath and Medusa hair.
  

Of course, the silly ones are meant to be silly but the truth is I am blessed with a wonderful partner. Truly blessed.

Plagued

So, every single member of my family is ill.

The girl has a cough that would make most 3 pack a day smokers envious.

My son has an ear infection and a faucet for a nose.

I am still hacking and enjoying my Puffs with Vicks.

My husband spent most of Friday and Saturday vomiting and on the toilet.

Oh, have you heard about vomiting? Well, apparently it is a new illness that only MY husband has experienced. It hurts. It causes aches and pains unlike any other on earth. NO ONE else has ever had a sickness of the magnitude of this one. Nosirreebob.

This is good news for all of you because MY husband has endured the worst case of vomiting and diarrhea on record. Thus, none of us- especially ME- will ever have an illness to compare to this one. It's true.

His puking set new records. The belly ache which accompanied it was the worst ever felt by a human. His experience was simply the worst ever.

Just ask HIM.

The end.

Why Dads Don't Handle The Tough Questions

Several days ago, my Grandpa's girlfriend was turned over to hospice. Her death was eminent and my husband and I decided it was important to share this information with Her Highness before she next saw my grandfather. That day was The Conqueror's birthday party so it was possible "Pappy" might stop in.

It is customary in our household that I handle the touchy subjects. Like Santa. And heaven. And friend trouble. My husband periodically gets it in his head that he has no credibility (he doesn't) with our daughter because he always defers to me when the questions get hairy. Last Saturday, in his opinion, was his time to regain some of this elusive credibility and break the news to Her Highness that Ruth (Pappy's girlfriend) was going to die- and soon.

He was gung-ho and prepared, he assured me. I convinced him to wait until I finished my shower because I was skeptical of his ability. I should say my husband is a wonderful man. (Hi, honey!) He is a great father. He, however, is a sensitive sort who tears up just watching our son bathe. Or our daughter dance. I love him for his tender heart but he is not the kind who can break bad news to someone very well. He. just. can't.

He started off strong by saying "y'know Ruth got really sick the other day and had to go to the hospital." Good job, honey! Keep it up! "Well," he stammers. Uh-oh. "Well," he starts again. "She is even sicker, sweetie, and isn't going to....I mean, she probably won't....well, Ruth may not get better." What?! She isn't going to. They removed her feeding tube. She isn't getting any nourishment. She isn't expected to live through this day. Hell, she may be gone already! "Yeah, Ruth may go to heaven to be with her husband." Our daughter is like, oh, okay. Fine. (Did I mention that RxMan is fighting tears?)

Like her father, Her Highness is a sensitive girl. She cries when I threaten to give the cat away. She cries when I put a note in her lunch box. Her reaction should be much bigger than this. So I say, "Her Highness, Ruth isn't going to get better." She sucks in a big, horrified breath and says, "What?!?! What do you mean?"

Glaring at my husband who is now stroking our little girl's hair and looking guiltily at the floor, I reply, "Ruth is very ill. She isn't going to get better. She is going to die, honey." Well, she melts into a puddle of tears, followed quickly by RxMan 'cause he can't stand to see any of us upset.

After I calmed the two of them down, my husband decided that it was okay to be the fun parent after all. This breaking the bad news and being the heavy isn't all its cracked up to be. And that is why my husband doesn't handle the difficult topics here....

(Ruth did die but not until Wednesday. I'd like to say I will miss her. I won't. She was a hard lady to like. I hope she's in a better place and is at peace. My thoughts and prayers are with those she left behind, including her sons and my grandfather who was truly smitten by her for some reason.)

Wordless Wednesday: In Honor of Our First Date

To see more Wordless Wednesday, go here...

Posting/Procrastinating

I am so far behind in my school work that it is frightening. If I start thinking about just how deep in this I am, I get butterflies in the stomach and diarrhea (TMI????). It is true. I don't exactly know how it happened and it is really not like me but I just let my course work slide this time and now it is down to the last several weeks of the quarter and I am going to have to work triple time to catch up- if that is even possible at this point.

So what am I doing?

Reading blogs. It's true. I should be reading an oh, so riveting book about power, privilege and differences but I am reading your blogs. I can't help it! Your lives are so interesting and your writing so talented that I just can't stop.

My husband threatened last night to schedule an intervention. He says besides having a new man in my life (our darling son) who steals all of my attention and affection, I have become an internet addict and have to check email about 1,000 times a day. I also try to turn every embarrassing family incident into a post for my blog. Sadly, it's true.

But, I don't get out much. I don't have a lot of adult conversation so reading my favorite blogs is a link to the outside world; an escape from the monotony and insanity of my days.

Oh, gotta go...my email just chimed. Then I probably should read. Or not.

Netflix Rocks!

As you remember, RxMan's birthday was last week. The problem with that, well, besides the getting older all around part, is that he is an excellent gift giver. He is. He always gets me really funny, sweet cards and great gifts. I, on the other hand, have a hard time getting him a good present. Some of the problem with that lies in the fact that the gifts he wants are high-tech and costs hundreds, if not thousands of dollars.

But this year I had a secret weapon. I had been planning this birthday gift since last winter. I got him Netflix. He is a Star Trek, sci-fi nerd. He admits it; I'm not just talking trash. He loves movies but with his schedule at work, it is honestly hard to watch a movie in its entirety in one sitting. Then there is the fact that we are both irresponsible and end up racking up late fees right quickly.

That is the beauty of Netflix, though. NO LATE FEES! Holla! So, I bought him a 4 month membership to Netflix- just to make sure he likes it. He does. Like it. Loves! It! So, far he has received 3 movies and is waiting on the fourth. He said it is the best gift I have given him in a long time. Maybe ever.

So, if you have a techie/nerd in your life, try Netflix. It'll get you some brownie points.

Happy 35th Birthday, RxMan!

Today my husband is thirty-five years old. Is that possible? It seems like just a few days ago, thirty-five was old. Pretty ancient, in fact. How did it happen that I am actually married to someone that I think is kinda old? I am thirty-two so it is not as if thirty-five is that far off but the part of me who still thinks of myself as a twenty-year old is having some trouble reconciling with this fact.

RxMan, for those who don't know, is adopted. Early this morning, and I mean early- it was still dark, I asked him what did he think his birth mother thought about today. He said he had never thought of that before. I, on the other hand, think of it all the time. With all of this tension and strife he has with his adopted parents, I wonder if his real mom would be a good substitute for the relationship with them. He, however, is hesitant because of what he may find. What if she is poor and sees him as a meal ticket? Or, worse, what if she is not interested in a relationship with him? So, we do not search for her; there is a release filed with the county in which he was born that he desires contact with birth family members and, if and when they look for him, his information will be shared.

On this day, I would like to recognize what this woman, who in 1972 was only a girl, gave to me and my children. RxMan is a wonderful man and a great father and husband. If she could only meet him and see the person he has become, she would probably feel such relief that she did, in fact, make the right choice all those years ago. Sure, life isn't perfect but, overall, it is good. She gave him the opportunity to grow into this man whom I love with all of my heart and my children, his children, adore. For that, I thank her.

Happy Birthday, RxMan....

A Brighter Day

So, as you may have noted from my previous two posts, I am a little on edge lately. Okay, more than a little. I am taking a class that is becoming irritatingly busy, my son has been teething (read: not sleeping well or napping without being held) and I am not sleeping well either. All of these things combined make Toni a very unhappy camper.

It all came to a head last evening when RxMan's co-worker called and asked him to work this coming Sunday. Okay, this is not something that I like to happen anyway but coming off of a weekend where RxMan worked 9-9 Friday, 9-7 Saturday and 10-6 Sunday and The Conqueror's crankiness had reached an all-time high as he cut his third tooth (front upper right), I went ballistic.

My husband's job is a source of conflict between us. He is extremely well-paid for living in the area that we do, and he is very good at what he does; however, he works for an evil, tyrannical company that eats small businesses for breakfast, lunch and dinner. This company, which begins with Wal and ends with Mart, runs our lives. RxMan cannot call off sick. He cannot take a day off because TC or HH is ill or just because he wants to stay home and, oh, paint a room unless he finds coverage for his shift. Now, mind you, he went to college for 5- I mean, 6 (not an honor student)- years and is not just a flunky pushing a broom. Anyway.

I flipped out. I mean I. Flipped. Completely. Out. I used a word that begins with f and ends with k about forty times. I threatened to leave and let him take care of the baby. I threatened divorce. I cried. I shouted. (Don't worry, though, first I sent HH to my room and asked her to turn the TV up loud and shut the door and TC was asleep.) I said I hated the evil empire that he works for and all who work there. I said I didn't sign up for this crap (not really the word but use your imagination), nor did I marry the evil empire 9 years ago and I was tired of taking a backseat to it! And, oh, there was more that I can't remember and cannot print because,hey, this is a mommy blog.

RxMan said I was freaking out and needed meds. (He may be right on the last part.) I said I was going to deck him if he said anything else. Eventually, I calmed down and realized that I had reached my limit. It had been a long, long, lonely weekend and the four walls of our home were closing in on me. The crying and whining from my handsome baby had done me in. And the pesky neighbor kids were just the icing on my cake.

So, the crying and shouting was somewhat cathartic. I slept well and so did The Conqueror. I woke hopeful and feeling positive about the day. Perhaps the boy was going to be back to his pleasant self. And, dare I say it, so far it is true. And not a moment too soon. Phew.

Do you ever wonder what if...?

On Monday evening, my mother gave me a copy of an advertisement that my high school boyfriend (now a Chiropractor) had mailed out. It was a full-sized sheet of paper, front and back, detailing some crazy new back crackin' machine that he has at his office. Included in this were glowing recommendations from patients who can now walk pain free, etc. (Okay, is this machine Jesus or something?) There was also a picture of former boyfriend working said machine. Okay, here's the thing.

HE'S BALDING.

Am I really old enough to have a former flame who is balding? Surely not. The picture was very poor quality and grainy but it was obvious that Dr. Boyfriend islosinghishair and rightquick. So, I chuckled and pointed with my mother; saved the ad for my friend who lives in Toledo to see and thought nothing else of it.

Until I went to sleep. Isn't it strange how your mind works? I was sleeping along, minding my own business when WHAM! Dr. Boyfriend shows up in my freakin' dream. Now, I don't know about you but I dream in living, vibrant color. RxMan's new Sony LCD has nothing on the real-life, 3-D quality of my dreams.

Get your head out of the gutter, though. There was nothing beyond G ratings in my dream; we were back in high school in class and a myriad of other old faces show up. It was a nice little reunion- now I don't have to go to my 15th (gasp!) next summer. So, very soon, The Conqueror wails out and my sleep is interrupted. However, a seed was planted.

A few times yesterday, I found myself remembering my dream and the inevitable question arose: What if? What if he and I were married now? My gut reaction? (After the vomiting.) It would have been a disaster; see, Dr. and I were not nice to each other. In high school, I liked him but was embarrassed by his dorkiness. And the fact he thought he was Batman. No, really. He did. Think. He. Was. Batman. (do you get why it didn't work out?) So, I ignored him. And taunted him. And did kinda mean things to him. Like make fun of him for saying he loved me. As I said, not very nice.

Then I broke up with him and (you know how this goes), suddenly, I wished I hadn't. Thus began an infatuation that lasted the better part of the next 2 or 3 years. We went off to college and remained friends. We visited each other occasionally and all was innocent until the kegs were tapped. He led me on and I fell for it. Over and over. And over. Again. He told me on several occasions that he was crappy to me because of my treatment of him back in high school. Still, I hoped.

Finally, I got tired of giving him advice about other girls and got on with life. Always, though, there was that smallest little inkling of hope and affection. Maybe someday, right???

Well, as you know, life took a different turn for me. I met RxMan and, as is said, the rest is history. So, what if.... I am perfectly content with my life as it is. I have a great husband in the RxMan and two rotten, wonderful kiddos, too.

As Garth Brooks sang, "Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers...."

Father's Day

My husband, RxMan, is a great father. The best. He is nurturing (probably more than I am, honestly) and as much a caregiver to Her Highness and the Conqueror as I. It's true. He has stayed up all night countless nights holding Her Highness while she coughed due to asthma. He has taken her to many doctor appointments. He cheers at ballgames and beams at recitals.

With the Conqueror, the bond wasn't as strong and instantaneous as with Her Highness. He is a mama's boy. Most likely that is because of him being a boob man- y'know, breastfed. Over the last few months, though, as the Conqueror went from being a slug who slept, ate, cried, pooped, cried and slept, to an interactive bundle of emotions who beams one instant and howls the next, the two men in my life have really forged a strong Daddy and boy bond.

I am blessed to have a man in my life that loves me and my beautiful children enough to choose us, when forced, over his parents. He works a job that he is disillusioned with because he needs to provide for our little family. He is a goodhearted, wonderful man. My children are so fortunate to have a father who loves them as wholly and completely as RxMan does; they, too, are blessed.

Happy Father's Day, honey.