Happy Birthday Mr. Busy!

I warned Beav I would be blogging about his birthday. I’m suspicious he reads my blog because he knows his online name and the other psueds I use…unless he is spying on me and hacking into my computer and reading documents. Which would be sad because my life is pretty boring. His only request was: No infant pictures. So much for honoring his request.

Sixteen today, what a milestone. But every birthday he has feels like a milestone because of his rough start. When he was 22 weeks gestation we weren’t sure he was going to even survive birth much less surgery or a NICU stay. Miraculously, he was flawless at birth. Yes, he “crumped” at twelve hours and did indeed require the NICU for a few days and oxygen at home. But that was actually the better case scenario for my little boy. OF referred to the NICU as “the casino” because of the absense of natural light and constant alarms and bells and voices. I do wonder what Beav remembers precognitive about his rough start. Now I tease him that his periodic low oxygen saturation meant his IQ is only 140 rather than 190. But despite the rough start he grew and grew and grew and grew.


Here he is at 1. We knew he would suck his thumb because we had seen every inch of him, inside and out during the troubled pregnancy. Isn’t he sweet? My parents took he and Wally for pictures and Beav had had just enough and needed a nap.


That he was going to take a nap was blessing enough. Beav was one of those baby’s who wasn’t satisfied with the current developmental leap they had made. If he had rolled over, once was enough and sitting up must be obtained instantly after rolling over. He always seemed so frustrated with his body and his mind not moving as quickly as he desired, not doing everything he wanted it to do. Not being able to keep up with his older brother. When he slept, it was with one eye open because he didn’t want to miss a thing. Beav was into everything and extremely busy. Hence his nickname: Mr. Busy. He was a naughty little thing, too. You can see it in his eye and just after the picture was taken he jumped off the chair. His first Parkour move! Makes a mother proud after she recovers from the heart attack and realizes her kid hasn’t broken both legs.


Mr. Busy didn’t have much to say. His brother talked for him so he didn’t see any need for conversation because his basic needs were being met. He still doesn’t talk much. I imagine fishing with he and my dad would be absolutely scintillating except for the silence of two taciturn men. But in this picture his brother is away with my parents, having done a very grown up thing and flown alone to Texas. We took a trip to the mountains and out of the blue I heard this little voice from the back seat:

“Knock Knock”

I turn around stunned. I was about to take this boy to a speech pathologist for a work up. Because he seemed bright enough but he didn’t talk. . .

“Who’s there, Beav?”

“Sheep”

I give Ward a sidelong glance and I turn around and like a CIA operative who is sussing out where the microfilm is I say:

“Sheep who?”

The little mite leans forward in his car seat and gleefully says:

“Baaaaaaa!!!!!!”

After he repeated the joke we were further introduced to the inner workings of Beav’s brain. He had a lot to say and narrated the scene passing outside the car windows until we arrived at our hotel.



I
I worried Beav didn’t have any of his own interests and my mom out and out fretted about it. Fortunately, I knew it would be a matter of time and Beav would find his passion. And he did at the ripe old age of four. Airplanes.

Beav still loves airplanes and is very sad he is too tall to be a fighter pilot. I think I have him convinced being a C130 pilot is way better because they bring troops, letters from home, care packages, food, medicines and supplies. Besides that, they get to “drive” 747’s!

Yes, I used the word “drive” because I was under the influence of his driving when we were having this conversation. And like a big doink I said: “And after your military career you can ‘drive’ a 747!“ The kid loves his Gs. He kept putting his foot into the MINI van like it was a four banger so we would lurch really hard forward and then when he braked it was the reverse process. I finally leaned over and patted him on the leg: “That’s mama’s little fighter pilot, isn’t it!”

And I got a rare belly laugh out of him, too. Sometimes he is like an old man all serious and thoughtful. I guess this is what happens when your parents divorce five years into your life. But maybe he was going to be serious and thoughtful anyhow. He does need to lighten up a little.

Fortunately, I see cracks in his surface and the little boy shines through. We live near a large and SECRETIVE-shhhhh don’t tell anyone but we have top secret airplanes--air force base and at least once a month F-16s fly over. It’s actually pretty thrilling and gives me a rush to watch them zoom over and then disappear leaving a big noise behind. The other day I heard one approach and then I heard Beav leap out of his chair he dashed to his window and came running across the hall into my room. I looked up at him, an excited smile on my face: “Did you see it? Did you see it?”

His own eyes were shining with excitement a smile about to crack: “I got a glimpse, three of them in formation. It was so cool.”

Yeah it was cool. Thanks for showing me the magic in airplanes, Beav. Happy Birthday!

Now for the love of God, don’t kill the gas pedal, the MINI van will move, I promise!

My Glass? It's half full but sits precarously close to the edge of the table

Bringing people Figgy Pudding and decking the halls is always a stretch for this Grinchy McScrooge and because this year has been wrought with challenges; I'm slogging my way towards next Thursday. Like many people, I use this time of year to take stock and plan for the next year so since Thanksgiving, I have rehashed the bad things rather than rehearse all that is good about my life. Last week, I hit bottom when I had an anxiety attack because I had to unexpectedly leave the house. A simple trip to the grocery store turned into an ordeal. Scary, eh? I’ve been down the agoraphobic path and it isn’t one I want to revisit. Teetering on the brink of a depression that would make 1999 look like a case of the blues and 1979 a trip to Disneyland; I pulled out my trusty copy of Power of Intention and Feel Good Workbook as an attempt to recreate what happened in 2008.

1. February: After we Returned from Mexico, Ward kicked Wally out of the house. Wally was devastated, threatening to spin out of control and frightened; I was angrier at Ward and Alexis than I‘have ever been in my life. I felt punished because I took a vacation.

What really happened: Wally and I grew closer. I tapped into strength I didn’t know I had and was able to maturely put aside my anger and negotiate terms with Ward and Alexis.

2. June: We were robbed and with my computer, most of our jewelry was taken. The worst part was sweet Kipper was traumatized. We lost sentimental pieces of no value to anyone but ourselves. My extensive and valuable collection of vintage jewelry, gone. The process of documenting what was lost: going through pictures and sending them to strangers at the insurance company felt more invasive than the break in.

The other side of this: The Girl had hidden her late mother’s wedding band and some jewelry I gave her last Christmas. The robbers managed to miss a one of a kind custom necklace. More importantly, I learned we have wonderful neighbors who stopped by to make sure we were OK and extend their sympathy after word got out we were robbed. Two of my co-workers gave me lovely pieces of jewelry just because they had heard about the robbery. (I still get teary when I think of those gifts.) Most importantly, no one was home when it happened. Finally, we have another tax write-off.

3. June: My assigned unit closed due to low census and my income dropped by 10% until just recently. Not only was my unit closed but there wasn‘t enough work for any of us. With gas at an all time high and food costing an arm and a leg, the economic picture at Chez Cleaver was grim.

Flip side: I only worked two days a week and had at least two days a week to do whatever I pleased. It was like retirement! I had time to write, mess around with art projects, scrapbook and just hang out. I discovered the joy of Pilates and Yoga. What did I do without? I stopped making unnecessary trips in my elderly gas guzzler, I practiced the economy of: “Why am I buying this? Is it necessary or am I fulfilling some other need? “ Seriously, did the Cleaver’s do without? Nope.

4. October: My mother died.

Another version: My mother is no longer suffering chronic physical pain nor is she suffering under the weight of guilt surrounding her 40 plus nicotine addiction and how it altered her quality of life and along with it my father’s quality of life. I was blessed with reconnecting with family and longtime friends. I realized how much people care for us through their acts of kindness and caring. Most importantly, I fell in love with The Girl all over again.

5. November: The economy completely melted down and took 50% of my retirement savings with it.

The big picture: I am still employed and Obama is going to be president and Clinton will be Secretary of the State. Life is looking sweet.

6. November: My son joined the military. He wants to join the medical corp and work with Marines on the battlefield.

What really happened: He has a sense of purpose and figured out all on his own without wasting five figures, school is not his gig. (I previously beat this point to a pulp)

These are just the big things. This year was one tiny cluster fuck after another. Lucky for you rehashing them bores the crap out of me, much less anyone reading this. It was like the Universe was Hell bent on gas lighting me. It could be worse: We are healthy, employed and I love my family more than ever. And best of all? For the first time EVER in his WHOLE life, Beav gets up for school without drama. Before? It was as if I had asked him to cut his arm off with a dull knife or clean the fish tank.

One of my imaginary friends linked this video a few weeks ago and the expressions worn by Hardrock, Cocoa, Joe and Santa match how I’m feeling about Christmas. I swear, Hardrock looks like he is doing community service time.


It isn't any surprise, after losing a couple of weeks to melancholia and then seven days working away from melancholia; I’m a bit behind the eight ball as far as Christmas preparation goes. Even though I lost those precious days off, I wouldn’t back away from commitment to making half of the presents. I hit my crack dealers on Tuesday, and yesterday was an arts and crafts extravaganza at my house.


My gifts rock. But I’m not posting pictures; I don’t want the gifts leaked to my sister and I haven’t a clue if she knows about my blog. The buttons offer a hint. I love my gifts so much, I considered getting her a gift card and keeping these things for myself.

My family arrives next week and I’m preparing for four additional people in my house. I’m not one for a jamboree so this is rattling me a bit. Given the tenuousness of my recent emotional state; the urge to take to my bed a la Alice James has occurred to me on a couple of occasions. I battle The Urge To Nap by kicking into Type A mode; lists are made, tasks divided. Just to make things more interesting, my unit has reopened and I’m scheduled to work the next three days.

Naturally.