Okay. So. I put up an album in Photos the whole ordeal, so you can look if you want but it won't be in your face if you don't. I do agree that I'd rather see a baby looking tired and swollen rather than hooked up to tubes and machinery, but that scar does make even me a little queasy sometimes. Anyway. Here's what happened:

 

On Wednesday morning I got up at the butt-crack of dawn, packed, and drank coffee like a mofo. I hated to wake Merrick up at all--1) because I knew what the rest of the day had in store for him, and 2) because I figured he'd be starving and consequently cranky. We had to leave the house by 4:45 a.m. in order to snag Caleb's dad, who had flown in the night before, from the airport. I waited until the last minute to pick him up out of his crib and change his diaper, then I left him in his snuggy little sleeper and popped him straight into his car seat. He snoozed all the way to the OU Children's Hospital.

 

We parked. We made our way to the third floor, checked in, and settled down to wait. I was sort of hoping we'd have a little time to spend with Merrick before they called us back, but since he was number 1 on the list, it didn't take long. They took us back into a hallway full of beds and curtains. Over the course of the next half-hour, 50 different people came by and asked the same questions over and over. We put Merrick in a fuzzy yellow hospital gown and some cute hospital booties. He was happy as a clam--talkative and smiley--so unaware, and that alone was heartbreaking. In curtained rooms all around us, you could hear kids crying, and begging their parents not to leave them.

 

So sad.

 

When the lady who takes away the babies came to take away our baby, I started to panic. I thought about grabbing my son and calmly walking out of that place--surely his head was not so messed up that he couldn't just learn to live with it! But we handed him off, and he just smiled and cooed at us over the baby-taker's shoulder as they went through the double doors.

 

And then I did loose it a little bit.

 

We knew it would be awhile before the operation got going, so we grabbed some breakfast in the cafeteria before camping out in the waiting room. The surgery started at 7:30. At 8:45 or so the doctor came out and shook our hands--he was done. (WARNING: UTTER GROSSNESS AHEAD) He had basically scalped my child, then cut out a 2-inch wide strip of skull-bone from the center of his head, and even more from the sides, creating a big honkin' soft spot where Merrick previously had none...and then sewed it all back up.

 

I expected to be able to go back and see Merrick in no more than 30 minutes--but an hour and a half later we were still waiting. I think it would be fair to classify the entire morning as one of the most horrible times of my life so far. It turns out he ended up needing a blood transfusion in the recovery room. We were finally allowed to go back there 2 hours later.

 

Caleb seemed eerily calm--I was hyperventilating on the inside. I won't go into detail, but let's just say I didn't like seeing my baby all wired up in a hospital bed with a white bandage over his tender little head--although at that particular point I don't think I could've handled seeing the actual scar. And "scar" is a mild word for it--maybe "massive head wound" would work better. His head was very tall, and I couldn't help but imagine that it was his brain overflowing from the gaping hole in his skull. (It wasn't.)

 

They moved us up to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, where 2 nurses exclusively pampered Merrick for 24 hours. His head was a little puffy on the first day, but other than that everything seemed normal--and unless someone was jacking with his IV or pricking his fingers, he slept. I could not pick him up for a while, and I wasn't allowed to breastfeed since they needed to keep an exact measure of how much he ate, so I pumped and fed him through a bottle.

 

The next morning, the neurosurgeons came to remove the bandage, revealing the most gruesome sight I've ever seen--partly because for the nature of what it was, and partly because it was on a little bitty baby...I pretty much couldn't stand to look at my own son. His head and face were very swollen, but he could still open both of his eyes--which was apparently not typical. He was taken off morphine...this day was the worst day. Merrick was just not lovin' life at this point. We were transferred to the floor where the plain old sick kids stay; where the nurses care for 4 or more (I want to say a lot more) patients at a time--and they might check on your child if he was dying. Maybe.

 

We did a lot of holding him up rather than laying him down so the swelling wouldn't get so bad--and it didn't. His left eye got pretty puffy but he could still see out of it. His entire head felt soft and mushy and it rippled like a water bed whenever I rocked him. Ewwwww, no?

 

On the morning of the third day, Merrick was unhooked from most of his whatnots, mainly because he kept pulling everything off or out. His swelling was less than what it had been the day before even though we had been warned the third day would be the worst. He had actually slept a little bit the night before, and he was talkative and happy. His neurosurgeon said he looked a lot better than most cranio patients and that we would probably get to take him home by the next day, if not that afternoon. We expected the discharge process to take forever (seeing as how getting Merrick's medication always took an hour or more), but once the doc gave the go-ahead, that hospital staff practically drop-kicked our asses out of there. We were literally walking out of that place within 15 minutes--true story, no lie!

 

And so we came home.

 

Other than having some trouble with a sore throat (from the ventilator) and constipation (I suppose from all the different meds?), Merrick is doing wonderfully. He's still not keen on laying down on his back, but I think it's his tummy that's bothering him more than his head. Everything is back to normal--it's almost as if nothing ever happened. I keep thinking to myself: "That was easy...a little too easy." But I am thankful. I'm so very thankful, to our family and our friends for all their help and support. I'm thankful that Merrick's condition was mild and that it's essentially cured now. I'm thankful we only stayed 3 days in that depressing hospital while some poor kids are there--sometimes alone--for months and months. We are definitely counting our blessings and enjoying every single moment with our son who is, was, and always will be, perfect, in every way.

 

We're home--have been since Friday afternoon. Merrick is great--he's not even slightly fussy and we haven't been giving him anything stronger than infant tylenol for the alleged pain he's supposed to be in. He hasn't been too fond of sleeping in his crib, but I want to chalk that up to being held by Mommy and Daddy holding him 24/7 this past week.

 

It's been nice having the extra time to spend with my mom. She did an excellent job taking care of the kids, keeping the house clean, and remembering to feed the dogs. I'm going to shrivel up and die when she leaves tomorrow.

 

Cheyenne has raised a whopping $775.00 for Multiple Sclerosis, and we are still one week out from the big walk. We've been so impressed and thankful with what everyone has contributed so far.

 

I'm going to work on a nice long entry about the whole experience--after I process it in my own head, but since we all know my brain hasn't exactly been running at maximum efficiency in the past 5 months--okay, 12 months--it might take a while.

  Merrick is fine. Surgery went well. Took what seemed like forever, but it went well. He was pretty swollen and pissed off for a while but today he's getting back to his sweet self. It definitely looks like someone hacked his head wide open and then crudely stitched it back up. Other than that, things are good--ran by the house for a quick shower and then I'm off to the hospital again. We might even get to come home early. I'll update more indepth later on in the week. Thanks to everyone who wrote and called to check on us! Love, Toni

 

Captain's Log, September...what the hell day is this? The 20th? 21st? 3 days left until the surgery. I am glad to report that Mia is back to her wild little self. Her temperature is back down to normal, her appetite is up, and I'm thinking we can spring her from the prison that has been her room. The poor little thing was not happy about missing one day of school and a soccer game--not so much that she actually felt like going, but more so because it means the world does go on without her. I don't know what it was that she had--there were no other symptoms with the fever except for being tired and a bit cranky. But she's fine now. And that's all I care about.

 

That said, we are still holding our breaths for Wednesday. I imagine God, up there in the clouds, watching over us, and saying to his angels, "Okay, let's give that family down there a wicked bad flu, complete with fever and projectile vomitting...on my signal...wait for it...". And Tuesday night we'll all simultaneously start sweating and barfing...

 

But surely God would never do a thing like that.

 

Caleb shaved his head. Straight-up shaved it. Partly because I dared him to, but mostly so he and Merrick could be baldies together--not that Merrick had that much hair to begin with. I don't even think the doctors will be cutting it all off. Mia did not react well to Caleb's Howie-haircut. I tried to make it all better by secretly telling her that "Daddy says you can draw on his head with markers!", but she was pretty upset, and now I think he's a little self concious about his new bald head. Ten bucks says that when he picks my mom up at the airport today, he's going to wear a hat. While he's gone, I'll convince Mia to cash in on the marker deal.

 

Oh, yeah. My mom. Is coming. Today. My house is surprisingly clean--I don't really know how it happened. Cheyenne--gotta love that girl--has been extremely helpful by straightening up her room and the bathroom. And then I guess the rest followed by trying to rid the house of germs. Have I ever mentioned how much I love bleach wipes? I'm tempted to wash the dogs. Tempted.

 

Mia's sick. Damnit. Damnit all to hell.

 

She woke up screaming with a fever of 101.3 last night, straight out of nowhere. We put her a cool bath, gave her some Tylenol, and sent her back to bed. It was a long night--today she's feeling better. Her temperature is down to 99.whatever and I have her back in her room watching movies on the portable DVD player. I go in there only to throw food at her while I hold my breath and try not to touch anything.

 

See, Merrick CANNOT get sick. He can't get a slight fever, he can't cough, he can't even look like he's thinking about coming down with something--or else his surgery will be postponed for another 3 long months, and we just can't be having all that.

 

I've never realized how hard it truly is to keep little kids healthy for any significant length of time. They're always pukey, or snotty, or rotten from some kind of virus or another. The one week where I need everyone to be as fit as a fiddle--THE ONE WEEK--and Mia comes down with a crud so fierce it's threatening to put us all down for the count...but I should've known.

 

We've given Caleb's blood. We've set up Merrick's pre-op appointment and we've spoken with the neurosurgeon again about every possible thing we need to know. We're all set--now we're on pins and needles and we're bathing in Germ-X every 10 seconds just so we can make it through the next 5 days.

 

UUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!

 

(Cue violinist.)

 

My mom will be flying in Sunday. The blood bank won't touch me because apparently all the time I spent living in Italy gave me Mad Cow disease. (That would explain a lot.) I've been elected homeroom representative for Mia's Pre-K class. I missed a PTA meeting last night. Cheyenne's got a Book-Club field trip to the Library and Mia's got a soccer game tomorrow. My house is covered in a 6-inch layer of dirty dog hair and the Vanilla Breeze Glade Plug-Ins I bought are not doing their job. I haven't washed my hair in 3 days and I haven't shaved my legs since God knows when. Merrick wants my undivided attention every hour of everyday and frankly I just don't know if I'm going to survive the next couple weeks.

 

(Deep Cleansing Breath.)

 

P.S. Cheyenne has raised so much money for Multiple Sclerosis. She's had to up her goal 3 times already and it looks like she'll have to do it again, AND she still has 2 weeks until the walk. There's your snippet of good news for today.

 

P.P.S. A neato word is tintinnabulation (tin-tih-nab-yuh-LAY-shuhn). It means a tinkling sound, as of a bell or bells. The first thing that came to mind was the sound of someone going pee-pee in the potty. But that's just me.

 

Don't you just love that word--"snippet"? It means a small bit, scrap, or fragment. Or it could mean a small or insignificant person. And by the way, the Spanish word of the day is descanso. And there you have it. No clue what it means. I was too lazy to look into it.

 

I've been alerted to the fact that several people have been reading this blog--people that I normally would never cuss in front of, would never discuss religion or politics, (or bipolar tendencies, or homicidal thoughts about my husband, or rage against complete strangers and their rabid toy poodles, or fear of tornadoes and hostile alien takeovers, and so on and so forth) with, so I hope I haven't offended anyone with my utter lack of couth or my completely irrational and absurd thought process...but then again this is my damn page and I'll write what I want. And don't anybody expect anything too deep or too funny for the next few weeks. Random humorless updates is probably all I'll have the brain power for.

 

Sorry.

 

Well, no I'm not. Not even a little.

 

And now for the snippet: After weeks and weeks of playing hard-to-get, Caleb finally accepted the job offer from Staples today. It's a little (okay, a lot) less than what we had hoped for, but he'll be working in town for the most part.  We're sort of fuzzy on a start date, and we still have to work out minor details, like, say, oh, INSURANCE, but we'll get there, and I think we can definitely make this work. Stuff with that other company is still iffy, mainly because they are all kinds of shady, but hey.

 

Cheyenne is up to $230.00 in donations to the Multiple Sclerosis thingy last time I checked. I have no doubt in my mind that she'll reach her goal, and again, if anyone out there in internet land gets a wild hair to contribute to the cause, follow this link: National MS Society and go to donate, pledge, search for a particpant, Cheyenne Bowles. It's surprisingly easy.

 

I've been trying to calm down about Merrick's surgery. Caleb's brother Jason has been visiting, so that's been a welcome distraction for all of us. Forgetting about the whole thing was easy when it was 3 months away. I appreciate all the comments and messages and e-mails and phone calls everyone has sent our way; I honestly can't say how much it means to have this kind of support from my family and my friends and even people I've never officially met.  So thank you all again.

 

Descanso means "a break; half-time". I got curious.

 

Mia's soccer game, Saturday morning. She came. She saw. She finally got her uniform (wrong shade of pink). She scored the first goal. And she had a total blast. I'm still not happy with her coach, who seems way more interested in having good-looking soccer players than skilled ones, but hey. The girls did look cute, as evidenced by the pictures I'll be putting up later.

 

We had some surprise company over the weekend. Caleb's brothers flew in Saturday afternoon. After spending a couple hours playing with the dogs' shock collars and the electric fence, we had dinner and watched Talledega Nights. The next morning they all headed down to Texas for their grandmother's funeral. They should be back tonight.

 

Cheyenne has raised $190.00 so far for Multiple Sclerosis. I don't know what percent of her $300.00 goal that is, but it's up there, and I'm proud of her. I'm proud of all our friends and family, too. They all rock way more than I thought they did.

 

We have a little over a week until Merrick's operation. I'm getting anxious as hell. I'm worried I won't get some paperwork turned in on time. I'm worried the blood donation will get all botched up and my son will need a transfusion and they'll have to use pig's blood or something. I'm worried he'll catch a cold and they'll have to postpone surgery for another 3 months. I'm worried he'll starve before surgery. I'm worried he'll scream when they take him. I'm worried about them cutting open my son's skull with heavy machinery. I'm worried the surgery will take 5 hours. I'm worried he won't do well. I'm worried about swelling and infection. I'm worried I won't be able to take care of his stitches. I'm worried that he'll somehow jab himself in the brain once it's all said and done. I'm worried Caleb won't be able to handle the whole thing. And I'm worried I'll lose it completely before we even start.

 

I have so much respect and admiration for the parents whose kids need multiple operations. I know I never want us to go through this again.

 

And Woo Hoo all our peeps! Long story short, Cheyenne has signed up for Walk for Multiple Sclerosis. Her grandmother was diagnosed with MS over ten years ago and passed away in April. Cheyenne hopes to raise money for the cause, and so far she's up to $130.00. That's more than any of the other people registered for the walk so far. Her original goal was $100.00, and that was quickly met, so she upped it to $300.00 and we have been so pleased and grateful to the folks we know that have already donated. Me and (probably) Caleb (depending on how well Merrick is doing at that point) will be walking with her, most likely pushing empty strollers and toting little kids on our backs.

 

So, computer people, if you might be interested, here is the link to The National MS Society and all you have to do is click donate, pledge, and search for participant (Cheyenne Bowles). Knock yourselves out. Every little bit helps.

 

I'm really excited, for her. Her face lights up everytime I tell her a donation was made. When I sent out an e-mail to everyone I know, she didn't think it would work. I think it's safe to say her faith in humanity has been temporarily restored.

 

Moving on. What's grosser than gross? Merrick spit up on me yesterday. All over my face. In my eyes and in my mouth. I knew it was just a matter of time; at some point one of my kids would do it. Frankly I'm surprised it took this long. But Merrick's an exceptional puker, so if had to be any of 'em...

 

Today we're going to our town's little Homecoming Parade. Fun! I hope they throw moonpies.

 

Caleb went to the store for a can of dip (his 3rd in 3 days) and came back with candy. It occured to me that he's not been buying Skoal this whole time, but Reese's Pieces--that little shiz is a closet-candy-consumer! And up until this morning, he's been holding out on me!

About my last blog: Don't get me wrong, folks. I like Sarah Palin just as much as I like any of the other Fab 4 candidates...and that's all I'll say about that.

 

And now onto the way more important things in life: Mia's soccer team. We signed her up. We paid the money. We drove the FORTY-FUCKING-FIVE minutes to her practice to find out this: Mia's soccer career is most likely off to a slow start. Her all-girl team (not our first choice) is called the Mighty Munchkins. Cute. They wear pink and black and have matching hair ribbons and hot pink soccer balls. Fine, whatever. All the girls but Mia live in a faraway town called Tuttle, and all the girls but Mia have brothers practicing football Wednesday nights, at 6:00, at a little park in said Town of Tuttle. So what's the logical time and location for the girls to have their practice? Tuttle, of course--I think that's fair--and at that very same park, Wednesday nights at 6:00. But do they practice on their own soccer field or even their own section of a vacant baseball or football field? No. Why would they? Not when there's a perfectly good grassy-gravelly patch of PARKING LOT that they could kick the ball around in for 40 minutes while their all-important big brothers master the all-important sport of football!

 

Did I say they're practicing in the parking lot? Yes I did. We drive up and the coach has all the girls decked out in pink, practicing cheers. She did manage to get them up and running a little bit, but for the most part, I think her goal was to waste time by having the girls fart around in the parking lot with the soccer ball--for 40 minutes, so that she can catch the last 20 of her son's football practice. It's crap. Crap, I tell you.

 

And, okay. I'm all about the girls getting out there and having a good time, that's what it's all about, let them have fun, etc., etc.--I get it. I agree. But for the love of Pete, make them your priority. Teach them about soccer. Take them to a real field, on a different night if you have to, and at least act like it's all about the girls and that you're there for them. As for all the hairbows and the dance moves that went with them, I would've signed Mia up for cheerleading, not soccer, if I had wanted all that for her.

 

We tried in vain to get ahold of the league bigwigs over the weekend to see if Mia could possibly be switched to another team (yes, we are those kind of parents), but what we'll probably end up doing instead is keeping her on Team Pink for now, continue working with her at home, and coaching a team ourselves next season. 

 

Okay. Done. For real. Moving on.

 

Friday night Caleb and I (plus a bjorn-slinged Merrick) got out for a couple hours and went down to the arty part of Oklahoma City to enjoy a free evening of staring at paintings. Gallery Night--I was in heaven...and I think Caleb had an okay time.

 

A really good salad is baby spinach leaves, raisins, chopped-up apple, crumbled up granola bar, and ranch dressing. I had a good lunch today.

 

And have I ever mentioned what wonderful friends Caleb and I have? A month or so ago, one of our peeps down in Jacksonville, Florida, had a garage sale in Merrick's honor. I only recently learned that it was a full-fledged fund-raising event complete with tons of donations and pictures of Merrick, to help us out with the costs of his operation and other medical bills. I am just blown away. I can't think of anything to say or do that would show the utter appreciation. A simple thank you just doesn't seem near enough, but here it goes anyway: Thank you Inka, for putting something like this together. 

 

At 8:00 this morning, as I drove back to the house from dropping Mia off at school, I listened to the radio. This is not something I normally do; most of the time I'm blaring Disney showtunes or KidzBop for the children. However, since this usually makes me wanna kill myself, and Merrick was asleep, I figured, what the hell.

 

I freakin' hate KidzBop.

 

Anyways.

 

The folks on the morning show, 2 seemingly moronic men, were bantering about how hot Sarah Palin looks in a bikini. Well, one of the guys kicked the conversation up an intelligent notch and busted out the latest "study" saying men were more likely to vote for Sarah Palin than women were. They quickly deducted that women were jealous of the vp nominee and viewed her as a "threat". They said women like Hilary Clinton because she was old and ugly and her husband had cheated on her, yada yada, blah, blah, ppppppthhhhhhhhhhhhhp.

 

I'm peeved. I know I probably shouldn't be so worked up; I know it's just an assinine radio show, but damn. Give us more credit than that, guys. John McCain's choice for a running mate is soooo transparent...and insulting. And I'm sorry, but, as inspiring as it is, PTA president? Really? Now there's something to put on your job application for Vice President of The United States of America. If women don't vote for Sarah Palin, it's not because "she's pretty."

 

We might, however, vote for the lady just because she probably knows what it's like to listen to an entire KidzBop CD, drive to the nearest bridge, and think seriously about jumping.

 

To burn off some steam, Merrick and I came home, turned up some music and got funky like an old batch of collard greens. Not to worry; Caleb is out of town so nobody saw me dancing Ellen-style in the hallway. Yeah, I have this thing--even though we are acres apart from any other house, I'm always worried someone will see me when I'm dancing, or yoga-bootying...so I either close all the blinds or I get down in the windowless hallway. And while Mia would only rock out to Hannah Montana, my new little dance partner digs some gansta rap--my guilty pleasure. Sweet.

 

P.S.--Tried the Grapefruit Zabaglione recipe. It was an easy hit.

 

Wow. What a corny title.

 

So. I've got this myspace. (I know, I know, I know!) I logged on yesterday to check out pictures of my 10-year high school reunion, which I never planned on going to, mainly because of Merrick being born and all. Instead, I ended up lazily browsing random classmates' myspace pages. And it was interesting, to say the least.

 

I never wished any bad juju on anyone, but I was jealous of just about everybody that could live a normal teen-age life. I envied the girls that did it right; the ones who didn't mess up, who dumped their boyfriends the moment they started to get handsy. I always felt good knowing that someday, all my happy-go-lucky friends would one day experience all the real-life crap that I put myself through at an early age.

 

And you know what? I don't feel good at all. Even though I had a baby in the 10th grade and was a divorcee by the time I was 21, it turns out I so totally do not have the market cornered on tough times and heartbreak. It's funny how we classified ourselves back then: jocks, preps, band geeks, hicks, scrags, nerds, the juvenille delinquents, the straight-up weirdos and the absolute rejects, in that order. I had friends in every group. We craved that sort of separation back then, but out in the real world, it seems like we cling together for dear life.

 

There were people who hated each other in high school but are good friends now. There are people who have been married 2 or 3 times. Some people have stayed in town. Some people moved across, or out of, the country. Some people have severely handicapped children. Some people have only spoiled poodles. Some people have done time in prison. Some people have lost limbs in Iraq. They've become graphic designers, EMTs, firefighters, teachers, pastors, opthamologists. That horrible bitch that made fun of my fat pregnant ass back in '96? She lives her life for her two adorable daughters. The shy, quiet little guy that I sat with in the back corner of homeroom? He's making a living as an editor for Hot Rod Magazine in Los Angeles, with a freaking supermodel girlfriend. I smiled at the people who were right where I always pictured they would be. I cheered when I discovered that the class couple is married with 3 kids. It bothered me to see all the dreamy-eyed young girls I used to know all grown-up, jaded and disappointed, whose "2-gether 4-ever" hopes and dreams had been blown to bits over the years.

 

And most upsettingly, nobody invented post-its.

 

I'm pretty sure that in the last 10 years, all 460-something of us have gotten over high school. It would've been kind of cool to have gone to the reunion. No worries; 10 more years will fly by fast. And I've got a lot more growing up to do. Maybe by then I'll be able to afford that private jet.