Oh Lord, Ashinator's 18!

I know I don't look much older than 18 myself, so I know it's going to be really hard for you to believe that I could possibly have a daughter who is just turning 18.

Rather than getting all sappy about my little girl getting all growed up on me, I thought I'd share a funny story about her birth (don't worry, she knows about this story).

I knew, from Digger's birth, that I don't do well with babies that don't look like babies.  Giving birth is a dirty, slimy, bloody business and I do much better once the baby's been cleaned up and looks like a baby.  Armed with that knowledge, I asked the doctor not to place Ashinator on my bare belly after her birth. 

I understand why they do it.  I know that the majority of women love it and feel that it helps them begin to bond with their baby.  I, however, had no desire whatsoever to have a slimy, bloody baby plopped down on my jelly belly.

I made my wishes very, very clear to the doctor and nurses.  I told them they could plop her down on my jelly belly as long as they put a towel down first.

So the time comes.  I manage to birth my second child and the doctor immediately flops her slimy, bloody body down on my bare jelly belly.

That's when the dry heaves started.

I'm sure I made quite an impression (probably not a good one) when, between retching bouts, I told them to get her off of me!

Yep, I almost threw up on my beautiful daughter.  How's that for a "welcome to the world, baby, we love you"?

Even if I had puked on her, I'm sure she would have still grown up into the beautiful young woman she has...

And - any dirty old men out there who might be getting their jollies by looking at my gorgeous daughter - remember that I earned the nickname GunDiva and I am armed.

Grrr...Sometimes Being A Good Mommy Feels A Whole Lot Like Being A Bad One

There are times when I think to myself, "WTF GunDiva?  Can those children really be yours?"  I raised my children with manners and taught them to be respectful and work hard, so who are these ingrateful brats who have appeared?  If children learn by example, who the hell were they watching when I was busy working multiple jobs just to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table?  'Cause they - okay, well, really just the boys - seem to have a whole sense of entitlement that I don't understand.

Digger is 18, quit school because of his gawdawful disease and rocked his GED.  I mean, he blew the GED out of the water during what would have been his junior year of high school.  While I would have preferred he graduate from high school, I have to say that the GED was probably the right choice for him.  We'd exhausted all of the resources the school district had to offer.

I have always told my children that once they were 18 they could live at home, but they'd have to pay rent (all of $100 a month) or be in school.  He's doing neither.  He's been "supposed to" get a job for well over a year and still doesn't have one.  He's sick of me bringing it up and I'm sick of bringing it up.  Now, I know that the economy's in the tank and I know that jobs aren't too easy to find.  I also know that there are jobs to be had in the food service industry and WalMart always needs cart gatherers.

He owes us from wrecking his girlfriend's car two years ago; he owes us for paying for his phone while he's been job hunting; and he owes us rent for November, December, January, and February.  Knowing that he owes us this money, he still was astounded when I told him that I would not pay to fix his car.  Fixing his car would just be the beginning, it also needs to be registered and insured.  I asked him who he expected to pay for that and he told me that he hoped I would.  His best friend's step-dad is "pretty sure" he can get Digger a job in Wheatland, Wyoming.  I told him that "pretty sure" and "guaranteed job" are two totally different things.  If he had a job, I'd be happy to help him out and fix his car, but he doesn't, so I'm not putting a dime into it.

So, he told me that he's moving out.  "Great," I said, "Where are you going to live?"

"Hawk's" he tells me, meaning Hawk's grandma's, since that's where Hawk lives.

"And how long do you think that Hawk's grandma is going to allow you to live off of her for free?"

"I won't be living there for free."

"Really?  'Cause you just told me you don't have a job, therefore no income, so how are you going to pay to live there?"

"I'm going to get a job."

And this is the kind of circular arguement I get into with my teenaged son on an almost daily basis.  He believes that we "take advantage of him" by expecting him to clean up around the house, do dishes when it's his turn, and drive his siblings around.  He calls it "taking advantage of", I call it "pulling his weight".

Sounds like a lot of reported ex-husbands I know.

A Look Back at My Baby

Digger and Ashee-butt all ready for their Aunt Nonner's wedding.


My cowboy Digger (not to be confused with his sister, the cowboy-girl, Ashee-butt)

Cleaning up the Training Room at Rocky. What a helpful kid.

On Grandpa Danny's new motorcycle, Blue Bell. Believe it or not, they're both still around :)

The requisite nekked picture (sorry Ash).

First of many stitches. Superman failed to fly and plummeted into the edge of the coffee table. His first of many visits to the ER. I began to worry that they were going to call social services on me with all of the trips we made during his toddlerhood.

 

I Blinked And Now My Baby's 18!

Hard to believe that just 18 years ago, I popped out my first baby after three weeks of constant contractions. The doctors kept telling me they were just Braxton-Hicks contractions, but why don't they try three full weeks of Braxton-Hicks contractions every two to three minutes without a break? I'd finally hit my breaking point and go to the hospital, only to be sent home after an hour or so of observation. The last time they sent me home, I left in tears swearing that I wasn't going back, I'd just have my baby at home.

Well, long story short, I did eventually go back to the hospital and have Digger there. By the time I had him I was so sleep deprived that I lost track of time. It wasn't until I took him for his first well baby check that I realized I'd lost a day or two. In my mind, because of being so exhausted, his birthday was September 1, when in actuality it was August 30. It's amazing what happens when you are totally and completely spent. So after I wrapped my mind around losing an entire day, I accepted that maybe I'd been wrong about the day he was born. Obviously, since his birth certificate and hospital bills clearly stated his date of birth. Oops. What the heck kind of mom was I going to be when I couldn't get his birthday right immediately after his birth?

He was an amazingly patient first child; much older than his years when he was a baby. I look back at pictures of him and see a little man, not a little boy.

Some of my favorite Digger-isms (he was adamant about all of them):

• Mustin' Bustin' as in, "I like Mustin' Bustin' 'cause the pretty girls kiss you when you fall off!"
• Cowboy-girl: "I am a cowboy, Ash is a cowboy-girl!"
• Mynastics: "I don't go to jim'snastics, I go to mynastics!"
• "The Practice have prickers!" Yes, Devon, the catus have prickers, I mean stickers. (But prickers is an apt description, don't you think?)
• Fighterfighter: "I'm going to grow up and be a fighterfighter." I guess firefighter was too difficult to say...
• Drunk, drive, go to jail: That's what he thought the lyrics to "Jump, Jive, and Wail" were. Hey, makes a certain amount of sense.
• "My butt burped!": One night we were at Grandma Mary's and Digger was standing in his pajamas in the living room when suddenly his eyes got big and he slapped both hands over his butt and exclaimed, "My butt burped!". He didn't have the word for fart, and when you think about it, a fart is actually a butt burp.

I've got a million favorite memories, after all, in eighteen years a lot of memories can be made. Some of my favorites:

• We saw a kid in Campus West who had a mohawk arranged into easily 8" spikes, each spike dyed a different color and covered with a condom. Digger looked at the kid for a minute, then looked at me and said, earnestly, "His mom's gonna be pissed!" I almost couldn't chastise him for saying "pissed" because I was laughing so hard, and besides, I agreed with him.
• Digger got his nickname from the girl's volleyball team when I was the head trainer at Rocky Mountain High School, because every time he fell, the girls would say, "Oh, dig-ger".
• Digger's favorite movie for a long time was "8 Seconds" and he'd act out the Lane Frost death scene over and over, beginning with the ride, the fall, and being gored by the bull. Then he'd stagger to his knees and wave for help before falling to the ground, dead.
• Dinour, his imaginary pet dinosaur, caused a lot of trouble at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Dinour made lots of messes at the dinner table, so many that Digger had to take Dinour by the hand and lead him outside before dinner. Dinour couldn't mind his manners so he had to stay outside.
• One time, he fell down the steep, narrow stairs at Grandma and Grandpa's house and when Aunt Not A GunDiva went rushing over to see if he was ok, he put one hand up to stop her and said, "Don't... touch... me." Guess he'd spent too much time in the training room.
• For his fifth birthday, he insisted that all of the males attending his party come in a tie. Not a suit and tie, but a tie. At that point in time, he wanted to be the president when he grew up. Glad he grew out of that little phase.
• When he was just a short snort, he put those big ears of his to use. He'd pull up on the tips and hiss for his scary face - was actually pretty scary.

I can't believe my little man isn't so little anymore. It certainly hasn't been easy, but he's turned out okay. I know he's no angel, but he got through his childhood mostly intact. Now, if I can just get him well into adulthood unscathed. The scary thing is that he's just ten months younger than I was when I got married, and two years younger than I was when I had him. Hopefully, he'll make better choices than I did.
Love you Digger!