I wish I could record my thoughts sometimes. I mentally write blogs in my head and think to myself, “wow, that is SO clever, you should put that in a blog!” and then respond back, “I know, right! That would be a killer blog!” then by the time I think to actually write down all of my cleverness it’s gone, gone, gone. Today started in most of that same way, but I got to a computer, opened up a page to write and…
My house alarm went off. I’m a huge chicken even when there isn’t an alarm ringing. I got my phone and ran outside because I live in a close-knit neighborhood and surely my neighbors would save me if anything happened. I mean, that is what the real estate told me when we bought this house, all about how my neighborhood is this nice, little, perfect community where people help people and people bring muffins over. I got some muffins actually from my neighbors next door, but I haven’t met my neighbors across the street. I’m assuming they are like me and often look out their front windows to check on things so they’d see me in my sweat pants and flapping bathrobe (channeling John Cusack) jumping up and down if there really was a burglar or home INVADER. Invader sounds so much scarier. Burglar makes me think of the ‘Hamburglar’ which makes it kind of cute in a strange way and makes me crave fries… except for that article I read yesterday about the woman who bought a Happy Meal and let it sit out for a WHOLE YEAR on her shelf and it looks the same as it did the day she bought it!! Bleh… that will help with the cravings. For a week or so…
But back to the whole home invader deal, I ran outside which seemed logical to me even though my mom on the phone disagreed with me. Like a Burglar would be THAT organized and stupid, “hey, lets make the alarm go off to scare her outside to grab her in mid-morning when these good neighbors are probably going to be looking out their windows and people are walking their dogs.” See mom, NOT logical. The Hamburglar would do something like that, but not a home INVADER.
Stealthily I crept (as stealthy as an 8-month-pregnant person can be) (SIDE NOTE: as I was typing that I saw something out of the corner of my eye outside the window and I jumped up, checked it out then tightly closed the curtains. Really.) around the house and checked all the windows and doors then called Ben to come save me. He told me where the aluminum bat and pepper spray was at which was *helpful*. The problem with his logic was that I would have to go BACK into the house to get my defense weapons. I knew where the gun was that I HATE but I’m terrified if I had a gun and shot the home invader that he’d sue me and somehow I’d get screwed in the deal and have to go have this baby in jail, then have it taken from my arms and I’d never see it again until it was 5 and he’d be like, “whatever mom, I don’t know you” and Ben would divorce me and marry some hot 20-year-old that my children would prefer over me then my life would be over by the time I got out of the slammer because no one wants to hire an ex-con so I’d have to sell myself for money then get hooked on cocaine. BAM. and that’s why, kids, guns are BAD. (note to self: no more Lifetime movies.)
Ben finally, somehow convinced me to go inside and shut off the system. He couldn’t remember the exact code and so I kept typing what he thought it was, then realized that the keys were sticking so even if his code was right I was probably going to lock up the system and a cage would drop around me, cartoon style. Luckily, you can try as many times as you need to and I eventually got the alarm to go off. That’s when every crack of the house and refrigerator noise started making me jump. Also, some men talking on the radio almost gave me a heart attack. With Ben on the phone, I checked out the house, looked in closets and saw nothing.
I was wanting to come home and take a nap while Sum was at daycare but now I’m twitchy and jumping at my cats walking around out of the corner of my eye so I’m thinking maybe it won’t be happening. I have Snickers with me now, like he’ll somehow alert me if a burglar is in here. He might actually, he growls when someone knocks at the door or rings the doorbell so there’s a chance he’ll save me. More likely though, he’ll suddenly look up at some tiny noise I can’t hear me and I’ll just die from a heart attack. (SIDE NOTE: I just heard a bird sing outside and the pitch sounded similar to my house alarm and my heart nearly burst. *&%$ BIRD!)
Which reminds me of the post I originally sat down to write- about how pregnant women joking about dying isn’t funny. Guess we’ll have to wait for another day.
“I knew her. I didn’t actually know her, know her, but the little girl who must have been about 5 or 6 was very familiar to me. She looked at me with curious eyes, I must have seemed strange even for a stranger, staring so intently into her open face. My heart hammered from the combination of sudden adrenaline and the caffeine I had just consumed. I wanted so badly to go over to the father standing there with a toddler in the Wal-Mart shopping cart and another older girl walking alongside. The one I was looking at was strapped in the seat, the cool new shopping carts that also have 2 seats with seat belts for the older kids that get tired. She wanted to walk too but her father told her not now. Her wide eyes with dark circles, pixie nose, the teeth with braces that no other child would have that young and full, full lips I knew. She didn’t look like her siblings. Her face was just a little different, but special in the way I knew and my heart recognized”
I love part two’s to stories. Usually it’s the good part, the conclusion, the climax… it’s the part that ties everything together in a neat package.
When I wrote part one I didn’t know that there would be a part two to write about.
Life is painful, life is divine. Life is all about those little choices we make, when looking like a complete moron is better than being silent sometimes. When being the fool who doesn’t stay silent is the better option.
I went to a McDonald’s the other day, it was rainy and I needed a place with an indoor play area to let Sum work off some of that endless toddler energy. He felt fine but had a horrible sounding cough so I was a little worried that I would get dirty looks from other patrons, you know, the kind I usually give parents who bring out their child with the horrible sounding cough… Usually the place gets crowded on days like that, but that day we were the only ones in the whole play yard. As we were sitting in there eating, two men with a little girl came in and sat at the table next to us. I was kind of annoyed, I’m an introvert and I wasn’t wanting to make small talk with strangers.
I intentionally sat with my back to them and busied myself with feeding Sum and reading e-mail on my phone. Sum, the mega extrovert was busy smiling at the table behind me and starting yelling “HI!” at the top of his lungs. I finally turned and looked to make the obligatory apologetic smile and my heart started pounding. I looked past the quietly talking men right into the large, starburst eyes of a widely smiling little girl.
I recognized the little girl the same way I had with one at Wal-Mart. I knew she had to be about 6, she had the facial characteristics I had memorized from my endless research, coping with my own loss. I stared for a second too long then turned back around quickly, racked with the pain and loss all over again. I wanted to talk, to ask, to connect. But, like I said in my other post, how do you ask a parent if their child has a genetic disorder? Williams isn’t common, it’s pretty rare. Most cases are diagnosed when the kids are older, what if the parents didn’t know? My mind ran through many scenarios, some good, some bad. I sweated and my adrenaline raced.
I remembered how devastated I was the last time when I chickened out. I considered this. I considered the fact it was 2 men and not an overly emotional mom… I worded it carefully, very carefully, then panicked over their imagined response.
Summit happily ate a hash brown, unaware of the tornado inside of me. I looked at the girl again. What if I was wrong? My heart knew I was right, but my head loudly doubted me, I am no genetic specialist.
My heart won. They did know, they had found out recently. I almost started crying right then, my emotions were overwhelming. We exchanged information, the girls mom had been wanting to connect with other WS moms in the area and hadn’t had any luck.
Sometimes looking like a fool is the best decision.