Tag Archive | children

Today I’m over at Bonbon Break- in the bedroom

Well, I’m not actually over there sitting like a miniature person in the computer screen waving at you. That would be very Willy Wonka ish, wouldn’t it?

But click on over to their holiday issue and read about a coming of age story. Yes, Emma has reached a milestone about old St. Nick.

These are those parenting moments that keep you on your toes.

Enjoy the magic while it lasts. And by magic, I mean, the lying facade of trying to be a magical fat man who spies on sleeping children.

Read here- Bonbon Break

will-santa-return

Reason To Live Friday #24

This annoying dang holiday season. Are you wondering if I’m giving you whiplash? Do I spin a 180 turn each and every post? First complain, then gush? I know. I know. Try living with me.

Last year I wrote about how the holidays suck for some of you if you’ve lost a loved one. Holidays are like a trigger of emotions. They make you ponder on Christmases past and when life has changed permanently, it can be hard.

But then I thought of something. Maybe those little reminders are like the loved ones past speaking to us. Bear with me.

When my friend Reshma lost her daughter to Siona from Leukemia, she woke up one morning with a pressure point on her chest over her heart in the shape of a butterfly. You know when you sleep hard and the pillow case leaves an imprint on your face? Like that. I know, weird. But butterflies were a favorite of 6 year old Siona and this silhoutte of one was perfectly formed. It lasted several hours before it just faded. Reshma cherished her little butterfly form she had over her heart for the few hours it was there. Like Siona had given her a kiss.

Now don’t get all weird on me. I’m not saying that there’s messages from beyond. I’m not going into paranormal stuff here. You can think that or not. I’m cool with it.

I’m saying that the holidays hold so much hope and joy. That I’m going to hold on to the parts that are dear to me. I’m thinking about my dear, dear old friends who are living through their first holiday without their mom, sister and daughter after she took her own life in May. Their grief is palpable. Their grief is ripped open anew with each box of ornaments.

So here’s my list of what to do to get through:

Ready? Take a deep breath and go into downward dog yoga pose. Just kidding.

But breathe deeply anyway.

Hug the ones that are with you. Yep, just do it. Even if they piss you off. Stephen Stills was right with his song, “Love the one you’re with”.

When you see a reminder of a loved one gone- smile at it. Close your eyes and hold it to your heart. Say, “I miss you and I love you and I know you’re still here with me.”

Take last year’s coat or boots that don’t fit anymore or are hardly used and bring them to a charity. Someone needs those more than you.

Write down your feelings. If you blog or not, write that stuff down. You don’t ever have to read it again, but getting it on paper is helpful.

And one more time, love the ones you’re with. Dang it. Hug them, smush them and tell them you are happy they are with you.

Well, I’m not Dr. Phil. I’m not a trained professional. I’m just trying to lend a hug, and let you know I’m here for you. We can do this together.

I’m thankful for vaginas. My kids are too.

So last year when we gathered around the table for Thanksgiving at my parent’s house, Owen did a tear-filled thankful sharing that made my heart burst with gladness. I wrote about it here. It’s pretty damn special.

Well, this year, I got choked up at the dinner table again, but it was my mom talking about my dad and how very grateful we are that all went well last week with his procedure. You can read about THAT here.

I was really hoping for another zinger from my Boy. You know one that REALLY pulled on the heart strings. I mean, I had already had 2 glasses of wine, so I was pretty well greased for some sappy stuff to bring me to tears.

His turn comes. He’s sitting next to me. I’m waiting in anticipation. This is going to be good, I’m thinking in my head, I’m putting this in my journal.
He says, “I’m thankful for my mom.” He touches me on the shoulder…. wait for it….. here it comes….”I’m thankful that she pooped me out.”

Hmmm. That’s not what I was expecting. What? I pooped you out? That’s the best you got?  Well?

So then Emma chimes in, “It wasn’t her butt, it was her VAGINA.”

To this, I think I groan. Loudly. And lay my head in my plate of mashed potatoes. Thank goodness, my father, who is sitting right next to Emma, is pretty much deaf. So he doesn’t hear any of this. And he’s chewing his food, so that probably drowns out some of what we are saying.

My mother let’s out a howl of laughter. James rolls his eyes, like, “who are these people?”

My father chimes in, “what’s so funny?”

To which my mother responds, “Oh nothing, we’re just having some gyno conversation.”
We continue on.

There were no more references to either bodily functions or gyno occurrences. So I had some more wine.

I’m so grateful for pooping you out Owen, and you too Emma! And more grateful you came out of my vagina like you were supposed to.

Self love. Yes, THAT kind.

Please be advised this is no pervy, whack-off post. Any of you who found this by Google or other key words, just go elsewhere. This is about parenting. If you’re looking for anything otherwise, move along.

Masturbation.

Yep. That word. It’s a doozy. What comes to mind when I hear that? That character on Family Guy, was it Master Bates from the Morning Wood Academy?  Ha ha. Insert frat humor here.

Okay. Have you had THAT talk with your kids? I’ve had that talk with my kids. But I’m talking about this talk. The other talk. You know, where you tell them that if they touch themselves they will go blind. Or their hand will shrivel up and fall off. I’m kidding! I just said that small puppies will die. Okay, seriously.

I have NOT had this talk with my kids. We’ve talked about sex and how a baby is made. Emma is pretty clear on most things between a man and a woman. I mean, you know, the basics. She’s had family life in school, she knows about STDs and drugs and alcohol. She’s got it covered.

Okay, well maybe I did have THIS talk about Master Bates with Emma. But it was not on purpose.

My children have always been, uhm, you know, precocious. They are big farters and announcers about their farts. They talk about their privates. ALL. THE. TIME. We’re pretty comfortable talking about pretty much anything.

And then, the other day, Owen asks me if it’s true that when you rub your nuts your penis gets hard. Well, I said, I don’t have that equipment so I can’t say from experience. (Yeah, I know, easy way out.) But that if at any time you want to touch your privates, it’s totally fine to do as long as you are by yourself and privately at home. And then I asked him where he heard this bit of information. And he said a kid at school said that rubbing your junk makes it hard. Lovely.
AWKWARD. So I just casually said that if he had any questions he should probably ask his father. And that if he ever feels like touching himself, it’s totally not a big deal and again, reiterate that it is to be done in seclusion. And to please not talk about it with anyone outside our family, like at school or the playground.  It’s best to just come to me or dad with questions.

I think I handled that pretty well.

Moving on to a different day and Emma makes a joke about rubbing the cats balls while she was petting his belly. Technically he doesn’t have any balls, since he is neutered, which is also more fodder for discussion and jokes in this house. We like to talk in funny cat voices and talk about his missing balls. It’s a whole ‘nother story.  I said to please not molest the cat, it invades his privacy. One should only rub their own privates not anyone else’s or any animal’s for that matter. (Seriously, I need to have these conversations? WTF?) So she says, “Why on earth would anyone ever want to rub their privates?!”

Uhm. Well. Uhm. No reason.

Is what I should have said.

But instead, I start to pontificate on the benefits of self pleasure. Well, not exactly. But I said that masturbation is totally normal and nothing to be ashamed or afraid of. It is perfectly common for when you start to reach adulthood and sexual maturity to want to touch yourself only with the means of making it ‘feel good’.

Insert big shocked face from Emma here.

“Oh my gosh!! There is NO WAY that I’m just going to stick my hand down to my vagina because I WANT to! Do I just start flapping around my labias and clitoris for fun? NO!” (okay, this girl knows her parts and it kinda freaks me out every time she uses them in context!)

Me- “Well, your brother was discussing that boys at school talked about rubbing their privates and it felt good, so I was just making sure you were clear on the whole parameters on that kind of thing.”

Her- “DISGUSTING! So dad rubbed his junk when he was a teenager? Like I want to think about that!! EWWW!!! No thank you!”

Me- (Totally not trying to crack up and make her think I think this is a joke. She makes Taylor Lautner pectoral jokes all the time, now she goes all prude on me?) “Hey, that’s fine sweetie, whatever you are comfortable with. And if you have any questions, feel free to ask.” (please, please, please, don’t have any questions.)

Her- “Okay, well thank you for that mom. I’ll just go to bed now and try not to have nightmares about this sort of thing.”

Drama queen much?

So there you go. If you ever need any advice on how to talk to your kids about anything sexual, feel free to ask me. No, actually, I’m kidding. You’re on your own.

But I have said this- as much as we parents squirm and dance around this stuff- if your kids can come to YOU about it, Elle Woods finger snaps to you.

Because parenting is about being there. And then blogging about it after they walk away.

Sky rocket’s in flight….afternoon delight.

Wait a minute. This isn’t going to be a post about…..about…. sex is it? Actually, it’s a post on the fact that it’s time to clean my shower and marital relations under running water can be dangerous.

It was a Saturday just after lunch. Both kids were out of the house and me and the hubby were just home alone. <eyebrow raises> Yeah. Alone. Now I don’t know about you, but after the kids are in bed, one of us, is usually snoring on the couch. There’s drool involved and the dog curled up next to that person. We are just SO tired by the evening. If we don’t figure out a way for any interludes during daylight, there’s usually a long spell of no relations.

So I go upstairs to take a shower. I casually mentioned, “oh, what do you know- we’re alone and the kids aren’t home. Excuse me while I go take a shower.” Hint hint.  Eventually, I’m in the midst of deep conditioning my hair when the bathroom door opens.

Dialogue exchanged:

Me- “What took you so long stud? (in my best Mae West voice) Are you serious about this? (changing immediately to my own worried voice) One of the kids could be home any minute.” (Emma is far too aware of things that go on behind closed doors.)

Him- “It’s okay, I’ll lock the door. We’ll be quick.”

(yeah, that’s true actually.)

Me- “You sure? We kind of suck at shower sex. One of us could get hurt. Like me.”

Him- “Hey, might as well try, I’ve got to shower anyway.”

He walks into the shower and wraps his arms around my waist.

Me- “OH MY GOD YOUR HANDS ARE LIKE ICE!!! WARM THEM UP FIRST!!!”

Him- “Sorry, I’ll put them under the hot water.”

Me-“AAAAAH….THERE’S WATER IN MY EAR….. YOUR DRIBBLING WATER IN MY EAR WITH YOUR HANDS UP AGAINST THE SHOWER HEAD LIKE THAT!” (I hate water in my ears, just so you know.)

Him-“Sorry, I was just trying to warm them up.”

Me- “Here, let me suds you up ala Christian Grey style.”

Him- “Who’s Christian Grey?”

Me- “nevermind, I’ll just wash you down like all sexy, ‘kay?”

Me- “OH SOAP! THERE’S SOAP IN MY EYE! I THINK IT’S FROM MY CONDITIONER! Wait a minute….Okay…. that’s better.”

Him-“Let me get your back.”

Me-“Yeah, here’s a loofah, I’ve got some black heads I can’t reach back there. It’d be so great if you could scrub them for me.”

Me-“Oooh, your hands are warmer…. so is the rest of you… AAAAAHHH WATER IN MY EAR AGAIN! COULD YOU MOVE SO THIS DOESN’T KEEP HAPPENING?”

Him- “Sorry, it’s kind of cold out here not under the shower. We need a two person shower one of these days.”

Me- “We need a whole new bathroom one of these days. These gold fixtures are the worst in tackiness and the grout is coming apart.”

Him-“Yeah, tell me about it.”

Some kissing and smoochy stuff ensues. Trying to be uber sexy while my hair is piled on my head in a deep conditioning mask and not slipping on the shave foam residue, is a little tricky.

Eventually I try to take things to the next level.

Me- “Uhm, maybe you should like, squat. You’re too tall. Our privates don’t match up when we stand.”

Him- “You could bend over.”

Me- “You could fly off a bridge. What’s that smell? Ew. Do you smell that? Oh yuck! It’s this mildewey shampoo bottle. Look at the bottom of it. It’s all black and it stinks.”

Him- “Could we focus on the reason we’re in here.”

Me- “What’s that sound?”

<From the hall> – “MOM, I’m home!”

And scene.

Shower sex just isn’t what it’s cracked up to be in the movies or romance novels.

A urinal. Would you have one in your house?

You know, I really have my children to thank for many things. My loose and flacid bladder. My jiggly tummy riddled with stretch marks. My boobs that hang down to my belly button like deflated water balloons complete with their own set of stretch marks. But also, I have them to thank for so much blogging fodder, it’s ridiculous.

The Boy genius, Owen, said to me today, that what we really need in our house is a urinal. Now I always know to put ‘an’ in front of a vowel, so is it ‘an urinal’? That’s just weird and I can’t do that. So, I will say just- urinal.

Okay, he said this of course, while peeing in the toilet. Let me describe to you the situation. I’m in the kitchen getting my 12th morning cup of tea. (I jest.) I can hear him in our powder room down the hall with the door open, peeing. Like a race horse. Then I hear a no pee sound. You know, when the stream isn’t hitting the water anymore. Yeah, that’s the sound of the stream hitting the seat or the side of the bowl. You would think by now at 9 years old, he has pretty good aim. Think again.

That sound is like nails on a chalk board to me. That sound is why I have a container or Clorox wipes under the sink in the cabinet. Sure he takes a square of toilet paper and ‘wipes’ up his dribbles. Barely. I mean, it’s not like he’s thorough or anything. There’s a reason 9 year old boys aren’t in charge of cleaning homes. When he was little he would sit on the toilet. Yes, sitting. How I miss those days. He was a lot more accurate then. Now he revels in the power of standing to pee.

And then he says, “You know what we need? A urinal. Why are houses not made with them?”

After bursting out laughing, I thought for a moment. He’s right. A household urinal would be really great. I mean, I wouldn’t be sitting on it. I think it would catch all the wee and there wouldn’t be any stray spray on the wall or floor. It would be handy for other male guests that come to visit. I could create a whole line of scented urinal cakes. We could have pumpkin spice, creme brulee, caramel apple.

Sure, it wouldn’t be pretty. But it’s not like a toilet is that pretty either. We are just used to it. We can get used to the urinal too.

I, personally, would love a bidet. I’ve always wanted a little sit and sprinkle on my lady bits to save time. My grandparents in Germany always had one. I would ask as a little kid when I visited, what the extra toilet is for.

So we’ll just get our home replumbed with a urinal in the downstairs bathroom, and a bidet for me upstairs.

Now I just need to find on Pinterest any powder room decorating ideas for urinals.

Speaking of urinals, don’t forget to enter my prize giveaway.

Nope, no fancy bathroom plumbing or deodorizers for prizes. But real cash! And cook books, and aprons and all kinds of things. Perfect for the holidays. You just click on the Rafflecopter link to the side. For reals. Don’t worry, your info isn’t used for anything. But I appreciate you spreading the love and sharing my blog so your friends can enter too. November 12th we’ll announce the winner.

Douchey kids and parents without a sense of humor.

I am pretty nice. I am. Ask folks. But I do bottle up my frustrations. So I’m smiling on the outside, and inside, I’m shaking my head going , ‘what the fuck?’  WHAT in THEEE FUCK are you thinking people?

Okay, here goes. Deep breath.

Do you lie to your kids? YES! We all do people. Our mom shaming craze is taking over Facebook. Woo hoo. I love a funny joke. I am the queen of self deprecation. I will dance around in a leotard wearing a turban if it makes you laugh.

But if you don’t think when I confess things I do behind my children’s backs isn’t funny- that’s okay. I guess. But I guess we won’t be friends. And that’s okay too. I mean, how do you NOT laugh at such honesty from moms?

Poor Somewhat Sane Mom got in some trouble from some ass-holey trolls who said she was a mean mom, a liar, a bitch, she needed to go grocery shopping, they felt sorry for her kids. Whatever.

Wow. All over a granola bar. A fucking granola bar. You say there are no more in the box. Eat one behind their back. No biggy. A unicorn isn’t going to drop dead somewhere people. Tinkerbell isn’t going to die because you told a fib to your kids.

Here’s a fib I tell my kids. Put your tooth under your pillow so the Tooth Fairy can come and bring you a dollar.

Yeah. That is called a LIE folks. Do you tell your kids- “put your tooth under your pillow so I can trip over random objects in the dark while you sleep and try to shove a dollar under your sleeping little melon without waking you up.” Huh, do you?

Lighten up people.

When you see a splayed out opossum on the road with it’s entrails on the concrete out like sausage and meatballs, do you say, “Wow, sucks to be that fella. Must have hurt real bad when the front end of a large moving vehicle crushed his insides and caused massive injuries and bleeding.” Huh, do you?  Or do you say, “that little opossum is sleeping with someone’s ground hamburger next to them.”

Do you see my point here?

Okay, I would also like to address the assholey little crotch fruit of other people that like to go around kicking, smacking or just spewing their little demon antics on every one.

When your kid hauls off and hits another kid, do you stay standing 10 feet away and say, “hey, let’s not hit, okay?” Or do you run on over to your uterus spawn and take his arm and say, “knock it off! Apologize or we are leaving!” Huh, do  you?

Just asking. Because I see a lot of just parenting from the sidelines. When my kids would do shitty behavior, especially around the age of when shitty behavior is rampant- translation- preschool years through elementary on through middle school…. (ha ha, I’m kidding)… I would get up in their grill and make sure they knew that I was on to them.

Are parents afraid of hurting their kid’s feelings? Are they afraid that if they blow it off in front of other parents those parents will somehow not notice the douchey behavior of the other kid?

Don’t raise a Nellie.

I don’t know.

So there you have it people. My rant on people who parent without a sense of humor and assholey uterus spawn whose parents enable their assholey-ness.

I can only save the world so many folks at a time. If you need a funny intervention or a wake-up call regarding your kid, just message me and I’ll slap some sense into you.

Reason To Live Friday #18-

The last few RTLF have been heavy and sad for Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. So I’m going to keep this light. Keep it fresh and jazzy. That’s me, fresh and jazzy.

This will be a list of things I have found to be quite grateful for in the last week.

A car that works. God bless getting in your car each day and the key turns in the ignition and all systems are go. It feels so good. My minivan had a bit of a glitch that put a crimp on my outings with my girlfriend who was in town last weekend. Nothing worse than starting your vehicle and the gear shift won’t budge. Even worse when you are at a restaurant on a Saturday night wondering how in the heck you’re getting out of the parking lot.

This brings me to-

girlfriends that make me laugh so hard, I cry. While we were experiencing this little bit of car trouble, she and I tried reading the owners manual and trouble shooting. Something sounded so ridiculous and we burst in fits of laughter. The kind of laughter where no sound comes out, and tears go down your face. You know the kind. I hope you do. Because that is the best type of high there is.

Healthy kids. It really is THE most important part of life. If your loved ones aren’t healthy, it’s devastating. My kids each came down with the sniffles this last week. Easy stuff. Only Emma missed a day of school. I am so grateful that they are growing, strong kids. The opposite is unthinkable.

Bed warmers. Not the 18th century kind that have coal in them and go under the mattress. No, this is a heated mattress cover. The evenings are so chilly now climbing into a bed that is already warm, is blissful. Forgetting to turn down the heater and falling asleep with the dog, then waking up drenched in a perimenapausal sweat, is something else.

Sweet and helpful kids. I’m not sure I know what they are. Just kidding! Yes, they are shits that don’t clean their rooms and insist I get up every 5 minutes for dumb stuff like juice and cereal. But this week, Owen got up before me and made the morning tea. It melted my heart to see him in the kitchen, trying to do it exactly how I do. It was lukewarm and way too sugared, but gosh darn, did I love that he did it.

Weekend. Well, since I’m a mom Friday isn’t really as exciting as it is to the rest of the working world. Usually there’s more work to be done when the family is home and not at school or work. But I will still enjoy sleeping in a little bit. The kids are older so we all sleep in now. Emma and I are doing a girls movie on Saturday while the boys take in a hockey game. Since this weekend isn’t jam packed with activities and outings, I will embrace it’s coziness. I will eat yummy things and watch old movies. Until my children turn on Spongebob and then I’ve got to run the laundry. Oh well.

Here’s to the weekend, and being grateful.

Namaste.

What got me all sporky last week- cleaning the Girl’s room.

I know. I’m a horrible mother. I let my children just have their way and leave their shit out everywhere. They don’t make their beds. They have piles and piles of crap. It’s like an episode of hoarders in their rooms. Minus the rat feces and ferrets living in an arm chair.

My friend was coming to stay with us and she was to sleep in Emma’s room. I couldn’t imagine her in there in the state it was. Let alone, you couldn’t even see the floor to put an air mattress on it for her daughter. So I was going in. We are talking, rubber gloves, Haz Mat suit, Asbestos mask, the full meal deal. It was necessary.

This is what I was faced with:

The problem was, Emma doesn’t part from her things very well. She’s sentimental. There were dolls, Polly Pockets and journals from 1st Grade. She’s in 7th Grade now people! She is also very lazy. She doesn’t put away her clothes. They are just all over the room. Not in drawers, not on hangers, not even in the dirty clothes hamper. Just …. everywhere. Sometimes, I’ll find a sock on her book case. Or a  rogue pair of underwear she tossed will be sitting on her window sill. Really.

It took me two days of just pulling stuff out of drawers, from under the bed, out of the closet, and making the choice of- toss it, or keep it. I drove to Goodwill with 8 bags of clothes and crap and 3 boxes of books and knick knacky shit.

I put the other bookcase in Owen’s room. He’s a book hoarder. That’s better than most kids, so I’m okay with that.

Once I vaccumed, washed the bed (even the dust ruffle!), put everything back together again- I felt amazed. And clean. And tired. Very tired.

I told McSweetie that I did such a good job I’m going out to buy myself a present. One guess what his reaction to that was.  Yeah, you’re right- he rolled his eyes.

So here’s the big reveal. Pretend it’s the Nate Berkus show and I’m waving my magic wand. Cue tinkly chime music-

Next on the list- my home office.

Holy crap, we are frickin’ slobs!

RTLF #17- Kyle’s story

This month I’m dedicating my Reason To Live Friday posts to September’s Childhood Cancer Awareness month. Did you know cancer among children under the age of 15 is the second cause of death? Did you know that there has been only one new pediatric cancer drug approved by the FDA in the last 20 years? Shameful.

If you fell in love with Siona, and Ashley, you will definitely fall in love with Kyle.

Kyle was like any boy. Well, okay, he wasn’t just ANY boy. He was Kylie Wylie. The fearless 3 year old that learned how to ride a two-wheeler before his older brother, Nicolas. The youngest of two boys of my friend Christin. He loved football, riding bikes, swimming, popping wheelies, ice cream sundaes and dragonflies.

Kyle Roger
January 17, 2001 ~ February 7, 2009

Just a couple weeks after his 6th birthday, Kyle was complaining of double vision. A misshap against the coffee table and his older brother Nicolas, caused Christin to be concerned if he bumped his head a little too hard. I mean come on. Boys play rough. This wasn’t new. But after tests and an MRI, the news that they didn’t ever expect, nor would any parent  even dream of, or fathom, was given to them. Kyle had a Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma.

If you want to get depressed, Google it. It’s horrible. This type of cancerous brain tumor is inoperable and terminal. Most kids have just a year to live after diagnosis. There’s only about 200 cases diagnosed a year. I think you have more chances of winning the lottery or getting struck by lightening, than getting this type of cancer. But this is no lottery. The payload is heavy and cruel.

Kyle would make the drive with his mom for 2 hours from his home just south of the Canadian/Washington border to Seattle’s Children’s Hospital. Groundbreaking treatments and clinical trials would be used to create a miracle. I would never entertain for a second, that my kid WOULDN’T be a miracle. If it were MY kid, the cure would be found in the nick of time. Kyle was special. He deserved to live. No kid deserves to die of cancer. I know this is what Kyle’s family must have thought each treatment day. Please, please let there be a miracle.

Kyle defied odds and lived a whole 2 years from his diagnosis. His drive never stopped. I got to meet him once for a benefit at the Experience Music Project. A band came to play and donated their time, Jake Locker (now QB of the Tennessee Titans and then  University of Washington quarterback) donated Husky memorabilia signed for the cause. We sold t-shirts with OO-UM-GOWA Kylie’s got the POWA! printed on them. I don’t know where that phrase came from. He just made it up. It was his mantra. His tag line going in to treatment. He would kick cancer’s ass. Or at least let it be known that he wouldn’t go down easy. Even just meeting this little boy once, I was under his spell. We sent cards and wishes to him all the time. His aunt, Melissa, is one of my best friends from college. This was the connection. Such a close family. Rallying around their boy to give him an ultimate ride despite the hell his body was going through.

I’ll never forget the Facebook status on February 7, 2009 from Melissa that read, “Kyle is popping wheelies in heaven now.” I couldn’t believe it. He was so strong for so long. And then that evil tumor wouldn’t relent. Dammit. Thinking about Kyle’s mom, holding him, letting him know, that he can go now, his work is done, breaks me down to pieces every time. His memorial was, how do I say? Glorious. Hundreds of people. We all wore hot pink. His favorite color. For a cool 8 year old, Kyle danced to his own drum. He made friends, shared his light, made us all aware of the precious gift each sunrise can be.

On January 17, 2010, what would have been Kyle’s 9th birthday, his mom and his brother celebrated by eating ice cream for breakfast lunch and dinner. Dozens of us did the same in solidarity. We posted our flavors on Facebook and called it Ice Cream Day. Kyle taught us that sometimes, you have to eat dessert first. We do this every January 17th. Eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Maybe you will too.

I did not write the following, but Kyle’s mom posted it on their blog soon after Kyle passed away.

It’s the story of Waterbugs and Dragonflies. It will leave you weeping. I’m sorry. But if you’ve lost a loved one, you can be comforted in the dragonfly’s story.

Waterbugs and Dragonflies

Down below the surface of a quiet pond lived a little colony of water bugs. They were a happy colony, living far away from the sun. For many months they were very busy, scurrying over the soft mud on the bottom of the pond. They did notice that every once in awhile one of their colony seemed to lose interest in going about. Clinging to the stem of a pond lily it gradually moved out of sight and was seen no more.
“Look!” said one of the water bugs to another. “One of our colony is climbing up the lily stalk. Where do you think she is going?” Up, up, up it slowly went….Even as they watched, the water bug disappeared from sight. Its friends waited and waited but it didn’t return…

“That’s funny!” said one water bug to another. “Wasn’t she happy here?” asked a second… “Where do you suppose she went?” wondered a third.
No one had an answer. They were greatly puzzled. Finally one of the water bugs, a leader in the colony, gathered its friends together. “I have an idea”. The next one of us who climbs up the lily stalk must promise to come back and tell us where he or she went and why.” “We promise”, they said solemnly.

One spring day, not long after, the very water bug who had suggested the plan found himself climbing up the lily stalk. Up, up, up, he went. Before he knew what was happening, he had broke through the surface of the water and fallen onto the broad, green lily pad above.

When he awoke, he looked about with surprise. He couldn’t believe what he saw. A startling change had come to his old body. His movement revealed four silver wings and a long tail. Even as he struggled, he felt an impulse to move his wings…The warmth of the sun soon dried the moisture from the new body. He moved his wings again and suddenly found himself up above the water. He had become a dragonfly!!

Swooping and dipping in great curves, he flew through the air. He felt exhilarated in the new atmosphere. By and by the new dragonfly lighted happily on a lily pad to rest. Then it was that he chanced to look below to the bottom of the pond. Why, he was right above his old friends, the water bugs! There they were scurrying around, just as he had been doing some time before.

The dragonfly remembered the promise: “The next one of us who climbs up the lily stalk will come back and tell where he or she went and why.” Without thinking, the dragonfly darted down. Suddenly he hit the surface of the water and bounced away. Now that he was a dragonfly, he could no longer go into the water…

“I can’t return!” he said in dismay. “At least, I tried. But I can’t keep my promise. Even if I could go back, not one of the water bugs would know me in my new body. I guess I’ll just have to wait until they become dragonflies too. Then they’ll understand what has happened to me, and where I went.”

And the dragonfly winged off happily into its wonderful new world of sun and air…….