Olivia Rose... Button Pusher and Ass Kisser

Olivia Rose is my difficult child.  I could pretend that it's not true, but it is.  People who tell you they love all their kids the same are either lying or they're doing it wrong.  I love all my kids but I love them differently; they're different people.  It's okay if Liv reads this tomorrow or in 10 years or in her therapist's office in 15 years when she starts to figure out all the ways in which I've screwed her up.  And it's okay because Olivia knows how much I love her and I know how much she loves me....and we both know she's the difficult child.  She is also the joyful child and the mischievous child and the magical child. And yet, for me, she's the difficult one.  It doesn't even imply fault on her part; I'm sure it's me....I let her push my buttons.  Olivia is a very gifted button pusher.

My childhood was magical...single mom, no money, she worked a ton of hours and yes, it was magical.  My mom did magic on a budget...but more importantly she did it on a short temper.  My childhood mornings were not magic.  They were a nightmare.  My mom screamed from the moment one of us woke up until we left her for the babysitter or school or the side of the road where she often left us (kidding).

I work extremely hard, really, really hard to not have the mornings of my childhood.  And honestly, my kids have probably seen me lose my shit a handful of times in their lives.  I keep it under wraps.  And you know what?  I thought my mom was a crazy person and I didn't understand her need to torture Erin and I every day.  Now I know that kids are a fucking pain in the ass.....we were torturing her, she was just trying to get the hell to work where little kids would leave her alone so she could make just enough money not to live in a cardboard box.

Right. So this morning was tough.  Our mornings are complicated.  Aidan starts at 7:30 and the girls not until 9am so we leave the house at 7:00, drop him off and head to my friend Jesica's house.  Jesica has a 5 year old and three nineteen month olds.  Her life is very boring so she has us over 4 mornings a week to liven things up.  Don't go back.... I said 3 NINETEEN MONTH OLD TODDLERS...and a 5 year old because those people are easy to deal with!  This morning Olivia had a melt down.  I was going to tell you the hilarious story of what happened leading up to the melt down and why she had it....except I can't remember at all what it was about.  It resulted in me yelling at her which truly happens very rarely, when she got out of the car she had tears in her eyes which bothered me; I remember how that felt.  

I had a perfectly good day after I dropped off my crying child at school.  Until I took my unchargeable iPod to the Apple store only to find out it would cost $189 to fix and $200 to replace and....I can't afford tampons right now so I have no iPod.  Which, may not seem like a big deal to you but my iPod is what keeps me from killing sprees so it may be more important to you that you originally thought!  And here's the thing....I don't let my daughters touch it because they lost my first iPod and the day this one quit charging was the first time I've let them touch it and now it's broken forever...so I was pretty pissed when I walked in tonight.  Plus I burst into crazy lady tears at the Apple store prompting the lady to ask if my kids had something else to play on besides the iPod to which I replied, "I don't care about my kids, this is my iPod!" (Author's note: I can't sleep without my iPod and I'm going on about two weeks of near total sleeplessness, I'm really tired and I care about my kids but come on, they all have Kindle Fires and I had my God damned iPod)

I literally cried all the way home...the ugly sobby cry...I think I may be getting my period, fuck yay!  I walk in the door and Livi gives me a gift bag with her favorite stuffed tiger inside it and an apology card.  It reads:

Sorry how I behaved this morning. You understand I was just having a bad day :( and I was tired.  I love you so much.  Do you forgive me?  Yes or No?

Um.....YES, I forgive you, you sweet little thing!  I love that she didn't ask if I understood....she knew I understood!  She may be a grand champion button pusher but she is also a really good ass kisser and that is just what I needed this evening.  I am never going to be the mother of the year, sometimes I struggle to just get through the day, but my kids absolutely adore me and it isn't because I'm a push over or easy on them...it's because I accept them for who they are; good, bad and ugly. With me is where they can be exactly who they are and know that who they are is exactly enough. They know they can have occasional meltdowns and we figure out a way to do better next time.  Tomorrow is another day, thank God.

Happy New Year

There are just under six hours left of 2013.  I am going to start drinking shortly so I thought I best hammer this post out before it becomes an alcohol fueled, tear stained blogtastrophy.  I'm not going to lie; I'm ecstatic to see 2013 go.  Cannot wait.  My facebook feed is filled with both real and imaginary friends being thankful for all of their blessings and looking forward to the coming year.  I agree  wholeheartedly with the following caveat; 2013 can kiss my ass.  I am at the end of a bad three year run.  I have nothing but the highest hopes for 2014.  

2013 has been a roller coaster ride from one end to the other.  I'm not ready to talk about my marriage ending except to say that I wouldn't have made it through the last three years without Dan and my kids and that the two of us have loved one another for fourteen years, and that is a long time. 

  Life and their parents have thrown things at my kids over the last three years that kids shouldn't have to go through.  But, as Cheli was fond of saying, life isn't fair.  And if something good is going to come from the last three years, I hope what they have been through prepares them for their lives ahead and that when they grow up and remember their childhoods they will remember they were fiercely loved by both of their parents.  As for me, I have learned so much over the last year about who my children are as people; they are amazing individuals.  When I think back over the last eight years and the differences that Olivia and Grace have made in the lives of Dan, Aidan and myself....well, there are too many to count, all of them valuable.  The best parts about this year are specific to my kids; seven year old girls are amazingly fun especially considering that for nearly four years I thought they would kill me, and I have a 16 year old boy who still likes me and doesn't mind hanging out in public occasionally...those two things alone make it more of a success than not.

2014 is going to be a year of changes for myself, for Dan, for our kids and for our extended families.   We will all have to figure out how to move forward together and individually and we will have to learn to navigate our new relationships; I have high hopes on all accounts.  

On a personal level I am looking forward to working on the new home that the kids and I are making and I hope that we will be here for a long, long time; I am grateful for the help Dan is giving in making that a reality.  I am looking forward to continuing to feel more "myself" and  to spending quality time with my kids, my family and my friends.  I wouldn't have made it this far without the amazing support team that occasionally helps me keep my head above water when things get too crazy.  Thanks to Erin, my brother, who continually takes my problems as his own and who always has the soundest and most thoughtful advice. A huge thanks to Melissa and Paul who housed the kids and I for what was supposed to be a month and turned into three.  We took over their home and they very graciously let us leak into every aspect of their nice, quiet lives and, I think, into their hearts.  Thanks to Thia, Tim, Maison and Kendall who kept my chickens, my coop and Lilo for that same extended amount of time. First Kendall lived through the murder of Lucy, our favorite hen and then Thia cleaned her up and prepared her for burial (she is currently residing in my freezer waiting for the Spring thaw....story for another day)...and now they have added chicken to the list of meats their family doesn't eat thanks to the trauma I brought them.  On top of that, my silly dog ran away and got hit by a car while I was out of town and unreachable and Thia and Tim fronted tons of money to put her back together again for my kids.  I love Thia dearly and I know she loves me but I'm guessing she won't have such a hard time saying "no" when I ask her for favors anymore.  Thanks to Cathi, Jim, Tricia, Nick, Donna, Rob, Colleen, Larry, Tiffany, Jesica, Jim, Jeannie, Bill, Sally, John, and Pam.  And from far far away, my bff Shawna, and my soul sisters... Jessie and Becca.  Huge thanks to all of the amazing people who love my children beyond reason, most especially Dan's family. I hope I didn't forget anyone, if I did, please know that I am so, so grateful.  My actual family seems to grow smaller and smaller but the people surrounding me by choice continues to grow and strengthen and for that I am truly grateful.  I hope I am half as good a friend to you as you are to me.  Here's to a fantastic new year and a what I hope will be a spectacular rise from the ashes. Cheers.

Happy New Year.

Thankful

Last Saturday I started moving into my new house and tonight I'm sitting in a beautiful cabin in Nemo, South Dakota in the gorgeous Black Hills with my brother, my kids and my best friend and her family.  To say I am thankful is an understatement.

I've been cooking since Tuesday, working on what is my first solo Thanksgiving dinner.  Look Mom....no hands.  Tuesday I made stuffing and mashed potatoes and yesterday I molested massaged a turkey and a turkey breast and I made an apple pie and then realized I forgot to put in anything to thicken it.  Oops.  This morning I stuffed flour in through the slits and baked it a little more; it was delicious but runny-things could be worse.  

Last Monday I went with Shawna, Erin, Aidan, Grace and Olivia to scatter some of my mom's ashes at Mt. Rushmore.  It was amazing and comical and heart breaking, everything I knew it would be but it was okay because I was with five of the people I love most in this world.

We each had a small container of Cheli's ashes to smuggle inside the national park and we each picked a place and had a private moment to ourselves to say what we wanted to say and scatter them how we wanted to.  Olivia stood facing into the wind in front of a split rail fence.  Let's just say Grandma will be with her for a long time but she isn't alone, yesterday morning I saw Grace carrying a small container of rocks....in the unwashed ash container; Grandma is with her too. 

The whole thing got Shawna and I to talking about that overwhelming love you feel for your mom when you're a little kid; that desire to launch yourself at your mom and hug her forever.  

I'm lucky, all three of my kids still have it; even the big one.  I didn't know a teenager existed that could like his mom so much, I'm so glad.  And the girls, when they hug me, I just remember how I felt about my mom and I try to take the time to just hug them back and be present.  Even Olivia who is my challenge child...when she is upset, even with me, she cannot be comforted by anyone but her mom.  I love that they need me, I need them too. 

I've been waiting over two years to do this; this trip has been cancelled again and again.  My hands shook as I poured my mom's ashes out of the urn into the six little containers in the back seat of a Cadillac.  Cheli would have totally have appreciated the Cadillac scenario; they have amazing suspension.  

It wasn't the first time I'd had my mom's ashes on my hands (you can read about the first time here). It was the first time however, I was handling her ashes and knowingly committing a crime, a crime that I insisted my kids participate in. And, I know, I write about my mom here a lot. The thing is; she is everywhere for me.  In some ways, it is easier to figure out my feelings for her with her gone.  And, yes, I know how that sounds.  I'd also joyfully trade all the knowledge and insight I've gained about our relationship since she died for one solid minute of face to face time with her.  

I am terrified that my girls won't remember her; Aidan and I spend a lot of time trying to keep her memory alive and vibrant for them. 

We each did our own thing; I sent my mom over a fence under George Washington's nose with a silent conversation (something that never would have happened were she alive) and some tears.  My kids and Erin picked their own spots and haven't shared much

about their experiences.  Shawna was the only one who used her hands, she said dumping seemed rude and she feels she has become closer to my mom than she ever intended.  My mom loved Shawna, I remember when it used to bug the crap out of me how much she loved her; I was certain it was way more than she loved me.  I was 15, I was an idiot.  What I know now is that she loved Shawna because of how tightly I held to her and how much I loved her.  She loved her because she loved me and Shawna was willing to have it, I usually threw it back in her face.  Shawna was to my mom what Nate is to me, her bonus child and you can never mother too many people.  My mom thought Shawna was the best thing that ever happened to me and even I wouldn't argue her that. 

Our Mt. Rushmore adventure ended in comedy as most things in my family do; my mom would have loved every second of it.  I wanted to take a picture of all six of us so I tried to climb over a split rail fence into a forbidden area to frame a photo and start the timer and take our picture.  I made it half way over the fence, one leg on either side and I twisted my ankle on a piece of granite...yes, I know, it's a granite mountain.  I fell down on the forbidden side of the fence in complete slow motion...ask anyone who was there.  I could feel the ridiculous slow motion faces I was making.  I could see both Shawna's and Erin's faces clearly, it was fantastic....I crumpled to the ground in grand theatric style.  By the time I landed ,which I'm pretty sure took 15 minutes, I was laughing so hard I couldn't stand up or I would wet my pants.  So I layed on the ground under the fence laughing so hard I couldn't breathe and the five people I love so much laughed at with me.  

Shawna was kind enough to capture it on film

Until my mom died Thanksgiving was my very favorite holiday, it was always filled with laughter and Hagan food drama; I truly dread it now.  Until she was gone it was the only holiday that made us feel like a big family, now it just makes Erin and I feel like orphans and that has been hard.  My husband's family always includes both of us, but it's not the same and sometimes being around someone else's entire family makes you feel more alone.  This year it's a little better, and being out of town is a welcome distraction, there are lots of kids and everyone is having a ball.  Erin is here and he is the only person left who remembers all of the same traditions and memories that I do, I couldn't do Thanksgiving without him.  Tomorrow he turns 40 and, as ever, I am incredibly grateful that he is my brother and my friend.  I remember my mom saying to me on my 40th birthday, "You can't imagine how strange it is to have a 40 year old child."  And I want so badly for her to be able to say that to Erin over his cake.  Tomorrow we will go out for dinner with Shawna and Chad and gamble in Deadwood, I hope I can distract him, birthdays without your mom are hard.  

This year I am incredibly grateful for my chosen family, I have had friends help me in ways that I can't even explain in words- and that is saying something.  Friends have moved me, they've kept and loved and entertained my kids, they've cooked.  They've gifted my children life-sized tiger stuffed animals.  They've held me up...even one I didn't get to meet in person until this very week.  They've kept my chickens and my dogs, they've given me and my kids a place to stay while all of our house drama was going on.  I am incredibly thankful.  I am grateful to my mom who taught me how to be a good friend; it pays off in my life over and over again.  So while I am missing her today a little more than usual, I am so thankful for so much of what she taught me, for the traditions she left in my care.  If you are my friend and I haven't told you lately how much I love you....I love you.  And I am incredibly thankful to have you.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Whereupon I Give Birth And Do Jello Shots At a Hotel Party

Again, it's 1997 (I seem to be in a time warp), I'm riding in a car with my mom on the back roads of southern Wisconsin.  It's late, maybe 11pm and we are racing to Vicki's house, my Wisconsin baby shower is tomorrow, I am around 6 months pregnant.  My mom is driving fast, my mom only drives fast; we come flying over a hill and a deer races out in front of us, rights itself and runs parallel to us.  It all happens in a split second and in slow motion.  My mom and I, who are not physically affectionate by any stretch of the imagination, both put our hands out to one another at the same time.  

So, when the deer turns on it's heel back towards our car and jumps the hood missing the windshield by centimeters, we are holding hands.  We are still holding hands an hour later when we pull into Hollandale.

Flash forward a month and a half.  It's 8pm and my mom and I are back in the car.  This time we are headed for Lake Geneva.  Her friends have a house there and it's a big party weekend.  You know, because when you're seven and a half months pregnant you're all about the partying.  I'm pretty sure I've been wrangled into coming as a babysitter.  My mom and her friends need babysitters.  

I've been having stomach pains since yesterday at the Cubs game.  They played the Cardinals, they won.  At a certain point in my whining my mom says, "It kind of seems like you're stomach pains are getting regularly spaced".  Strange.  So we start timing them.  They're 8 minutes apart when we start.  Do we keep going or do we turn around?  Am I in labor?  I'm only 7 1/2 months pregnant.  Last week I went to the hospital because I was dying having gas pains.  I don't want to go back for no reason.  It's the probably the last get away I will have before this kid is born (and yes, I'm still 100% certain it's a girl).  We go back and forth, we can't decide.  My mom says, "Let's call my sister, we will do what she says, she's smarter than us."  And, Donna is smarter than us, but only book smarter, we are waaaaaay street smarter.  Donna of course says, "Turn around and go back to the hospital.  What is wrong with you two?"  So we turn around.  

Several cell phone calls are made; her friends want her to drop me off at the hospital and come up there. Thanks people I've known my whole life, I see where I rank when it comes to choosing between giving birth and getting loaded!  I begin to fear that my mom will drop me off and go.  The doctor tells me I'm not going to be leaving the hospital without my daughter.  Fine, he said "baby", whatever.  

Of course, my mom didn't leave me to go party.  She stayed with me, she delivered my daugther son, she fell in love, the rest is history.  Oh wait, the Jello shots...

I work for a company that only employs women, except for the owner.  Do I have maternity insurance? Nope.  I didn't even know maternity insurance existed.  I was 26, I got pregnant on the pill and using condoms; there were other forces at work.  One of them was not Blue Cross/Blue Shield.  They kicked my ass out of that hospital faster than you could say "hey are you sure it's a boy? It could just be an 'outie.'"  I lost a lot of blood, I think I had 2 or three transfusions.  I gave birth on Saturday at 9:53am.  By Sunday at noon I was back in my hotel room.  I wouldn't finish paying off Aidan's birth until he was entering kindergarten   My mom was still getting phone calls begging her to come up to Lake Geneva.  In all fairness, my mom was a lot of fun at a party.  

Are you wondering why I'm in a hotel room yet?  Right.  My mom sold her house really quickly and the townhouse she was buying wasn't finished being built.  It was going to be finished August 15, Aidan was due August 20something...it was perfect.  Except Aidan's birthday is July 12.  So my baby went home to a hotel.  Fine, it wasn't even a hotel.  It was Motel 6.  The one on Roosevelt Road in Lombard.  It was the only place we could find that took dogs and it was walking distance to two steak houses.  So I brought my baby home to Motel 6 and I fit right in because I had lost so much blood that I seemed really drunk.  There were a lot of drunk people around that hotel.  At 6pm, the day after I had a traumatic birth experience in which the volume of blood I had become accustomed to halved, there was a knock on our door.  My mom's friends were there to get my mom to go drink  with them meet the baby (whom I had finally accepted as a stupid boy).  Among them was a woman who would someday become my mother in law!  They had come straight from Lake Geneva and while they didn't have time to stop for baby gifts, they were kind enough to bring an entire tray of Jello shots.  I swear to God.  It is, to this day, the best "push present" I've ever received and that's saying something because Dan bought me a real Prada back pack when I had the girls.  I was exhausted, I remember thinking they stayed too long.  Although, to be fair, five minutes is too long in a hotel room with two dogs, two beds, two regular adults,  one newly drained of blood and a jaundiced preemie.  I also remember being surprised that my mom didn't leave with them.  When they left Shawna, my mom and I did some Jello shots.

Happy birthday, Mom.

My Dad

You don't hear me talk about my dad very often.  My maiden name is Harper but I started out life as Kristyn June Nussbaum.  My dad, Mike, and my mom split when I was  4.  I didn't see my dad from the time I was 6 until I was around 24.

 

My step-dad, Tom Harper, adopted me when I was 10 and Erin was 8.  That's when my last name changed; "Harper" gets blamed for a lot of things it isn't technically responsible for like flat asses and AD/HD.  He ditched us when we were 17 and 15 respectively.  I have so many, that my daddy issues have names, give me some vodka, I'll introduce you to some of them.

I actually have many memories of spending time with my dad when I was little.  What I remember most was that he was intense.  I actually remember that being around him could sometimes feel heavy; it's probably because it's a trait we shared.

There are so many things I know I have that are from my mom.  There are less from my dad.  There is a small list of things I get from both; my love of politics, my patriotism and the fact that I won't eat the whites on fried eggs (weird, right? Neither of them would eat a fried egg white).  I'm sure my intensity and my tendency towards being occasionally dark are from Mike.  So are my flat feet and bad back.  I think some of my powers of persuasion are from my dad as well.  Erin looks exactly like my dad.  My mom would always freak out a little when she would arrive some place not expecting to see Erin and wonder how Mike got there and how he looked so young!  Erin dances exactly like my dad (this is not necessarily a good thing for either of them), we never understood that either; how can you grow up without someone and do something as specific as dancing exactly the same?

My mom who raised us completely on her own without a cent of child support was always very good about not talking shit about our dad.  She always said that when we were ready she would help us find him and that he loved us very much and that his problems were with her and not us.  What she did by keeping quiet about their relationship was allow Erin and I to  someday have a relationship with Mike.  

Erin moved to Colorado at some point in his early twenties and that's where my dad lived.  He had moved back to Colorado after the divorce and he had remarried and had two children, my half-siblings Hunter and Alexandra.  I also have a step-mom, Terri.  They're all lovely people who I wish I got to spend more time with.

When I was around 24 I visited Erin and we decided to look our dad up.  We had dinner and it was nice.  There were a couple of awkward moments and to this day there are things I wonder that I will never get the chance to ask.  A relationship built from that dinner and eventually we met his family and my brother actually spent a lot of time with them when he was living there.  In 2003 my dad was diagnosed with kidney cancer and at a point I had to decide if I was going to visit him with Aidan and Dan while he was alive or if we would attend his funeral.  I missed his funeral but I will always be very grateful that he got to meet Aidan and Dan.  It was a beautiful trip with many wonderful memories.  

My dad died on November 14, 2003 the day before my mom's birthday.  We didn't have a father/daughter relationship but I miss him and I'm so glad I got the chance to re-connect.  My feelings for Mike are complicated and one of the reasons I try not to write about him publicly is because of the conflict I feel in regard to him and how our relationship makes me feel about myself; myself today and my six year old self.  In some regards it has become more complicated since I've become a parent; a force doesn't exist that would keep me from my kids.  At the same time, I also feel like getting to see that he was a really loving and present dad to Alex and Hunter has been very good for me emotionally, it feels like it somehow fixes old hurts.  In any case, I know he loved me and Erin the best that he could and that things happen for a reason.

Today I am thinking about my Colorado family; Terri, Alex, Hunter, Claire and my two nephews (one who is still cooking).  I know that the pain they feel at the loss of Mike is more like what I feel about my mom, I know that ten years is a long time and that it is nothing. I hope today they celebrate his life and remember the time they had him for; it was a gift.  

Rest in peace, Mike.

Mason Thomas Is The Bravest Boy I Know

It's 1997 and I'm pregnant with a baby girl.  Well, fine, I was pregnant with Aidan but at the time I was 100% certain it was a baby girl.  I was a swimwear buyer and manager for Liquid Assets, a swimwear retailer that has since gone out of business, and I was at Stratford Square mall scouting a new location for a store.  I was walking along the second floor balcony; it has a glass wall all the way around it, when.....BAM, I became afraid of heights.  It had never been a problem before that moment, it has remained a problem ever since that moment.  I'm fine in buildings, but not in places where I could accidentally die.

I had never been a huge danger junkie but I had always been okay with amusement park rides and occasional haunted houses.  When Aidan (who was blissfully not a girl and is by far the easiest of my children to parent from birth and the only one who is NOT a girl) was four his Uncle Erin and Dan dragged me on the Rock n' Roller coaster at Disney.  That was the first time I realized I could leave my body at will.  And I did.  Six seconds into that ride I left my body and I hovered over myself watching the entire time.  I don't go out of my way to re-live experiences like that but I guess it's good to know how to react in a traumatic situation.

Fast forward through years of taking my kids on cave explorations where the stairs are steep and made of metal and have no stair backs and I always think I'm about to die and when I get out of the cave I have to find a quiet spot to hide and put my head between my knees and regroup because I never want my kids to know that I'm afraid of heights.

I'm going to switch tracks on you for a moment.  If you have kids, you know how you feel about them.  You know that you would willingly lay down your life to save them, that your one true job is to make sure that they grow up okay and that however they are screwed up it will all be your fault.  You hover between saving for college and saving for a therapist.  There are other kids that come into your life; some through your friends, some through your kids, every once in a while there are those that just creep in and are there to stay forever.  I am very blessed to have several of those kids in my life.  Chief among them are Mason and Logan.  In the simplest terms they are my old neighbors' kids except that isn't what they are at all.  Their parents started out as my neighbors in Batavia, what they are now feels much more like family.  In fact, I love their families too, and Cathi's mom is one of my favorite people on the planet.  I think I became friends with Cathi when she was pregnant with Mason and our kids have literally been friends since birth.  Until we moved last year every first those kids had was together with Mason  sandwiched between his two giant best friends, Grace and Olivia.  A couple of years later we added Logan and they've been inseparable.  And here is the thing; I love those boys.  I don't like them because they're my friends kids, I love them.  If you told me I wasn't going to get to watch every moment of their evolution into well-adjusted, romantic, house-cleaning, garden growing, funny, feminist, kind, handsome men who make their parents and their old neighbor proud I wouldn't even believe you.  I'd bet money that I will be dancing at their weddings and making baby blankets for their children; I am keeping them, forever.  I would happily throw myself in front of a train to save either of them, and if asked, I would keep them in the event that their parents were lost at sea (now if they go missing  suspicion will definitely be cast on me not to mention their Aunt Michelle would probably make me disappear to get her hands on them).

Every year since they were two we've gone to Swedish Days.  We started out on the itty bitty baby rides.  This summer was going to be the great equalizer.  Mason is still waaaay shorter than the girls but this summer they were all going to meet the minimum height requirement on all the rides at Swedish Days. Height has been an issue.  My girls can always go on rides that Mason can't because they are some sort of genetic anomaly or perhaps they are part Amazon, I'm not sure, I know they don't get their height from their parents.  So we're at our annual Swedish Days outing with my children and Cathi and her boys and Tricia and Boston.  Mason, Grace and Olivia are seven.  For the first hour or two they went on all the rides they wanted over and over. Then with forty-five minutes and one scary ride to go the workers changed shifts and decided that Mason was too short.  Which was total bullshit.  They had two measuring sticks on each ride, one up by the entrances which was professionally made and one down on the ground which was a piece of red duct tape stuck to a fence.  So with forty five minutes to go Mason is told he can't go on any of the big rides with his three best friends, rides he's been going on all damn day.  

It's important to note here that A) I'm still really afraid of heights and don't go on tall rides, and B) I have no problem saying "no" to my own kids, and C) I, apparently, have a problem saying "no" to Cathi's kids and perhaps a lack of common sense that I did not previously acknowledge as such.

I tell Cathi that Mason and I are going to find a ride to go on and we leave them.  We go from ride to ride; all of which he'd been on several times that day, only to be turned away every time.  There was one ride we hadn't tried.  The Zipper.  For the sake of the story, my girls weigh nearly 70lbs; they are solid, I can barely pick them up.  I think Mason weighs about 45lbs; what he lacks in heft he more than makes up for in charm.  He looks up at me and says, "What about that one Kris?" and motions towards The Zipper.  I feel my insides curl into a small tight ball.  "Mason, that one is really scary." I say using his past against him; there was a time that Mason was scared to try things the girls did with no problem.  Those times....they are over.  "I'm not scared, I'll go on it."  He says.  "Okay," I say, "but I'm sure they'll say 'no'.  Okay?  Be prepared for no."  He nods solemnly up at me and we get in the line.  My heart rate increases the closer we get to the front of the line.  The man checks Mason's height and opens the CAGE for us...because that's what it is.   My brain is screaming at the man....can't you see this child is too short, what is wrong with you????? The Zipper is a death cage that hurls you over and over while taking you up and down...it is a nightmare for me to watch and I am stepping foot into it with a child that I love.  

My heart is in my throat and not because I'm worried for Mason.  That.....that will come when the ride starts moving and I become certain that I am about to be the instrument of Mason's death.  Four seconds into movement I realize I've made a grave error and we're both going to die.  Six seconds in Mason has the same realization and goes into panic mode.  I can't even pretend to know what I would have done with my own kids in the situation but I'm pretty sure I would have been scream-ier. There is a bar that comes down over your hips which means the bar only comes down as far as the biggest person.  I am substantially bigger than Mason so I'm going to guess there was a good six inches between his lap and the bar that was supposed to hold him in place.  On second eight (it's possible I was counting) he flew up and nearly out of the bar and I pinned him by the chest with my elbow to the back of the seat and just thought, if I let him go for even one second he is going to be killed.  Also on second 8 I slammed my head into the cage so hard I thought I was going to pass out, I feel certain that I maintained consciousness so that Mason wouldn't be flung to his death.  On second nine is when he closed his eyes and started screaming my name.  Which I could totally relate to because I wanted to scream his name too.  I had to pause on second ten when my $500 prescription sunglasses fell off of my head and bounced around the cage like popcorn.  On second eleven I said "Mason, I need you to open your eyes and look at me right now."  He said, "I can't Kris, I can't open my eyes.  Make it stop."  So second eleven is also where I became scarred for life, I had done this to him.

"Mason, I need you to look at me and I need you to bring your fingers back in here, I need you to take both of your arms and hold onto my arm as tight as you can."  Second twenty, my purse flies off my lap, and also flies around the cage like popcorn.  Popcorn that hurts as it repeatedly hits you and the the tiny person next to you in the face.  To his credit, he looked at me and he grabbed my arm and I'm pretty sure I still have marks.  I looked that kid right in the eyes and I said, "Mason, I promise you we are going to be okay.  I can't promise you you'll ever be able to go on a carnival ride again because I'm pretty sure this is going to have some lasting effects, but I can promise you that I'm going to keep you safe and that we are not going to die on this ride.  Not today.  Okay?  You keep looking at me and we are going to be okay."  And that kid...who used to be pretty scared of bounce houses, maintained eye contact with me for the entirety of that ride.  That ride was 72 hours long I swear to God, it was the longest ride I've been on in my life.  At a point I lost feeling in the elbow that had him pinned to the back of his seat.  And then suddenly we were on the top and we were still and I accidentally lied to him.

"Is it over Kris?"  He asked, both of us were visibly shaking.  "I think sooooooooooooo..." I said as the ride began again only backwards!  We were only at the half way mark.  It didn't get better.  We were tossed and slammed and flung around that cage like pin balls.  It was terrifying but more so because I willingly brought someone else's kid on the death ride.  

When we finally got off Mason looked up at me and said, "I want to find my Mom."  and I said "Mason, I can't look at your mom for a while, okay?"  He threw himself around my waist and we sat down right where we were standing in the blazing sun to regroup.  People had to wallk around us sitting in the middle of the asphalt.  He put his head on my shoulder and I put my head between my legs and I think we sat there for fifteen minutes.  I said, "Mason Thomas, you are seriously the bravest kid I've ever met."  It's true, I was horrified and I was sure Cathi was going to be mad at me.  Eventually he said, "Kris, can you look at my mom yet?"  and I told him, "I don't know Mason, but let's go find her."  So we got up on our shaky adrenaline legs and went and found his mom, by then he had regrouped completely, he didn't even cry, he just hugged her for a second.  I burst into tears when I saw her.  Seriously, I just had a complete breakdown.  She was absolutely gracious about it and totally calm, she ended up reassuring me.  On a personal note, she made me incredibly proud of her-let's say she was a little tightly wound when we met, possibly a smidge over protective and holy crap how she has flourished as a mom, her boys are incredibly blessed in both of their parents.  

I did not recover that day and honestly, when I think of it I'm sick to my stomach.  It is nearly November, it's taken me nearly five months just to screw up the courage to write about it.  Now that I think about it, maybe this will be part of the toast I give at Mason's wedding....if his therapist lets him invite me.