A Pinkin for My Punkin

"Pinkins!" T Junior points to an orange orb in the field. "Touch!"

I set him down in the mud-and-squash-vine turf. He pats the pumpkin like it's a pet and smiles.

Last year, we didn't do this. T Junior was only 5 months old. Life was hectic. A few days before Halloween, I took him to Fred Meyer and he rode in the cart. I sifted through the chest-high cardboard boxes filled with pumpkins the size of...the size of my child. Maybe larger.

That night I noticed T Junior had a fever and, well, if you've ever read this blog before, you know my son was rushed to the hospital in the morning.

So no pumpkin pictures for us in 2008. We didn't come home till November.

Even though this is my son's second fall, this is our first patch visit.

We didn't get off to a great start because of this
loud, scary goose, seen here in the bottom left corner.

T Junior patting a "pinkin"

Telling us what it is. "A pinkin!"

Trying to lift it up

My punkin won't hold still anymore.

Helping Dada (aka Mr. T)

The Talking Never Stops

It starts in the morning, when I hoist my 17-month-old out of his crib.

"Bed. Book. A Pooh. Ewlmo. Bees! A duck. A man." And so on. T Junior points out just about everything in his room. (In case you are wondering: "man" is "fan." He hasn't mastered using the "ffff" sound in a word yet. It's not some random dude in there.)

And then it continues when we go downstairs for breakfast. "A beckfist. A bibs. Mulck. Nanana. Wawful. Eggs. Naundry. Washcloff."

And after "beckfist" and throughout the day, he continues to list objects he sees. Today, he showed me, "Daddy's hat."

He started singing this past week. Yesterday, he mumbled a version of "Happy Birthday" to Mr. T. Later, in the car, he sang along to a song he loves: the Yeah, Yeah, Yeah Song (With All Your Power) by The Flaming Lips. Here's a sample (sorry for the bad recording quality, it's from my phone).

Day 85: For My Jayjers

Note: This is from my post at my other blog: Mom vs. Marathon:

I hurt. All over. Even at my fingertips. In fact, I didn't think I was going to be able to run today.

This morning I lost my best buddy. My Jayj. My Jayjee. My Jayjers. My Bubby Boy. My Bubbers. My Bubby. My Jayjee-Boy. My AJ. He was six.

You may remember he wasn't the best jogging partner. But he was the best cuddler. At least until he got too hot and had to relocate to the floor. And he gave the best Boxer kisses...if you're into that sort of thing.

We actually didn't want him at first. We went to look at his litter with a different puppy boy in mind. But that dog had been spoken for. It didn't matter. It was love at first sight for me. AJ was, in my opinion, the cutest puppy of all time. I picked him up, looked in his lovable round eyes, and he leaned in and bumped my nose with his. I laughed. He did it again. Then, I did it to him. And again and again. From that day on, he had my heart.

I don't know what to write about this morning, so bear with me. It was awful. But then it seemed like things were going to be okay. And then it was awful again.

I was sitting with AJ in the back of the minivan, his head was on my lap. I was scratching behind his ears and rubbing the side of his deep chest, the one that made him drop like an anchor in the pool at my parents house once (I jumped in with all my clothes on to save him).

We were parked in the garage waiting this morning. Waiting because we'd already been to the vet, just a couple minutes from our house. Of course, it's Saturday, so they don't open until 8 and it was 7:30. All of the emergency clinics are at least 30 minutes away, so we decided to go home to let Lucy and Annie out to go potty, and so that Mr. T could change poor T Junior's soaked diaper.

So, I sat in the back of the Odyssey trying to stay calm and stroking AJ's head. He'd collapsed earlier this morning, something he's done before. But he's always recovered. This morning was different. He still couldn't get up. Earlier, we thought he was gone, but he came back. That's when we put him in the van and whisked T Junior out of his crib.

He seemed better while we were waiting in the garage.

Mr. T was upstairs changing T Junior.

I had my legs tucked to one side and my Bubby rested his head on my knees. He gazed at my face with the same lovable round eyes. I smiled at him. I felt I needed to talk to him to keep him from being scared, but maybe it was me that was scared. Anyway, I told him about when we brought him home and how he got to ride on my lap the whole way in the 4-Runner. And, about how we kept stopping along the freeway so he could go potty. But he wouldn't go because he didn't like the snow, which is funny because snow is his favorite. He used to loved to try to catch snowflakes...after they landed on the ground! One of his favorite games was when Mr. T would toss him snowballs or throw an entire armload of the white stuff right in his face!

I was talking to AJ when he starting panting hard. "It's okay, Jayjee," I said, then screamed for Mr. T who couldn't hear me. I called for my husband a couple more times before I decided I might be scaring the dog. I got on my knees, leaned over my boy -- Mr. T always called him a mama's boy -- and put my face close to his. I rubbed behind his ears. "It's okay, Jayjee, I'm here. Mama's here." I kept saying that over and over because that's what I've done in the past.

But this time it didn't work.
A minute later, Mr. T came back in the garage with T Junior. "I think he's gone, honey," I wept. Mr. T tried rubbing his chest. We cried, we hugged. I pressed my face to AJ's neck. I petted and kissed him, his little red hairs sticking to my lips. I stayed back there while Mr. T drove us back to the vet.

It's been a really hard day, and I didn't actually plan on writing all of this. I'm too sad. I can't shake it.
After we came back from the vet this morning, I was numb. My limbs felt tingly and a little bit like Jell-O. At one point, I lost it and crumbled on the floor. I couldn't run.

Finally, we got out of the house after T Junior woke up from his very long nap. Mr. T took me to REI for some retail therapy. I got a very cool running shirt there, and I'll write more about it, maybe, tomorrow. I did feel better away from the house, but as soon as we were on our way back home, the sadness gripped me again.

We were home for about 20 minutes before I decided to go for the run I was supposed to do this morning. "I think it'll make me feel better," I told Mr. T.

"It's okay to be sad," he said.

"I'm tired of being sad."

But what turned out to be a 3.5-mile run didn't help. I ran and cried.

So I am sorry for this long, sad post. I'm hoping this will help make the hurting stop.

Making a Quilt

I just drank the swill from my dehydrated pad thai noodle soup lunch. I'm reading blogs, catching up on the lives of people I've never met when sadness comes down on me like a wet towel.

I miss my little boy.

I'm working three days in a row now. And, while I know T Junior's okay at day care, I'm sick with jealousy that someone else is enjoying his smile, his voice, his hugs and kisses while I'm sitting at a wood laminate desk giving all my attention to a computer screen and occasionally sneaking peeks at a two-dimensional photograph.

The picture is of all three of us, actually. It's from my birthday last September. My grin is giving me a double chin and my hair is pulled back, revealing the sapphire studs I opened from Mr. T just that morning. I am holding up my 4-month-old son, who has a Charlie Brown head and chubby flushed cheeks. A smiling Mr. T in his Fivebucks Coffee t-shirt has his arm around us. I wish I could poke my finger in the dimple in his right cheek. He hates that.

T Junior didn't get his dad's one dimple, but he did get his beautiful lips and sweet chin. The nose is a mystery, but T Junior has my eyes. My dark and squinty, hooded, down-turned, almond-esque eyes that become slivers when I smile, and that I've never grown to love. T Junior's aren't as small, but they are definitely mine. I think these eyes suit a male better. I wonder if he will like them when he starts middle school and becomes aware of such things.

But is that something boys even notice? Girls do. I was hyper aware of my eyes (still am) and my height (not anymore) when I was growing up. Why couldn't I have had baby blues? Even green or hazel would've done. Anything but my boring brown color, which is so dark that my friend's 4-year-old once pointed to my face and said, "You have black eyes." Why couldn't I have had long mascara-friendly lashes and creased lids that look great with a splash of sparkling emerald shadow?

And, as long as I'm lamenting my genes, why couldn't I have been cute and petite? There's nothing feminine about being 5'7" in the fourth grade and owning the nickname "hightower." Having the height advantage in tetherball does not make the oafish feeling worth it.

What will my son be like when he grows up? I think about this when I see a high-schooler shuffling along, his shaggy-on-purpose hair in his bumpy red face, an iPod plugged into his brain, his eyes fixed on the sidewalk. I think about this when I see a confident 18-year-old quarterback get smashed into the turf. I think about this when I see pictures of a 3-year-old neighbor on his first day of preschool.

But I can't think about it too much or that wet towel turns into a heavy, suffocating quilt.

Nunning

We've been talking a lot about running at our house lately.

I'm training for a marathon, which means T Junior is often sitting is his jogging stroller with me slugging along behind him. "We're running," I always tell him.

Yesterday, Mr. T and T Junior took me to my first 10k race. There were people running everywhere, of course. And, even though my boys never saw me start or finish the race, they practiced what they would say when I ran by. T Junior demonstrated for me after I was done running. He said, "Go Mama!" I get all teary eyed just thinking about it.

Yesterday afternoon, I was doing something in the kitchen and T Junior was playing in the living room. But he wasn't playing with toys, he was just quickly going around the coffee table, then behind the couch, then back around the table. His little legs moving quickly, just barely bending at the knee. His arms flailing chest-high out to the sides.

"What are you doing, mister?" I chuckled.

He didn't stop, but he answered me. "Nunning!"

Where to Get a Child's Halloween Costume

...or any other kid-related item for way less than it would cost at a retail store? The 6th Annual Sunshine Mountain Christian Preschool Kids Sale -- it gets bigger every year -- that's where!

What you will find: Halloween costumes, baby gear, toys, games, books, racks and racks of children's clothing (infant to juniors), maternity clothing, bikes, strollers of all sizes and for all uses, shoes, boots, coats, DVDs and CDs and more! Plus there are always tons of high-end items and brands like Gymboree, Hanna Anderson, Janie & Jack, BOB, Discovery Toys, Pottery Barn, Robeez, plus boutique and European brands!

Where you will find it: Zion Lutheran Church, 25105 132nd Ave. S.E., Kent

When you will find it: 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. Saturday (Oct. 3)

What you need to know: It's cash only, so stop by the ATM before you get there. And come early!!!