The Queen's Rambles

People, I am so sick. So, so, sick. I can’t even count the number of times I tossed my cookies today. I’m 13 weeks so I thought the morning sickness was supposed to be waning, but it is ramping up into high gear. Ugh. UGH. UGH!

At least Erik is starting to accept the idea of a baby. He’s been talking to my belly a lot, and expecting me to answer for the baby in a high pitched voice. Also, he’s decided the baby’s name is Coonie. Not Connie. Coonie. Like a racoon.

We still have many obstacles to get past, but at least he is liking the idea of being a big brother and having conversations with the baby. I’ve tried to explain that I’m going to be the mommy’s baby, but he refuses to accept that part of the deal. I am his mommy and only his mommy. As an eldest child I’m afraid I can relate a little too much to his feelings. In some ways I feel like we are totally betraying him by having another child, but in other ways I realize that it will be good for him on many levels to have someone else he can lean on in times of trouble.

Hopefully.

I talked to my sister today and she has given me permission not to come out right now. So very gracious of her. I really do understand where she is coming from, but from what I can tell this is not a crisis situation. It might be a crisis situation in a few months, but it isn’t right now. If I feel it is developing into a crisis situation I’ll hop on a plane. I am thinking about taking a short trip out in January if the situation holds stable until then.

She was also asking me “What am I supposed to do? Should we hold an intervention? What should we do?”

I tried to give her some common sense answers, but I could tell she was frustrated with me. She loves to try to control other people’s lives because it is much easier than controlling her own life. I told her that there is nothing for her to do. She can’t make him quit drinking. An intervention is just going to piss him off and make him want to drink more. About the only thing she can do is stop buying him beer. She is his main supplier, so that is something she actually has control of. I know he would find another supplier but at least it would feel like she was doing something.

She seems to think that it is her job to fix him and somehow keep him alive or get him to heaven. I feel bad for her. I spent years upon years praying for his salvation. I spent even more years praying for an end to his drinking. I have come to peace with the idea that I can’t hope or pray or talk or bully or browbeat the alcohol out of him or the God into him. It simply doesn’t work like that. I tried explaining that to her, but she is not in a place where she can listen to that.

I did manage to get her to think a tiny bit. I asked her how she felt when people told her what to do and she said “it just makes me want to go out and do the stuff they don’t want me to do.” Yes, dear sister. And that’s exactly how dad is so an intervention is not going to work with him. I think it is pretty basic human nature, actually, but some people are just more stubborn than others.

Despite all the troubles I’ve had with my sister over the years, I can honestly say she is a very caring person and feels things deeply. I am more of a logical, rational person which is probably to my detriment in some cases, but it’s just how I am. It is partially a defense mechanism, partially a learned response and partially my basic nature. It does make it hard to relate to the emotional people in my life.

Soooooo. . .

How ’bout them scooters?

Or rather THE scooter that Erik got for his birthday.

If I have gray hairs the next time you see me, you’ll know why. That damned scooter is going to be the death of me. Or him. Or both of us.

He can go FAST, much faster than on his trike. I have no way to catch him on it and he doesn’t want to listen to me so he is bound to be hit by a car sooner rather than later.

I am hoping to get his scooter behavior under control by being Nazi mom and taking it away if he doesn’t obey immediately. I gave him three warnings tonight and that was it. Seemed fair enough to me. It is unacceptable for him to keep riding when I yell stop. He threw a huge tantrum, but maybe tomorrow night he’ll listen. If not, I can play the part of bad cop until he figures it out.

What am I going to do in 15 years when he gets a motorcycle? I may as well curl up in a ball and die at that point.