It takes a migraine to clear my head

I was trying so hard to breathe deeply, to release, to let the fearful thoughts in my head dissipate. Yesterday morning, I took my boy to preschool on my way to two doctor's appointments where I was hoping to find out why I've been having chronic migraines for a month and over the last few days, tingling that spreads across my scalp to my face.

I was hoping to get some answers but also afraid that I'd need an MRI or hear some kind of concern or urgency laced in my doctor's voice. I could rationalize migraines, even one after another, as being the logical child of stress and not enough sleep and eating Luna Bars for two meals a day. But the tingling took me right to the brain tumor place and the brain tumor place is only milliseconds away from the frantic-ness of "if something happens to me, who will raise Lil E?"

Of course, I know who will raise Lil E if something (touch wood) happens to me and this is neither calming nor comforting nor OK with me. So I said some om namah shivayas, went to bed earlier and slept away as much of that worry as I could. I woke up feeling better and went about the business of packing lunch and putting on Diego undies (the boy's) and Mardi Gras beads (also the boy's), smoothed on berry red lipstick (yes, mine) with some silly thought that if I looked bright-eyed and big-smiled there could be no possible way a pins-and-needles-inducing brain tumor was growing in my head.

On the way to preschool, the normalcy of my day helped ease my mind. Lil E and I talked at length about the construction vehicles in the lane next to us and sang along to songs on the radio. There's something about an almost-four-year old in Sponge Bob sunglasses and a pulled-low baseball cap singing "No air! NO AIIIIIIRRRR!" to soothe a mama's worries about life beyond that moment in time, that note hanging in the air.

That moment turned quickly and I saw a familiar expression come across Lil E's face as I peered back through the rear view mirror.

"Mommy," he groaned. "Mommy, my belly feels sick."

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Oh the squeals! We brave Disney on Ice

When I was a little girl, one of those little girls that was helplessly pulled in to the glitter and lights and shiny hair and stretchy satin costumes of any pretty lady under a spotlight, my parents had a rule: Circus one year, ice follies the next.

The alternating made me anxious, but tickets were expensive and hiking up four-thousand stairs to seats by the ceiling with small children is an event in itself. I got that as a kid, but still, I longed to see the woman spinning over the audience by her hair and the chorus of ice dancers glide effortlessly to music piped in to the stadium. While I loved the circus years, loved the circus, I wanted to be the ice follies.

When I got an invitation to take Lil E to Disney on Ice, that's what clouded my mind. Ohhh, the ice follies and the feather tiaras and skates swathed in pale pink and electric blue covers. Lil E might not care about such things -- in fact, I knew as soon as I read through the details he'd get the same gasp from the promise of Buzz Lightyear landing on the ice -- but I knew we had to go.

Because no kid should have to wave an expensive light-up toy into the dark while a booming voice introduces sowcowing Mickey and Minnie to the thunder of small clapping hands, we asked Lil E's buddy Sam and his dad to join us. Their excitement, in the form of spontaneous squeals and truck noises and dinosaur growls that lasted from dinner through the car ride to United Center to our impatient wait in our seats before it all began, was hilarious. We bought them each a toy, I splurged on a big bag of cotton candy and we poured over each page of the program.

I was surprised I didn't think any of it was obnoxious, not the flashing lights or slapstick humor or weird Cinderella interlude or Billy Joel cover songs put to the backdrop of The Incredibles joining forces with Frozone to free Mickey and Minnie from the grips of Syndrome (huh?). Instead, I watched as my boy watched, mouth open, toy waving, eyes wide.  I laughed as Lil E and his buddy yelled "BRAVO!" at the end of each act and described their favorite parts enthusiastically as we drove home way past bedtime (yes, the bad guy Syndrome was impressive to them, and yes, one of them said the entrapped mice were "exciting, powerful and fun," and I've been sworn not to say which kid it was).

Long after the finale of fireworks and parade of characters, when Lil E was finally quieted and tucked in bed, I peeked in his room just in time to see him pull the cover up over his new Buzz Lightyear toy. It was laying still on his chest and he patted it, maybe to hold it close, maybe a little reminder of the wonder and lights only hours earlier. Whatever that sweet little pat was about, I got it.

And I thought to myself that I would try, really try, to get us back to the ice again next year.

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Staycation redux, day three: Kohl's Children's Museum

I may very well be the last mother in the Chicagoland area to go to Kohl's Children's Museum. Lil E's been there several times with my parents and it seemed like just the right destination for the last day of our staycation.

It was rainy. Lil E made these convincing pleas to return to the beach and I'd happily agreed (this time with swimsuits, I swore to him), packing more soy butter and jam sandwiches and sunscreen and still-sandy toys into my mama tote bag. And then rain started pelting the porch and windows and street below our little apartment. The plan changed and we packed that tote into the car and headed out to the suburbs.

Have you been to Kohl's? Of course you have. Even if you're not a Chicagoan or a mama, you've probably been there. So I don't need to tell you how amazing it is, with experiential rooms where kids play at real life. We hung out in the veterinary office while Lil E nursed a kitten and got soaking wet (again) in the water room while we cranked up fountains, shot balls through tubes with water cannons and watched how wind changes the course of tiny, plastic boats on a lazy river through the middle of the room.  We dig for real worms at an earth exhibit and Lil E spent a half-hour collecting shingles and bean bags at a construction site.

He arranged magnetic wallpaper in a house remodeling room while I swooned in identification with the 8-year old girl who followed behind the smaller kids straightening their wallpaper squares to perfection.  In the Potbelly sandwich-making store, I saw Lil E's after-high school job potential as he happily fed rubber French bread, cheese, mustard, pickles and milkshakes through the cranked conveyer belt toaster.

Oh yes, and the boy painted his own face, carefully creating his "secret agent" persona. We carefully preserved that look through nap time and a trip to the park and dinner, so that his tears at washing it away during a bath that night could only last so long.

Look how that kid's mastered the kohl artistry (not to mention the Kohl's artistry)! I swelled up with pride and laughter to watch him color his face. And neck. And arms. And hands.

We didn't want to leave and it was only the promise of Ben & Jerry's ice cream and need for naps that got us out the door. We'll go back, though. And next time, I doubt it will be the default plan.

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