Hope4Peyton

There was this one time we were visiting friends and we walked into the living room to find my 9 yo, her 10 and 11 yo’s sitting completely captivated by “Resident Evil”…the scene where zombie Doberman’s attack?…yeah, that one.

After a long talk about how we were never going to tell daddy about this particular incident (HEH), we had a long talk about how to understand when a movie isn’t appropriate.

General rules were:

1. If they use words that cause mommy’s head to implode

2. If anyone’s internal organs are yanked through their nostrils

3. If anyone…ANYONE…is nekkid.

It’s simple.  It isn’t even really all THAT strict.

And then?

I took them to see a movie that had THIS in it.

*I’ll be waiting here while you watch it several times to make sure you actually saw what you think you saw. By the way? You DID*

This is a movie for kids…and while I KNOW that Tim Burton isn’t anyones idea of Dr. Seuss, I sort of figured it was more “James and the Giant Peach” than a 3-D flick with a character jumping up and down in a thong and pasties.

MY mistake.

Just FYI, if you go up to the customer service desk with death in your eyes, the poor guy will actually fumble around so much trying to give you a speedy refund that he will drop most of his drawer on the floor.

**I was NOT illegally videoing the entire movie, just in case you were wondering…you missed the WORST part of the boob scene because I was fumbling to get the camera out of my purse**

**PS…Just got corrected that this flick is NOT a Burton flick…same director as “James and the Giant Peach” and “Nightmare Before Christmas”…but not Burton…don’t want to get sued or anything. HEH*

*I’ve had the mixed blessing of knowing a lot of women who every day inspire those around them to be more than you thought you could. Through pain and loss of unimaginable magnitude, they are able to love fiercely and live with laughter in their lives.  I met one of these tremendous people for the first time in Nashville and she will always have a place in my heart.  If I’m gonna post a picture of some chick grabbing my hooters, I wouldn’t want it to be anyone but the Redneck Mommy herself.

After a long journey (seriously, READ all 6 parts), the Redneck family has found themselves with a beautiful new member of the family (although apparently the inbreeding was starting to show, so they had to adopt to inject some new blood into the mix) and I’m so happy to be a part of the welcoming celebration and redneck baby shower.

His Bad Redneck Auntie challenged us to reach deep and find our inner Redneck, and BOY did I find mine, shameless dirty and reeking of Skoal.*

I was born in Seoul, Korea…raised in Indiana.  I’m a pretty strong argument for the nature vs. nurture argument.

No, for REAL, ya’ll.

I love me some country music.

If I lost access to iced tea I would probably wither and die.

I can tell you the best way and the wrong times to de-tassel corn.

I really think kimchi smells like rotting toejam boiled in armpit sweat.

I am a complete fail when it comes to ethnicity.

Did I grow up thinking that hanging out inside a tractor wheel…while the tractor is rolling…is a smashing good time? Oh, YES I did.

Did I once get kicked in the girly bits by a donkey?  That would be a big fat yes.

Has a family holiday ever been interrupted by a pig getting loose and running amok on the property?  Take a guess.

Am I still mildly traumatized by the sight of a dozen deer hanging half-gutted from trees in my uncle’s back yard?  Do you need my therapist’s number for confirmation?

I grew up in an area that still doesn’t have cable TV or high speed internet access.

But it IS a meth hotspot.  Growing up in the country does have it’s privileges, yo.

So am I a hardcore, country-bred, deep to the marrow of my bones a redneck?

If you need further proof, this is a satellite photo of the house I grew up in.

Have I managed to translate that into successful Redneck Mommyhood?  Judge for yourself:

Is that your new baby’s soft beautiful skin atop a…bundle of hay? No, that is NOT an Olin Mills set up, that was actually taken in a barn, 5 feet from a stall of pigs.  Classy, no?

Rachael might always be my secret favorite child for nothing more that this picture alone.

Yes. That is a bottle of Jim Beam.

HEH, lightweight.

This is how we roll when we’re in Alabama, yo!

My work here is done.

Ok, my kid?  Reoccuring pink eye.  Third time in two months.

We’ve done the eye drops, I stripped her bed and pillows, I wash her hands and face until the flesh threatens to fall off her bones.

It keeps coming back.  I fear we may actually have to go IN to the doctor’s office and have “medical professionals” look at it.

I told Peyton and her response was, “Can we get more medicine? I want more medicine.”

Grrrrrr

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As you all well know, I got to go to Blissdom this weekend.  When I got home, I got THIS:

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Don’t forget to head over to my contest and win the soundtrack to “He’s Just Not That Into You” AND a sweet! hoodie.

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I’m still just really drained from being gone all weekend and the wake/funeral for Jessica the past two days.  I need some time to get my brain on straight.  I’m sort of just hiding out on Twitter where 140 characters doesn’t let you get too deep.

Avoidance tactics?  I haz ’em.

Nope, I didn’t just make that up.  It’s actually a website where you put in your blog URL and it gives you this:

Thanks to the Bloggess for infecting my brain with her kind of fun.

Yesterday I posted about Blissdom and how it made me to feel to be a part of the blogging community.

But before I was a part of THAT community, I was a reluctant part of another…the community of cancer families.

So much of my blogging has been about having a child with cancer.  It’s who I am. There have been a lot of laughs and funny little stories and amusing moments to share, but there was always the underlying message that my daughter had cancer and it touched every part of my life.

I spent a weekend in Nashville, pretending to be just like everyone else…pushing through the pain…choosing to spend those days in denial.

Denial that another child had died.

Early Friday I huddled in a bathroom stall feeling my heart break into a million shards as I thought about Jessica and the battle she’d fought, the strength her tiny six-year-old body had shown in the face of a cancer that didn’t want to let go. I thought of her mother and the unspeakable emotions she had to be feeling.  I wept for the understanding of what was ahead, the pain this would bring me when I let it…knowing another child died…attending another funeral with an obscenely small casket…the fear that one day it would be us.

Part of me wanted to just get on a plane and come home.  To NOT have to smile and laugh and talk and make with the merry…it seemed too much.

Part of me relished the fact that I had these moments to hide away from the pain for just a little while longer…I wanted to give myself time.

Now I have no choice but to face it all.

Today I have to go to a wake and face my worst nightmare, be there with all the others to show a mother that her daughter was loved and made a difference, touched lives…that she won’t ever be forgotten.

It’s what I do.

Jessica Rose Kohut

12/31/02 – 02/06/09