No More Flip-flops in the Garden

Mother's Day was a fairly uneventful day. My teenager was in classic teenage form - grumpy from the get-go. M still very swollen from his surgery and slightly subdued, wanted to be close to me most of the day and tried his best to make my day nice. S was alternately lovey and crabby. Who knows why. Hubby was working.

I didn't expect much from the day, really. It was beautiful outside and I thought of maybe going to pick out some flowers at the garden center and planting them with the kids. M and I went outside and brainstormed what we might put where.

On my way back into the house, I saw it. Slithering along the foundation at the front of the house and right into the gap under the steps to the front door. Slate gray. About 18 inches long.

I know there are snakes in the area. There are plenty of woods around us. I understand the roles that garter snakes play in the garden and yard. But I don't like them. Not one little bit. Still I thought I could deal with them. Nuh-uh.

I screamed.

Then I backed away quickly from the house and went around and into the house from the back door. I was a little rattled. No, a lot rattled. I do not like slithery things like that. Period. It's one of the reasons Ireland and New Zealand are so attractive to me - no native snakes!

My first thought was that we need to step up our chipmunk reduction efforts (fewer rodents for food = fewer snakes). I put out some butter to soften for that (as previous experiments have shown us that homemade chocolate chip cookies are the best way to lure chipmunks into Havahart traps - more than a dozen over the last few years). Then, shaking a little, I went to the internet to try to figure out exactly what kind of snake it was. To make sure it wasn't poisonous. And for ideas on how to get rid of it.

I think it was a ringneck snake, though I didn't see the yellow ring on the head. I was NOT pleased to see that this type of snake is sometimes found in basements. And that it's food is salamanders. I don't know where it would find a salamander here because we made an effort to get rid of all the salamander habitat (rotting landscaping timbers) a few years ago. Guess the trapping and removal of chipmunks won't help this situation - but I think I'll do it anyway as I don't want any other kind of snake showing up.

At any rate, I am totally spooked about walking out the front door. I recognize that this is ridiculous. I do. I'm going to have to get over it somehow. But until then, I will not be walking around the front yard in flip-flops. I am going to get myself a very nice pair of gardening boots and wear those when I am in the yard. Shorts, tshirt, hat, sunscreen, and tall rubber gardening boots.

Wondering What To Do

After falling into bed mentally and physically exhausted - both M and me! - I woke up this morning rather pissed off. As much as I think the surgeon is a good technician, We were not properly informed of what the aftermath/recovery from M's surgery would be or could be. Had I known this, I would have fought the insurance company tooth and nail to have had the procedure done in the OR. The main anesthesia used in the clinic procedure room is not the same as what they use in the OR, and some quick Web searching suggests it was the specific anesthesia that has this effect in pediatric patients.

When my hubby arrived home later last night, we talked about it. He'd never seen anything like that emergence from anesthesia - and he's a physician! He was and is upset about it, too - obviously. We don't quite know what we are going to do, but I feel like we have to do something. I hate to think of other parents going through this.

M is more swollen today and uncomfortable. Some bruising is developing under his eyes and down his cheeks along the nose. Maybe all that would have happened anyway, but I just didn't know! That said, my friend the dental hygienist is horrified by how he looks and by the anesthesia stuff. The doc did say the third day probably would be the worst in terms of swelling. That's tomorrow. Oh, goodness.

Understatement

"He might be a little disoriented or agitated upon emerging from anesthesia," she said, "It won't last very long."

M had that extra tooth removed this morning. After a fight with insurance over how much anesthesia they would cover, it was done in one of the clinic procedure rooms rather than the OR.

The procedure itself went fine, and we have the extra tooth with us now. It's a little thing, smaller than a baby tooth, but had a fully formed root, etc.

It was the couple of hours after the procedure that have left me rather traumatized.

M wasn't just a little agitated or disoriented upon emerging from anesthesia. He was thrashing and moaning and crying and kicking and wailing. He pulled out his IV. They managed to get another one in to give him a sedative, but even with the sedative, he was thrashing and crying for about an hour after we came in to the recovery room.

I think I really lost it when, at one point, M wailed, "I can't do this anymore. I'm not going to do this anymore." I had an instant flashback to the first awful overnight in the PICU with C, before he crashed and coded, when we were trying to get him to use the pressurized mask to get better oxygen saturation. C said exactly the same thing - exactly - as he threw the mask off his face; his body was getting so tired at that point and we knew things were getting very critical.

We were practically laying on top of M to keep him safe - not hitting his head on the wall, not pulling out his 2nd IV, things like that. It was physically challenging beyond the emotional challenge of seeing your baby going through something like that.

For the most part, the team was good. One of the residents was trying to hang out with us, but finally my husband said, "I'm not comfortable with this, with what is going on. I want an attending here." The resident left in a huff, the attending arrived, and as much as I like our surgeon, I felt like I never had the whole story of what the process could be.

Finally, finally, he started to settle down. He made us promise he's never have to go through this again. We were happy to do so - we never want to do anything like this again, either. We got him ice chips and water. He didn't want the popsicle we tried.

After a couple hours, we were ready to leave. M was wobbly, but wanted to walk. There are lots of blood stains in his clothes, my clothes, my husband's clothes. C and S have been sports, mostly, but S is a little scared of how M looks.

As we were leaving, I saw that resident (the one we asked to get the attending) in the hall. He looked straight at me, then turned away without acknowledging us. Asshole. You are a RESIDENT. You are in TRAINING. Someday, a parent will ask for an attending, and that attending will be you, but for now, don't take everything so fucking personally. Meanwhile, LEARN! And learn how to work with patients - and patient's parents - instead of being an asshole and walking out of a recovery room in a huff.

M is swollen and uncomfortable. He has trouble swallowing. The stitches behind his front teeth are annoying and bothersome, he says. I took him for ice cream (or local seasonal shop opened today). He ate it very slowly. I took him into the toy store next to the ice cream shop and asked if there was anything he wanted. He looked around a bit, but said no. Man.

Now we are on to laying low and soft foods. I feel emotionally wrung out. M is doing okay.

Quick! Stop Them Before They Have Fun!

While not quite as good as last week's entry, I did laugh at this in this week's police log:

Tuesday

12:27 p.m. Car loads of youth reported in area of beach.

---------------------------------------------------

wakeupandsmellthecoffee tagged me yesterday.

1. What are your current obsessions?
The daily sudoku puzzle. I used to be obsessive about knitting. Given the amount of yarn I have around, I *need* to become obsessive about it again.

2. Which item from your wardrobe do you wear most often?
Definitely jeans, one pair in particular. Close after that is a hoodie my hubby gave me for Christmas.

3. Last dream you had?
I remember having some dreams last night, but I don't remember a thing about them. Funniest/saddest dream I had in recent memory was a dream about sleeping. Seriously,

4. Last thing you bought?
A couple books for the boys. One is the last in a series M loves, and a Michael Crichton book for C.

5. What are you listening to?
When I started responding to this yesterday, it was, "The click-clack of computer keyboarding. I'm at the office taking a break from wiki markup language." But now it's Arthur. S is watching while snuggling and having her loved vanilla milk.

6. If you were a god/goddess who would you be?
No idea.

7. Favourite holiday spots?
Thousand Islands was pretty great, but Hawaii and Ireland top the list tight now.

8. Reading right now?
I'm part way through several books. Plenty, Groundswell, and And Now You Can Go.

9. Four words to describe yourself.
These days I'd say: Feisty, anxious, impatient, overwhelmed.

10. Guilty pleasure?
Many, thanks.

11. Who or what makes you laugh until you’re weak?
My daughter.

12. Favourite spring thing to do?
Gardening and planning for summer beach-related activities.

13. Planning to travel to next?
As we haven't begun to think about summer vacation, the only for sure bit in our plans is a trip to Philly for a wedding. Reminds me that I need to get our hotel set for that.

14. Best thing you ate or drank lately?
Burnt Caramel ice cream.

15. When did you last get tipsy?
Over the weekend, feeling stressed about M's upcoming surgery - which now may or may not happen due to insurance glitches.

16. Favourite ever film?
There are so many, really. But probably "Diva."

17. Care to share some wisdom?
The words of my father that infuriated me for decades: This too shall pass. Dang it, I hate it when he's right.

18. Song you can't get out of your head?
Thanks to a reminder by someone recently, "Arc of a Diver," by Steve Winwood.

19. Thing you are looking forward to?
The first real beach day of the summer.

20. If money were no object, where would you choose to live?
Coastal waterfront somewhere.

I'm supposed to tag others....hmm....if you are reading and haven't done this, consider yourself tagged!

The More You Try to Explain, the Worse it Sounds

It's been a while since I mentioned anything about the local police log. It's been very much the usual stuff.

Today, however, brought this tidbit:

Friday, 10:45 PM

Caller reports playing with handcuffs, unable to remove from wrist. Officer assisted.

Exchange

There's a quote printed in today's (print) paper by a semi-local, very rude comic. It reads, "Men have three things in their heads at all times: sex, sandwiches, and blowing stuff up."

As I read it, I laughed. Then I read it aloud to my hubby.

Hubby: There's 33% of that quote that is debatable.

Me: You mean the 'sandwiches' part?

A (Minor) Conundrum

Baseball season starts tonight with M. C starts Saturday, as does S.

Also on Saturday morning, we start our annual Tball coffee sales efforts (for the walk for the hospital that treated C). When C emailed the Tball organizers a couple months ago, he asked if his sister S could be on a Tball team that always plays at the field at which we sell coffee. (There are four sites around town where games are held; the field at which we sell actually has three fields and thus a higher concentration of players and parents at any given time.)

We finally have S's Tball schedule - and her team plays at the desired field exactly once over the next seven weeks. Great.

Now, I know this is minor in the scheme of things. But it is a real pain in the patootie. Especially the weeks when my hubby is working weekends...I'd be dropping C and M at one field to sell while I go across town to watch S play at another field, etc., etc. I suppose it can work, but it's no where near ideal. And what about that simple request? Admittedly, I should have followed it up with a more formal request, but C's communications with these organizers had gone so well - they were so responsive to him, that I didn't think I needed to do more.

Anyway, I scoured the team lists and schedules for teams that do play at the desired field consistently. There are two of them. I've emailed the organizers about having S moved to a different team. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that 1) they will switch her, and 2) it will be to one of the two teams. The second of the two teams includes the son of one of the more virulent anti-school start time change people, one who has tried to stare me down in a meeting, and one who had to be asked to stop contacting a prominent sleep needs researcher because the researcher was feeling harassed. As much as I don't want to be driving all over creation on Saturday morning with coffee selling in one place and an actual game in the other, neither do I relish the thought of spending those Saturday mornings with this person.

It's always something.

UPDATE: The Tball organizers were kind enough to make the change and move S to a different team. The second of the two. I'll take it. I'll smile at this woman and cheer her child. There's a bigger reason I asked for the change, and I will focus on that.

Facts? We Don't Need No Stinking Facts!

I'd like to say this is the last time I will write on this whole sleep time issue. Let's be realistic, though: it's not. Comments about it will continue in some form or another, I am sure, for months to come. I may be on a transition committee.

Anyway, a woman I have been working with a little on this (I contributed some very simple research on civil twilight, sunrise and bus schedules to the cause proving that kids will not be going to school in the dark as the group opposed to the change likes to claim) told me a story about an email exchange between two school committee members. I laughed because I'd already heard the story from a school committee member. But I was still incredulous that it happened at all.

School committee member 1 is M. She is opposed to the time change. She is also in favor of increasing class sizes, cutting arts, against full-day kindergarten, for abstinence ONLY health education, and a few other things on the opposite side of me. Just being honest about that.

School committee member 2 is K. She is for the time change. She is in favor of maintaining class sizes, keeping the arts, led an effort to implement full-day K (which failed), for abstinence FIRST health education, and a few other things I like. Just being honest about that.

In the midst of this debate last month, K came across some research on the topic that she thought would be helpful for the discussions. It was survey data about a school district that implemented a similar change. K emailed the data to the other school committee members as part of the process of considering all data.

M emailed back that she didn't need any research from K. In fact, she didn't need any research at all, didn't want it, and didn't care what it said. She had made up her mind and no facts could sway her. She was voting her "conscience, " and that's all there was to it.

Mind you, M is a woman that the group opposed to the change is holding up as a paragon of the democratic process, the kind of thoughtful, considered, intelligent leadership we all need and will benefit from.

God help us.

We Did It

In the years that we have been giving mobiles to the PICU on the anniversary of C's illness, it's been my hubby that's done it. He's the one who has called H and J and L (our favorite pediatric critical care nurses) and taken in the mobile along with a card and a photo of A.

I've been back to the PICU twice. Once on May 23, 2003 (the day my dad died, as it happens), and once on September 15, 2003 to drop off some scarves I'd made for the nurses. After that September visit, I went to my first prenatal appointment with S and heard her heartbeat for the first time - but it took almost two hours to get my blood pressure to normal after the panic I felt walking through the PICU doors.

This year, we asked C if he wanted to deliver the mobile. He said sure. That he was open to it at all is a huge step. We planned to try it today, even though none of our favorite nurses were working at the time. It's school vacation week and we were planning to go into town anyway.

C backed off a little on wanting to go in today. I understand, but figured we needed to follow through, too. I just sensed this was a hurdle that needed to jumped. Just a little push. I reminded him that giving the mobile each year is less about him and more about the fabulous staff in the PICU and showing our appreciation. It's about brightening in a tiny way the days of the kids and families that are there and going through hard stuff. I also know how much it helps H and J and L to know there are kids on the other side of what they see every day - kids who are doing great. It helps them get through the awful stuff. (I hope we'll see them on the walk this year.)

So after a visit to the Aquarium, we went over to the hospital.

At the elevators, my heart raced when we pressed 6.

At the doors of the PICU, my husband called in, the doors opened and we stepped just a foot inside. I honestly don't know what I was feeling. I was near tears. My stomach was doing flip flops.

We were met by their current gatekeeper who barked at us about how the doors worked and how the kids had to be in the hall. She was just doing her job, I know - and her manner rather snapped me out of my anxiety - but goodness. All I can say about that. We sent the kids 2 feet away, but on the other side of the doors, and asked for the charge nurse. The gatekeeper seemed confused, looked at us like we were aliens and went to get her.

I looked around. It was the same, place of course. A little too familiar. Room 8, where C was for those weeks, was occupied, though a quick glance in that direction made it clear it was a fairly stable situation. Thank God. There were mobiles around.

The charge nurse came around the corner and I recognized her immediately. She was totally warm. She asked for C to come in, to see him. We talked briefly. She pointed out another of the docs that was there, one who worked on C during the code on that awful first day. I recognized a few others in passing. She said they love having pictures of the kids who have been through there and are now healthy and strong. She said they'd put this most recent picture in their conference room.

C played it cool. He played embarrassed. I'm pretty sure it was something else, but let it go. C hasn't been there since that May, 2003 visit.

The charge nurse wanted to see our other kids, too. She opened the doors and M and S were waiting. They smiled. S, of course, is totally clueless about what all this means. M's memory is cloudy.

We said once again how appreciative we are for the care C received there. I almost cried. C rolled his eyes at me. Then the charge nurse had to get back to work, and we had to get on our way to dinner.

It was an exchange, a scene that lasted all of five minutes, but it was momentous in a way. I didn't know if I could ever walk in there again, but I did.

I was especially proud of C walking in there. I wish he didn't think he always has to play that brave, cool dude. Maybe that will change someday. Meanwhile, I'm just glad we did it.

Impressive, but Not in a Good Way

I had an email conversation with my college roommate this morning.

L and I were roommates sophomore year, about the time hubby and I started seeing each other, and hubby and I having met due to L and her then boyfriend, now hubby, R. We were good friends, though not BFFs or anything. After our roommate year, we actually didn't see much of each other junior or senior year as there'd been a falling out in the wider group (long story) and she happened to be closer at that time to the other side. Still after college, I was in her wedding, and she in mine. There were no lingering hard feelings or anything. But we haven't spent any time together - and communication has been intermittent - in the intervening years. This is probably only the fifth real exchange via email. Ever.

Our lives took different paths. She was the consummate military wife for many years, moving around a lot, and she and R delayed having kids. She has three, too, but her oldest is two years younger than my youngest, S. (She has a set of twins) She's very driven, career-wise, and now that R has retired from the military and flies planes commercially part-time, she's the main breadwinner. I gather she really likes that level of control.

We've been in a little more touch lately. Her hubby friended me on Facebook, then she did. While she's not as active on Facebook, her hubby's status updates are always amusing for their TMI tilt, especially when it comes to the number of poopy diapers he claims to have changed. Euw.

Anyway, a college reunion looms. She may or may not come up for it, but one tradition, the "record book," is being compiled now. It's a summary of what you've been doing for the last 5 years or more since last you were in contact with this particular group of overachievers friends and acquaintances. Our individual pages are due imminently, and I emailed my encouragement for her to participate. (I was the organizer of this particular project for one reunion, so have particular sympathy for the organizer's efforts.)

I noted in my email annoyance with one area of the record book: a place to note your college major and any graduate work or degrees you might have. When I saw that, I thought, "Who the fuck cares?" Ironically, our college magazine recently had a big article on alums who have chosen motherhood over careers outside the home, and how they felt they fit into the college tradition, relative feelings of acceptance by fellow alums, and so on. It was a very interesting and thought-provoking article. After that article, the record book page section focusing on just one type of achievement felt less than respectful, even thoughtless.

We had a few emails back and forth, and I ended up saying something about how my ideas of my children's success had changed dramatically since C was sick, and how such a fishing for "achievements" feels flat and false to me.

She managed to turn that comment into a several paragraph tirade about our new administration. It was so filled with hate - not to mention inaccuracies - that it really took me aback. I didn't even think we were talking politics (I've long been careful not to do that with her. We're different, I know it, and I try to respect it). It was the type of tirade that left no ability to respond because it was so out of left field and ludicrous.

So, it was impressive, but not in a good way. I'm glad I didn't bite back, but - sheesh - maybe it's best if she doesn't come to our reunion....

Um...Thanks?

Hubby was kind enough to let me sleep in a little this morning. After coming downstairs around 9 and getting some coffee, I was just sitting on the couch, trying to wake up when this exchange occurred.

M: Mom, are you tired?

Me: Yeah, I am still a bit tired.

M: Because you look really tired.

Me: Um...

M: You have dark bags under your eyes.

Me: Huh.

M: (Pulling his own cheeks downward) Yeah, they go down like this, really far. I don't think I can imitate it because my eyes just close when I pull on them like that.

Me: Um...

M: Anyway, you have really dark big bags under your eyes and you look really tired.

Me: Thanks, sweetie.

M: You're welcome. Can I use the computer?

Reason enough for me to go back to bed. I was never a morning person anyway.

Trying to Keep Things Light

C came home from school today and said, "Hey, Mom! Happy Tax Day!"

And I said, "Hey, C! Happy day Dr. G cut out part of your lung!"

Then we both laughed.

A Book Recommendation

A few months ago, hubby was looking for something to read to M.

(Hubby has been the boys' designated reader for years, reading to them really great stuff. Hobbit and LOTR trilogy by Tolkien, entire Swallows and Amazon series by Ransome, Iliad, Odyssey, Beowolf, Moby Dick and more. Seriously.)

Hubby has this set of books that was his maternal grandfather's. They were printed almost 100 years ago, I believe. After looking through those books, M and his dad picked one. They picked "Two Years Before the Mast." The pages were old and brittle and they had to be careful with the binding. They both loved the book, and finished it a couple or three weeks ago.

I had the privilege of listening in to some of the reading. It's totally fascinating. Sailing, California before it was what we perceive of as California, and so on. It was really great for young and old, and the two of them keep coming back to the book in conversation. Something will remind them of it and they are talking about it again.

So, a recommendation: Go read Two Years Before the Mast, by Richard Henry Dana. It's not always easy reading, but it's very worthwhile reading. You will be especially interested if you know California at all.

Go. Order it. You won't be sorry.

Series Finale

I was just watching the ER finale.

I used to watch it almost religiously. But after C was sick, I just couldn't. I was too familiar with what they were doing when they acted out intubating patients, chest compressions, placing chest tubes and various other procedures. It was at least three years before I could even watch a glimmer of the show - it's too realistic. This is actually the first time I've watched an entire episode since before C was sick. I didn't realize it was the series finale until I read it on the local news site.

The piece on the news site was in reference to a particular ER episode from the first year called, "Love's Labor Lost." If you ever watched the show, I know you remember it. But what the writer of the article wrote about it was very interesting:

"It wasn't the gore or even the reminder of how tenuous pregnancy can still be in this modern age. It was how writer Lance Gentile and director Mimi Leder had collaborated to cause the whole terrifying thing to creep up on me. To remind me that tragedy is not necessarily accompanied by a spray of bullet-shattered glass or a solemn diagnosis. Tragedy lurks in the corner of every decision, every bit of hurried advice; tragedy doesn't always occur, sometimes it just accumulates - until it fills the room and then empties it."

Like clockwork, now that C's birthday has happened, I have a short but intense lead up to the anniversary of his illness. It's on my mind constantly, and I question myself more intensely than at other times. C's crash was an accumulation of events, a perfect storm of sorts. Just one tiny different decision and it could all have gone so differently - in either direction. And so, more than at other times of the year, I agonize over decisions I should make on autopilot, almost becoming paralyzed by the enormity of everyday life.

If the pattern of the last few years holds, I have about a week of this to go. A very busy weekend will help me get through some of it; the need to finish planning games and such for S's 5th birthday part should help, too.

Still, it's an anxious time, hoping with my whole being that what is accumulating is not tragedy but triumph, and trying without any possibility of success to steel myself just in case it's not.

Thirteen

As of today I am the mother of a teenager.

I don't even know where to start with that.

Look in the Mirror, People

This school start time thing continues to be totally out-of-hand.

At the school committee meeting earlier this month, a woman opposed to the change got up and spoke about how our children are watching us, watching to see if we use "I Care" rules, then she accused the school administration and school committee of not using I Care rules in the process to make this decision. Meanwhile, other women on her side of the debate were saying derogatory things about certain school committee members and the superintendent under their breaths. Including the "B" word. Nice.

I ended up speaking at that meeting in support of the time change, though I hadn't intended to (and seeing myself onscreen afterward as the meeting has been rebroadcast about 20 times on local access is not at all pleasant), and since have been the recipient of some nice phone calls - and plenty of dirty looks.

Things have only gotten worse.

One woman I know was verbally attacked in the parking lot of her church, told she was naive, a sucker for moving to this town with "crap" schools, told she better pray no kids die because of her, and so on. There is a contingent of women engaging in bullying behaviors around this, and it's more than disconcerting.

The content of the attacks changes daily, and this is really because none of their issues are truly valid. When you peel away the layers, it's about personal inconvenience for these women, not about what is doing what is right for the kids, big picture and long term - or even small picture and short-term. While I know our solution for this time change is not perfect (none are, really), it's decent, there is data and research behind it, and we need to go forward with it. My husband has found acceptance surveys online of other school districts that have done this kind of change and even with vehement (though minority) opposition at the outset, there is upwards of a 92% acceptance rate (yes, ninety-two) by the end of the first year.

This group is actively and vocally supporting an incumbent school committee candidate (town elections are tomorrow) just on the time change issue (he opposed it) - a known bully himself! He actually said to another school committee member at the Feb 4 meeting, "Well, G, you and I can settle this in the hall." And this guy actively supports increasing class size through the whole system, which I think would be far more detrimental than a start-time swap. Can you imagine 30 Kindergarteners with one teacher?

Sometimes this town is really hard. Insular is just the tip of the iceberg. There are some seriously entitled people out there. People who think that democracy means they always get their way, and when they don't get what they want they throw around words like "travesty of justice" and "permanent psychological damage." Perspective and true reason is hard to come by. But, damn, the view is nice - which I suppose is why we put up with it.

(I was just reminded of the big hullabaloo over PAYT last year. You'd have thought the world was ending the way some people went on about that. That has gone JUST FINE. Truly. The world did not end. Selectmen were not recalled. I'd say over 90% of the town likes it now.)

As for the woman who talked about "I Care" rules? Look in the mirror, lady.

Aspirations

C is desperate to get a food item on ThisisWhyYoureFat.com. Vegetarian friends are encouraged NOT to visit that site.

This is what he has come up with:

• French toast
• fried egg
• hash browns
• couple slices bacon
• Island style pulled pork(which we happen to have leftover at the moment)
  
• couple slices bacon
• hash browns
• fried egg
• French toast

He has almost convinced me to try it Saturday morning. Think we'll make the site if we do it?

(The really sad thing? I'm salivating thinking about it.)

84

Today would have been my dad's 84th birthday.

The older my kids get, the more I feel just how much each are missing out on the other. I think my dad would have had a distinct, special relationship with each of them.

And he and I would still be pissing each other off to a certain extent. I'd be annoyed every time he laughed when my kids did something to challenge and exasperate me just as I did the same to him. Which is to say, often. And he'd he annoyed every time I voted Democrat. Which is to say, often.

Heebie-Jeebies

Last night when we arrived home from our day, while I was getting S out of the car, I noticed that there was a spill on the floor by her car seat. Apparently she hadn't finished her loved Vanilla Milk that morning (first time ever) and left it in the car when we arrived at her school. I picked it up, put it in the door pocket, tamped up the liquid as best I could with a napkin, and made a mental note to come back and finish cleaning it all up after I got the kids inside.

That never happened. The evening got away from us.

This morning while getting into the car, I saw the milk box again, briefly berated myself silently for not cleaning it up last night, then noticed something was different about it. There was now a hole about 3/4" across in the top of the box and the straw was back on the car floor.

Uh-oh.

A mouse.

In my car.

As we were already running late, I couldn't go back into the house to get anything, and what would I have gotten anyway? Down at the bus stop, I enlisted M to help me pick up all the trash in the car, containing it as best I could. I took a good look around. Although there were a couple small tufts of white stuff under the third row seat, I didn't see other evidence. Knock-wood, I think this is a recent resident. And hopefully singular. I had vacuumed the car quite well about 5 weeks ago, before we went on vacation, and saw no evidence then

Still, grossed-out enough, I dropped S at school and went straight to the car detailing place the next town over. They have promised that they know how to deal with such issues - and they are going to make the interior of my 5 year old car spotless. No more bits to attract mice. I hope. Pray?

I'm still going to pick up some humane traps to put under the third row seat, just in case. And maybe put some repellents around the driveway to deter them from that whole area. Mice can do some real damage if not dealt with promptly.

Meanwhile, I have a rental car and a serious case of the heebie-jeebies.

UPDATE: While my car is now remarkably clean, the kid at the detailing shop said he found no actual mice, and was sure there were none in there. Phew. Kind of. I set a trap in the car last night, just in case. And yes, there was a mouse in it this morning. Looks like I'll be setting more just in case traps - the kind that don't put the kids at any risk and I don't have to actually see the little critter. Euw.

A Milestone

We picked out this year's mobile. It's this one:



Yesterday I asked C if he wanted to bring the mobile to the PICU. When we asked the last couple of years, he's said no, and it's produced a little anxiety in him - though he did write notes. This year, though, he said, "Yes."

This is pretty huge. Like accepting his scar, it was something I thought we'd see someday, but had no sense of when. It's also a reassuring moment in a season that is full of anxiety and memories for me (and I think that's something that will never go away).

He's fine. He really is.

An Appreciation

This movie has been repeating on the pay channels a lot lately. It's one of those sweet, mildly sappy movies that's easy to watch, and not just because of this guy. Even though I could watch it just for that guy. I could.

But whenever I watch it, or a part of it, I end up thinking about Michael Hedges. Man, I miss that guy.

Don't know Michael Hedges? You should. Don't hold his association with the quintessential new age record company against him. This guy rocked. He died way, way, way too soon.

If you've seen the movie, the technique of using the guitar almost as a percussion instrument and resulting unique hybrid sound is all Hedges. In fact, one of the compositions in the film is his. That technique is just the tip of the Hedges musical iceberg, though.

You should go check Hedges out on YouTube. Like, now. Then go download tracks from iTunes - or go old school like me and get some CDs.

Go!

Finally Spring

It's the first day of spring. Finally. I thought it would never get here. I don't care if it's 33 degrees out. It's mindset change as much as a calendar change, and I am ready for it.

Today would also be my paternal grandmother's 105th birthday. She was a feisty one, her. I've written about her before. My husband once told me that one of the reasons he loves me is because I am feisty. I definitely get it from her.

So, happy spring everyone. Enjoy every daffodil.

Interesting

This guy is not my favorite player. He's not. Mostly because of the game-winning home run he hit off our knuckleballer in extra innings of a series deciding ALCS game in 2003. Deciding it the other way, obviously.

Not the smartest bulb in the pack, either. He signed a rockin' contract with the Evil Empire after that performance - but the contract had a stipulation that he NOT play basketball in the off season, not even at the park. Doing so would invalidate the contract. So what did he do? Yup. How did the Evil Empire find out? He screwed his knee in the process, requiring surgery. (And opened the door for one A-Roid to join the team.)

But that's all water under the bridge. Uh huh.

Today comes news that he's going to have heart valve replacement surgery. Why is this of interest? Because he needs surgery due to the deteriorating condition of his bicuspid aortic valve. Same as M has.

I think the most interesting thing is that he only learned that he had this defect in college.

We've been told that a fairly significant portion of the population has this same defect and doesn't even know it. While I do think it's better to know about things and prevent problems long in advance (and M has that pesky - kinda more concerning - enlarged aortic root, too), I wonder how our life with M would be different if we didn't know for a while longer? Hmmm....

An Afternoon in the Forest

In January, in an effort to keep M engaged in school (boredom - or at least the expression of it - has been an issue), his 3rd grade teacher and I decided to have him keep a writing journal. In this journal he would write a story, a little bit every day.

We chose the writing approach as it was the one area she thought he could use some work. His writing at school had been very succinct, almost to the point of terse. It was fine, but it wasn't what she thought it could be.

We had a little issue with the journal in early February. One night he lied about having completed his daily writing. That was no fun to address, but we did. Since then, though, he has been consistent about his writing and says I get to read his story "soon."

This afternoon, M brought home this writing assignment, unrelated to his writing journal. It is written in very neat cursive.


An Afternoon in the Forest
by M

The treetops are dark green with light gently pouring in between them. There are olive green grape vines with shiny purple grapes on them. The tree trunks are light brown in color. There is a hole in one of them; an owl lives there. The grass is all the shades of green. There is a stump in the middle of the grass. And the air is crisp with a hint of grape.


I think the writing journal has done its work.

Ladies and Gentlemen...

The stuff at church has come to a head. And not a pretty one at that.

Today I've been told (in separate communications) to find someplace else, about affairs within the parish, a myriad of tidbits on how people have been treated, and others have gloated at very nasty communications to me.

I can be logical. People in positions of power are very threatened when the laity speak up. I spoke up.

It still hurts, though. And I'm a touch bitter. Just a touch.

I think it's time to take a break from organized religion and from hierarchy/patriarchy.

Yesterday, I heard about a comment another disillusioned person in our community made. It keeps popping into my head.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Jesus has left the building."

Weird People

I was just thinking about the comment Lynne left me on this post. People ARE so weird sometimes.

In 2000, we were still living down south. We lived in a complex of apartments and townhouses, and there were two other families in our little row with kids in the same general age range. We were all friendly, but not close. Our kids played out back together - four little boys running around (M was an infant). It was cute and pleasant.

When it came time for C's party that year, he wanted a space theme. I found glow-in-the-dark fabric paint for the kids to make themselves tshirts (on navy tshirts), and some inexpensive spacecraft themed flying toys from this company for something for the kids to take home. We invited the neighbors, of course, as well as C's preschool buddies and some other friends. I made sure that all the items were appropriately "aged" for the kids who had them, yet still kept a close eye on everyone. The party was a big hit. Everyone went home happy. End of story, right?

Wrong.

About a week later, one of the neighbors called. Her name was Jessica.

Jessica: Hi, it's Jessica. I wanted to let you know about something.

Me: Okay.

Jessica: You know that flying toy you gave away at C's party?

Me: Yes.

Jessica: Well, Zachary (3) took it apart, and the metal piece that was in the middle was on our living room carpet. Yesterday morning, he tripped and landed on that metal piece, and it cut his face near his eye. It came very close to puncturing his eye.

Me: Oh no! Is Zachary okay? Did he have to get stitches?

Jessica: He's fine. He was very lucky. I just wanted you to know that it was the toy you supplied that did this to him.

Me: I'm so sorry. I never dreamed that could happen. Is there something I can do?

Jessica: No. I just wanted you to know. That it was a toy you gave him.

And that was it.

What. The. Fuck. Of course I felt badly, was upset about Zachary being hurt, but what was all that about? Clearly I was being blamed - but I think wrongly so. The toy was in their house, under their supervision, and their son had taken it apart. I think it was a really unfortunate accident with a very lucky outcome for Zachary. He did end up with a small scar near his eye. I still feel bad this kid was injured and is scarred, but I don't think I'm to blame

I tried to imagine a scenario it which that exchange would be valid, and I was at a loss. I still am. My sister joked to me at the time that it's like an adult contacting a gift giver and saying something like, "Hey, Mary, you know that knife set that you gave us for our wedding? John used it to stab the neighbor. Just wanted you to know." That's a bit extreme for a comparison, granted, but still.

Jessica never talked to me again. We lived two doors down from her for another 15 months, and never a word, and she would barely let our kids interact. The other neighbor, also with kids and who had been at the party, was close to Jessica, and opted not to speak to me for that length of time either. What. Ever. This was very confusing for C, however.

About six months later, Jessica's older son had a birthday party at their house. C clearly had not been invited - not that I would have expected him to be given how things had been, but it was a potentially awkward situation. I realized what was going on the day of the party and had quickly made plans to take C (and M) out of the neighborhood when Tony, Jessica's husband called. He tried to invite C to the party, said they'd intended to invite him all along and so sorry for the delay in calling and won't he be able to come. No, we have other plans, I said. And we left the neighborhood and had a great afternoon at the local science museum with other friends.

I admit I flipped off their door when I drove past it for the last time. Not particularly mature, I know. But it felt kind of good.

Depth Being Evaluated

I am in a rut.

I've been fighting it and denying it for some time, but it's there. Motivation is low, my fuse is short, and my general outlook pessimistic. My tolerance for idiots, normally low, is somewhere in China right now.

It doesn't help that it's gray and dreary out. We're not even getting the snow that most of the rest of my area is getting. If it were white, at least I could call it pretty outside.

It was a beautiful weekend, but that didn't break the rut.

I had my haircut yesterday. I told my loved stylist that I was in a rut. He asked if I wanted to do something different. I said sure. I asked, "What can I do that's different?" He walked around me for a few moments, running his fingers through my hair, thinking. Finally, he said, "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Not much." He's a good man - not giving me change for the sake of change that will only make me more unhappy down the road. But still, it was a kick in the psyche.

The calendar is fairly full. There are things that are happening. But everything feels kind of "Eh." I've been mostly sticking to my exercise routine, getting out of the house when I can (went for a walk on the beach yesterday), but it's there.

I talked to a couple of girlfriends in the last couple of days, too. They are feeling very rut-like themselves. We're all looking for ways to pull ourselves out of it, even when we'd much rather just pull the covers over our heads. Is it a middle-aged woman time of year thing?

So if posts are particularly crabby for a bit, please forgive me. I hope to be back to my regular slightly snarky, only mildly pessimistic, generally together self soon.

Get a Grip, People

More and more, as I even just hear about things going on in town politics, I think to myself, "Don't you people have something better to do?"

This school start time thing is getting ugly. There's a group of parents who want to recall the school committee members who voted in favor of it and call a special town meeting to rescind the change. I note that all of them have very young kids who have yet to exit the K-2 school, and are freaked out about having to get their darlings to the bus early in the grades 3-5 years. Seems like those of us with older kids who have fought the getting the adolescent out of bed before dawn battle are fine with the change - I'll take 3 years of getting 8-11 year old up early than 7 years of battling my 11-18 year old to get up any day. This group is throwing their support wholly behind this one school committee member up for reelection who voted against it; man, are they going to have a rude awakening when this guy increases the class sizes down to the K level (something he long said he wants to do) - typically a topic near and dear to the parents of young elementary students.

This town is so standardized test-happy, and research shows increases in standardized test scores with this kind of change, so they should be jumping for joy.

Some people have far too much time on their hands.

Almost Six Years Later and I am Still Thinking of Things

The approaching spring is not just spring. It's two of my kids' birthdays and the anniversaries of C's illness and my dad's passing (six years ago, both).

I've mentioned before, I think, about my dad's second wife and the fiasco of dad's illness and her games - but I've only scratched the surface. It's still a very raw spot for me and for my siblings. She screwed him and us, in so many ways - emotionally, financially, in terms of family heirlooms, where dad is buried, and so on. The only comfort I take from the situation is that she'll get hers one day, though I can't be the one to give it.

It's interesting, though, how things are still popping into my head about all of it.

Yesterday at the grocery store, I went through my usual line. The clerk is a really nice older man and we have a good rapport. Today, B was wearing a bolo tie. I noted that one does not often see bolo ties in New England. And in that instant I was reminded of my father's old bolo ties that I haven't seen in a decade perhaps - ones that he intended for my brother and any male grandchildren.

Generally speaking, I am not fan of bolo ties. But my dad did have some very nice ones and always reminded us that they are the official neckwear of the state of Arizona. One in particular was the shape of the state of Arizona in big hunk of turquoise, with thin ribbons of silver outlining the counties (back when there were only 14 counties). I believe it was a gift to him from a political ally, and from what I remember it was always intended to go to my brother. There were others, too. Silver and turquoise were recurring themes, of course, as were Hopi and Navajo symbols.

They all appear to be gone now, taken by the 2nd wife, and who knows what she did with them.

In the end, do a bunch of bolo ties really matter? Probably not. Given the whole of the situation it's just another hurt. But it does hurt.

Dear AP, Please Hire Editors. Thanks.

Because She Has Older Siblings. I Think.

I had an odd call from the mom of one of S's classmates yesterday. Apparently S taught her little friend CH how to "shake his booty." The mother relayed the scene at her house in a voice mail message.

Ms. N: Connor came home from school today and said, "Mom, shake your booty!" I said, "CH, where did you learn that word and about that!" and he said, "S taught me!"

The thing is, I don't know this woman well enough to know whether she was amused or horrified that my daughter had taught her son this. There was just that much ambivalence in her voice.

Oh, How Things Have Changed

Packing list for ski trip, in order of priority

Then:

• Beer
• Beer
• Beer
• Beer

Now:

• Motrin
• Heating pad
• Braces for various joints
• Wine

Goals for ski trip, in no particular order

Then:

• Ski really hard
• Lots of breaks for beer
• Stay up late drinking beer and playing music
• Curse the old ladies in the room next door ranting about how their kids are trying to sleep
• Bonus points if you get more than one call from the front desk telling you to keep it down
  

Now:

• Ski medium-hard
  
• Lots of breaks for the restroom
• Go to bed early
• Curse the young people in the room next door who have no respect for children trying to sleep
• Bonus points if you get a night comped due to unruly young people in the room next door
  

Astute...?

I caught a bit of "Sicko" the other night on tv. I really want to watch it start to finish without interruptions. The issues presented in the short bit I saw were thought-provoking at the very least, and shocking in other ways. We could go back and forth and on and on about all of it. No matter what you think about Michael Moore, the issues raised about health care are important. (I loved, loved, loved, "Roger and Me," but have been mixed on his work since.)

There was a comment in the movie from an American ex-pat in Paris that keeps popping into my mind. She said something like, "In America, people are afraid of their government. In France, the government is afraid of the people." Then the movie went on to show examples of how the governments behave based on that theory.

What do you think about that?

Raised Voices

I had a confrontation with the rector of the church this morning.

Yesterday I learned that the Missions team is not going to South Carolina this year. They might try to go elsewhere, but they have no firm plans. "They" decided it wasn't right for the Missions kids to be competing for funding when the church is in rather serious financial straights. ($30K deficit last year, projected $28K deficit coming year, we owe $70K to the diocese, and budgets are already adjusted down to consider the lower pledging).

Missions is one of the few reasons we've been hanging on. C has been looking forward to the time when he could go on Missions. This changes things. I already knew R, the rector, wasn't into the Missions "thing" but H, a vestry member I know swore she'd keep it going after S, the Christian Ed director was pushed out. However, it looks like H has gone over to the dark side, as it were.

Also, I learned that members of the vestry have been instructed to keep vestry proceedings secret, including to family members. Churches+secrecy=bad things. See, Boston, Catholic Archdiocese of.

Anyway, when R spoke to me in the patronizing tone he reserves for dissenters this morning (the one that tries to say, "See, I am friendly and nice, so it's not *me* that's the issue"), I kinda lost it.

I told him how upset I was. He denied any involvement in the decision. I said he influenced it. Again he denied it. For everything, the response was, "It's not me. It's not my fault. You can blame me if you want, but it's not my fault."

Nothing, apparently, is his fault. He takes zero responsibility for any negative in the church. It's, "I can't control that," or, "It's the economy," or something else. It's never anything to do with him - in spite of the evidence that the downhill trend started immediately after his arrival.

If he were an appropriate spiritual leader, pledges might not be as high as they have been in past years, but they wouldn't be down by 45K (80K if you take into account that pledging goals were already lowered). I checked a church a couple towns north - their pledges are down 7K. When times are tough, people prioritize their giving far more carefully. People around here are not prioritizing it toward this church. Gee, wonder why.

R likes to say he can run a church like a successful business. Um...any leader of a business that oversaw this kind of decline this rapidly would have been pushed out by the board of directors already.

So, anyway, there were raised voices. I came home after the service and wrote a very strong letter to the bishop. I don't know if I will send it, but it felt good to get it on paper.

The easy - and maybe even the best - thing to do would be to walk away, find another church. But then I get angry. Why should I leave my church? I was there first! Also, knowing there are many others who are struggling, why should we shut up and let this happen? Why should we let him win?

I just don't know what will happen. I'm sad and angry all over again.

On a completely different note, we went to a hockey game this afternoon and now have a favorite minor league hockey player.

The next morning: I sent the letter. Surprise, surprise, it's already been dismissed by the bishop.

The next afternoon: Terse email from the vestry. "We received a copy of the letter. We will respond in writing." That's it.

A Dental Bargain

Now those are two words one doesn't often hear together.

When C had his dental checkup with a new dentist in early January, they did the same kind of panoramic x-ray that M had had in December (the one that discovered his extra tooth). C's panor-x showed teeth several teeth that were delayed in coming out on their own, thus impeding permanent molars below. We made appointments for extractions.

C did not like the idea of this at all. Needles were involved after all. And he doesn't do well with needles. Period.

A couple of weeks ago he told me that one of the two teeth that needs to be extracted was loose. Cool. Then I received an insurance authorization noting what our portion of the fees would be. Ouch.

Several days ago, C informed me that the loose tooth had come out. But that he'd swallowed it by mistake. After a good laugh, and canceling one of the extraction appointments, I had an idea. Could he get that other tooth out, too?

He said it wasn't loose, but that he'd try.

I gave him some incentive. I told him that we'd give him $25 if he could get that tooth on his own.

And he did, just last night.

While some might say the tooth fairy was generous, I know we got a bargain. As long as C never sees the insurance statement to see how much we would have paid the dentist, we'll all be happy.

In other news, it's Truck Day! 8 days to Spring Training! (And still no contract for Manny.)

Thanks for the Shout Out, Sarah!

This shout out is far more appropriate than the one made in the debate.

Palin rails against 'anonymous, pathetic bloggers'

Proud to be of assistance to you!

The Inconvenience Factor

Lordy. The town is up in arms again.

Several years ago one of the school councils (there are four of them as we have four schools, Pre-K-2, 3-5, 6-8 and 9-12) initiated a study on whether it would be beneficial to our kids to change the start time for the middle and high school to an hour later. Emerging research suggested that this kind of move is extremely beneficial to the kids. Then we didn't hear about it for a couple of years, aside from occasion blips in the paper of, "We're still looking at the issue!"

The school council that studied this issue came up with a formal proposal several months ago and presented it to the school committee last night for a vote. Leading up to this vote there have been several information nights, articles in the town paper and other school communication. The proposal had the support of the Superintendent and the majority of teachers.

After all the information was presented, no one could really argue with the research. Later start times are better for teenagers, and are linked to everything from better standardized test scores to lower risk for car crashes. The problems and arguments came in how it might affect the 3-5 graders. And parents.

We have four schools in town, and three bus cycles. C gets on the bus at 7AM on the middle school/high school run. M gets on the bus at 8AM for the upper elementary run. Next year S will get on the bus at 8:35 for the lower elementary run. With a time change for the middle and high schools, C and M would swap bus times; M getting on at 7AM and C getting on at 8AM. S would stay the same.

When I first heard about this, I thought, "What a pain in the ass! No way! Our family schedule is tricky enough as it is! No changes!" But then I got to thinking about this. Is my relative convenience an appropriate reason NOT to do this? Well....probably not.

An argument that many have used against the change is that they depend on older siblings to look after younger siblings in the afternoon. I totally sympathize with this. We use the extended day programs in town, and are always at risk of not getting in year-to-year because we only use it for M two days a week. I was feeling more relief as the years have gone by because I figured if we didn't get in, M could just come home those days and C would be there. That wouldn't happen any more. In addition, with a time change, the extended day program is more likely to be needed by more people exactly because of this - and we're even more likely not to get a slot. AND because the upper elementary school would be getting out earlier, the extended day program likely would cost more. Yes, this part is a pain in the patootie. Still, is this scheduling issue enough to reject a time change? I don't know.

Another argument was that the 3-5 kids need their sleep, too. Yeah, they do, but this argument fell totally flat for me. M is more alert earlier than C is. M goes to bed earlier anyway - and doesn't need to stay up later doing homework like C sometimes does. M, because he's in 3rd grade has a lower homework load.

Then the discussions and arguments went toward grades and test scores.

Our town looked at several towns with similar demographics who have made such a time change. In each case, the towns have seen steady increases in standardized test scores since the time change went into effect. Let me tell you, our town is standardized test crazy and highly competitive. I'd think on this alone it would have won wild support. There are groups in town who spend all their time comparing our yearly test scores to those of surrounding towns. "Why aren't our 9th grade social studies scores above this town to the north," and, "Why are our 4th grade English scores only 2 points above this town to the south. It should be 5 points!" (It's SO annoying!) This change gives them a likely increase, like they say they want - but then this same group starts complaining that a later start time will interfere with sports teams. Huh? What?

One group argued that in one town we looked at that had done this, test scores in their upper elementary group actually went down after the change. Okay, that's worthy of worry. Sacrificing one group in favor of another? There's some indication that it might actually be a 1-2 year blip due to a special education subgroup, but it's worth more investigation. (We've had our own issues with special education subgroups in this town.)

What's also been amusing and infuriating is the shrill group (led by the woman I mention here - who, by the way, has other interesting stuff going on for mention another day) is now, after years of "Why aren't are schools better? What are you doing to improve scores?" is now saying things like, "Our schools are great the way they are! Why are you changing a good thing?" Um, excuse me?

People seem to be forgetting that things always change. If it were success at a parent's job that required a family schedule change, they'd do that, right? And probably without much discussion.

Now, back to the school committee vote. It was last night. It went 3-2 in favor of the time change. Some groups are calling for the 3 pro committee members to be recalled. Oh boy. The two committee members I worked for in past elections voted for the change.

(One told me on email this morning that a teacher took her daughter aside yesterday and asked how her mother intended to vote. How completely inappropriate! It will be interesting to see how this plays into our town's upcoming election season. Neither of these candidates are up for reelection; a woman I mention here is running again.)

I'm not looking forward to the inconvenience factor. I'm not. I admit it. But this isn't about me and what is easiest for me, or what we're used to. It's about what is best for the kids. It's going to be an uncertain few months until we really see how September and beyond will look for our family - even though I am sure we'll all adjust. M was really annoyed this morning when I told him about the vote. He only grudgingly agreed that he might like it eventually when I pointed out he'd only have to get up really early for two years instead of seven.

Am I 100% convinced this is what is best for the kids? Um....no. But I'm more than 80-90% convinced. I think we need to try.

UPDATE: C just arrived home from school and called to check in. The boy who struggles to get out of bed in the morning, who was psyched a few days ago for the possibility of sleeping in later, is now against this time change. WTF? Apparently some kids on the bus who have parents who oppose the change convinced him that it's so awful for his younger siblings to get up earlier than him for those three school years. The way C likes to tease and poke M, I was thinking we'd have to work at preventing C from teasing M on the topic. ("Ha! I don't have to get up as early as you!") What. Ever.

On a Lighter Note

1. New "Witch Mountain" movie coming? Awesome!

(Lord, how much does that date me!)

2. S fell asleep in my lap this evening. So nice that it can still happen.

No Win

C has been sick this last week. I dismissed it at first. I thought it was muscle strain in his chest after skiing last weekend. Then it turned out to be more. Call from the nurse, fever, chest xray. Officially bronchitis, can't rule out pneumonia, then the lymphnodes in his neck became very swollen and painful. He ended up on two antibiotics and steroids - and he's doing much better now.

I feel like shit, however. I spent Friday on the edge of a panic attack.

How could I have dismissed it? What kind of a crappy mother am I? Especially after what he went through?

I am trying to rationalize that this is just another phase in processing what did happen to him. Not every illness is going to be life-threatening. I have to learn to deal with each issue on its own, evaluate it on its own. Not every virus should be colored by his big illness.

But I still feel like shit.

Two Weeks

Pitchers and catchers to spring training, that is.

Even this one.

I could have gone either way on this deal. I really like 'tek, don't get me wrong, but he didn't have a great offensive season last year, and does any organization like dealing with evil incarnate?

By the way, has anyone else noted that a certain temperamental slugger still doesn't have a contract for the season? Perhaps those antics last July weren't the best strategic move?

More Good Energy for E and her Parents, Please

My friend's daughter was readmitted to the hospital on Friday. There was a leak in the repair of the structural malformation. She underwent 5 more hours of neurosurgery yesterday.

C, the mom, feels guilty and thinks she did something wrong. S, the dad, is angry. E is sitting up and doing okay (with a temporary drain in the back of her head) physically, but seems fragile emotionally, according to K, C's sister.

I saw C and E on Friday. I made her some hats. Something didn't feel right to me, but it was hard to communicate that to C. She apparently felt enough unease on her own to take E in, and thank goodness she did.

I've been talking to C's sister. We're worried for C and S - and E, of course. Any good vibes you can muster, please send them.

The Ceremonial Removal of the Cynical Bumper Sticker

I decided, back in November, that when Obama was sworn in, I'd remove the "Dissent is not Disloyalty" bumper sticker from my car. It's been there since immediately after the oh-so-disappointing 2004 election. At 3:30PM yesterday, in the parking garage at work, I scraped it off.

Oh, I know I could have kept it. The thought still applies, and particularly to ongoing church issues in town. But I want to be optimistic going forward. I want think positively, and that bumper sticker is from a very pessimistic time.

I've been yelled at several times over that bumper sticker. People who vehemently disagreed with it and me, people who believed that not agreeing with the Bush administration was equivalent to treason and I should leave the country, I was bad mother, and so on. I'm not kidding. People who have never read Thomas Jefferson, basically.

Removing that bumper sticker, however, does not mean I will follow our new administration blindly (my second choice of bumper sticker back then was "United we stand, not blindly we follow"). Not at all. I will still question, and look at issues with a critical eye. That's one of my jobs in this democracy.

But for now, the bumper sticker is gone, and I feel pretty good about that.

Just a Little Pet Peeve

Apparently I am finding words again. But not the really good, reflective ones. Yet.

There's something that has bothered me for years. Years and years. Decades, even. It bugged me when Bush the Elder was in office, and they did it with Regan and Ford. It bugged me when Clinton was in office. And it bugged me when Bush the Younger/Idiot was in office. (Oh my gosh, that's the first time I've written that in the past tense. WOOO!!!)

I really hate it people refer to Jimmy Carter, George H. W. Bush, Bill Clinton, and/or now George W. Bush as "President ___________."

People, at any given moment, there is only ONE President of the United States of America. One. Uno. Ein.

One.

"President of the United States of America" is not a title for life. The President has it for his term only.

Carter, Clinton and the Bushes can be referred to as "former President." But not "President." Because none of them are the President.

There is only one President of the United States of America.

And his name is Barack Hussein Obama, II.

(And that just rocks.)

Ready to Begin

There's so much I want to say, but I don't know where to begin.

The electric charge in the air.

How the whole office - no, the whole building - stopped, watched, cheered...then listened.

Tears in the eyes of women - and men.

This amazing sense of forward-thinking purpose - yet also knowing it's going to be very hard.

Wow.

Absurd: Another tale in the ever-amusing chronicle of my sister and her extremely dysfunctional life

In college, my sophomore year roommate declared one day that hubby (then just boyfriend, of course) were a good match because we had very similar and very warped senses of humor. Indeed, we tend to be extremely compatible in that area: there are things we find very amusing that no one else does.

My sense of humor takes an even more warped turn within my immediate family. Just as most sets of siblings have inside jokes and such, so do we. At the rare times the three of us have been together and degenerated into our own unique humor, even my husband looks at us oddly, not laughing, not getting it. But accepting.

It appears that my sister's husband still has not accepted this part of having married into the family; he still does not accept this. My sister and her husband have been married for almost 27 years. I think it's about time.

You see, for Christmas, there is always at least one gag gift given to each sibling. For several years, my sister and I were sending one another the cheesiest, most God-awful kokopelli gifts we could must. I'm talking so bad that the sequined kokopelli shirt with "Dance!" splashed across the back was NOT the worst of it. Her hubby did not appreciate any of this, I've just learned.

This year, given the weirdness of our relationship of late, I kept the gag gift simple. It was a book called, "Watch Your F*cking Language." It's about swearing effectively. Of course, in my family we all know how to swear quite effectively, but I thought this would bring some humor to the day.

Yesterday my sister emailed me and told me she's finally found the book and was enjoying learning some subtlties of usage that she hadn't previously considered. "Found it?" I emailed back?

Then she told me how her husband had taken the book out of her hands the moment she opened it because he didn't think it was appropriate for her.

I'll let you think about that for a moment.

My sister is 54 years old and her 57 year old husband is taking things from her hands because of "appropriateness." Their kids are 15 to 22 and, believe me, they know their curse words.

I responded to my sister with more incredulity. Seems he confiscated the copies of the Bunny Suicides books, too.

I checked with my 22 year old nephew, and he confirms the story.

I told you - totally absurd.

Owls

An owl was in the small bit of woods behind the house last night. It came out fairly early, and C was the one who heard it first when he took the dog out for the last time for the evening. M was still awake (though in bed) and could hear it from their bedroom.

We (hubby, C, and I) bundled up and stood on the porch for about 10 minutes just listening. I think it's a Great Horned owl again.

The house, the kids are never so quiet as when we are listening for owls.

How to Feel Young Again?

Specifically, how to feel the insecurity of adolescence again, and when you didn't quite intend to do so?

Get dissed on Facebook.

There is a Reason it Went Straight to DVD...and Even That Was Generous

In light of my recent movie recommendation, I thought I'd tell you a movie to avoid. At all costs.

I have no idea what possessed me to put the movie "Suburban Girl" in my NetFlix queue. I'd forgotten I had! But there it was in my mailbox last week. So I put it in last night while I was knitting. Within the first five minutes I could see it was absolutely terrible. Yet I endured it - mostly because my hands were full with yarn. I knew I could focus on my knitting and not miss anything critical.

No chemistry between the actors in the primary roles, poor transitions, the works.

Euw.

Update on E

C's sister just called and E is out of surgery and in recovery. She came through it well. Her parents, C & S should be able to get into recovery to see her in the next few minutes.

Phew, phew, and phew.

When I think about another parent waiting out a surgery like we did with C, it rocks me to my core.

Thank you for your good thoughts on E's behalf.

I think I'm going to make her a cute hat to wear while her hair grows back...

Throw Some Good Energy E's Way

The daughter of a friend of mine is having brain surgery tomorrow. As "straight-forward" and "routine" as one can call neurosurgery of any kind, this is supposed to be that. But still. They are opening up a little five year old's skull and poking and cutting and rearranging to correct a congenital defect (a chiari malformation, to be exact). It's scary...to say the least.

So, if you are reading this, if you could throw some positive energy towards little E and her parents C and S, that would be awesome. They're good people.

And thanks.

A Movie Recommendation

Last night we watched Helvetica. Yes, a movie about the typeface (or font). I didn't know what to expect, and was very pleasantly surprised. It really has me thinking.

As a technical writer, for years I was lucky enough to really work with typefaces. I had a couple jobs where I had pretty much free reign in choosing typefaces for headings and text in books and for brochures and the like. I really enjoyed that part of the job. I loved thinking about the page layout as much as I enjoyed the challenge of documenting the product. With our industry's move to single-sourcing tools and such, I really don't have that opportunity much any more. I miss it.

Anyway, if you want to see an interesting film about the way a typeface affects and is ubiquitous in our lives, check out this movie.

At the Dinner Table

It had been a day of bickering and poking and general mayhem between the boys.

M: C, stop annoying Mom!

C, mockingly: I'm the better child.

M, mocking right back: No, I'm the better child.

S, to M, in all seriousness: No, I'm the better child. You make bad choices a lot of the time, but I only make bad choices some of the time.

Then we all degenerated into laughter.

I'm Just Sayin'

(this one is for you, PM)

Pitchers and catchers report 5 weeks from tomorrow.

Spring is on the way! (Never you mind the 6-9 inches of snow expected tomorrow.)

Blue Jays

When I looked out the back window this morning there were a good number of blue jays hanging out around our compost bin by the shed. I counted at least nine. But then C left for school and everyone else in the house started be more active, and they flew off. No chance for a photo, sadly.

I don't know what that says about the content of our compost. Do I want to know?

Early Winter

One of the things I love about winter is the clarity of the atmosphere. I mean that in the most literal sense. A few days ago we took the kids for a walk on the beach. It was cold, yes, but the air was so clear. We could see bits of land far out across the bay that we can't see the rest of the year. A lighthouse. A boat. The outline of a building.

Last night and today are vividly clear, too. When we turned out the lights last night, the bright, almost full moon and it's reflection off the snow were so bright, I started to wonder if the sun was being sneaky. I looked out the window and up and no, it was the moon, its light drowning out the light from stars. It was so clear it seemed like the sky could shatter if given a good hard knock.

Down at the harbor this noon, I think we saw an owl. Out of the corner of my eye what I thought was a hawk emerged from under the pier. But then its wing span (huge) didn't make sense and the shape of its head was different. I watched it make slow headway against the breeze for a few moments before it swooped into a clump of trees and became appropriately camouflaged. I hope it comes to visit us.

Other things become clear when the air is so clear - though resolutions may not be so clear.

The church situation is more clear in that it's a total mess and less clear in terms of any resolution. Another friend has quit the vestry, and the rector has tried to discredit her in the process. The Christmas services were just weird. I've come up with all sorts of ways not to shake the rector's hand during the Peace (on the infrequent times we do attend). Not very Christian, I know. I feel very uncomfortable when he seeks me out in the back row in the middle and uses his booming voice to greet me, unlike how he greets others; it makes me feel condescended to. So I blow my nose and sniffle a lot when he comes near. (Then I use anti-bacterial hand gel and shake everyone else's hands.)

It has become clear this winter is that I need to take C's newly discovered crustacean allergy much more seriously. I didn't think I hadn't been, but last night my husband made a Thai coconut chicken soup for dinner. Sounds perfectly safe, right? Not necessarily. He called me as he was making it and asked where the fish sauce was. I told him. We were still on the phone, chatting, when he was about to put it in the soup. Then all of a sudden, I remembered.

"Stop!" I interrupted. "Read the label on the fish sauce first!"

"What?"

"The label. On the fish sauce, before you put it in the soup. I think some fish sauces use shrimp."

Sure enough.

We got lucky. No fish sauce went into the soup.

I spent part of this morning cleaning out the pantry of all items with suspect ingredients.

Loss

We've lost the remote to the downstairs DVD player. Can't find it anywhere. I wonder if it was thrown away inadvertently with some the the holiday debris.

I can't say I'm particularly upset about the situation.

Guilt

Not mine.

My sister and I have talked very little in the last couple of months. It's mostly fine by me.

However, she feels guilty about the way she behaved although she won't admit it. How do I know this?

For Christmas she sent me, among other things, a one pound box of See's candies. All dark chocolate Scotchmallows.

The woman who is KNOWN for her cheap shopping and re-gifting had to go have that box put together specially, and paid full-price.

The ball is in my court - as long as I don't actually insist we talk about what happened. Still considering what to do about it. Hmmm.

Mutant Child

I took M and S to a new dentist today. Our old dentist is retiring and selling his practice to someone new; I decided to take the opportunity to move the kids to a pediatric dentistry practice.

The new practice was fabulous with S. Really great. It was her first full cleaning, and they even managed xrays.

M had the full treatment, too, including panoramic xrays which revealed something very interesting. The kid has an extra tooth buried high in the gums between his two front teeth. Seriously - he has three front teeth.

We'll be having him evaluated by an oral surgeon sometime soon. They may or may not need to remove it surgically.

(Very amusingly...after this discovery, I called a close friend and left her a message about it..she called back later as she had been at the dentist with her #2 son this morning and discovered he is missing a front tooth! The baby tooth has come out and there is nothing to take it's place. Dental transplant anyone?)

Addictions: A Meme

Lynne over at La Vida Es Un Sueno tagged me. I have to admit five additions.

I have more than five addictions. But do I have five that I will admit to?

Hmm....okay, here goes:

• Coffee - an obvious but very true answer.

• Really good sheets on my bed. I mean, really good. It's an area where I will splurge every few years. I like my bed.

• Kisses - the human kind (though the chocolate ones are pretty good, too). Particularly those from my husband and a certain 4 year old daughter. I'd be addicted to kisses from the boys, too, but those are so few and far between that I tend to think of them as super special treats only.

• Sunshine. It's kind of amusing that it took a move from the desert southwest to New England to realize I need sun. Need it. Late fall is a tough time for me. In "light" of that (har, har), belated Happy Solstice, everyone! It's all up hill from here.

• Internet, of course. Of course. How did we live before Al Gore invented this nifty set of tubes?

Those who know me well may be surprised that knitting is not on the list. That's because I consider knitting to a past and hopefully future addiction. I miss it!

Now...whom to tag....the usual suspects...no repercussions if you choose not to participate...

• Ruthie
• Wakeupandsmellthecoffee
• SoftintheHead
• Asdis (even though I can't read most of it!)
• eba

And Happy Solstice, Happy Hannukah, Happy Christmas, and Happy New Year....

There is Always One

Excuse the language, but I am pissed.

Every year, there is at least one mail-order/catalog company that completely fucks up, and therefore fucks up my gift-giving. Every year it's a different company. Every year it's a different issue. Yet something happens every year.

Ugh.

Apparently it Does Matter

In the early morning, when C is leaving the house to meet the bus, I say after him, "Bye, sweetheart. I love you. Have a good day."

C always grunts back. That's an almost 13 year old for you.

This morning was my early morning at work and my husband was at home to get the kids off. Apparently, as C left the house, my husband said to him, "See ya."

C stopped, turned around and said, "Is that all you are going to say?"

My husband reports that he looked at C somewhat quizzically.

C told him, "Mom says, 'I love you,' and 'Have a good day,' to me."

My husband was somewhat taken aback and didn't respond quickly, during which time C said, "Okay, then, bye," and left.

I'll take parenting validation where I can - and I just did.

Eighteen Eyes

It was inevitable.

I wear glasses. My husband wears glasses. C wears glasses. It's now M's turn.

At his annual physical in October, the nurse noted during the vision test that one of his eyes is a good bit weaker than the other. Just like me. And it's his right eye, just like me. I figured I'd get him into the optometrist "soon." Read: procrastinate as long as possible.

Then a couple people mentioned to me that he seemed not to be able to read things at a distance well. Okay, no more procrastinating.

Yesterday was the appointment, and sure enough, glasses are on the way.

After determining this, the optometrist walked with us to the area of her office where the frames are. She picked out a couple and tried them on M. They looked good. I checked the price. The first pair she picked was $245. For the frame. For a nine year old.

I don't think so.

The next pair was $180.

Nope.

And on like that.

I recognize that the economy is probably taking it's toll on the optometrist, too, but get real. I wouldn't put glasses that expensive on a kid in boom times. Especially since C has already gone through pairs of glasses, three of which are at the bottom of the harbor.

Finally, *I* found a pair that was on special for $75 for everything. They looked fine on M. Done.

I think we're going to find a new optometrist.

They Are All at My House

I've been amused at the reports of an acorn shortage in the news this year. The experts obviously haven't been to our town.

We are overrun. I'm going to be spending days picking oak seedlings out of the lawn in the spring. The kids kick them and see how many they can crush underfoot as they walk to the bus. They crunch under the wheels of the car.

The squirrels are happy.

Niche Markets

At the Lego store the other day, we picked up a copy of a magazine for Lego "enthusiasts" (that would be us). It's called "BrickJournal." Santa will be bringing a subscription for the boys.

It's fun to look through. There's an ad in there for a site called Fine Clonier. "For all your minifig decal customization needs."

Think about that. Customization of little stickers you can put on Lego mini figures. Seriously.

(And I think we might actually order the Big Papi set!)

A niche market if I heard of one!

Somewhat Expected, I Guess

Today I saw the former Christian Ed director from the church - the one who was pushed out in the spring. She passed along some interesting news.

Another family has left as a direct result of the actions of the new rector. This family leaving is a real blow, I think. The wife grew up in town and in the church. She was baptized in the church, they were married in the church, and all four of their kids were baptized in the church. The youngest just a couple of weeks ago. They made their decision to leave the day after the youngest's baptism.

The family has been very active in the church. He as a choir member and active in outreach. She as a Sunday school teacher, former vestry member - and member of the search committee that chose the new rector. Until very recently she was very active in her support for the new rector during his transition.

Here's the situation...

The family, the Ss, were very close personally to the interim rector. But they also were committed to their support of the new ministry and have been very careful and clear about that. They have been nothing but positive toward the new guy; they have kept their personal relationship with the interim very separate. When it came time for their youngest (born in July) to be baptized, they dutifully scheduled it with the church. But because of their personal connection to the interim, they asked him to come to a family gathering the night before and offer a blessing for the baby. Not a baptism, just a blessing. In no way usurping the role of the new rector.

The new rector heard about this. He was not pleased. As the former Christian Ed put it, "The water in the baptismal font might have well have been ice for the way he was behaving toward the S family."

This guy is such an self-absorbed, arrogant man that he could not see through his own shit to offer that baby the love and warmth he deserved on the day of his one and only baptism.

Apparently, there were little things going on in the background, too, but the S family worked hard to put on a good face. The baptism was the final straw. While one could argue that the interim should have bowed out, no wonder they wanted some warmth and love from the interim!

I've been to church, I think, three or four times this fall. The kids are still in choir and like it, but we only go when they are singing. S has actually liked it more - but that is because her best bud is there in Sunday school with her. The last time I was there....um...mid-November, I think, the rector said something in his (rambling, unconnected) sermon about he and most of the rectors in the diocese think attendance is on the upswing and that pledge drives are going well. Several of us in the back pews rolled our eyes at this as we counted the empty pews up front. And I happen to know they aren't meeting pledge targets.

So, as ever, news but no progress in any positive direction. It's still very sad for me.

Reunion

On Friday night we were scheduled to go to my husband's 25th high school reunion. We've been to his reunions before and they have been mostly fun though the last one - the 20th - was just after C was sick and my dad died; we were so emotionally spent, and I barely remember it. I wonder what impression we made then.

My husband has stayed in touch with several people from high school. I attribute this to his having gone to a small school in a small town. There were under 100 kids in his graduating class; there were almost 600 in mine. As such, I know many of the characters. But even if we are almost all somewhat known quantities, I wanted to look nice (read: rockin'!) in the presence of the ex-girlfriends and several classmates who were already on to their 2nd/trophy wives.

On Wednesday night, we received an email that the formal reunion event had been canceled. Response had been tepid. Instead, people who could were going to meet up at a local restaurant. As we already had the kids covered, and people we wanted to see appeared to be responding in the affirmative to the restaurant idea, we decided to go to.

It was so lame. Capital L. Lame. And demonstrates why I'll never go to my high school reunions.

We get to the restaurant and spy one woman in the bar area. She leads us back to a small room where "everyone" is. Everyone being eight others. 8. Eight.

I was the only spouse. There was only one other guy. Three of the eight hadn't graduated with the class - one had been with them through 10th grade before going to boarding school, and the other two had left after 8th grade to go to a Catholic school next town over.

So that left five women. And they all live within 20 minutes of the restaurant. They all see each other fairly regularly. Their kids are in recreation leagues together and they go to the same churches. Their parents and siblings are friends.

One of the five was the ex-girlfriend of one of my husband's closer high school friends (who was supposed to show but didn't). I've heard enough about her over the years that it was kind of hard not to call her the less than complimentary nickname by which her former paramour continues to refer to her. Don't ask.

I was kind of shocked with how these women were behaving. Talking about going out to other bars later, and so on. Not my scene. It reeked of mid-life crises.

Over the course of the evening, people we expected to show up didn't. Seems one is still holding a 20 year grudge against one of the five women who was there. Dumb. Just before we left, another guy showed up, clearly a little worse for the years. He's the kind of guy who looks like he was never young. And he definitely looks years older than my husband. None of the ex-girlfriends showed.

Oh, there were two other guys in the restaurant, I learned later, but they decided to stay at the bar. Classy.

I kept thinking back to that Dixie Chicks song, "Long Way Around."

This isn't to say the evening was terrible waste. It was nice to see this one woman. She and my husband were good pals in high school, and I think hubby would like to get back in closer touch. I'll try to make that happen this summer. She's a friend on Facebook now.

And one very sweet thing did happen. The woman who I struggled to call by the correct name had dug out her old photo album and come across a photo of my husband receiving his high school diploma from his mother, who was on the town school committee at the time. She gave it to us to keep. It was very nice of her.

We were on the road early home early, and settled with the kids before it was too late. That was a good thing as the next day hubby was working while I looked after our kids plus a friend's two kids for 10 hours while their parents went to an event. But that's another story...

Duh!

It's official: US in recession

Um, duh.

Oh, sorry. That was rude.

I meant DUH!

And stock market? This is hardly breaking news. What was the point of the dive? We've known for weeks that it's an all-bad-news-all-the-time cycle. It's going to be a long climb back to something resembling a baseline. All these freakish ups and downs are just going to give people heart attacks. So chill out already!

Sheesh.

Well, Obviously!

Yesterday morning I hoped in vain to get some extra rest. I just haven't been sleeping well.

My husband was off to work early. M was up shortly thereafter and went down stairs for computer time. S was next up and wanted my attention. I encouraged her to go downstairs to find her brother. C was solidly, soundly conked out.

As I drifted off, S came back upstairs and asked for her breakfast. Ever the slacker mom, I told her to go downstairs and ask her brother for help. She tromped down the stairs.

I tried drifting off again, but S was back in my face, telling me that M had refused. I told her to tell him to come here.

A few minutes later, M was upstairs and I was asking him to please help S get some breakfast, that I really needed some extra rest and didn't want to be grumpy during the day because of lack of it. M, however, started using a whole lot of attitude, at which point my annoyance and blood pressure was raised a touch he lost the privilege of going back on the computer. He sulked downstairs - but I did hear yogurt and Rice Krispies in the works for S.

I tried again to doze off, to no vail. So much for extra sleep.

Later in the morning M reported to me an exchange they had during breakfast.

M: S, why did you tell on me?

S: Because you're a boy.

And there you have it. A reason as plain as day.