The Brainiac came home with a note from his teach today. They are doing a talk on puberty and we are invited to attend. Not something, I necessarily intended to discuss with him, but during dinner, he wouldn't cease his incessant banter about Weird Al, so I changed the subject to puberty. Lesser of two evils? You decide.
My husband took the ball and ran with it and gave a pretty good explanation to our boys. So good, in fact, that I became a little nauseated. Some things shouldn't be discussed at the dinner table. The Braniac looked a little embarrassed discussing testosterone and pubic hair. The Firecracker was just laughing and answering "sexy" to the question, "what changes happen to girls during puberty?"
Perhaps, this discussion should have been exclusive to the Brainiac. Hindsight is 20/20, they say.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Rain, Rain
It is raining like crazy this morning. Of course, we need it. We always need it. This morning I was telling my boys about a recent news article, buried on the back page of the local paper, that spoke of the drought being perpetual. It will never end.
Back in September of 04, we had two Hurricanes come through our fair city within 8 days of each other. First Frances, then Ivan. Round here it was called the hundred year flood.
The only road out of our neighborhood, one that runs along the banks of the Swannanoa River, was flooded. The power was out. School was out. We couldn't drink the water. Word got around that a neighbor's Mom was missing, presumed dead by the local authorities. They found her car in the middle of River Road, door standing open, flooded with water. She was found around 4pm, safe on top of a truck in the lot of a business along the road. She had left for work at dawn, driving her car right into the flooded road.
A couple of other neighbors decided to hike out around our flooded road to check out things. Just as they were emerging from the 2 mile walk in the woods, one stepped on a wasps' nest, allowing a direct tunnel up to his groin where he was stung multiple times. Stepping out onto the road, he collapsed into Anaphylactic shock. Luckily there was a group of people nearby, surveying the damage to their river houses. One happened to be a nurse, and one had a truck. They piled in the truck and headed for the VA hospital upon the nurse's urging- it was closer than Mission, our city hospital, and my neighbor seemed critical. My neighbor survived but the doctor at the VA said he wouldn't have made it had they decided to go Mission.
The next morning a rainbow appeared over this lucky man's house.
Back in September of 04, we had two Hurricanes come through our fair city within 8 days of each other. First Frances, then Ivan. Round here it was called the hundred year flood.
The only road out of our neighborhood, one that runs along the banks of the Swannanoa River, was flooded. The power was out. School was out. We couldn't drink the water. Word got around that a neighbor's Mom was missing, presumed dead by the local authorities. They found her car in the middle of River Road, door standing open, flooded with water. She was found around 4pm, safe on top of a truck in the lot of a business along the road. She had left for work at dawn, driving her car right into the flooded road. A couple of other neighbors decided to hike out around our flooded road to check out things. Just as they were emerging from the 2 mile walk in the woods, one stepped on a wasps' nest, allowing a direct tunnel up to his groin where he was stung multiple times. Stepping out onto the road, he collapsed into Anaphylactic shock. Luckily there was a group of people nearby, surveying the damage to their river houses. One happened to be a nurse, and one had a truck. They piled in the truck and headed for the VA hospital upon the nurse's urging- it was closer than Mission, our city hospital, and my neighbor seemed critical. My neighbor survived but the doctor at the VA said he wouldn't have made it had they decided to go Mission.
The next morning a rainbow appeared over this lucky man's house.
Monday, February 25, 2008
'nother sick day
The Brainiac is home "sick" today. He woke up with a sore throat. He did some passive whining aimed at securing his day off. I nipped that in the bud. If you don't feel well enough to go to school, just say so. I trust your judgment. So, he's home.
Hmmm. He has already spent some time working on his AIG (Gifted class) project, playing legos and watching Youtube with me. We were comparing Weird Al videos with the ones they were intended to spoof. Not so sick. But, hey, everyone needs a mental health day every once in a while.
Last week I sent the Firecracker to school, no so well, because he wanted to go. He did spend two days at home pretty sick. And Friday he came home from school and took a nap. Go figure.
Hmmm. He has already spent some time working on his AIG (Gifted class) project, playing legos and watching Youtube with me. We were comparing Weird Al videos with the ones they were intended to spoof. Not so sick. But, hey, everyone needs a mental health day every once in a while.
Last week I sent the Firecracker to school, no so well, because he wanted to go. He did spend two days at home pretty sick. And Friday he came home from school and took a nap. Go figure.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Super Tuesday
I often speak of life's challenges as waves. A wave can't last forever, eventually it crashes on the shore and recedes into the dark water of the ocean to form again. My wave of status quo- everything seems quite normal here - crashed on Friday. I've only been riding it for a week or so, but I enjoyed it while it lasted. Still the crash wasn't too bad. My mother-in-law's kitty died and she was beside herself with grief. She lives 30 minutes away in a retirement community that she chose last fall based on the fact they allow kittys. She didn't weigh anything else in her decision which is regrettable as the food is southern through and through - fried or overcooked, and virtually everyone there is in a wheelchair or walker. It's depressing. To me anyway. She's 72 and mobile but needs some supervision as she has some dementia.
On Friday afternoon, as my DH settled down for a nap on his afternoon off, he received a call from the Retirement Community that the kitty had died; my MIL wouldn't let anyone take the kitty from her, and was demanding an autopsy. The kitty wasn't that old, maybe 3 or 4. My husband took off to console her and brought her home to hang with us for a while. While here, she asked for a glass of wine. I politely refused. She has been sober since the fall- by that I mean Autumn and the time she fell down, drunk, and broke her hip. They can't stop her from buying alcohol on the weekly trips to the grocery store. In fact, once she was well enough to walk again, she made the trip and bought some. We conspired with the management and told her if she was going to drink, we couldn't stop her but it was either the bottle or the kitty. You can't take care of a kitty when you are drunk.
She chose the kitty. But with the kitty done, I'm afraid the bottle will be back. They go grocery shopping on Tuesday. I'm sure to hear about it if she does buy it. She can down one of those mega bottles in a couple of hours. Gives new meaning to Super Tuesday, eh?
On Friday afternoon, as my DH settled down for a nap on his afternoon off, he received a call from the Retirement Community that the kitty had died; my MIL wouldn't let anyone take the kitty from her, and was demanding an autopsy. The kitty wasn't that old, maybe 3 or 4. My husband took off to console her and brought her home to hang with us for a while. While here, she asked for a glass of wine. I politely refused. She has been sober since the fall- by that I mean Autumn and the time she fell down, drunk, and broke her hip. They can't stop her from buying alcohol on the weekly trips to the grocery store. In fact, once she was well enough to walk again, she made the trip and bought some. We conspired with the management and told her if she was going to drink, we couldn't stop her but it was either the bottle or the kitty. You can't take care of a kitty when you are drunk.
She chose the kitty. But with the kitty done, I'm afraid the bottle will be back. They go grocery shopping on Tuesday. I'm sure to hear about it if she does buy it. She can down one of those mega bottles in a couple of hours. Gives new meaning to Super Tuesday, eh?
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Just Another Day
The Firecracker is home sick today for the second time this week. Nasty cold, I guess. Or maybe just a mild version of the flu. He had the mist. I suppose I should be doing something productive like my taxes or perhaps working on one of the many unfinished projects about the house. Like sanding and staining the stairs. We ripped the carpet up a year and a half ago. I don't know what I have been waiting for. Inspiration, perhaps? No, more like forethought because I have to purchase wood putty to plug the holes, rent a sander and pick out the stain. But it needs to get done. Along with finishing painting the basement (from this summer). Finish painting my son's room - just the corners remain (from two years ago). Hooks up inside the pantry door, coat closet and the boys' rooms. What else? Paint the mantel (it has been a different color than the rest of the living room for over a year), the stairwell (this one may be for hired help as it's tricky) and the wall in my bathroom where the cheap mirror needs to come down. Then there's always my website for my business. I had some friends get it started six months ago, using software that allowed me to be the webmaster. I haven’t touched it since. YIKES!
You just can't ever get it all done. And in the past six or eight months I have begun subscribing to taking care of myself first. Ok, maybe it is second or third - but it isn't last. This means making Yoga once or twice a week as well as playing a little tennis. This translated into low stress Holidays. I wish it translated into flab off the belly, but that's going to require some work. And throwing out the Girl Scout cookies. I ate through the "Thank You" ones in a couple of days. My Brainiac came home yesterday looking for them. Who ate them all, he wailed. I dunno, must have been your Dad. You know he has a sweet tooth. Damn those Girl Scout Cookies. It takes 30 minutes on the elliptical trainer to burn off four of those suckers. Lucky for me, I don't like the other two flavors I purchased: Thin mints - that's like squirting toothpaste onto a chocolate cookie - gross. And some cinnamon thingies. However, I did order from two other sources who have yet to deliver their goods. How can you say no to sweet little entrepreneurial girls? Maybe my best plan is to never let the boys see them, then secretly drop them in their classrooms for a fun snack.
You just can't ever get it all done. And in the past six or eight months I have begun subscribing to taking care of myself first. Ok, maybe it is second or third - but it isn't last. This means making Yoga once or twice a week as well as playing a little tennis. This translated into low stress Holidays. I wish it translated into flab off the belly, but that's going to require some work. And throwing out the Girl Scout cookies. I ate through the "Thank You" ones in a couple of days. My Brainiac came home yesterday looking for them. Who ate them all, he wailed. I dunno, must have been your Dad. You know he has a sweet tooth. Damn those Girl Scout Cookies. It takes 30 minutes on the elliptical trainer to burn off four of those suckers. Lucky for me, I don't like the other two flavors I purchased: Thin mints - that's like squirting toothpaste onto a chocolate cookie - gross. And some cinnamon thingies. However, I did order from two other sources who have yet to deliver their goods. How can you say no to sweet little entrepreneurial girls? Maybe my best plan is to never let the boys see them, then secretly drop them in their classrooms for a fun snack.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Cuba Reflection
Last night, I gave a "reflection" about my Cuba travels at my Church. It was good to have a deadline to make me get something on paper. Here it is. I sang the song lyrics that are quoted. Probably not a good decision but I think it kept people engaged.
It was Friday night. 10 o’clock. 8 days into our travels in Cuba. M, a college student from our congregation, the Braniac and I were bunking together at the Martin Luther King Center in Havana. We were in a dorm like setting with each room having two sets of bunk beds. Our suitemates – the ones we shared a bathroom with – were Cuba women. We turned out the lights, exhausted from days of traveling, including 5 days with our sister church, conversing and fellowshipping with these faithful and generous people. I was almost asleep, when loud guitar music startled me from dream land. Someone’s radio, I thought! No, wait. Not a radio, but guitar music, live, coming from our suitemates' room! It was quite stirring and lively but not exactly what I wanted to hear at this particular moment. “Pssst, M,” I whispered, “How do you say your music is lovely but I’m trying to sleep in Spanish?” And M said through muffled giggles, trying not to wake the Brainiac, "Por Favor la musica es muy bonita pero quieremos dormir."
I thought I’d wait for a few moments before I drug out of bed to ask. It wasn’t difficult to wait; I had spent this last week learning to live in the waiting, drinking it in and embracing it. For waiting was something we found ourselves doing quite often. Waiting for someone to arrive or for someone to lead us to our next destination or for dinner to begin. We even jokingly changed the words to Marcharemos, (a song that we often sang in church in Spanish and English, that our sister congregation also knew) to Esperamos – (we are waiting). The waiting, lingering, was a gift to me. To slow down, to live in the moment, not thinking about what my next move or task was. I didn’t have any. Surely the folks from our sister chuch had things they had left in wait, to spend time with us, but I never knew it. They were just as present as we were.
Our first night in Camaguey, I found myself trying to explain to a congregant in our sister chuch what a nursing home is – in Spanish. Don’t ask me how I got there. I desperately scanned the room for help from our Spanish speaking Circle, but they were deeply engaged in other conversations, so I waited. I leaned in to the awkwardness of the wait and after much stuttering I said, "Las Casa de abeulos" – home of grandparents. It was the best I could come up with. Yet she got it – I think.
I’m certain I was the most naïve traveler, over the age of 10, in this group. Collectively, my fellow travelers had been to Korea, Guatemala, India, Burma, Honduras, and Romania to name a few. I had been to London. Far from the third world country of Cuba that I thought I was traveling to.
But third world was not the Cuba I encountered. Certainly, before signing up for this trip, I knew little of Cuba besides what had been spoon fed to me by the “history” books and the US Media. There’s a line from a song by John Mayer, “Waiting for the World to Change” that says “When you trust your television, what you get is what you got. Cause when they own the information, they can bend it all they want. That’s why we’re waiting, waiting for the World to change.” True for me in more ways than one.
I had read some before arriving so I did have some better information to draw from. But to witness it with my own eyes and ears was powerful – people living with enough to eat, housing, education and health care – something our country can’t provide to all of our citizens. Not a land of milk and honey by any means; I found myself moved to tears by the many malnourished stray dogs. We were told not to touch them; they were so filthy and carried diseases. This was difficult for me. I just wanted to lean over and give them a little love.
Then there is the government. We had some intimate, intense conversations with a few folks we encountered there. They are waiting. Waiting for change in their government but most don’t see hope that it will. One day, I had on t-shirt that dons the date 1-20-09, the date we inaugurate a new president here in the US. After explaining what it meant, the proprietor of our inn in Camaguey said, “We don’t have a date like that. We don’t have a date for hope.” Another time, someone speaking about hope for change said, “our only hope is in Jesus”. These were stirring conversations – ones I will never forget.
So, there I lay, on my bunk bed in the Martin Luther King Center, waiting for the beautiful guitar music to cease. After all, trying to ask graciously, in my broken Spanish, made me a little nervous. So I breathed in the music and the wait and a few minutes later, it stopped. I found out the next morning, one of the Spanish speakers paid a visit and asked if they wouldn't mind closing their door. And they obliged.
Since returning home, I have found myself dreaming of the day that we will host some of our sister church members here in the US. What would we cook for them? What sights would we share? For now we will have to wait and hope for our government to change. Until then, I’m glad that our congregation has chosen this partnership, this journey, with these faithful people.
It was Friday night. 10 o’clock. 8 days into our travels in Cuba. M, a college student from our congregation, the Braniac and I were bunking together at the Martin Luther King Center in Havana. We were in a dorm like setting with each room having two sets of bunk beds. Our suitemates – the ones we shared a bathroom with – were Cuba women. We turned out the lights, exhausted from days of traveling, including 5 days with our sister church, conversing and fellowshipping with these faithful and generous people. I was almost asleep, when loud guitar music startled me from dream land. Someone’s radio, I thought! No, wait. Not a radio, but guitar music, live, coming from our suitemates' room! It was quite stirring and lively but not exactly what I wanted to hear at this particular moment. “Pssst, M,” I whispered, “How do you say your music is lovely but I’m trying to sleep in Spanish?” And M said through muffled giggles, trying not to wake the Brainiac, "Por Favor la musica es muy bonita pero quieremos dormir."
I thought I’d wait for a few moments before I drug out of bed to ask. It wasn’t difficult to wait; I had spent this last week learning to live in the waiting, drinking it in and embracing it. For waiting was something we found ourselves doing quite often. Waiting for someone to arrive or for someone to lead us to our next destination or for dinner to begin. We even jokingly changed the words to Marcharemos, (a song that we often sang in church in Spanish and English, that our sister congregation also knew) to Esperamos – (we are waiting). The waiting, lingering, was a gift to me. To slow down, to live in the moment, not thinking about what my next move or task was. I didn’t have any. Surely the folks from our sister chuch had things they had left in wait, to spend time with us, but I never knew it. They were just as present as we were.
Our first night in Camaguey, I found myself trying to explain to a congregant in our sister chuch what a nursing home is – in Spanish. Don’t ask me how I got there. I desperately scanned the room for help from our Spanish speaking Circle, but they were deeply engaged in other conversations, so I waited. I leaned in to the awkwardness of the wait and after much stuttering I said, "Las Casa de abeulos" – home of grandparents. It was the best I could come up with. Yet she got it – I think.
I’m certain I was the most naïve traveler, over the age of 10, in this group. Collectively, my fellow travelers had been to Korea, Guatemala, India, Burma, Honduras, and Romania to name a few. I had been to London. Far from the third world country of Cuba that I thought I was traveling to.
But third world was not the Cuba I encountered. Certainly, before signing up for this trip, I knew little of Cuba besides what had been spoon fed to me by the “history” books and the US Media. There’s a line from a song by John Mayer, “Waiting for the World to Change” that says “When you trust your television, what you get is what you got. Cause when they own the information, they can bend it all they want. That’s why we’re waiting, waiting for the World to change.” True for me in more ways than one.
I had read some before arriving so I did have some better information to draw from. But to witness it with my own eyes and ears was powerful – people living with enough to eat, housing, education and health care – something our country can’t provide to all of our citizens. Not a land of milk and honey by any means; I found myself moved to tears by the many malnourished stray dogs. We were told not to touch them; they were so filthy and carried diseases. This was difficult for me. I just wanted to lean over and give them a little love.
Then there is the government. We had some intimate, intense conversations with a few folks we encountered there. They are waiting. Waiting for change in their government but most don’t see hope that it will. One day, I had on t-shirt that dons the date 1-20-09, the date we inaugurate a new president here in the US. After explaining what it meant, the proprietor of our inn in Camaguey said, “We don’t have a date like that. We don’t have a date for hope.” Another time, someone speaking about hope for change said, “our only hope is in Jesus”. These were stirring conversations – ones I will never forget.
So, there I lay, on my bunk bed in the Martin Luther King Center, waiting for the beautiful guitar music to cease. After all, trying to ask graciously, in my broken Spanish, made me a little nervous. So I breathed in the music and the wait and a few minutes later, it stopped. I found out the next morning, one of the Spanish speakers paid a visit and asked if they wouldn't mind closing their door. And they obliged.
Since returning home, I have found myself dreaming of the day that we will host some of our sister church members here in the US. What would we cook for them? What sights would we share? For now we will have to wait and hope for our government to change. Until then, I’m glad that our congregation has chosen this partnership, this journey, with these faithful people.
Got Flu?
My Wild Child is home with a sore throat today. After breakfast this morning, he took some advil and went back to sleep. This kid just doesn't slow down. He's in constant motion, so I'm fearful of the flu. It's running rampant through his school. He did have the flu mist but apparently there is one strain that isn't covered in that vaccine. We'll see. I think I need to change the WC's blog nickname, even though he doesn't know about it. It doesn't quite fit him anymore. He is definitely a ball of energy. Maybe firecracker? Or Cracker Jack? Hmm, I'll have to think on that one.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Sick Day
I can't remember the last time I was sick. Ok, maybe I do. It was the Noro virus around Valentine's Day 2004. I got up to hug the toilet but passed out before I made it. My DH, heard me hit the floor, came to my side to flip me over, so I wouldn't aspirate while I threw up, unconscious. Today is nothing like that. Just a cold that my Chinese herbs haven't been able to knock out. I've been laying low, watching the replay of the Australian Open Men's semi-finals, Federer v Djokovic match.
I've spent the last week easing my re-entry into the U.S after a 10 day trip to Cuba, something my other travel companions most likely didn't have the luxury of doing. They had to get back to their jobs and the work left on their desks. I don't have any clients that needed me at their homes, though I am doing some work from home for a few.
While in Cuba, I was totally unplugged- no email, no phone calls home and no TV, though most people in Cuba had them. I had to trust that things at home were fine. In the weeks before my departure, I spent hours lining up after school care for my WC in my absence. I would like to say that I made casseroles and planned a menu so my DH and WC were well-fed, but I can't even do that when I am present, so I left them to their own devices, hoping that they could just survive until I returned. I never imagined that I would come home to hear that the two of them had a blast while the Brainiac and I were in Cuba. But, in fact, that is what happened. I barely got a hug from my WC upon my return; he recognized that the party was over. My DH said, "Caring for one child is easy!" They went to a college hoops game, to the park, to see the Chipmunk's movie- thank God i missed that!- and had friends over to watch Heels hoops and soccer.
The biggest shock, though, was to come home to a spotless kitchen and relatively clean bathrooms. He had even wiped the insidious mold off of the bathroom ceiling. In addition, he hung some pictures and did some de-cluttering, putting some things away. Of course, I'm thinking, I should go away more often! And I've noticed, since my return, my DH's attention to cleaning up after dinner and keeping the house picked-up. Somebody pinch me!
A few days ago, I spoke with one of my friends who was on the trip, a mom, who also left one of her children and spouse behind to "survive" without her. She experienced the same phenomenon. Her house was clean when she returned. And since arriving, she has noticed an increased contribution from her mate too. Go figure.
I have many thoughts and tales from my Cuba trip. They are racing around in my head - some are in an old fashioned journal that I kept on the trip. I'm waiting for the the thoughts and words to collide and explode so I miraculously become articulate and can convey my experience there. I realize that isn't likely to happen, though, much to my disappointment. I'll give it a shot, though, real soon. For now a nap and the end of the tennis match.
Hasta Luego, mis amigos.
I've spent the last week easing my re-entry into the U.S after a 10 day trip to Cuba, something my other travel companions most likely didn't have the luxury of doing. They had to get back to their jobs and the work left on their desks. I don't have any clients that needed me at their homes, though I am doing some work from home for a few.
While in Cuba, I was totally unplugged- no email, no phone calls home and no TV, though most people in Cuba had them. I had to trust that things at home were fine. In the weeks before my departure, I spent hours lining up after school care for my WC in my absence. I would like to say that I made casseroles and planned a menu so my DH and WC were well-fed, but I can't even do that when I am present, so I left them to their own devices, hoping that they could just survive until I returned. I never imagined that I would come home to hear that the two of them had a blast while the Brainiac and I were in Cuba. But, in fact, that is what happened. I barely got a hug from my WC upon my return; he recognized that the party was over. My DH said, "Caring for one child is easy!" They went to a college hoops game, to the park, to see the Chipmunk's movie- thank God i missed that!- and had friends over to watch Heels hoops and soccer.
The biggest shock, though, was to come home to a spotless kitchen and relatively clean bathrooms. He had even wiped the insidious mold off of the bathroom ceiling. In addition, he hung some pictures and did some de-cluttering, putting some things away. Of course, I'm thinking, I should go away more often! And I've noticed, since my return, my DH's attention to cleaning up after dinner and keeping the house picked-up. Somebody pinch me!
A few days ago, I spoke with one of my friends who was on the trip, a mom, who also left one of her children and spouse behind to "survive" without her. She experienced the same phenomenon. Her house was clean when she returned. And since arriving, she has noticed an increased contribution from her mate too. Go figure.
I have many thoughts and tales from my Cuba trip. They are racing around in my head - some are in an old fashioned journal that I kept on the trip. I'm waiting for the the thoughts and words to collide and explode so I miraculously become articulate and can convey my experience there. I realize that isn't likely to happen, though, much to my disappointment. I'll give it a shot, though, real soon. For now a nap and the end of the tennis match.
Hasta Luego, mis amigos.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Merry Christmas
I'm a little over stimulated and pretty exhausted it was a fun and relaxed Christmas, despite that fact that yesterday I was still trying to get my Christmas Cards together and mailed, and I hadn't wrapped a single gift. The cards are in the mail - most of them anyway. I even had some help from my Brainiac. He put the address labels on - I finally figured out how to do that this year. Turns out my labels outnumbered my cards, so I had to make some strategic cuts from my address list to include everyone that I REALLY wanted to.
The gifts were haphazardly wrapped last night, as I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. No bows. No ribbons. Sometimes a gift tag. No one seemed to care this morning.
I still have some gifts left to wrap for my families Christmas down in the Ville. But we won't head there until Friday.
B and I are headed for a trip to Cuba on January 10th. I just can't seem to wrap my arms around it all until the Holidays are over. We do have our immunizations and passports in order. It's more about leaving the DH and the WC behind and taken care of.
The gifts were haphazardly wrapped last night, as I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. No bows. No ribbons. Sometimes a gift tag. No one seemed to care this morning.
I still have some gifts left to wrap for my families Christmas down in the Ville. But we won't head there until Friday.
B and I are headed for a trip to Cuba on January 10th. I just can't seem to wrap my arms around it all until the Holidays are over. We do have our immunizations and passports in order. It's more about leaving the DH and the WC behind and taken care of.
Christmas and the Tooth Fairy
The WC twisted his front tooth from his mouth yesterday, leaving a gaping hole in it's wake. Now it seems as if the other front tooth has been inspired, and is just hours from pulling up its roots too. So, Santa and the Tooth Fairy made visits to our house last night.
Both of my boys have taken to leaving notes to the TF, asking her to leave the tooth - but of course they expect money. Fortunately, the tooth fairy is an agreeable girl and has granted them their requests.
Last night, my WC left the typical note asking the TF to leave the tooth behind. She complied, but also wrote something in return. Apparently, she ran into Santa as she came to our house AND it was the first time she had met him. I suppose not many kids lose their tooth on Christmas Eve. I can't recall ever hearing any of my friends talking about it growing up.
Cool, dude. Merry Christmas!
Both of my boys have taken to leaving notes to the TF, asking her to leave the tooth - but of course they expect money. Fortunately, the tooth fairy is an agreeable girl and has granted them their requests.
Last night, my WC left the typical note asking the TF to leave the tooth behind. She complied, but also wrote something in return. Apparently, she ran into Santa as she came to our house AND it was the first time she had met him. I suppose not many kids lose their tooth on Christmas Eve. I can't recall ever hearing any of my friends talking about it growing up.
Cool, dude. Merry Christmas!
Monday, December 03, 2007
Random Happenings in the Restless World
On Friday night, some girlfriends and I spent some time sipping yummy wine offerings from Sante in the Grove Arcade in town. One of the owners is my Yoga instructor at One Center Yoga on Coxe Street. Very cool place. It is a retail wine store and bar, so you can chose any bottle and just pay a small corkage fee to pop it open there. A lot cheaper than any other bar or restaurant in town, where the mark up is far more.
Saturday found the DH and I at the Stoney Knob in Weaverville for dinner and then at a play, My Name Is Rachel Corie, at Mars Hill College. The play was intense and provocative- about a young woman who lived in the Gaza strip, working with a non-violent student movement. Tragically, she lost her life when a bulldozer presumably headed for Palestinian houses, ran her down as she tried to intervene. This play was a part of Mars Hill College's Difficult Dialog series. Very cool stuff from Mars Hill. They had a panel discussion with the audience after the play but we couldn't stay as we had to get the sitter home. Darn!
Sunday was lazy as it should be. I slept until 9:30 - quite unusual for me. We all went to church at 5:00 pm - first Sunday in advent - and good stuff. I jetted down to some friends' party in Hendersonville for a few hours, then made a quick stop at Target and Ingles.
Today, I hosted the Western NC AIDS Project Fundraising Committee at my house. We always meet at WNCAP but this was our after event wrap-up meeting, so I thought it would be fun to have them here for a light supper. And yes, it was fun but this afternoon, when I was preparing soup and salad for three hours, I kept musing, what was I thinking? Really, though, these are some of the best people I have EVER worked with. They totally rock and are so committed to this organization. And they were kind enough to compliment my Butternut Squash Soup and my Asparagus Soup. I have some leftover to eat the rest of the week. Fat chance my family will indulge in something so healthy.
Saturday found the DH and I at the Stoney Knob in Weaverville for dinner and then at a play, My Name Is Rachel Corie, at Mars Hill College. The play was intense and provocative- about a young woman who lived in the Gaza strip, working with a non-violent student movement. Tragically, she lost her life when a bulldozer presumably headed for Palestinian houses, ran her down as she tried to intervene. This play was a part of Mars Hill College's Difficult Dialog series. Very cool stuff from Mars Hill. They had a panel discussion with the audience after the play but we couldn't stay as we had to get the sitter home. Darn!
Sunday was lazy as it should be. I slept until 9:30 - quite unusual for me. We all went to church at 5:00 pm - first Sunday in advent - and good stuff. I jetted down to some friends' party in Hendersonville for a few hours, then made a quick stop at Target and Ingles.
Today, I hosted the Western NC AIDS Project Fundraising Committee at my house. We always meet at WNCAP but this was our after event wrap-up meeting, so I thought it would be fun to have them here for a light supper. And yes, it was fun but this afternoon, when I was preparing soup and salad for three hours, I kept musing, what was I thinking? Really, though, these are some of the best people I have EVER worked with. They totally rock and are so committed to this organization. And they were kind enough to compliment my Butternut Squash Soup and my Asparagus Soup. I have some leftover to eat the rest of the week. Fat chance my family will indulge in something so healthy.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Cap'n Crunch
Patch, the smelly hound dog, has a new friend of late. A stray dog I named Rascal. Rascal has been coming round for at least a year now. He appears for a couple of days, then we don't see him for weeks or months. He and Patch love to play together but he won't let humans anywhere near him. Poor fella.
Last month, I began feeding him. And guess what? He kept coming back around. He even started to let me get close to him and I actually touched him once, though he immediately recoiled and backed away. But I kept feeding him, hoping eventually he would begin to trust. A week or so into his 'stay' at our abode, we ran out of dog food. I asked DH to pick up some and he came home with Kibbles and Bits instead of Iams. I chided him for getting Cap'n Crunch instead of Corn Flakes, but Rascal and Patch didn't seem to mind. Patch and Rascal blazed through the Cap'n at top speed, however we re-filled the dog food bin with Iams.
That's when Rascal disappeard again. He came back briefly, checking if the Cap'n had returned. Disatisfied, he took off again and has only made one appearance since. And that was only a trot down our street, never even looking once in our direction, taunting us for our bad taste in food.
Guess he must be "gettin' some" somewhere else. Isn't that a typical male?
Last month, I began feeding him. And guess what? He kept coming back around. He even started to let me get close to him and I actually touched him once, though he immediately recoiled and backed away. But I kept feeding him, hoping eventually he would begin to trust. A week or so into his 'stay' at our abode, we ran out of dog food. I asked DH to pick up some and he came home with Kibbles and Bits instead of Iams. I chided him for getting Cap'n Crunch instead of Corn Flakes, but Rascal and Patch didn't seem to mind. Patch and Rascal blazed through the Cap'n at top speed, however we re-filled the dog food bin with Iams.
That's when Rascal disappeard again. He came back briefly, checking if the Cap'n had returned. Disatisfied, he took off again and has only made one appearance since. And that was only a trot down our street, never even looking once in our direction, taunting us for our bad taste in food.
Guess he must be "gettin' some" somewhere else. Isn't that a typical male?
Monday, November 26, 2007
Pelvic Thrust for Thankgsiving
Sans the early childhood years,Thanksgiving has always been my favorite Holiday and as the years wax on, the others continue to pale in comparison. Maybe i relish it more every year, as Christmas madness and consumerism has consumed all of December and has eaten around the Thanksgiving Holiday to consume most of November.
For the third year running, we stayed in town for T Day, entertaining friends and neighbors. Being a vegetarian, I always assign the dead bird job to someone else. Everyone brought a few dishes, making it easier on all. We had sixteen at our house on Thursday, including 4 teenagers.
After we ate a marvelous meal, we settled down for a game of Cranium. We split up the elderly couple in their mid eighties, putting them on different teams. We did the same with the teenagers, one for each team. My team consisted of my elderly neighbor, who isn't quite all there, the teenage girl from across the street and my ten year old (who was watching TV in the other room). Mid way through the game, we drew a "play all" where a person from every team acts out a specific word and tries to get their teammates to guess it first. Two of the teenagers were the actors, including my team-mate. When "go" was shouted, my team-mate, this sweet, shy, 14- year old girl started thrusting her hips forwards and backwards. In addition, her hands were at her hips, fists gripped tightly, as if she were helping her hips along. In other words, a Pelvic Thrust.
Embarrassed and confused, I looked back at the other team and saw their teenage player taking off his shirt. Finally, I was put out of my misery, as the third team guessed the word - reproduce. I can't even begin to describe here the charade their player used to convey the word. I hadn't seen that gesture since high school. Thank goodness my boys were watching grown men violently slam each other to the ground - on TV. A lot more appropriate than our game.
For the third year running, we stayed in town for T Day, entertaining friends and neighbors. Being a vegetarian, I always assign the dead bird job to someone else. Everyone brought a few dishes, making it easier on all. We had sixteen at our house on Thursday, including 4 teenagers.
After we ate a marvelous meal, we settled down for a game of Cranium. We split up the elderly couple in their mid eighties, putting them on different teams. We did the same with the teenagers, one for each team. My team consisted of my elderly neighbor, who isn't quite all there, the teenage girl from across the street and my ten year old (who was watching TV in the other room). Mid way through the game, we drew a "play all" where a person from every team acts out a specific word and tries to get their teammates to guess it first. Two of the teenagers were the actors, including my team-mate. When "go" was shouted, my team-mate, this sweet, shy, 14- year old girl started thrusting her hips forwards and backwards. In addition, her hands were at her hips, fists gripped tightly, as if she were helping her hips along. In other words, a Pelvic Thrust.
Embarrassed and confused, I looked back at the other team and saw their teenage player taking off his shirt. Finally, I was put out of my misery, as the third team guessed the word - reproduce. I can't even begin to describe here the charade their player used to convey the word. I hadn't seen that gesture since high school. Thank goodness my boys were watching grown men violently slam each other to the ground - on TV. A lot more appropriate than our game.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
My Weekend and More
I survived the WC's sleepover. My friend, Erin, dropped by to bring WC a gift and then graciously stayed, cooked us dinner while the kids noshed on Dominoes, grapes and carrots. Turns out grapes are good for "FOOD FIGHT"; I nipped that one in the bud pretty quickly, but not before I video taped it.
When it was time to bunk down, several boys decided they were homesick and their Moms came to get them. I was tempted to take more "orders" for homesickness. Anyone else homesick, miss your mom or just want to sleep in your own bed? Anyone? Anyone? It sure would make things easier in the am. But it worked out fine. They were asleep by 10pm and slept through until 6:30am. Not bad.
On Sunday, the boys and I met some friends in Gerton for a picnic and some tennis. We tried the WC's new Aerobie in a big field there. The boys played tennis against one another. The WC came back from 2-5 down to 6-5 up, when the Brainiac threw his racquet, upset that he couldn't "finish him off." YIKES! Uncharacteristic behavior for the B, although several weeks ago, he did rage about the house when he received his first ever "B" on his report card. I asked him to sit off to the side, to which he spat, "Shut-up". Double YIKES! Then he said it two more times for good measure, just in case my friends on the court didn't hear it. Oh, boy. I couldn't help but think- Get ready for the teenage years, and more of the same. Of course, he lost his game boy for the first three days of Thanksgiving Break; one day for each Shut-Up. Fair, I think.
When we returned home, I asked the WC to get his chores done, or he would have to pay me $10 to do so. "OK," he said, "I'll pay you." Not really the desired effect, but now I didn't have to pay him his allowance for the last two weeks (I was behind by a month, though) AND I sterilized the boy's bathroom, which needed to happen anyway, since we are having guests for T Day. It was horribly nasty, even though they "clean it" every week.
Monday brought a phone call from the Vice Principal at WC's school. In his classroom, during reading, he had showed his manhood (under the table) to a girl across from him. Apparently, she asked so he showed. Triple YIKES! We had a conference after school yesterday, but he is home with me today, suspended. At the beginning of the school year, I blogged that it was just a matter of time before he was suspended again. However, I recently started to believe that he would make it through the year without a suspension, which was the WC's goal. I never would have imagined it would have been for anything other than getting angry and loosing control. He's matured a lot a year. He is sleeping better, as his apnea has been resolved. He is handling his emotions much better with the help of therapy, regular exercise and the many carrots that I dangle in front of him. His remarkable teacher has gone above and beyond to help.
The silver lining here is that the WC was terribly embarrassed and shortly after his exposure occurred, he told his teacher he had "made a bad choice." His flash episode happened in the morning and he remained at school the rest of the day without incident - a big deal for him. And he cried and cried yesterday afternoon when he realized he had been suspended. He didn't make his goal. Bummer.
Well the WC and I have to hit the madness at the Grocery Store. No Yoga class for me today. Perhaps tomorrow.
When it was time to bunk down, several boys decided they were homesick and their Moms came to get them. I was tempted to take more "orders" for homesickness. Anyone else homesick, miss your mom or just want to sleep in your own bed? Anyone? Anyone? It sure would make things easier in the am. But it worked out fine. They were asleep by 10pm and slept through until 6:30am. Not bad.
On Sunday, the boys and I met some friends in Gerton for a picnic and some tennis. We tried the WC's new Aerobie in a big field there. The boys played tennis against one another. The WC came back from 2-5 down to 6-5 up, when the Brainiac threw his racquet, upset that he couldn't "finish him off." YIKES! Uncharacteristic behavior for the B, although several weeks ago, he did rage about the house when he received his first ever "B" on his report card. I asked him to sit off to the side, to which he spat, "Shut-up". Double YIKES! Then he said it two more times for good measure, just in case my friends on the court didn't hear it. Oh, boy. I couldn't help but think- Get ready for the teenage years, and more of the same. Of course, he lost his game boy for the first three days of Thanksgiving Break; one day for each Shut-Up. Fair, I think.
When we returned home, I asked the WC to get his chores done, or he would have to pay me $10 to do so. "OK," he said, "I'll pay you." Not really the desired effect, but now I didn't have to pay him his allowance for the last two weeks (I was behind by a month, though) AND I sterilized the boy's bathroom, which needed to happen anyway, since we are having guests for T Day. It was horribly nasty, even though they "clean it" every week.
Monday brought a phone call from the Vice Principal at WC's school. In his classroom, during reading, he had showed his manhood (under the table) to a girl across from him. Apparently, she asked so he showed. Triple YIKES! We had a conference after school yesterday, but he is home with me today, suspended. At the beginning of the school year, I blogged that it was just a matter of time before he was suspended again. However, I recently started to believe that he would make it through the year without a suspension, which was the WC's goal. I never would have imagined it would have been for anything other than getting angry and loosing control. He's matured a lot a year. He is sleeping better, as his apnea has been resolved. He is handling his emotions much better with the help of therapy, regular exercise and the many carrots that I dangle in front of him. His remarkable teacher has gone above and beyond to help.
The silver lining here is that the WC was terribly embarrassed and shortly after his exposure occurred, he told his teacher he had "made a bad choice." His flash episode happened in the morning and he remained at school the rest of the day without incident - a big deal for him. And he cried and cried yesterday afternoon when he realized he had been suspended. He didn't make his goal. Bummer.
Well the WC and I have to hit the madness at the Grocery Store. No Yoga class for me today. Perhaps tomorrow.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Death of a Cupcake
The WC's birthday is tomorrow. Eight big ones. He has invited 8 boys over for football, pizza, cake and Shrek the Third. And how could I forget - a sleepover. We did it last year with no problems. The lights were out at 9:00 and most were asleep by 9:30. But I'm doing it solo this year. The DH has to work.
In addition to agreeing to the boy fest at my abode, I signed on to bring cupcakes to his class, tomorrow. The WC didn't ask. I just got a wild hair or something. Cupcakes are easy, right? I have never been one for presentation, but these don't even look edible.
I effed them up - BAD! I think I was supposed to let them cool before I moved them but because I filled them too full they spilled over their tops and bled into one another so they looked like a sheet cake when I took them out. I thought I'd never get them apart if I let them cool. Well, they are apart, by God. Now, I just have to mount the icing to hide the mess. The kids won't care. Right?
I had a similar cooking debacle last year when I tried to make a Gingerbread house with the WC's class. I spent at least two hours preparing the night before. Cutting the dough using templates that I gleaned off the Internet for the "easiest" Gingerbread house ever. That should have tipped me off. When I got to school with my carefully baked pieces, none of them fit together. I spent the better part of an hour and a half scrapping the pieces, desperately tyring to get the damn walls to meet, while the restless kids watched (and played under the table) in the student kitchen. Finally, I got the four walls to meet enough and "glued" them together with Royal Icing. Great lesson, I thought. Perseverance prevails. Then my house of shame met an inadvertent elbow from a hyper kid and the walls they crumbled down. I wanted to cry. Really. But instead we slathered the pieces of the house with the (can I tell you how nasty this stuff tasted? But it is what everyone uses to "glue" their gingerbread houses) icing, Skittles and M&M's and the kids happily ate my house. Sugar is sugar, right?
I hope that sentiment is prevalent tomorrow. Luckily, the boy's REAL birthday cake is coming from the local Sister's McMullen bakery.
In addition to agreeing to the boy fest at my abode, I signed on to bring cupcakes to his class, tomorrow. The WC didn't ask. I just got a wild hair or something. Cupcakes are easy, right? I have never been one for presentation, but these don't even look edible.
I effed them up - BAD! I think I was supposed to let them cool before I moved them but because I filled them too full they spilled over their tops and bled into one another so they looked like a sheet cake when I took them out. I thought I'd never get them apart if I let them cool. Well, they are apart, by God. Now, I just have to mount the icing to hide the mess. The kids won't care. Right?
I had a similar cooking debacle last year when I tried to make a Gingerbread house with the WC's class. I spent at least two hours preparing the night before. Cutting the dough using templates that I gleaned off the Internet for the "easiest" Gingerbread house ever. That should have tipped me off. When I got to school with my carefully baked pieces, none of them fit together. I spent the better part of an hour and a half scrapping the pieces, desperately tyring to get the damn walls to meet, while the restless kids watched (and played under the table) in the student kitchen. Finally, I got the four walls to meet enough and "glued" them together with Royal Icing. Great lesson, I thought. Perseverance prevails. Then my house of shame met an inadvertent elbow from a hyper kid and the walls they crumbled down. I wanted to cry. Really. But instead we slathered the pieces of the house with the (can I tell you how nasty this stuff tasted? But it is what everyone uses to "glue" their gingerbread houses) icing, Skittles and M&M's and the kids happily ate my house. Sugar is sugar, right?
I hope that sentiment is prevalent tomorrow. Luckily, the boy's REAL birthday cake is coming from the local Sister's McMullen bakery.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Out of Gas
Last Thursday evening, on the way to a tennis tournament in Winston-Salem , I spotted a parked mini-van on the shoulder of I-40 East. Just as I was passing, I caught sight of a woman standing in front, wildly waving her arms. In the seconds it took to process and then decide I wanted to help her, I was too far down the interstate. I took the next exit and looped back around. I should have asked my friend and tennis mate, Sara, if it was OK, but she was along for the ride now.
Sara reported the stranded vehicle to Highway Patrol on her mobile. It took us about ten minutes to get back to stranded vehicle. We pulled up beside the driver's side and a young woman rolled her window down and started thanking us effusively. She had run out of gas. Sara told her we had called the Highway Patrol, which produced a strong wailed objection from her drunk passenger. UH, OH. They didn't want the cops involved. Then the driver, swore she was "straight", as in sober. Their boyfriends were already walking toward the next exit, but I told her I wouldn't pick them up. So we made room in the back seat and drove her to the next exit for gas. She didn't smell like she had been drinking, but her hyper behavior, including talking almost non-stop the entire time she was in my van, led me to believe she wasn't "straight" at all. But maybe she was just nervous getting in a mini-van with two strangers.
Starla,(that was her name) seemed harmless, though. We heard about her divorce and her two kids. She told us about a trip to Fayetteville AK where the supermarkets have "buggies where you put a quarter in to get it, then when you are done you put your buggy back and you get your quarter back! Isn't that the neatest thing you ever heard of? If ever I move from Wilkesboro, that is where I am going." Sara and I tried to hold it together. It was an amusing story but also a bit sad. I told her they had carts like those at airports. "Really?" she exclaimed.
She told us she and her friends were on their way to Gastonia. I asked if she meant Greensboro, because she was going the wrong way to Gastonia. Maybe when we get back to my van, you can look at a map and show us how to get there, she said. Oh boy, I thought. Luckily, the State Trooper was already on the scene, the drunk passenger in his front seat. Starla hopped out of our van to greet the young trooper. Leaning into the trooper's car, she chirped, "How ya doin' my name is Starla and I'm straight, I promise I'm straight." The poor trooper looked like he didn't know what had hit him. Starla never even turned around to close the door. We drove away, van reeking with gas fumes, thankful that Starla was someone else's problem.
Sara reported the stranded vehicle to Highway Patrol on her mobile. It took us about ten minutes to get back to stranded vehicle. We pulled up beside the driver's side and a young woman rolled her window down and started thanking us effusively. She had run out of gas. Sara told her we had called the Highway Patrol, which produced a strong wailed objection from her drunk passenger. UH, OH. They didn't want the cops involved. Then the driver, swore she was "straight", as in sober. Their boyfriends were already walking toward the next exit, but I told her I wouldn't pick them up. So we made room in the back seat and drove her to the next exit for gas. She didn't smell like she had been drinking, but her hyper behavior, including talking almost non-stop the entire time she was in my van, led me to believe she wasn't "straight" at all. But maybe she was just nervous getting in a mini-van with two strangers.
Starla,(that was her name) seemed harmless, though. We heard about her divorce and her two kids. She told us about a trip to Fayetteville AK where the supermarkets have "buggies where you put a quarter in to get it, then when you are done you put your buggy back and you get your quarter back! Isn't that the neatest thing you ever heard of? If ever I move from Wilkesboro, that is where I am going." Sara and I tried to hold it together. It was an amusing story but also a bit sad. I told her they had carts like those at airports. "Really?" she exclaimed.
She told us she and her friends were on their way to Gastonia. I asked if she meant Greensboro, because she was going the wrong way to Gastonia. Maybe when we get back to my van, you can look at a map and show us how to get there, she said. Oh boy, I thought. Luckily, the State Trooper was already on the scene, the drunk passenger in his front seat. Starla hopped out of our van to greet the young trooper. Leaning into the trooper's car, she chirped, "How ya doin' my name is Starla and I'm straight, I promise I'm straight." The poor trooper looked like he didn't know what had hit him. Starla never even turned around to close the door. We drove away, van reeking with gas fumes, thankful that Starla was someone else's problem.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Wedding Grace
Last month, the boys and I attended a family wedding in North Georgia. My boys had never been to a wedding, so they didn't know any better to object. It was an absolutely gorgeous day for a wedding; the drive down was pleasant until I had a sinking feeling that I had left the wild child's dress pants and shoes behind. My boys had packed their own suitcases but I didn't double check if the dress clothes made it in. The Wild Child's didn't. Not to worry, our motel was on the Mall of Georgia exit. Running a little short on time, I skidded into the Comfort Suites, dropped the boys and scooted up to Marshals. 20 minutes and $25 later, I returned with a pair of pants and shoes. The shoes didn't fit - no wides at Marshalls - so we were stuck with this gnarly pair of Nike sandals. Did I mention that he packed himself? Seven shirts, no socks, no underwear, no dress clothes or shoes and seven Webkinz. He did remember his toothbrush.
Really, though, no big deal, as the wedding was outdoors on the Rockin' H Ranch. Turns out he was more appropriately dressed than most. We trudged through grassy fields to the wedding site - clearly not a place for dress shoes or heels.
The wedding was very sweet- the bride gorgeous and gushing; the groom handsome and nervous. It was a big cousin fest for my boys. Some of their first cousins had come from NC. I was surprised at how excited they were to meet their second and third cousins, especially my WC. During the ceremony, WC kept asking, "Which ones are my cousins?" In addition, he ripped a loud fart during the prayer. I opened my eyes, turned my head to find him still cocked up on one butt cheek. He glanced at me and said in a voice loud enough to reach the Minister's ears, "What?" I heard muffled giggling. Behind me, my adolescent nieces were trying to hold it together, their hands cupped over their mouths, bellies shaking softly.
After the ceremony, the reception commenced under a tent with a dance floor. The WC disappeared with his 1st cousins to the horse ring where he played all night in the dirt and hay. He appeared at the reception long enough to catch the garter then we headed off to dark pasture to find our van. The Brainiac had just finished saying, "If I ever get married, I want a wedding like this one", when he stepped in a load of manure. That sentiment was short lived.
Really, though, no big deal, as the wedding was outdoors on the Rockin' H Ranch. Turns out he was more appropriately dressed than most. We trudged through grassy fields to the wedding site - clearly not a place for dress shoes or heels.
The wedding was very sweet- the bride gorgeous and gushing; the groom handsome and nervous. It was a big cousin fest for my boys. Some of their first cousins had come from NC. I was surprised at how excited they were to meet their second and third cousins, especially my WC. During the ceremony, WC kept asking, "Which ones are my cousins?" In addition, he ripped a loud fart during the prayer. I opened my eyes, turned my head to find him still cocked up on one butt cheek. He glanced at me and said in a voice loud enough to reach the Minister's ears, "What?" I heard muffled giggling. Behind me, my adolescent nieces were trying to hold it together, their hands cupped over their mouths, bellies shaking softly.
After the ceremony, the reception commenced under a tent with a dance floor. The WC disappeared with his 1st cousins to the horse ring where he played all night in the dirt and hay. He appeared at the reception long enough to catch the garter then we headed off to dark pasture to find our van. The Brainiac had just finished saying, "If I ever get married, I want a wedding like this one", when he stepped in a load of manure. That sentiment was short lived.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Me and The Mad Scientist
My baseball player had already jetted with some friends who came round a bit earlier.
Friday, October 05, 2007
My Life, Lately
I haven't felt much like writing lately. I desire to be funny but my humor seems to be buried under more prominent emotions, mostly resentment and anger. My dear friends (thank the Maker for girlfriends) have been excessively patient, listening to my garrulous monologues about the latest antics of my Mother-in-Law. She's an alcoholic, but not self professed or recovering. Until recently, she was a functional alcoholic AND until recently, my DH, his sister and I have all reasoned and rationalized her alcoholic behaviors, just like good co-dependents do.
But in the last year, she spiraled into a dark hole, precipitated by the death of her best friend, really her only friend. We tried to let her ride that wave of depression to the shore, but she remained at sea, clinging to her bottle and cigarettes, drowning in sorrow and loneliness. After months of trying to convince my MIL to get help or move to a home, my sister-in-law, who is dealing with her own substance abuse demons, rescued my MIL and had her admitted to the hospital. My MIL then spent a sober 10 days with us until we could get her into an assisted living close to us, only agreeing to do it because the doctors insisted.
We breathed a collective sigh of relief. She was in a safe place, where her kitty was welcome and she got three balanced meals a day. Unfortunately, they can't stop her from buying or drinking alcohol, and the home takes the residents for a weekly shopping trip to Ingles. She has been twice. And twice, hours after returning to the home, she has been falling down drunk. Literally. We received calls both times. The second time, they reported she had fallen and broken her hip. She's been at the hospital since Tuesday night and I haven't been to see her. I've called her once. I have no sympathy for her, and I feel terrible but its the truth and I can't pretend otherwise. Her marriage to alcohol has affected our family for a long time, but it is deeper than I realized. We have been kidding ourselves.
My boys are asking provocative, appropriate questions about alcohol. We've had some healthy -I hope - conversations. After explaining to my WC that Grandam broke her hip because she had too much to drink, lost her balance and fell, he asked, "Mom has that ever happened to you?" Oh, dear, I thought this conversation was years away, my WC is only 7. But I'm glad he's not afraid to ask the uncomfortable questions. So I told him the truth; yes, I had but it was long ago, and obviously not a good idea. Both of my boys are sensitive about how much I drink, especially if we are out without DH (he doesn't drink). WC is afraid for me to drive after one beer with dinner. Now I'm sensitive to it. Maybe I shouldn't have a drink in front of them anymore but then doesn't that make it taboo? Or maybe I should just give it up altogether for the health of our family.
I'm confused, angry and resentful. Surely my DH, who has lived with this much longer, is ten times worse. I'm going to my first Al-Anon meeting today. Luckily, I have a dear friend who is already going, so I'm not alone. I'm desperately looking for some insight and wisdom. I hope I find some.
But in the last year, she spiraled into a dark hole, precipitated by the death of her best friend, really her only friend. We tried to let her ride that wave of depression to the shore, but she remained at sea, clinging to her bottle and cigarettes, drowning in sorrow and loneliness. After months of trying to convince my MIL to get help or move to a home, my sister-in-law, who is dealing with her own substance abuse demons, rescued my MIL and had her admitted to the hospital. My MIL then spent a sober 10 days with us until we could get her into an assisted living close to us, only agreeing to do it because the doctors insisted.
We breathed a collective sigh of relief. She was in a safe place, where her kitty was welcome and she got three balanced meals a day. Unfortunately, they can't stop her from buying or drinking alcohol, and the home takes the residents for a weekly shopping trip to Ingles. She has been twice. And twice, hours after returning to the home, she has been falling down drunk. Literally. We received calls both times. The second time, they reported she had fallen and broken her hip. She's been at the hospital since Tuesday night and I haven't been to see her. I've called her once. I have no sympathy for her, and I feel terrible but its the truth and I can't pretend otherwise. Her marriage to alcohol has affected our family for a long time, but it is deeper than I realized. We have been kidding ourselves.
My boys are asking provocative, appropriate questions about alcohol. We've had some healthy -I hope - conversations. After explaining to my WC that Grandam broke her hip because she had too much to drink, lost her balance and fell, he asked, "Mom has that ever happened to you?" Oh, dear, I thought this conversation was years away, my WC is only 7. But I'm glad he's not afraid to ask the uncomfortable questions. So I told him the truth; yes, I had but it was long ago, and obviously not a good idea. Both of my boys are sensitive about how much I drink, especially if we are out without DH (he doesn't drink). WC is afraid for me to drive after one beer with dinner. Now I'm sensitive to it. Maybe I shouldn't have a drink in front of them anymore but then doesn't that make it taboo? Or maybe I should just give it up altogether for the health of our family.
I'm confused, angry and resentful. Surely my DH, who has lived with this much longer, is ten times worse. I'm going to my first Al-Anon meeting today. Luckily, I have a dear friend who is already going, so I'm not alone. I'm desperately looking for some insight and wisdom. I hope I find some.
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