It’s a Wonderful (but Weird) Life

I find that Christmases during transitional periods are those which stand out the most.  Those first Christmases when I find myself in a new situation are those that I remember the most perhaps.  My first Christmas away from my parents’ home (and that was my first Christmas in Florida – which compounded the weirdness for sure), my first Christmas with a child, my first Christmas after my divorce, my first Christmas in Massachusetts, and now my first Christmas unemployed and with my son coming back to “visit” over the holiday . . . all landmark Christmases.

This isn’t news, I suppose.  Certainly, I know many people who struggle with the first (and second and so on) Christmas after they lose a parent or significant loved one.

The odd thing to me is that, for some unbeknown reason, I look back on those transitional Christmases with fondness.  I remember fondly the fun in driving around the coastal towns on the Gulf of Mexico looking at the lights and decorations of houses in Florida.  I remember being tickled the first time I saw a house on the water who had two dolphins lit up in blue lights pulling a lighted sled with Santa in it.  And what I love the most about Florida Christmases is when people do a really good job of lighting the palm trees.

My first Christmas with my son, as a parent, was especially memorable because it prompted my son’s very first word.  I put him to bed and went to work decorating the Christmas tree.  The next morning when he woke up – still fairly dark outside – I took him to the living room and lit the tree and he stood there (with his little diaper butt) and looked at it with all the wonder of a 15-month-old baby and said one word:  “Wow”.  I needed nothing else the rest of that holiday season.

My first Christmas after my divorce was decidedly different, but I was determined to make it okay and I’m proud that I did.  I had no family nearby and Spencer’s dad had a fairly large family nearby.  He and I agreed that we do Christmas morning at my house, early, and then after the ceremonial opening of the gifts, Spencer would go with his dad so he could have Christmas day with a big family gathering.  That left me alone.  I had been working a second job at a local movie theater and I volunteered to work that day.  You’d be surprised how many people go to the movies on Christmas day.  I went to work, selling tickets, determined to look each person in the eye and send good Christmas energy to each and every one of them – and it worked!  Every single person was pleasant (at the least) and positively joyful (at the most)!  It was absolutely exhilarating.  When my shift ended, I went home and heated up my little ham steak and some instant mashed potatoes (and probably some orange mac n’ cheese – cuz that’s just big-time comfort food for me) and popped into the VCR (those are those big machines that you put big plastic boxes into and movies play!) my all-time favorite movie, It’s a Wonderful Life.  I had a glass of wine and sunk into a hot bubble bath and tried to revel in my own little Christmas.  I did that for two or three years while I was a single mom and I have to say that I remember them fondly.

My first Christmas here on the Cape was sort of stressful.  New people, new family, new husband, new house . . .  Marty was so thankful to have a new family of his own that I can’t ever forget his emotional response to that holiday season.  It was the first of many (13 now) Cape Cod Christmases and they’ve been really good.  Focus on Spencer for the most part and, more recently, shared with my parents being able to join us, so I sort of feel a full circle sort of Christmas thing.  Growing up, Christmas was HUGE.  I mean, really.  H-U-G-E.  Best time of the year, hands down.  Joy, fun, happy.  Good stuff.  I’m so thankful to have my parents back in my Christmases now.

This year is a bit weird and I’m trying to remember to adjust and appreciate what it brings.  It’s one of those more stressful holiday seasons – what with the economy being so crappy – and it is definitely a transitional Christmas.  You see, my son is no longer inclined to stand in front of the tree and say, “Wow”.  He’s all grown now.  He’s making his own choices and decisions.  He’s out there, in the world, beginning to find his own way.  He’s a great kid.  No.  He’s a great young man.  He makes me laugh (like, really hard, from the gut) all the time.  He’s doing well.  He’s happy and he’s growing and he’s really flourishing in his new environment.  He’s on a really good path.

And, here’s the thing.  What more could a parent ask for?  Knowing your only child is in the right place, doing the right thing, feeling “right” in the world is satisfaction wrapped up in a pretty package with a bow on top.

Thank you, Santa, for what you remind me to remember every year.

Such great books . . . lost and found

When Spencer was born, I read to him every night of his life until he was probably 8 or 9 years old.  We had breakfast every single morning of life (still) and I read to him every night.  I always felt like we had nice bookends to his days.  I found some great books to read to him when he was little too.  Books that were not torture for me to read (over and over and over and over and . . .) and that he loved.

Then, when he got older and I cleaned out his closet, I went through all of his childhood books and kept a small sampling of the ones we liked the most.  There were a lot of “Lil Critters” and “Critters of the Night” books by Mercer Mayer.  These were books with friendly, nonthreatening, little monster characters and had titles like “No Howling in the House” and “No Flying in the Hall” and “Pirate Soup”.  There was also a great lift and look book (a book with little “windows” you could open to expose the answers to questions or similar) called “Old Howl Hall”.

When we moved out of our old house and into our new house, we really cleaned out the old house.  I mean, we emptied everything into a dumpster and had it hauled away.  I battled sentimental urges to keep things which I knew I didn’t really need anymore.  I threw a lot away.

For the past couple of weeks (prompted by the upcoming rite of passage of my son going away to college perhaps?), I have been thinking about those books.  I went down into the cellar and looked through the remaining boxes (which, no, I have still not unpacked!) and did not find the box of books to which I refer.  They must be in the attic.  It makes sense that they would be in the attic because I don’t need them regularly.  I just didn’t want them to be gone completely.

Three days ago, I climbed into the attic to look for them.  They were not there.  I cried.  Oh yes, I cried mightily.  I cursed myself as only I can curse myself.  Those of you who know me well, know that I am a champion, grade-A “curser”, so you can only imagine.  I’ll spare you the specifics.

Marty suggested that I get online and see if I can find any of the books.  Amazon never let’s you down, after all.  And guess what?  I found four of Spencer’s favorite books and/or books that meant the most to me!  I found a used copy of “Purple Pickle Juice” and a used copy of “Old Howl Hall” and a brand new “Thirteen Monsters Who Should be Avoided” and a new “Hooway for Wodney Wat” (Spencer couldn’t pronounce his Rs until I taught him how.  I was worried that, living in Massachusetts, no one would even notice that he couldn’t since most of the adults pronounce them wrong here!).

No library should be without well-worn, much-read books that you read every night of your child’s young life.  I don’t have them all, but I managed to right my wrong and find a sampling that will remind me of those great books!  Thank you Amazon.

Out of the mouths of babes

I have some favorite memories of things Spencer said when he was little that I will cherish for a lifetime.

Every little kid says things that are absolutely priceless.  This, of course, is the reason the show “Kids Say the Darndest Things” was so successful for so long.

The first time I met one of my husband’s nephews (he was about 3 or 4, as I recall), he was hanging out with Marty’s mom while she skimmed the pool (summertime) and we walked up and she said to him, “We just found a June bug in the pool, didn’t we?”, and he said – very matter-of-factly – “Yep.  Dead as a doornail.”  Just cracked me up.  I’ll never forget it.

When Spencer was around 3 or 4 years old, there are a million conversations that I’ll never forget.  Here’s a few . . .

A friend of mine gave me a couple of sticks of incense because I had commented on the lovely scent.  I had no incense burner so the next time I was at the grocery store, I thought I’d see if they had a basic incense burner.  Spencer was sitting in the front seat of the cart, as always.  Lo and behold, Kash ‘N Karry (Florida grocery store) had a basic wooden incense burner.  Spencer asked, “What’s that?”  I said, “An incense burner.”  When we got home from the grocery store, I went about putting away the groceries while Spencer enjoyed a sippy cup of Juicy Juice.  While I was doing so, he walked into the kitchen and asked, “Mom, when are we going to burn the insects?”

Spencer has always been a very analytical kid and always very talkative on car rides.  One day, driving through town (in Sarasota) in a torrential downpour of rain, Spencer had a breakthrough in physics.  He said, “Mom, you know what’s cool about rain drops?”  I thought, “. . . that in Florida they go away so fast?”, but I said, “What?”  He put one hand up, over his head, with all four fingers and thumb together (forming the shape of a raindrop) and as he lowered his hand, he said, “When they come out of the sky, they’re shaped like drops, but when they hit the ground [and his hand made a splat/explosion motion], they change into a whole different shape.”

One time after we got home from work/daycare and Spencer was standing in the kitchen taking his first loooong drink of Juicy Juice (the kid put some Juicy Juice executive’s kid through college, I tell you), he sort of coughed and choked a little.  He stopped drinking and gasped, as we all do.  I said, “You okay?  Did it go down the wrong pipe?”  And he said, eyes watering, “Yeah, the shoulder pipe!”

And my all-time favorite:  The Christmas that Spencer was 4, I took him up to see his grandmother (my mom) in Leesburg, Florida, a week or two before Christmas (as we often did – nearly every other weekend).  My mom and dad live in a nice, gated community with named sub-neighborhoods.  My dad hadn’t yet retired and joined my mom in Florida, so it was just she and Spencer and me.  We drove around the community to see all the pretty lights and decorations at each entrance.  There was one neighborhood with only a lit Menorah and my mom commented that “There must be a lot of Jewish people in that neighborhood.”  A bit later, we passed a neighborhood entrance with no lights or decorations at all and Spencer said, “Must be a lot of juicy people there.”

Spencer still says things that crack me up, but now he means to be funny.

College application process almost complete

So, we visited a couple of the schools Spencer is considering for college next year.  His major is only offered in a handful of schools, and only a couple in New England, so his options were seriously limited.  He wants to go into computer/digital forensics – a fairly new and up-and-coming field.

We checked out Norwich University in Northfield, Vermont.  Nice little school with some fascinating features.  It’s the oldest private military school in the country and the founder founded the ROTC.  It opened to civilians a long time ago and has been functioning ever since with an interesting mix of the two.  Civilians and Cadets are in the same classes and play on the same sports teams, etc., but they live separately and the Cadets follow a rigid and restricted schedule.  The down side was that the town of Northfield, Vermont, has absolutely NOTHING in it.  Nowhere for students to work, no bus station, nothing.

Then we went up to Champlain College in Burlington, Vermont.  What an amazing school in a beautiful little city with so much to offer that it’s almost hard to believe.  It’s the perfect school atmosphere for Spencer and there was absolutely nothing about it that we didn’t love.  So, Spencer decided to apply for early decision.  That means that if he gets in, it is binding – provided we are able to make the financial commitment.

And so, the process began.  I think when I went to college, I filled out an application that was a few pages long and gave them a copy of my high school transcripts (or did they get my SAT/ACT scores and transcripts themselves?  I don’t remember doing anything to get them to the college) and that was it.

Not so today.  Two of the schools where he is applying take the Common Application, the other two have their own online applications.  The applications are completed, his essay has been written, checked, edited, double-checked and re-edited.  He has to finish his resume and he has to write an essay for the Champlain supplement to the application.  We have to wait for his second set of SAT scores so that both sets can be submitted.  The requests for transcripts have been submitted to the guidance office and his letters of recommendation have been provided.  I’ve filled out the financial aid application for his early decision school and I am awaiting the go ahead to hit the submit button on it.  Each application requires different documentation and I think we’ve got it all lined up.  There are application fees which must be paid to the schools (some waive the fee) and SAT scores must be transmitted from a separate website in conjunction with submitting the online applications.  Since the deadline for early decision at Champlain is November 15th, we’re just going to get them all done at the same time.  My goal is by November 1.

Fortunately, Spencer’s guidance counselor is absolutely amazing.  She is available every minute to every senior and their lunatic parents to offer advice, support, guidance, answers, therapy, encouragement, documentation, suggestions . . . hell, she has been the greatest event coordinator I’ve ever known.  If she ever wants to get out of her current career – she could be a party planner or wedding coordinator for the stars or the elite!

The timing of all of this and the coordination of everything is akin to NASA planning the launch of a shuttle.  I’m not sure I did as much planning and coordinating to bring Spencer into my home as it is taking for him to leave it!

He’s baaaack

Well, not quite, but he will be back tonight after we pick him up from the airport at 9:48pm.  Spencer’s flight arrives tonight from Tampa.  This summer he was only gone for a couple of weeks which is weird because he has always been in Florida for seven to nine weeks over the summer.

This is where I’m supposed to lament on and on about how horrible it always was to put him on a plane and not see him for the entire summer.  This is where I’m supposed to say that I just could barely stand to be alive while he wasn’t with me.  See, it’s not as simple as you’d think.  I always knew that he was in good hands with his dad.  And he loves his dad so much and he loves visiting his dad in Florida so much.  And he is and always has been such a great kid and so responsible and so level-headed.  So I never had to worry that he was going to meet some horrible, untimely end or be tragically damaged, scarred or injured.  I knew he’d be okay and in fact, I knew he’d have a blast.

Hmmm.  Maybe I’m not as egotistical as other mothers who think they are the only human beings in the world who can adequately and properly take care of their children.  Maybe I’m the mature and reasonable and responsible and rational one.  Maybe . . .  well, probably it’s not really that.  But anyway . . .

The truth is that I  am not afraid of the truth.  And the truth is that every mother needs a break.  And my situation provided a good break – for Spencer and for me.  I was able to enjoy the break because I knew he was safe and loved and happy and in good hands.  And fast forward 12 years and I have the evidence that he has turned out great.  If you asked Spencer today if he wished he hadn’t had to go to Florida every summer, I’m betting he would respond with a resounding NO WAY!  So, no harm done.

This year, however, he’s all grown up and big and adult and this year, he was only gone for two weeks and this year I missed him A LOT.  What’s up with that?

It’s because he has become this phenomenal and funny and engaging and intelligent young man and I have missed him.  He’ll be back in his room by bedtime tonight and I’m glad.

*sigh*

Indiana, bowling and good times

So, we’re here in Indianapolis. Spencer had his first practice session yesterday and although he hasn’t thrown a bowling ball in a couple of months (I didn’t think it was possible for him to go that long without bowling, and it wasn’t intentional, but I don’t think he’s touched a bowling ball since May), he’s looking in good form. We arrived in Indy on Friday and we’ve been laughing nonstop and having the best time!

The really cool thing is that yesterday my brother and his girlfriend drove over from Illinois to visit and we had a great dinner at a peanuts-on-the-floor, steaks-and-burgers-on-the-menu restaurant last night. I’m not sure how long they can stay today, but I assume they’ll come to watch Spencer’s next practice session at 8am and then have breakfast before they head back.

I can’t remember when I last saw my brother, but it has to have been a couple of years – at least. The first thing he said when he saw me was “Holy shit. You look just like Mom.” Yep, I do. He just looks like himself. He looks like my big brother, David. And it’s been fantastic to see him and we’ve laughed a ton. His girlfriend is great too. What a bonus to get to see him and meet his girlfriend while we are on this bowling extravaganza.

So far, Indianapolis is a really nice little city. We went downtown for sushi the first night and it was such a clean, pretty city with lots of people out and about and a million restaurants and night spots. Very nice.

The weird thing about Indy is that everywhere you go, you get on several different highways to get there. One of them circles the city (Route 465) and you go from 465 South to 465 West and the next thing you know you’re on 465 North (I think). And if it weren’t for my GPS, I’d probably never get off of that circle.

Anyway, that’s my early update on our trip to Indianapolis. More to come . . .

It’s time to take back our schools

http://wbztv.com/video/?id=90267@wbz.dayport.com

Yesterday at my son’s school, there was an assembly to recognize the seniors.  During that assembly, a member of the Yarmouth Police Department was giving a speech to honor the seniors who had chosen to enlist in the military upon graduation and during that speech, a teacher displayed a sign which read “End War.”  While the National Anthem was being played and everyone rose with their right hands over their hearts, she held up a Peace sign instead.  As if this sort of anti-war protest isn’t inappropriate enough on public school grounds, during school hours, at an important school event, the real travesty was when everyone in the school stood to give a standing ovation to these six brave young men and women, and these two idiot teachers sat down and refused to applaud.

The sign reads "End War"

Spencer sent me a text message immediately to express how angry and upset this made him.  Once I got the entire story from him, I called the school principal to discuss the event.  I was told, in essence, that the school does not condone these two teachers’ actions and that they will be weighing their options and they will deal with it internally.  I told the principal that after listening to my son come home for the last six years, since middle school, telling me story after story about teachers who were using their classrooms as platforms to further their personal political agendas, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me and that I would be contacting the media.  He suggested I call the Superintendent of schools, which I next did.  I had a rather lengthy conversation with her and although she agreed with me entirely in principle, she indicated that the situation would be dealt with by the principal.  I explained that I would be contacting the media and that with the Dennis-Yarmouth Regional School District looking to the taxpayers for yet another budget override within the month, I hoped that perhaps the administrators of these schools might find the motivation to respond more strenuously to the actions of their teachers when it brings such negative public scrutiny to the district and puts the district’s goals at risk.

The Superintendent spent a great deal of time and effort trying to talk me out of going to the media.

My next call was to the Cape Cod Times, our ridiculously liberal rag of a local newspaper, and I left a message with someone at the newsroom.  Ironically, the only story that I’ve found thus far today in the paper is about a silly prank pulled by a small number of juniors against the seniors – typical, silly kid stuff.

Next, I sent an email to WBZ TV, the CBS affiliate in Boston.  Late in the afternoon, I received a phone call from Beth Germano, a reporter for WBZ that they were on their way to the Cape and would like to interview me.  I gave her the names of the teachers, the principal and the Superintendent.  WBZ stopped by to interview the teacher first – and you can watch a portion of that interview from the link above – and then went to the local middle school to interview two of the seniors who were being honored, a freshman who was present at the assembly, the principal and me.  The piece was only going to be one minute and thirty seconds long, so my interview was not shown.

After seeing the story aired and hearing the teacher’s words and the principal’s words – I am even more incensed by the whole thing.  What happened yesterday was appalling, inappropriate, disrespectful and proved without question that my tax dollars are paying two public servants who openly abuse their trusted positions of authority with our children.  The fall-out proves that my tax dollars are also paying the administrators who “cannot guarantee that disciplinary action will be taken against these teachers.”

But the other parts of the story were not told and I feel that there is much more wrong with what happened yesterday than the obvious inappropriateness of these teachers’ actions.

There is one basic tenet that the public school systems in this country are founded on which is being violated on a daily, rampant basis and no one is willing to expose this dirty, little secret because it furthers the interests of the administration as well.  In this country, every child is entitled to earn an education in a neutral environment, free from discrimination.  The point is argued continuously and consistently all around the nation – but only when it suits the administration to do so.  When it’s a question of “separation of church and state” or gay rights or any number of other topics, these teachers and administrators wave their flag of neutrality like a banner, but when it comes to remaining neutral about voicing and demonstrating their personal political agendas (which will pay their salary and provide more and more protection and benefits for them, and them alone), then it’s a matter of the First Amendment of the Constitution.

The hypocrisy has to stop and we have to find a way to take our schools back.

No child should ever have to walk the halls of a public school (which is paid for by the child’s parents’ tax dollars) and be concerned that even one teacher may judge him, disapprove of him, or God forbid – which is what happened here yesterday – publicly shun him for having the courage, pride and honor to choose to serve this country and defend that teacher’s right to have an opposing opinion to his choice.

I too will defend these teachers’ rights to have their opinions and to express their opinions openly until the day I die.  But they are not entitled, they do not have the right to do it on public school grounds, when they are being paid to be public servants.

Teachers hold trusted positions of authority and we teach our children to respect their teachers and to trust and have faith in them.  We believe that we are sending our children to a school which will provide a safe, neutral environment.  We expect our teachers to teach our children and impart knowledge and facts in various subjects via a specific curriculum.  It is the basic tenet of neutrality that I vehemently support in the public school systems.  It infuriates me to know that it is being blatantly and rampantly violated each and every day.  Yesterday, the violation of this tenet was egregious, disrespectful, poorly timed, inappropriate and the teachers who had the unmitigated gall to perpetrate it should be held accountable for such abuse of their positions.  And if the school administrators do not have the gumption to do so, I believe they are equally responsible.

These six seniors had one opportunity to be honored and recognized by their peers and by their role models.  They had one day and one event which was dedicated to them.  These two selfish imbeciles took it upon themselves to steal this time and the spotlight away from these young people.  In three months, these two women will have every opportunity (after all, they only work 180 days a year!!!!) to exercise their right to protest the war on their time as they wish, but these six young men and women will be learning the skills needed to defend their right to do so.  And next year, when my taxes will still be paying the salaries of these two worthless, selfish PUBLIC SERVANTS, they will have the opportunity to attend the senior assembly of another graduating class and these six young men and women may well be under fire and fighting to survive in a foreign land, with nothing more than a distant memory of a day when they were to be honored for their courage, but it was stolen by these teachers.

I hope Ms. Marybeth Verani and Ms. Adeline Koscher are terribly proud of themselves. How cowardly to take advantage of their positions and steal the spotlight away from the students in their charge.  And they will surely be rewarded by the school administration with a continued paycheck and a pat on the back for a job well done.

When will we find a way to take our schools back and bring back the principles that our forefathers intended?  There is no valor in hiding behind the First Amendment only when it suits your purposes.  Freedom of speech is a powerful thing, and I intend to exercise mine – at top volume.

Those were the days, my friend. I thought they’d never end.

And now, here we are, and my adorable, curly blond-haired, little boy is all grown up.  Next year, Spencer enters his senior year in high school.  He must be a screaming genius because he was in first grade last year.  It seems like that anyway.

I used to worry because he wasn’t able to jump up and down on one leg at the estimated average age (yes, this was actually something gauged by his daycare center!).  Now I worry about him being a good driver.

I used to worry about him being bitten [again] by that mean little toddler who used to bite.  Now I worry about him getting his heart broken by his first girlfriend.

I used to worry that he would never learn to say his Rs properly.  Now I worry about him learning to handle his finances properly.

There are no shortage of worries when you’re a parent.  But I am absolutely amazed at the rewards and satisfaction that comes in the end.  I’m not much the mommy-type.  I don’t really like kids that much.  I was never one of those girls who couldn’t wait to grow up, get married and have a whole slew of children.  I’m almost never giddy over seeing cute little kiddies in restaurants or malls.  And I never wanted to be the mom that had all the kids over at my house.  Eww.  Just wasn’t me.

While I was pregnant, I read the pregnancy bible (What to Expect When You’re Expecting) and was very pragmatic about all the preparations.  Then I went to the hospital to have this baby (in on a Tuesday, out on a Thursday – almost exactly 48 hours), and suddenly there was this skinny, little alien creature in my arms and those silly people at the hospital actually looked confident and nonchalant about letting me just trot right out into the world with it.  I kept looking over my shoulder to see if someone was going to stop me and take it back.  You know how when you get the most fabulous pair of shoes or the perfect dress for $6 and you feel like you shoplifted it?  Same thing.

The first year of my son’s life was very easy for me.  He was the best baby in the whole world.  Yep.  The best.  He slept well, breastfeeding was a breeze, he wasn’t colicky, he was generally a very low-maintenance baby.  After I got over the initial shock and weirdness of knowing that somehow I brought this little person into the world [out of me!] and now I had to keep it alive and safe and clean and fed – and I learned that I really was capable of manning these responsibilities, sans mommy instinct – well, that first year was pretty easy.  I think of that time as the “grab and go” time.  I could grab Spencer and his diaper bag and go anywhere.  He wasn’t walking yet, so he stayed where he was put and he was always happy.

The toddler years were mostly a blast.  He was still a really easy child and adapted well to pretty much everything.  Those were the years where I was most amazed to see the world through such different eyes – through learning-about-everything-for-the-very-first-time eyes.  Anyone who has spent time around toddlers knows exactly what I mean.  It’s a very cool time indeed.

Grade school and middle school years were definitely the toughest.  It hurt to watch my son experience such real emotions for the first time.  All of a sudden, he was experiencing the world on his own, away from the safety and security of the unconditional love of his parents.  Grade school and middle school is when kids learn that everyone doesn’t like them, that they aren’t the best at everything, that everything isn’t always fair, and they start seeing themselves not through the eyes of their loving parents – but through the eyes of how they think teachers and other kids see them.

High school was better.  Spencer sort of came into his own and found his footing in high school.  He’s still too hard on himself, but he is also much more sure of himself and he seems comfortable with who he is.

I spent a lot of my son’s childhood in quiet worry (the kind that just sort of loiters in the door frame down the hall in the back of your mind, smoking a cigarette, waiting for you to glance back over your shoulder and pay it some attention – ever present).

The last few years have been a lot like watching a balloon very slowly inflate, blow-by-blow.  Little by little, Spencer was filling out into the man he will become.   It’s true what they say about teenagers and toddlers being similar.  Big changes come in spurts.  There are periods of quiet between those spurts but the spurts are exciting and scary at the same time.

It is remarkable how quickly the time has passed through all the stages of my son’s childhood.  Now, instead of being acutely aware of all of the firsts in his life, I am ever more aware of the lasts in his childhood.

Marcus Aurelius Antoninus said “Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong as its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away.”

Midwest World Tour, Volume II

So the big trip to the Midwest has changed.  I tried.  I really did.  But somehow, making all the reservations and laying down all the cash for 14 nights in a hotel and round trip gas and boarding two dogs for two weeks (about $500!!!) and Marty missing work for two weeks and me taking two weeks of vacation and 42 breakfasts (3 people x 14 days) and 42 lunches and 42 dinners and snacks for 3 people for 14 days . . . argh!  It was too much.

So, Spencer and I are flying out and I rented a Dodge Charger (it’s good enough for the cops on the Cape) and we’re doing the bowling tournament and flying back.  No Midwest world tour.  No visiting my college alma mater, Eastern Illinois University.  No visiting my home town and seeing the house I grew up in.  I hope my brother will find a way to visit us in Indianapolis because that means a lot to me and I’m not likely to make it to Joliet.

I’m relieved and now I am excited for Spencer to bowl like he’s got his bowling zen on.

Quiet time

Life is noisy.  It hasn’t always been noisy for me, but it’s gotten much noisier in recent years.  It’s easier to find quiet time when you live alone – or at least have a good bit of alone time.  Except that, in this hustly-bustly world these days, even when you’re alone, it can be difficult to quiet the noise in your head.

This is the first Saturday morning without bowling since last summer.  Bowling isn’t like so many other youth sports that have a season which correlates with a weather season.  Youth bowling leagues start in early September and go until May.  And for us, there are tournaments which always occur on Sundays all over New England.  So, today is unusual for that reason – no bowling league.  But also, today is the state bowling tournament and Spencer moved to a different league this year and they prefer to do their states all in one day instead of staying over night and splitting the games up over two days.  So, he’s bowling nine games in one day and he got a ride with a friend.  Mixed feelings here.  I’ve always been at states with him – in fact all tournaments, pretty much.  But I didn’t have to drive two hours in thunderstorms to Shrewsbury. So I’m counting it as a win for me.

Which brings me to my quiet time.  Marty is golfing (yes, in the rain) in a tournament this morning.  Spencer is gone for the entire day at a bowling tournament.  It’s Saturday morning.  And I am completely alone in my home with my doggies and old cat.  Nice.  Very nice.

I caught up on recorded shows on the DVR for a while.  I heated up some of last night’s leftover pork dumplings with ginger sauce (Friday night Chinese takeout – yum) for breakfast.  Then I turned the tv off and turned the heat up to 72 and sat in the living room for a spell.  It’s in the fifties outside and it’s not that it’s cold in here, but no one else is home to share an opinion about the temperature and I wanted it toasty warm.  It’s raining steadily now – after a couple of good bouts of thunder – love it.  And I listened to the quiet.

Then my mind got up to no good and started chattering like a 4-year-old after cotton candy and soda.  So I decided I needed to put myself in time out and I moved to a different chair.  I always sit in my spot on the couch.  Everyone has their one spot.  We all live with assigned seating.  Come on, you know you only sit in one spot in your living room, one chair in your kitchen or dining room, one side of the bed at night.  And if another family member trespasses by taking your spot, it’s disconcerting.

So, I moved to a chair across the room where no one usually sits.  When I sat down, all three of my pets lifted their heads and looked at me for a moment as if to say, “Hey, what are you doing over there?  What’s happening?  Do we need to be on alert for something new, exciting and different?”  Then they must have decided “not so much” and they went back to snoozing.  And I noticed how beautiful our Red Maple tree looks in full leavage (that’s what I’m calling it even though I’m sure there’s a proper word and I just can’t think of it).  It’s deep, red leaves are glistening with raindrops and the color set off perfectly against the bright green leaves of a bush behind it.  This time of year a lot of the green leaves are still that vibrantly, unnaturally neon lime color of green because they are young and newish and morning rain and late afternoon rain makes that green look almost electric to me.

Now that my chattering 4-year-old has left, and I came in to write this post to my blog, I spun my stool around to face the back yard for a moment and watched these two little birdies [fill in the blank on the type of bird, because I’m clueless] popping in and out of a bird house.  I only bought this bird house for decorative purposes a million years ago and used to keep it on top a shelf in my living room but now Marty set it out on the deck railing and lo and behold, these two little birds (Frederick and Lolita) have taken up residency (no rent, no lease, no security deposit!) and they are a blast to watch.

Frederick and Lolita always look so busy and intense.  I hope they find quiet time in their new home like I have.

“No” might mean “no,” but “now” does NOT mean “now”

There will be many things I will long for once my son is gone and out on his own.  I will surely cope with the many contradictory emotions that come with the empty nest syndrome.  In many ways though, perhaps less than most because I have been accustomed to my son being absent for long-ish periods of time while he spent his summers with his dad in Florida.  But still, I know that I will lament those long ago days when he was a wee tot, holding my hand, falling asleep in my arms as I read to him, and singing Raffi’s “Joshua Giraffe” with the hand motions that we made up.

I’m pretty sure though that there will never come a time when I will miss asking something of him (first by text, then verbally), then reiterating that “now” is when I would like this something to occur, then the final “RIGHT G@#$@!NED NOW” – only to be told “I AM!” with all the vehemence and disdain and rolling of the eyes that a teenager can muster.  As if I stormed his room like a DEA raid, screaming “Everybody down!  Don’t move!  Hands in the air!”  Now that he lives in the cellar, I even start out by sending him a pleasant text with my request.  Then it goes to my making a polite verbal request before I execute Phase 3 of the request process, wherein I make it “clear” that I mean “now”.  By the time Phase 4 is launched – I’m insane.  He doesn’t understand why.

He is no trouble, this kid of mine.  He’s responsible, serious, self-disciplined, smart, motivated, ambitious, mature, funny as all hell.  He’s an all-around great kid and I feel very fortunate.  He’s even a Republican!  Can’t ask for more.

And when I say “no” – he gets that I mean “no” and he doesn’t even try to make me feel guilty because he understands that if I think I can acquiesce, I will.  But “now” means “when I finish my game” or “when my show is over” or “when I can drag myself away from what I’m doing”.

I won’t miss that.  Will I?

I have magical abilities

And I’m betting I’m not the only one.  There are certain things that I can do which no one else is able to accomplish.  It’s truly amazing.  And at first glance, you wouldn’t think these things are particularly special or difficult.  You would never believe that these tasks could only be completed if one possessed special, magical, supernatural abilities.

And I’m guessing there are women all around the world who have developed very similar magical powers.  These powers vary from house to house, no doubt.

In my house, for instance, I am the only current resident who is capable of extracting the kitchen garbage bag from under the sink when it is full.  I have every confidence that the two men with whom I reside have tried – albeit unsuccessfully – to pull that full garbage bag out of the garbage pail so that it can make its way to the garage.  I know this because I see how hard they have worked to learn to carefully balance any number of trash items – ever so cautiously – on top of the heap, doing their level best to ascertain that when they push the trash can back in (we have a pull-out trash can caddy under our sink), their careful addition will not topple out and land on the floor before it makes it back under the sink.  (All bets are off and concern is thrown asunder about it staying atop the heap once it’s inside the cabinet.)  And I must say that I’ve never experienced any difficulty in removing the bags of garbage – so it must be that I have special powers.

I’m pretty sure that the time, energy and effort it takes to defy the laws of gravity through careful and thoughtful consideration of placement, weight disbursement, precision item rotation and opportunistic “footholds” to objects beneath so far outweigh the time it would take to just remove the full bag, twist tie the bag and toss it into the garage garbage cans, that this simply must be the only alternative left.

I don’t think I want to play Jenga against my husband and my son.  Unless my magical powers extend to Jenga.