Free Birth Control? I'll give you Free Birth Control.

If you don't have children yet or don't have children of talking age yet, here is a sneak peak of what you are in for!  The following is a conversation between my two boys yesterday as I was trying to sit down to write my poor husband an email.  I ended up just typing as they spoke so my husband (who is unaccompanied for the year) could see what I am forced to deal with on a daily basis.  I was looking for sympathy.  Sadly, it made him miss them more...

What follows is the actual email I sent to Charlie.

I just sat down to write to you and the boys came in and now I can't think!

Do you miss them? This is what's happening:

C: You play baseball like a girl!

S: You play baseball like a lady!  (Laaaaadddddyyyyy is long and drawn out and said in a very prissy tone)

C: You play baseball like a baby, BABY! (The second use of the word "baby" rolls off his tongue with such revulsion and disdain, even I shiver.)

S: Charlie, you are a BEEP! (Really, he said the word beep!)

C: Moooommmmm, he called me a beep!

M: Um, yeah, not really much I can do.

S: You play baseball like Yoda!

C: Thank you, Yoda plays baseball very well.

M: He has the Force!  (I laugh. No one else does.  Thank goodness I can appreciate how funny I am!)

S: He just attacked me. (There has been little to no movement in my peripheral vision)

C: No I didn't!

S: Excuse me, he is a liar!

C: You don't know how to spell liar.

S: YOU don't know how to liar.

C: L-I-A-R

S: Mom is that right?

M: Yes

S: Snort/Growl noise emits from his direction.

C: Hahahahaha

S: Well, you don't know how to spell "I."

C: There's two.  I and E-Y-E.

S: There another I. It's called, I called you a baby baby baby baby...

Should I go on?

Miss you!!!

Love you more~

M

Reading this 26 times in a row at 3am might just cause you to rethink that plan of having several children close together. If this has no effect, dump a pile of Lego's on the floor and then walk over them while rereading.  In fact, if you would rather, I'd be happy to record the kids having the same or a very similar conversation and you could download it. 

The most effective way to use this data is to blast it full volume while you try to do your taxes or while reading Shades of Gray.  It will certainly help you concentrate while trying to replug all wires correctly back into the computer after your system has crashed.  Ask two friends to mimic the conversation and simultaneously throw golf balls at you while you try to contort your body to fit behind and under your work station.

Another idea is to play it on your iPod while taking a nap. I would start with a very low volume and as you learn to sleep through it, increase it a bit each time.  A seasoned mother sleeps right through that crap and will even be able to supplement with an occasional "knock it off" without missing a second of REM.

Want to have a bit of fun?  Take the recording into the bathroom with you while you are having morning sickness.  Turned up loud enough, the echo from the fight will overpower the echo of your retching.  Have Friend 1 call your cell while Friend 2 is standing just outside the door (preferably banging and whining loud enough to be heard over the recording).  Hopefully they have the sense to change your ring tone to Black Sabbath or some other dreadfully Heavy Metal band.  Let the phone ring continuously at length and when finally answered.  Have Friend 2 yell into the phone and through the bathroom door: "My Mom is doing spit 'em ups right now.  Do you want to talk to her?"  Have Friend 2 hold the phone so the background fight is coming clearly through the phone.  Have Friend 2 tell you that it really isn't Friend 1, it's actually your Mother-In-Law, the older kids Principal, the President of the Junior League or any other figure that will make the insides of your stomach rush to the back of your throat.

Perhaps then, you may begin to feel just a touch of the pain you will be subjecting yourself to for the next 18+ years.

That is all.

++Dedicated to my sweet niece who is due with twin boys in August. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha++

It's Raining, It's Pouring

We made it to mass on time last Saturday.  Really. It was amazing.  I got to give B Cha a kiss on the head before he carried one of the large candles down the aisle and I got to hear Tali and the choir sing the opening song.  A rare event indeed. 

I would like to blame our recurring lateness on Sawyer dragging his feet, but it's pretty much my chronic tardiness that causes it.  Perhaps because I don't allow enough time to get a begrudging Sawyer ready.

But Saturday, this past Saturday, we were golden.  Sawyer's therapist, who comes with us to mass most weeks, had bought him a new activity book to work on.  He was sitting in the pew so content, so quiet, that I really thought it was going to be a good night.

Shortly after the opening prayer, the priest announced that he would be doing something different than the Penitential Act which is usually one of the first prayers.  "I confess to Almighty God..."

Although my father had no idea when I was relaying this story to him, Wikipedia actually knew what I was talking about:

"On Sundays, especially in the Season of Easter, in place of the customary Penitential Act, from time to time the Blessing and Sprinkling of Water to recall Baptism may take place."^[4]

This may have had something to do with the fact that I was telling him the Priest was going to do a different "penitentiary act" which would perhaps make sense since we live at Ft. Leavenworth.

Regardless, what the Priest was going to do was sprinkle the congregation with Holy Water.  This may not seem like it is worth mentioning, no big deal, except it is a big deal when you have a child with Autism.  A VERY big deal!  The last time the Holy Water was brought out was around Christmas perhaps...honestly I don't remember, but I remember the panic that rose in my chest when the Priest (who is new) and the Deacon (who knows us well) reached the end of the main aisle and turned to walk around the back and up the side aisles. 

+++Authors Note: We sit on the left side of the aisle (which in itself is still odd to me because growing up my family always, ALWAYS sat on the right and it wasn't until a particularly difficult Mass which left me in tears during Charlie's first deployment from here about 5 years ago, that I abandoned my long standing rule and moved left to sit behind my good friend for support.) Now we sit on the far left side of the left side of the church, near the back.   This makes for easy escapes with Sawyer and minimal distractions to anyone behind us as there is certainly plenty of room in front of us if they would rather not watch my children spiral into a fist fight during the Kiss of Peace.+++

Back to the story at hand: The last Holy Water event, had Deacon on our side of the church.  So when he rounded the back corner and started up the side aisle, all I had to do was look at him with fear in my eyes and give a slight shake of my head.  He immediately "got it" and adjusted his flick of the
aspergillum (yes, I looked it up) so that Sawyer did not get wet at all.  I realize this is not the intended result of the ceremony, but believe me when I say, it was best for everyone involved.

Our current Priest has only been her a few months and while he knows that Sawyer has Autism, I'm not sure he knows Sawyer well enough to be able to anticipate his reactions.  So when he was the only one sprinkling the water I foolishly assumed that he certainly wouldn't take the time to go ALL THE WAY around the church.  (We only have an hour)  I was mistaken.  As he turned the back corner and started our way, I knew that bulging my eyes out would not convey to him the message, "Please, I beg of you, don't get Sawyer wet, it could take the rest of mass to recover from that.  Plus, he's got a brand new book and if you get that wet he is liable to throw it at you, or me, and never touch it again and I know his therapist just spent a significant amount of money on it."  Unfortunately, the universal sign of STOP, a swift swipe of my hand across my throat did not seem appropriate for the environment.

The water flew in slow motion.  I swear I could see the droplets in the air as the headed for and landed on Sawyer, his head, his neck, his brand new book open to a crisp white page which now smudged the circle he just made.  My heart stopped.  I braced myself for the scream...which didn't come.  (Thank you God, You are so good to me.)

But the Priest had not moved on, he was smiling at the back of Sawyer's head, he could not see the look I was getting with eyes full of Satan himself.  I saw his hand go back into the aspersorium (I looked that one up too) and he showered us a second time!  A SECOND TIME!  Father had a big smile on his face obviously oblivious to the possible outcomes of such a scenario.  This apparently struck the people behind us, who were visiting, as funny too.  "Well, he's reading a book.  Father is just trying to make him pay attention."

Deep breath.  And again.  Sawyer was annoyed.  A bit angry even. (Completely understandable in my opinion) But thankfully, not furious. We had dodged a pretty large bullet...actually, many many tiny ones, but we were good.  Everyone survived, Sawyer's book was still usable in his eyes, and all was relatively well with the world.

I spent the next 10 minutes of mass trying to deal with my conflicting feelings of how do you celebrate Mass and be a good person when you are angry with the Priest saying Mass?  I could get over the initial sprinkling, but I felt that the second round was mearly for his amusement which is really not fair. 

The discussion I was having with God in my head was so intense at one point that it took me a moment to realize that while Tali and the choir were singing the responsorial psalm, the sound system went haywire and there was a horrible screeching noise coming through the speakers.  Mother of the year did not even think immediately of Sawyer's ears.  I was thinking more about how loud it was for Tali on the alter and how quickly it was giving me a headache.  As the Priest bend down and unplugged something that stopped the unbelievable noise, I suddenly thought of Sawyer.  He had his head down, was covering his ears, and his face was contorted to a level of pain rarely seen on someone who isn't bleeding profusely.

Thankfully, his therapist snatched him up and got him out of there.  I listened for the screams, but heard none.  Apparently, the whole chain of events was such that he could muster was whimpering and shaking.  He spent the rest of the Mass in the narthex (That one I knew on my own!). 

I have to trust that God knows that I do my best to get him there, and to keep him there.  And some days are just better than others.

End note:  It was later in the Mass that I had looked into the narthex and saw that Sawyer was calmed down for the most part.  I walked back to the pew to see B Cha lifting the large book off the alter for the Priest to read from.  As he stood, holding the book in front of him, the Priest looked a bit confused.  It was then that the Deacon walked over and turned the book rightside up. 

And there was God's answer:  We all make mistakes! 

Throw Back Thursday

So, here's the conversation:

Me:  Sawyer, did you throw your milk at the lunch lady today? (It had been written in his journal)

Sawyer: NOOOOO!!!!! (Very emphatically)

Me:  Hmmmmmm.

Sawyer:  I DIDN'T!

Me: Okay, did your milk happen to slip out of your hand today?

S: Yes (begrudgingly)

Me:  did it slip in the direction of the lunch lady?

S: Yes (begrudgingly)

M: (quick silent prayer) Was it open? (Please say no, please say no, please say no...)

S: Noooooooooo (he may as well have added "duh!")

M: (Oh thank you God!).  Can you tell me why the milk slipped out of your hand in her direction?

S:  I am SO tired of strawberry yogurt!

M: (of course, that makes perfect sense....NOT) Sawyer, I don't understand.

S: I wanted vanilla!

M: Sawyer, you can't throw your milk at the lunch lady because she is out of vanilla! What happened next?

S:  I don't remember.

M:  Well, you either went to Miss Bs room, the principals office or ate in the cafeteria.

S: Just stop asking me questions now.

M: I'll stop if you don't throw milk at the lunch lady again

S:  mmmmmmmmmm

M: Okay Mom.

S:  MMMMMMMMMMMMMM

M: Okay Mom.

S: OKAY MOM!!!!! (so completely not meaning it)

Miscellanious thoughts about The Gym

~ There is no shame in wearing a winter coat to the gym.  In full disclosure there has been shame, big shame, until today at which time I walked out of the house and my exposed calves felt as if I had stepped into a bucket of acid.  They weren't cold, they were flash frozen in .4 seconds.  I was afraid that if I tripped they would crack then shatter like Tom when Jerry freezes him in an ice block.

~ If it is 8:55 and there is a class starting at 9, it would behoove those working at the front desk to act like they care.  Okay, maybe that's asking too much, perhaps standing up and reaching for my ID card instead of holding your hand out with your elbow at the back of the room.  Just meet me half way...even a quarter of the way.  (Actually, it's not that bad, I'm just in a pissy mood)  However, a bit of preparation to smooth out a traffic jam of people buying tickets to class and/or just checking in, topped with a shot of Red Bull might help move things along.

~ There are days where it takes all I have not to rearrange the weight rack into the proper order.  Small weights on the top, big weights on the bottom.  I prefer that the solid weights are separated from those that look like a steering wheel.  Also, my mood is considerably brightened when there is an even number or weights on each rod.  Just sayin'.

~ Do we really need a class on how to stack steps?  Rightside up, upside down, repeat!  C'mon people, not that difficult.

~ Feel free to step on my yoga mat and I will feel free to drop a 10lb weight on your stomach.  It's not that big, and we are not at the Jersey Shore.  There is room to walk around.

~ I enjoy angry music when I'm working out.  Very angry music.  Eminem's rap in that song w/ Rhianna about the burning bed for example.  Ice T - New Jack Hustler "You don't like my lifestyle F*#$ You!"  type anger.  Feel free to message me suggestions.

~ Please wear clothes.  It is absolutely possible for people to realize you are in wonderful shape even when there is fabric covering your body.  This applies to both men and women.  IF you are that amazing (which you probably aren't), I can admire you without watching the sweat run down your back.  Wear something to soak some of that $hit up.  Seriously.

~ If you are too tired or lazy to flush the toilet at the gym.  Go home.  We don't like you.

~ In light of the above, there is definitely something weird about the toilets in Gruber.  If you drop the toilet paper too far forward in the bowl, it will not get swept down with the flush.  You're a big girl, figure it out.  Do not leave the stall until you have.

~ Literary genius Adam Carolla once wrote something to the effect of: "There wasn't piss on the toilet handle until you stepped on it with your damn Reebok."  Perhaps so Adam, but I'm still using my foot!

~ Be kind and friendly to the janitors.  They deal with the nastiest of stuff long after you've gone home, showered and settled into bonbons and soaps.

~ There will be hair on the floor, it's a given.  What is not a given is that you should brush out your ponytail, grab all the loose hairs and drop them onto the floor.  Also, clean your brush out at home, no one wants to look at your hairball hanging on the side of the garbage can.

~ To the wonderful ladies who weigh 106 lbs.  Good for you!  While we all share in your pride and joy, it would be helpful to return the scale to 0 after you weigh yourself.  The scale will stay more regulated and will appear to be much more welcoming if everyone gets to start fresh.

~  If someone is hanging back to weigh themselves it is not because they want to see what you weigh. On the contrary, they are not nosey, but private.  Perhaps they have suffered from eating disorders and have a lengthy and bizarre ritual they must do when on the scale.  Like putting it to 150, then moving the small weight to 50, then moving the large weight back to 100 to ensure they are not over 150lbs.  Then they may s-l-o-w-l-y move the small weight down.  First by 10s, then 5s, then by 1/2 lb increments until they get close and then it's by 1/8ths.  Trust me, they know they are a freak.  Just be happy that you didn't share the locker room with them when they went from 150 down by 1/2 lb nudges.  Nah, I'm kidding, they are just nosey and can't wait to tell everyone what you weigh.

~ Once you have gone to the gym, you are absolved from doing anything else the rest of the day.  Your work here is done.  Accomplishments after the gym are just icing on the cake.

Move over Mom whose son wanted to be Daphne for Halloween…I’ve got a serious problem!

A few years ago there was a huge controversy about a little boy who wanted to wear a Daphne costume for Halloween.  Daphne, as in Scooby-Doo, Daphne. 

It was an interesting concept. While I thought the Mom handled it well and I felt she was right in letting him wear it, a friend of a friend was so insulted by the notion I had to just cut her off.  Honestly, I don't think I talked to her again after that FB explosion.  (For the record, I have not been involved in a full blown posting war since Obama announced he single handedly killed Osama Bin Laden while blindfolded and having one hand behind his back....at least not one that I remember....)

I could see both sides. I hate to throw my kids to the wolves if it’s not necessary.  I love my kids and would never want to put them in a situation where I know they could be abused.  For example, several years ago Tali was at a birthday party and made matching Tshirts with her best friend.  They decided to wear them the following Monday.  I don't even recall noticing the shirt, but it turned out that it had a rainbow and a triangle, maybe the triangle was up-side-down, I really don't know.  I got a call from the counselor shortly after 8am that Tali was in her office crying and could I please bring her another shirt.  Apparently, members of her class felt the need to tell her that she was wearing a "Gay Pride" shirt and since it had "Tali" and the name of her friend on it...you get the idea.

Charlie and I discussed it later.  Even when we looked at the shirt, at her age, it certainly didn't seem to represent any position on homosexuality to us.  Maybe, maybe, if I had really examined it before she walked out the door I might have said something.   But what would I say, "People may tease you?"  Just the indication of a problem would've led her to not wear it, and really?,  she shouldn't have worn a shirt she made with no agenda besides having a BFF? I don't even think Tali really knew what "gay" was when she was that age.  And not that it matters either way.  I have friends who are gay.

The point being, with a typical child, I think if I deemed the importance of the lesson they may learn would be more than the pain of the wolves, I hope I would just say a prayer and give them lots of love on the other side.  I'm trying to think of an example....aaannnndddd I got nothin!  I'm certain that there have been instances of the above somewhere, sometime.  I'll have to get back to you on that.

Sawyer is not a typical child.  He has Autism.  To be clear, I did NOT say he was not a normal child, just not typical…as in not neuro-typical.  And this is where our story starts:

The other night after a long day of playing soldier he wanted to see what the Revolutionary War soldiers wore.  His odd, but reasonable requests are an often frustration for me.  I’ll be in the middle of doing something, like pricing 3852 things for the yard sale and he wants me to drop everything to see what some Brit wore during the Revolution.  And in autism fashion, he will NOT LET UP until I stop what I’m doing to find his answer.  When typing it in, I understandably came across some Halloween websites.  You may think my reaction was one of relief that it was so easy, and joy that he found what he wanted in a short amount of time.  Ha ha ha, you fool!

Although he is 7 years old, I am still learning how his brain works.  I should’ve anticipated spending the next forty-five minutes looking at “uniform costumes” with him. I had planned on twenty.  When he saw the “Red Coat” outfit, he was smitten. 

“That’s what I want Mom.  I want to be a British Soldier for Halloween.”

“Okay Sauce, we can ord-“

“WAIT!  Is that one from the Civil War?”

“Yes, it’s a Union Soldier.”

“I want to do the Civil War.”

“Okay, let’s look at some.”

We started scrolling through 742 links to costume websites when a friend happened to call and ask what I was doing.  She suggested he be a Canadian Mountie considering his obsession with all things Canada.  What an awesome idea!  That would be THE perfect costume for him.  If you know anything about Sawyer, you know that he will someday defect north, renounce his US citizenship and officially become Canadian. 

Okay, Canadian Mountie, it is.  Then again, maybe not.  Surprisingly, I could not find a Mountie costume for a child.  How strange is that?  Little Canadian children don't want to grow up and wear big brimmed hats and funny pants?  What the heck is wrong with you punks, eh?  Those pants could hold a lot of stuff in the thighs...a LOT.  Off the top of my head, I have no doubt you could fit a two liter bottle of soda in each side or one of those tiny helium balloon tanks.  It'd be a party in your pants!  Okay, okay.  I meant that in the most innocent way, this here's a family show.  I stand corrected. Fair enough, PG13.

Upon the realization that Great White North could not provide a Halloween Costume for my son, I attempted to put it off.  I sent a small prayer to heaven before asking Sawyer if we could look again tomorrow.  NOW who's the fool?

This was not going to go away and it was gonna be dealt with here and now.   Back to the Civil War costumes.

"What is Maryland?"

"Hmmm?"

"What is Maryland?  In the Civil war was it North or South?"

"Well, lemme think. This is why your father should never leave this house.  At the very least he should have a phone-a-friend line that I could call any hour of the day.  Um, Maryland, Maryland, the Mason-Dixon line, hmmmm, South, yes, definitely South."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!  Look at your Momma answering a history question.  Oh yeah!"

He was not impressed.

"Are they the grey ones?"

"Yes"

"That is what I want."

"Whaaa?"

"I will be a Grey.   What are they called?"

"The guys in the grey uniforms were the Confederate Soldiers."

"They were the bad guys right?"

"Well, yes, they believed in slavery and the North knew it was wrong.  But they were all Americans and so they weren't really all bad.  Once the North won the war, everybody was friends again."

I field a lot of 'who are the bad guys' and 'can they get to us' with Sawyer.  I was tip-toeing on shaky ground and was understandably worried about a face plant!

INSERT DADDY HERE WITH RESPONSES TO THE NEXT HUNDRED QUESTIONS THAT I WILL NOT KNOW THE ANSWER TO.  Why does he have to be on the other side of the world right now?

I'm trying to think fast,  "Wouldn't you like to be a 'good guy' soldier?"

"I was born in Maryland."

"Well, that's okay, you could pick the North."

"I was born in Maryland."

"I bet some people in Maryland fought for the North."

"I was born in Maryland."  His exasperation with my apathy about the "rules" of who was on who's side of the war growing by the second. "If I was born in Maryland and it was the wartime and I went to war, I would go and be on the bad guys side because I was born in Maryland and that is what the people born in Maryland did Mom."

I lost the battle ten minutes ago, why am I prolonging my surrender?

"Fine.  I'll order the costume now."  And I did.

Thanks to Amazon Prime, it only took three days of Sawyer checking the front porch for packages every hour on the hour for it to arrive.  Making Sawyer happy is not an easy thing to do, so to see the joy of his face when I showed him the package after school one day made any heat I may get completely worth it.

The uniform consisted of grey pants w/ a thin gold stripe down the leg and an over-the-head jacket that looks military-ish.  I noticed that although the cardboard picture in the bag had a huge confederate flag on it, there was no confederate flag on the uniform.

BINGO!  Huge sigh of relief!  I mean, I understand why Sawyer feels he needs to wear the Confederate Uniform and I know that very few people would think any less of the little kid wearing a confederate uniform, but they certainly might think less of the MOTHER of the little kid wearing a confederate uniform. 

Trust me, we don't have any rebel flag window stickers on the back of our pickup truck.  Shoot, we don't even have a pick up truck....or a gun rack for that matter.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.  I have friends with pick up trucks and gun racks.

Sawyer was happy with the outfit alone for a few days until we went to the Ft. Leavenworth Heritage Museum for a family night.  In the gift store were little Civil War hats for little Yankees and little Rebels alike.  He needed one.  I of course had no money and had to go back a week or two later.

Thanks to the US Gov't, the first time I went back the museum was closed because the gift shop was closed.  But that is another post altogether.

I was able to eventually purchase the hat...which has a large confederate flag on the front.  Only flashing lights and a siren would make it more conspicuous. Maybe I should've looked into "pimping" his hat.  I mean, if he's gonna wear a Confederate costume, he may as well flaunt it right?  Uh, yeah, I don't think so.

Is it horrible to let him wear this costume?  It is an ugly part of this country's history, but it is part of our history.  Where do I stop letting Sawyer be Sawyer in order to be politically correct?  How do I explain to him that some people may get the wrong idea and think we are a family who believes in racial inequality when he can't even grasp that concept?  Will that even cross the minds of the adults answering the door tonight?  Why can't I have normal stressful situations?  Why do mine have to border on the freakishly bizarre?

 

What I really would like to do is print out business cards that say the following:

"My name is Sawyer.  I am dressed in a Confederate Soldiers' outfit, because I like learning about the Civil War, not because I (or my Mother) am a racist.  I do not believe in slavery and although my Mother did not vote for Obama, it had nothing to do with the color of his skin.  She has black friends.  Really!  Also, the sword I am holding is made of styrofoam unlike the pencil I was wielding dagger-like while yelling at my teacher the other day.  I come in peace.  So does my Mother. (Who is a really nice person by the way)"

Wish you were here!

Dear Charlie~

I was going to write you a note and post it on FB, but by the time all the following events occurred, my monologue had run so long in my head, I knew I needed more room. 

What I wanted to tell you initially, was that I mailed the flasks that you asked me to mail.  (Actually, that is now a lie, but you'll understand as you continue to read this)  There were two on the desk, so I hope that is all you are counting on.

Thank you for warning me to check for liquids before mailing them.  I would certainly not want to mail anything that is "liquid, fragile, perishable, or hazardous." One flask was almost full of whiskey!  I started to feel drunk as soon as I opened it when the smell burst forth and up my nose.  Because money is tight and only going to get tighter (I'll explain below) I drank the whiskey instead of pouring it down the drain.  Thank you for that as well!

After rinsing out both containers I found a perfect box to mail them in.  It is a Schwann's "Lasagna Roll Ups" box.  That was the next thing I wanted to tell you.  When you see this box, please know ahead of time that it does NOT contain frozen food from the truck you are so fond of.  You may even see it as a tease, but I didn't mean for it to be, it was a dimension thing.  Rest assured, the Schwann's man misses you too and is very excited for your possible future employment with the company.

I had the flasks in the box and was trying to tape it up only to find the mailing tape was MIA.  I know I used it right before we left for FL to pack up your birthday gifts which arrived a week late.  (I've been meaning to tell you, I think the Kazak calendar may just be a week or two ahead of the rest of the world.  It could happen!) I went looking for the tape.

It is always on the shelf going to the basement and I couldn't imagine where else it would be; this house being the definition of organization and all.  I searched high and low for a good 20 minutes, even going to the third floor.  This required a conversation with Tali who is home sick from school.  I have diagnosed her upset stomach as a side effect of raging hormones and teenage angst.  "Why would I know where the tape is? I don't use tape."  Oh, right.  Of course you don't.  Sorry for disturbing you Ms. Blair!

This would be a good spot to stop and tell you that I have already been to a dentist appt w/ Lyra this morning who announced on the way, "I didn't do all my homework last night, so after the appt we need to go home so I can finish it."  To which I replied, "Certainly dear, I really had nothing planned in that 45 minutes between your appt and your brother and sister's appt." 

After I finished Lyra's homework, we drove back to Ike to pick up B. Charlie for his orthodontist consult.  On the way I got a text from Tali saying, "Come get me, I'm gonna throw up."  I resisted the urge to write back, "No, I'd rather have you in the car AFTER you puke." 

Lyra went to class, I dropped off two six packs of Ensure with the nurse.  Sawyer's consumption of liquid gold has only increased as his weight and food intake has decreased.  Mo money, mo money, mo money! 

Charlie got in the car and babbled about several things I'm sure.  I just couldn't tell you what they are because I wasn't listening.  I went to pick up Tali and told the secretary to check the nurses' office.  "I just got a text saying she felt sick."  There was no intention of throwing her under the bus, but the secretary squawked, "Please remind your daughter she is not allowed to text in class."  I resisted the urge to say, "Please remind your attitude not to be such a bitch!"  (I'm getting good at the resisting thing)

At the orthodontist, Tali was reprimanded for not wearing her rubber bands.  I wanted to whisper "Don't poke the monster," but I doubt they would've listened anyway.  The best part of the visit was when the Dr. told me that it is imperative to begin "Phase I" of B.Charlie's orthodontic plan as soon as possible.  Considering just implementing the plan consists of four separate appointments and the phase itself will take about one year, I was afraid to ask how many "Phases" there will be.  Suffice to say that "The Gerard Jaw" is quite the swimmer in our gene pool.  There will be a palate widener along with a facial mask and other equipment that will have B. Cha resembling the girl in "16 Candles" who couldn't get a drink from the fountain.  Mo money, mo money, mo money!

I think the least the Orthodontist could do is "gift us" the frequent flier miles he earns after we pay for his trip around the world.  Maybe I'll suggest that to him.

Meanwhile, back to the tape, I finally decided to give up and use duct tape on the box and scotch tape on the label.  For me, this is akin to biting strait into a full Kit-Kat bar without breaking one rectangle off and nibbling the chocolate from the sides.  I don't usually "do" non-mailing tape on a parcel, but I was trying to get to the Post Office before they took their 1-3:30 siesta!  What a crock!  What place of business in the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA closes from 1-3:30?  We ain't THAT close to Mexico! Errrr, don't get me started.

After making sure Tali was tucked in and not planning the demise of me or her siblings, I went back downstairs to find the tape on the dining room table.  Both rolls together, mocking me as they lay on their flat sides.  I loudly exclaimed, "Father Fred, I realize it's close to Halloween, but today is not mischief night or even mischief day and I'm in no mood for reindeer games or ghost games or whatever you call them!"

I looked at the kitchen clock, 12:55.  It's a few minutes fast so I had a decent chance of making it.  I probably should've walked considering the amount of whiskey I'd consumed but I was in a hurry.  Besides, the only kids out and about in the middle of a weekday are home schoolers. (Before anyone freaks out---I'M KIDDING....sort of) I was getting in the car when a maintenance man comes out of our street long carport/shelter/sad excuse for a community garage.  The whole awning like thing in the front is sagging and looking like it's gonna collapse at any moment.   The floor of our spot is covered in water.  (Did I mention it's been raining for 12 hours?) 

"Ma'am, do you get water in your garage all the time?"  I resisted the urge to say, "Well, considering there's NO DOOR, yes." (Really good!)  I told him the truth, I had no idea if we always get water along the side and back wall during a heavy rain.  That was the other thing I wanted to ask; Do we get water along the side and back wall during a heavy rain?  Maintenance wants to know.

There was a discussion of a neighbor moving their car out of the structure because the worker needed to rope it off with Caution Tape.  I resisted the urge to ask for a piece to put across Tali's doorway. (Really, REALLY good)  As I drove down the back alley they were constructing a barrier.  Can't wait for Sawyer to come home to find out his new scooter has been quarantined.  He's such happy-go-lucky guy, he'll certainly be understanding of the situation.

I pulled up to the Post office at 1:02 and could hear the snoring from the parking lot.  So the LAST thing I want to tell you is that I will mail your package after 3:30 this afternoon.

I love you and miss you~

Me

Just 1 of 400 Days

Saturday, September 28, 2013

It began at 6:52am when I opened one eyeball to see Tali descending from the third floor in her volleyball uniform.  She needed to arrive at school before 7:45 to leave for a tournament and I was relieved to see that, in true Tali fashion, she’d gotten herself up and was in no need of any assistance from me except a ride to the Junior High.  I happily closed my eye and immediately went back to sleep until 7:23. 

We really didn’t have to leave until 7:37 and I had no intention of doing anything but donning a sweatshirt and sliding on my Merrill’s before walking out the door.  At a minimum, at this point, I still had a good 10 minutes to listen to silence when I heard the thumps up the stairs.

“Mom, the game is not cancelled!”

I watch my 10 minutes slide down the drain like cold gravy.  I attempt a smile. “Happy Birthday my boy!”

“Thanks Mom, the game is not cancelled.  I checked the inbox and there is no message from the coach. ”

He’s referring to his first flag football game of the season which was scheduled for 10am.  It’s very exciting to have a sporting event on one’s birthday…especially, the first of the season!

“Charlie, it’s still early.  They probably won’t make a call about the weather until 8.  Let me see what my phone says.”

My phone is showing Kansas City weather from yesterday afternoon and is refusing to update.  I go to check email see it hasn’t updated since late yesterday.  How dare these technical conveniences get in the way of my laziness!

I call the weather hotline:

“Hello.  You have reached the Fort Leavenworth Youth Sports Weather Hotline.  Today is Tuesday, September 24.  As of today as youth sports and activities will go on as scheduled……”

Well that helps!  I turn the phone off and remove the battery and explain to Charlie that if it rained last night and is still raining, there is a REALLY GOOD chance his game will be cancelled.  Regardless, he is happier than a camel on Wednesday and there is no talking him down.

I roll out of bed, put on a sweatshirt, shoes, grab the keys and take Tali to school.  It’s raining.  Not just spitting or drizzling, but raining.  Crud!

Once home, I crawl back into bed and check my phone.  New email.  The game has been postponed until Monday.

“Charlie!  Come upstairs…..”

It was ugly.  Tears, rage, whimpers; the situation was grave.  I finally got him to stop crying and crawl into bed with me.  (Happiness is having a crying child come and get in bed with you so you don’t have to get out of bed to comfort them)  It took a bit, but I got him to stop crying and think about the two parties he was attending that afternoon.

Since the football game was cancelled, I was then open to attend Tali’s volleyball tournament.  I eventually dragged myself into the shower and got dressed.  Because it was the final tournament of the season, I decided to bring the video camera to get some footage to send to her Dad.  That was a twenty-seven minute exercise in figuring out what disc was in the camera, finalizing it, finding a Sharpie to mark it (because the last time I was desperate for a Sharpie I took it from the video camera bag), and plugging in the camera to get a full charge.

Josie had spent the night with a friend so I had to pick her up and bring her home to stay with the little ones.  No one having the slightest interest in going to cheer their sister on = Alone time for Momma!  I was not going to try to persuade them to come along.

Charlie had not even started on his book report that was due Monday, nor did he have the instruction sheet on how to do it.  That added thirteen minutes for a phone call to a friend who made a copy of the sheet and sent her husband over to the house with it. 

The plan was this:  the kids would clean up, Charlie would work on his book report with Josie’s help and all would be right with the world.

My plan to leave at 9:30 turning into a 10:45 reality was the first indication of how the day would pan out.

The tournament which was in “the next town” was 45-50 minutes away.  How did I forget I live in Kansas?  It was like Laura Ingles thinking Pa could run to the Quick Mart for a ½ gallon of milk.  Not so fast Half-Pint!

The rain continued to pour as I drove down some country “highway” which occasionally would go from one to two lanes so cars could safely pass the tractors.  After covering much of Lewis & Clark’s trail, I got to the town “right up the road,” and found the high school.  I arrived to see the last of the first four matches and then they broke for lunch.  Figures!

I did get the camera set up and was able to tape a bit.  Unfortunately, Tali was very off today.  It happens.  I just wish it didn’t happen the one time I had the video camera with me.  Regardless, she is still recovering from a head cold and I swear her balance was off. 

During lunch I decided to see how things are going at home. (Excuse me while I make a mental note)

*Note to self:  If you are away from home and no one is calling from that location to report a fire, a murder, or make a request for medical insurance information before treating a patient, do not, I repeat DO NOT voluntarily call the dwelling.  I’m serious. Resist the urge!   You think I’m kidding, I know.  But seriously, DON’T!  I mean it!

It’s hard to say exactly how or what went wrong and when it did, but let’s just say that the amount of crying and wailing and gnashing of teeth was apocalyptic.  There was nothing I could do about this book report when I had never read the book and I was 30+ miles away.

This is the point at which a mother must pick her battles.  It is not fair to burden the older child with a younger child who cannot and/or will not focus.  Especially if the older child is one who will blame herself for her brother’s failures!

The people lucky enough to be in this rural high school cafeteria in earshot of my phone call heard something like this:

“Charlie, calm down and listen to me……..Charlie……Charlie………….Charlieeeeee!  Listen.  If you can’t do the report that’s….Charlie?  Are you breathing?  Listen. To. Me.  Breathe.  Get yourself together and you can go to your friend’s house.  But here’s the deal,…..  Charlie?  Get a Kleenex……… (3 minutes of silence from me as I listen to banging and scratching against the phone)….Okay are you back?  Go get yourself dressed and ask one of your sisters to walk you to Lachlan’s* house.  BUT….are you listening?  We are spending the day tomorrow working on the book report.  You may not watch TV; you may not go to your classmates’ birthday party at the horse farm, no Kindle, no Wii, no computer.  Got it?  Charlie?  Got it?  Okay, just making sure.  Yes, I love you too!”

*The name of Charlie’s friend has been changed in order to protect the innocent. Also, he's Australian so I picked the Australian-ist name I could find!

Tali’s team should have won the last of their games with no problem.  Unfortunately, there was a problem…it’s called girls can be so annoying.  Some of the girls were criticizing the others for not playing well and then the tears started.  (Her volleyball team is a blog post or two in itself)  Thankfully, Tali does not let herself get caught up in that garbage.  I try not to be one of “those psycho sports moms” but I get very caught up in the game and I want them to win if they can.  I used to be a cheerleader, what can I say?

The drive home consisted of an explanation of the drama that was occurring on the court, then pretty much silence.  We were both very bummed.

Charlie called to say that no one would walk him to Lachlan’s house so he could get a ride to another friends’ birthday party.  That was another 10 minutes of tears until I got Josie on the phone and she agreed to walk him. Josie got Charlie to Lachlan’s house and Lachlan’s parents got Charlie to the birthday party.

Lachlan’s parents were having people over to watch the Australian Rules Football finals.  I really don’t know what that means, but I knew that alcohol was involved.  I threw together a 7 layer dip, got Sawyer dressed and got over there as soon as I could.  The place was full of Aussie’s which makes me happy because I love to listen to them talk.  I usually only get every 2^nd or 3^rd word, but after a few drinks it somehow become easier to understand them.  I had no clue what was going on with the game, but when my friend cheered, I cheered!

After only one beer, I found myself joining in the conversation saying things such as:

“Crikey mate!  Did you see that bloke?  What a bludger!”

and 

“Aerial pingpong is quite the bottler, eh?”

Sawyer likes to play at their house because they have Electronic Battleship.  We had a few tears when two of the kids wanted to play with him.  One little girl said, “I know ‘im, that’s Sawyer.  He cries a bit at school.”  

Although it sounded adorable, all I could think was, “Great, even the International kids think he’s weird!”  Anyway, we got the girls to do something else and Sawyer was fine until a 2yr old British boy became intrigued with Sawyer’s game.  He just wanted to play.  The Dad and I tried to run interference, but he was quick.  Sawyer got to the point where the kid would get within 5 feet of the game and Sauce would just fall over and start crying.  Fun times!

Charlie and his friend got a ride back to the house where Sawyer and I were.  All the boys went outside to toss some odd looking ball around and get dirty.  I had a few moments of peace and used them to have another drink!  Josie called to say she was going to go to church and did I want to go with her.  I had to pass.  Poor Josie…how did she end up with a lush for a mother?  Actually, I hadn’t even finished my second drink, but I’m sure in her eyes I’m already just a few sips away from hell.

 The game ended with the brown and yellow team winning (good) and Charlie coming in from outside with a bloody nose (bad).  Of course what could be more appropriate than a bloody nose at a rugby-like, yet not a rugby game?

It was at that point I ran to the commissary to pick up a cake for Charlie.  I had thought we would go to dinner, but it was getting late and we didn’t have time to go somewhere that they would have desert, much less sing.

The girls called and asked if they could go bowling at 7.  It was 6.  We still had yet to do presents, dinner or cake.  I took the boys and Lachlan with me to go get the girls.  Charlie agreed that McDonalds would be the fastest.  We drove to McDonalds and ordered the regular with one extra burger for Lachlan.  Because it was Charlie’s birthday and all the kids are usually begging Sawyer for extra nuggets, I got him a 10 piece.

We drove back to the house and the girls inhaled their food.  They told Charlie to hurry up and open his presents.  He did a great job tearing through everything.  Let’s just say it was a Duck Dynasty Birthday and leave it at that.  Charlie was very happy.  By the time he was done a few other kids had arrived to get a ride to the bowling alley. 

As I was getting the car keys, I saw a burger sitting on the table. 

“Lachlan, did you eat?”

“No ma’am.”

“Why not?”

“No one gave me a burger.”

“Now you know, when you are at the Carltons, you need to speak up.”

“I don’t believe Charles has eaten his either.”

“Charlie?  Did you eat?”

“No!” he said with agitation.

“Girls, where is Charlie’s burger?”

This was met with a few grunts, shrugs and someone saying there were only four burgers in the bag.

Note to self:  ALWAYS, ALWAYS COUNT THE FREAKING BURGERS BEFORE DRIVING AWAY!!!

We piled a bunch of kids into the car and drove to the bowling alley.  I dropped them off and waited the obligatory 5 minutes to make sure there was someone there that made it worth staying.  After that, we drove Lachlan home.  I felt obliged to go in with him and explain to his parents that I almost forgot to feed him and please remind him to speak up when he’s at our house.  I’d rather fess up now, than have them talking about me every time someone didn’t get their food.  “Remember that American woman who forgot to feed our son?”

By some miracle I was down to two kids in my care.  From the munching in the back seat, I knew that Sawyer had gotten his nuggets and that he was sharing with Charlie.

“Charlie, are you having some of Sawyer’s nuggets?”

“Yeah.” (Notice his friend answered my question with a “Ma’am.”)

“Will those fill you up for dinner?”

“They’ll be enough until we go back to McDonalds for my hamburger.”

“Really?  You want to go back?”

“Moooooommmmmm, it’s my birthday.  Shouldn’t I at least get the hamburger I ordered?”

Any God-fearing Catholic child knows the power of a good guilt trip.

“Okay, Charlie, you’re right.  We’ll go back.”

I drive all the way back to McDonalds, which in the scheme of things is not really that far.  However, in that moment, it was as if someone told me I had to drive to Colorado.  I was getting tired and the boys, though chattering in the back, were not fighting, which told me they were tired too.

As soon as we turned into the parking lot, I could see the drive through lane, which had been empty before, had a pretty good conga line going.  Why was McDs packed at 9:07 on a Saturday night?  Didn’t these people have anything better to do?  Oh, right.  We live in Leavenworth, KS…they don’t have anything better to do.

We waited behind 6, SIX cars to pull up to the ordering station where I spoke with one of Charlie Brown’s parents.  After explaining that we didn’t get one of our burgers, I was able to make out some garble about the second window. 

It was then I noticed the near silence in the back seat.

“Charla, are you awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, we’re gonna get your burger in a second.  There are just a couple more cars ahead of us.”

“K”

Answers consisting of a single letter signal one of two things in my house.

1. I am talking to a teenager.

2. I am talking to someone who is about to fall asleep.

“Hang in there buddy.  Don’t fall asleep!  We are almost there and you can get your dinner.  Seriously, Charlie, don’t fall asleep.”

“K”

I pull up to the window and inform the girl that we are back because we didn’t get one of our burgers the last time I was at her window.

“Wow.  That took awhile.” She said.

“Well, we drove all the way back to post, we didn’t eat right away and even after we realized there was a sandwich missing, I had to drop some kids off at different places.  I came back as soon as I could.”

“No, I meant it took you awhile to get from the ordering box to the window.”

“Oh. Yes, well that too!”

She hands me the brown lunch sack size bag with a pitiful lone burger and one lousy napkin without so much as a “sorry for your inconvenience.”

I smile sweetly and say “Thank you.”

I pull away from the window and my heart hits my stomach with a thud.

“Charlie?”

Nothing.  Not even a letter!

“Charlie, hon, I have your hamburger.”

That’s when the faint snore comes through loud and clear.  Both boys are racked out in the back of the van.

Un-flippin-believable!

Actually, no it’s not, it’s completely believable…this is so believable in fact, that if having to bet on the outcome of the evening, I could’ve doubled our savings account.

I sigh and turn the radio up as I drive all the way back through the thriving metropolis of downtown Leavenworth, KS missing my husband.  And then I heard it.  Like a telepathic message the radio played one of his all time favorite songs.

“1, 2, 3, and to the fo”

Could it be?

“Snoop Doggy Dogg and Dr. Dre is at the door.”

I could hear my husband Charlie’s voice rapping this entire song word for word on one of our first dates.  (Pretty impressive for a white guy- he scored big points for that)  I turned the back speakers off and cranked the pitiful minivan radio.  For just a few minutes I was that girl again, riding in a BMW convertible with the top down, Snoop blaring in my ears, my only concern was making sure I got up for work in the morning.

I think God must’ve felt very sorry for me in order for Him to choose that song, to make me feel better.  It helped.  It really helped.  And little did I know all those years ago, in Arlington, VA that I would one day find such deep comfort in a “G Thang.”

And so my friends and readers, until I write again; I will close with the immortal words of Andre Romelle Young and Calvin Cordozar Broadus, Jr.:

It's like this and like that and like this and uh
It's like that and like this and like that and uh
It's like this, and we ain't got no love for those
So jus' chill, 'til the next episode.

 

 

 

elloHello