A Little History Lesson

I am not a history buff in any way, shape or form but I had to say a little something right now. Son called me to tell me some silly 3rd grader on the school bus told him that African-Americans aren't s**t. Self-hatred is a sad, pervasive thing. It was a stupid comment and one that no child would say unless they heard it somewhere from someone they trust, respect, idolize, whatever. Now this is unfortunately not the first time I've heard some people of Jamaican descent distance themselves from the blacks in this country. Maybe that child wasn't a citizen? No idea. But it bugs me to no end to hear this type of stuff. We went to Jamaica on our honeymoon and I got the clear picture that OUR ancestors stopped there just like some came here.

So I ran over to www.discoverjamaica.com and pulled a little history to share because really, I don't care to go into this stuff too much. Just make a quick point and move on. And FYI, I really wouldn't mind the perspective of a Jamaican on this. Explain this to me, please.

In 1494 on May 4, Christopher Columbus arrived at the island of Jamaica. This was on his second voyage to the New World, which was afterwards called America. Columbus annexed the island in the name of his master and mistress. the King and Queen of Spain. But it was not occupied until Juan de Esquivel came from Santo Domingo in 1509. and for 146 years Jamaica remained a Spanish colony.

Jamaica was then inhabited by a gentle race of people called the Arawaks or Tainos. They had probably come from the country now known as Guyana, where Arawak Indians are still to be found....But the Spaniards made slaves of them and put them to difficult tasks. The Spaniards treated the Arawaks so harshly that in about fifty years all of them were dead. They had numbered fully sixty thousand. The Spaniards got slaves from Africa to take their place....In 1664 the first House of Assembly was called together. It consisted of twenty members elected by the people. It met at Spanish Town and passed 45 laws for the government of the colony....

Sir Thomas Modyford arrived from Barbados with a thousand settlers. He was a Barbadian planter and had once governed Barbados before he was sent to Jamaica as Governor. He helped and protected the English buccaneers under Henry Morgan who had moved to Port Royal from Tortuga. The ships and the plunder they brought vastly enriched Port Royal. Modyford encouraged agriculture, especially the cultivation of cocoa and the sugar-cane. During this time a large number of slaves were brought from Africa to Jamaica. However, the slave trade with Jamaica had commenced before this date.

Guyana, a region (state, I believe) that combines South American and Caribbean ancestry. And the culture of Jamaica:

Demography. The population in 1998 was 2.75 million. Fifty-three percent of the population resides in urban areas. The population is 90 percent black, 1 percent East Indian, and 7 percent mixed, with a few whites and Chinese. The black demographic category includes the descendants of African slaves, postslavery indentured laborers, and people of mixed ancestry. The East Indians and Chinese arrived as indentured laborers.

Note the word slaves. Where did those slaves come from? Here:


Clear?

The point? If you look even remotely like me, despite all the different groups that compose the black race as we are today, there is a HUGE chance that you are bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. And our mother? Africa. Deal with it.

Moving on.

Skating Skills and Lack Other Thrills

Son went to a skating party this weekend. It was his second in a few months.

"I think I found my special talent, mommy!"

"You were looking for a talent? I didn't know one was missing."

"It's skating. I did 3 tricks. I was really good at it!"

"That's great, baby! But you know you weren't talentless, don't you? You're only 9. It's ok to not have it all together yet but if this is it, then congratulations."

"Can you get me skates for Christmas?"

"I'll think about it."

This is the same boy who looked at his energetic little sister at the bus stop last week and said to me, "I want what she has."

"Huh? What did she sneak out of the house this time," I asked trying to see over his head.

"Her sense of adventure."

My eyes hurt from looking at him weird but I had to smile.

"Her sense of adventure?"

"She's not afraid of anything! I want to be like that."

Sigh.

"It's ok to be YOU, Son. Her 'sense of adventure' cause me heart attacks sometimes."

"I wish I could just suck it out of her."

Um, slightly disturbing?

"You think before you leap, Son, and sure, you may hold yourself back a tad that way, but you do think and when you want to do something you do. You'll probably grow braver as you grow older anyway. It's ok."

My extra sensitive child, fighting some inner battle to be better than he is when there is nothing wrong with the way he is. Hmm. Now that I think of it, I think I'll have to try to reconfirm that tonight but I've been down this road. No matter what I say, he doesn't see any of the things in himself that I see in him. Maybe one day.

Baby's Got Bat

Or he was. It's over now. Baseball season is over. Son's team played their first playoff game on Sunday...and it was their last. They lost. After playing 13 games this season and losing 2 of those games, they became the team to beat. One of the coaches from another team was watching. We were watching. They tried. But the other team had a pretty good pitcher and they could barely hit the balls. What ya gonna do? One of their issues, to me, was how hard it was for them to pump themselves up until they were clearly in the lead. Then they could take the enthusiasm and run. I wished they could realize how much they had grown as a team. Sigh. I wanted so much for them to go all the way. They had had a great season. They deserved to go all the way. I may be more upset for them than they are! But Son wants to keep playing and that is a win for me as well as himself - one day. He continues to learn he can't win all the time and even though it's a great lesson, I'll be glad when the obligatory lesson is done and I can say, "Hey Son. It's NICE to win!" OK, I'll say it sooner rather than later. Because it IS nice. In the meanwhile, I'll patiently wait for the next season and see how that goes. See how Son grows. I'm happy that he at least doesn't give up on things he wants to do. He's quite the winner, you know.

It Takes One To Keep The Other's Mother From Going Insane

Last night as I talked on the phone with a friend of mine, Son kept coming at me with homework that he didn't understand and no matter what I said, he didn't get it. As usual he answered similar problems around it correctly but he just couldn't get one in particular. I didn't want to be frustrated anymore.

"Go to bed. You'll see it differently in the morning," I told him. I went back to my friend on the phone as Son went to bed. He was back a minute later. And kept coming back. Each time with the wrong answer.

"Son, you don't understand and you are not understanding me. I don't want to do this anymore and I don't want to get angry. Go to bed and look at it fresh in the morning."

He left.

Then came back. Repeatedly. Needless to say I was losing it and my friend, who experiences a lot of the same with her stepdaughter, chuckled. "He's back?"

"He won't quit!"

She knew my frustration with trying to figure out how to help without enabling him.

Tonight we found ourselves back on the subject of his homework. I was in my car talking to her after getting home from work, not quite ready to be plunged into homework hell.

"Oh that's right," I told her. "You don't know what the problem was because I was trying not to say too much last night." So I told her the problem he was struggling with at that time.

"The problem said '12 doughnuts make a dozen. You have 2 1/2 dozen doughnuts. How many doughnuts do you have?' " I further explained how he gave multiple answers but his very first answer had been 25. "Because of the 1 from the half, he told me. You know, the 1 from the top of the fraction?"

"He thought it was 25," she repeated.

"Yeah."

I heard her silent thinking. "Ohhh," she exclaimed. "He thought it was 1/2 of one doughnut and then half of another doughnut make one!" She laughed at her answer as she insisted that was it.

As I sat in confused silence, she kept laughing. "Girl, where the HECK did your brain just go to," I asked.

"I don't know! But that's how I think!" It's not off the wall. She and Son were both born in March. That little bit of info is not lost on me. She's heard me talk about his drama and she relates because she is dramatic too; we agreed she had drama down pat, but not in a negative way that annoys me. She just shows her emotions in a big way and she is one of the most genuine people I know. Hmm. So is he, when I think about it.

"Why," I asked. "Why did you think that? What does this mean? Why did you go off to some weird detail like that?"

She still couldn't explain it. "Go ask him," she insisted. "See what he says and call me back. I'm telling you that's what he thinks!"

"Fine. I'll call you back."

Never before have I been so enthused by the possibility of dealing with homework I can't effectively explain to him.

He was watching TV when I came in. As usual, homework was "all done except for a couple I need help with." But I was too anxious to deal with the new homework yet. "Did you get the answer to that question today?"

"Yes. My teacher told me."

"But remember you first thought it was 25? Why?"

"Because I thought it was one."

"One?"

"Well, you know, I thought it was half a doughnut," he explained as he drew half an invisible doughnut in the air. My eyes got big and I could barely talk from laughing.

"Wait. So you mean half a doughnut from one group and half a doughnut from the other group and you put them together and get one?"

"Umm hmm," he replied with a most serious look on his face.

"Oh my goodness," was all I could say.

"What?"

"My friend understands you." But he had no clue what I meant.

I called her back and told her the story. "He said what YOU said! What the heck am I supposed to do with this way of thinking?!"

"I don't know," she answered, cracking up at her accuracy. We laughed as we talked about just how very different we were and yet she and I understood each other perfectly from day one, which is why we always worked together so well. It gave me hope that I'd see his vision too one day.

So I tested my new understanding with the homework of the night.

"Ben has three pancakes and 2 sisters. He wants to give them each the same amount. How many pancakes do they each get?"

After first telling me that 3 wasn't an even number, with me responding that they absolutely can have an equal amount, he thought and brightened. "They have half?"

"Half? They each get half a pancake?" It wasn't odd that he was on the right track. He's always on the right track then goes wildly in some other direction.

"Nooo, three halfs."

"3/2? That's not the fraction, Son."

"No," he said again. "Three halfs," he explained. I knew it was going to be some skewed version of what was in my head so I waited. "You know, you take a stack of pancakes and cut them in half? Three halves."

All I could do was smile. After two more wrong answers - "Give them each one and I eat the other? Give them each one and throw the other away?" - I decided to draw a mental picture.

"Son, put three pancakes in your hands." He nodded.

"Sit the girls down at the table." He nodded.

"Give them each a pancake." He nodded.

"What's left?"

"One."

"Now what do you do?"

"Ohh! Cut it in half."

"What do you have?"

"A whole and a half."

And me? Maybe I get a whole new way to meet him halfway as we look for common ground. Thank God for friends who can help me bridge the gap.

Batter's Up!

The Mets were losing 6 to 0 when I came in to watch the game. Son was in the dugout on a field they had never played before. One with proper stadium seating and lights on the field - and loads of gnats eating everyone alive.

"We're losing," he told me when he saw me standing above him.

"Eh. You were losing yesterday too and look how you guys came back in the end."

I'm not worried. It was game 7, I believe. And the Mets had only lost 1 game so far. But it's amazing how the self-esteem of children is a cup that has to be filled daily. Somehow it empties overnight then you have to fill it up all over again the next day. This was their third game this week because of rainouts the previous weeks. The game the night before was tense until the very end, but once they got the leg up, there was no stopping them.

It's actually way more interesting to watch than I anticipated. I had listened to the opposing coaches the first couple of games talk about stealing bases. The Mets were doing that so much - and winning by so much - that they risked embarrassing the losing team, so there was a moratorium declared on stealing bases. The Mets clearly knew how to steal bases but even I knew that if they wanted to get to championship level, they would have to do better than that. They would surely meet their stealing-bases equivalent one day and then what would happen?

But as time has gone on, I've watched them become better at hitting, retrieving the ball to get the other player out before he got to base, pitching and home runs - lots of home runs. You can see them working together more and more and it's pretty cool to see.

In this game, it was now Son's turn at bat. (That's my #3 below.) I called to him as he walked out. "Take chances, Son! You can do it!" He usually becomes a statue when he goes up to bat. Sure, he swings if it seems like he should, but otherwise birds could have mistaken him for a great landing spot.

Not this time.

His teammates called to him to swing for the good balls. His coach called to him to do what they practiced. I watched him bouncing up and down a little bit, emotionless as usual. The balls were mostly bad, fouls, enough so that he didn't strike out but he got to walk to first. That's cool. The next boy up was pretty good at hitting so they would be in a good place for sure.

Son's teammate swung, hit and sent the other team scrambling, their coach in a tizzy over all the fumbling and confusion. Son ran to second. Then third and we all watched the confusion continue.

"Run, Forest, run," Mr T. shouted.

The next thing I knew Son was home, his teammate on third and we parents were jumping up and down screaming in delight because they had done it again - they had come from behind and revved themselves up. They didn't need us anymore. They could cheer themselves on now but it was too late. We were all riled up too. Parents came out of the stands to watch over our little ballplayers. One coach's wife hugged on me as we watched. Another mom was wowing as she taped. A dad was reporting the scores to someone on his phone. We were cautious but excited, confirming with each other everything we were seeing to make sure we were all on the same page.

"Did you see your son," the hugger asked me excitedly. For once my ears weren't in overdrive driving to decipher her thick Spanish accent.

"Oh, I promise I did!" Mr. T was on the side of the field taking the pictures. Daughter was playing in the stands as usual but I had extra sets of eyes helping me track her constant comings and goings so I could focus on Son.

They played happily like the team they were. Mere minutes from the 2-hour mark at which they can stop playing. They were now 8 to 7 and their coach had declared them winners yet again.

Or were they? More confusion as our hopes to get out of the gnats were dashed. The other coach said something. The umpire said something. They had to play an extra 15 minutes? What?

We all looked at each other.

"Aw, they're just mad 'cause they lost!"

Whatever had happened, the game was not quite over and the batter for the other team was up.

I looked at the videotaping mom whose eyes got big. "Uh oh," we said to each other. This was the kid, if any kid could, who could knock that ball out of the park. If he hits and gets to home, we're tied. He hits but thankfully our boys are quick and he is out before he starts.

We erupt in relief. This was their best player. Surely the Mets would be able to hold off anyone coming in after him. And so they did - and won for the second time that evening.

This is where I am, my friends. Village Works is doing tons of vending, creating new cards and preparing for future events. Of course my job continues to be nonstop action and Son's cub scout activities continue, though they wrap up this week as he becomes a Webelo 1. (Yes!) But in between all this movement, I am watching Son play with his team, winning game after game, coming back from far behind or taking the lead and never letting go. We're freezing out there most times, being eaten by bugs other times, but somehow we're never bored by this 2-hour display of amateur athleticism.

I can't think of a better way to spend my time, watching my son realize that he can do something and have such a big impact on everyone around him. It's truly awe-inspiring.

Brief Battle; Baby Banter

I owe you the rest of Mandy's story. Don't worry. It's coming. Last night was tiring as I dealt with Son and his math homework that is based on the CMTs he is taking this month - ALL month. (That's the Connecticut Mastery Test, for you non-locals.) Two packets of 13-page math multiple choice. Insane. The long and the short of this is it's like pulling teeth trying to explain the stuff to him that he doesn't get and eventually, when it was all over, he asked me if I thought he was stupid.

By then I was annoyed and fed up with the whole thing because we repeat this scene nearly every homework session. I know what he wants but I'm stubborn.

"What do YOU think? Do YOU think you're stupid," I ask him.

Shrugs his shoulders that he doesn't know. I guess my telling him he's smart countless times just isn't enough.

"I think you don't try. I think when you do give it that one shot, you then give up when you don't get it. I think you don't think on your own. I think you keep waiting on me to hand you answers but I never have before so why would I start now? I don't understand that way of doing things. I think you come home, rush through your homework to play and watch TV and play on the Wii. When I come home you say you didn't understand something but suddenly you do just because I read it out loud. I think it bugs me a lot because I should be coming home to check homework with you, not do it for the first time when you've been home for hours. And no matter how I try to help you think about a problem more than one way, it just isn't getting in and I don't know how to help you. That's what I think."

Of course after I calmed down I had to find the strength to tell him - again - that I know what he's capable of and the fact the he does well in school and every teacher has said so is just one example of that. I just don't know why he can't bring that ability home with him.

I had to tell him that it's time for him to understand that parents are human and sometimes we don't say the right things; sometimes we say one thing but mean another; sometimes we just don't have it in us to build someone else that day when we're probably needing to build ourselves.

"You have to remember, no matter what I say or your daddy says or ANY adult says to you that may hurt your feelings at that time, YOU have to believe in YOU. You have to know you are smart and able. You have to hold on to that no matter what. I tell you and I tell you but you have to tell yourself too and believe it and fight to keep it because one day you are going to be gone and on your own and you may not have anyone around to tell you you can do it. You have to tell yourself."

And I look at that face and how big he is now and all I can see is a little boy who still has no clue of the power within himself. I've got a lot of work ahead of me.

But if I could just have him back as a baby sometimes, that would be so cool. It was SOOOO much easier then. My nephew, by the way? He's perfection and for the first time I saw both of my kids in his face.



He is their spitting image at this age of four months. To hold him right now would be as close as I could get to holding mine again. Too bad he's so far away.

UPDATE: Came home tonight after writing this post today and saw the kids' report card. Both are doing great. One thing the teacher said in her comment about Son? "(Son) is strong in math." What the heck, man! What IS that about? Why at school and blank stares at home? Sigh. As they say, as long as the kids are representing you well in public and doing as they should, count your blessings.

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The Start Up Nation Leading Moms in Business 2009 Competition is wrapping up this month and we want to be ON FIYAH! Winning means major publicity - major for us, anyway. Have you voted for us today? Check it out here. We'd REALLY appreciate it if you vote and you can do it every day until March 31, 2009 PT. There's even a new meter there now to show you how hot we are! Go ahead. Vote! We wanna be hot, hot, hot! Thanks for your support!

Before He Turns 9...

...my son will be able to ride a bike without training wheels. That's what he did yesterday. Sure, seems like he should have known by now. I'm pretty sure I was riding solo by then. But we don't live in the world I grew up in. I learned on the street in front of my own house. Mr. T, amazingly more protective of our boy than I am, said he wasn't ready for that since he couldn't control himself. And since I don't let him out alone, nor do I let him out in the cold, the opportunities were few and far between. Saturday was a perfect day. Mr. T took the kids out to ride their bikes and he finally got him to balance.

"Are you proud of me," he asked me.

"Absolutely."

The wheels are off.



...my son will be able to throw and catch a baseball. That was something else he did on Saturday. Son said he wanted to play Little League. How can I say no to a physical activity? So I signed him up but I told Mr. T that I was already Son's Cub Scouts partner. He was going to have to play ball and do the Little League thing with him. He played baseball in high school, after all, so who else?

The Little League association sent emails about clinics they were planning in February. Since Son has never played outside of the great stadium of the Wii, I was glad he'd get a chance to see what he was in for and get some practice. But the clinics never happened. The season starts at the end of April. So Mr. T took the kids out to play in the back yard and, more importantly, to throw the ball. I was in the house Twittering away. Soon I heard bawling and sat up to fine-tune my ears. The side door in the kitchen was open so I could hear clearly and it sure sounded like my kid.

Uh oh.

He came up the stairs with his usual open-mouthed cry, his cheeks shiny from the tears.

"What happened?"

"The ballllll hi-it me!"

Sigh. Lord, how do I do this?

"You can't do this," I told him, wiping his face.

He looked at me.

"I know it hurt and I'm not saying it can't hurt and you can't cry about it. But you wanted to play baseball, remember? Remember I told you that ball will probably hit you sometimes. It's no fun, but it's possible. Look, I know it hurt but this is what you want to do?"

He shook his head yes.

"Then this is one of those things that you're going to have to learn how to handle. You have to learn how to get the ball so you don't get hit too much. How to get out of the way, maybe. You're not being a baby by crying when you do get hit, but you've got to make yourself harder for this. I know it's not easy. You tell me if you don't want to play baseball now."

"I want to play."

"OK. Then let's clean up your face. You look good. No bruising. You're good. Let's get tough for this. You get hurt, you cry. OK. But let's not do that yell-it-out thing you do, OK? If you want this, go for it."

He wiped his face and went back out. I watched them from the window. Mr. T was not throwing hard so I figured the ball wouldn't be leaving a mark. I watched him throw it to Son. I watched Son try to catch it. I watched Son throw it back and - though I'm no expert - I think I detect a bit of an arm on him. He may actually have a bit of talent to work with here. Whew! But he is his father's son. And many cousins have done the basketball thing too. One is on the verge of pro. I suppose it's not all that strange that Son may have a little athlete in him.

When he came back in..."Guess what, mommy. I can throw and catch the ball now."

I'm nodded. "I'm not surprised."

...my son will know the facts of life. He knows the overview but no details as of yet. But he asked me today. "How do babies get in stomachs?" and I was not interested in laying it all out right then. I'm not afraid to. I'm not a coddler in the least and I use real words for real things. I was just feeling lazy on a beautiful Sunday and I wasn't up for The Talk.

Sigh. "I can't do this today, Son."

"Can I ask Daddy?"

"Go ahead." He hustles on out. "But I bet you he won't be up for it either," I call after him.

He was back in a minute.

"Well?"

"He wouldn't say."

"I'll tell you, Son. Just not today, ok? It's not a quick conversation."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

And you can bet he'll hold me to it, one of these days this week, before he turns 9.

My Own March Madness

FIRST: If it's March, then it must be THE countdown. Thirteen more days until the big 9. Son will be 9, though he acts like he's 6 way too much. Figuring out what to do is getting tougher as the bigger parties are no longer required and he's happy to celebrate with a few friends. No more Chuck E. Cheese. No Bounce U (that place is expensive anyway). No Lil' Gym. So what can he do? Laser tag? Mr. T. said the facility was too dirty. He was thinking to take him to Medieval Times in Jersey but he barely eats as it is and I don't see him eating there. We'd have to go to McDonald's before we went to dinner! Disney World? Come on little dude. Be real! Bowling? Eh. It's still an option since he suggested it. Maybe another sleepover he said. No thanks! Let's hope I can avoid that. I need at least a year in between those anyway. Whatever it is, I'm hoping I won't need a personal loan to afford it. Fingers crossed.

SECOND: I've been resubmitting my flash fiction lately but I haven't been writing as much of those as I'd like. So March will be my month to grab some story starters from some books a friend loaned me and from prompts other friends post and let's see what comes out of my head every day, Mon-Fri. I'm still thinking about when I'll do it. It will have to be about the same time every day but when am I consistently free? Getting up earlier is out of the question. I'll work something out but no matter what, I start on March 2nd. Hopefully I'll entertain you for the month. A personal challenge to myself. My own March madness.

THIRD: This is it! This is the month the contest wraps up. Have you voted for us today in the Start Up Nation Leading Moms in Business 2009 Competition? Check it out here. We'd REALLY appreciate it if you vote and you can do it every day until March 31, 2009 PT. There's even a new meter there now to show you how hot we are! Go ahead. Vote! We wanna be hot, hot, hot! Thanks for your support!

A Big Dash of This, A Little Dash of That

The Job
It's been another hectic week. Well maybe hectic isn't the best word. I've just been buried at work and trying to get a project done that was first conceived about 4 years ago when I started the job and got serious about a year ago when we finally got the graphic treatment going for it. It's a time line and it starts back to CBE times. Thinks it's easy? Nope. Not when you're trying to get as accurate information as possible and pictures too. And remember we're talking CBE times all the way to the present. Oh and after you've finally knuckled down and gathered all that info, it has to be typed up in a format for the graphic artist. And when that's done you have to read it all, word for word, date for date looking for editorial mistakes. You try to cover about 2,000 years and see if you don't miss a comma or two. So when that's done, you get other eyes on it and they find all kinds of things and ask all kinds of questions. Again, we're trying to make this the best time line out there. There are a lot out there but they are really repetitive and it's clear most people are taking from each other. We were no exception, but the other time lines were just a starting point. I went to the library to add to it. Got intern help to study some things and work in more complete thoughts. And now our new editorial assistant is helping me to find answers to the plethora of questions that rose during the last round of proofing. I am literally 1 unanswered question, 1 addition of a link, 1 addition of a photo, and 2 unanswered questions of my own away from completing this thing and doing the proof that will find all the books titles that need formatting and all the weird character codings or lack of punctuation. That won't be quick either but at least the study of history will be over for now - at least until the public gets a hold of it and starts sending us emails about what they think is wrong or missing. When you work for a company that has a membership base, it's hard not to get a little resentful sometimes at people's comments about how we do things. We think the public must see us as some mighty corporate machine. But if they only knew all the little gerbils on the wheels keeping that mighty thing going. We do A LOT and we care A LOT too but I think only those of us behind the scenes know that. Oh well. I still love my job.

The Book
I have been one page and one more bio away from finishing this proposal. Every day I hope to get it done and every day I'm too tired from work to do it. I come home and do some things for Village Works - not as much as I need to though - and check a zillion emails because of the various groups I am in, trying to quickly delete the unnecessary stuff and the stuff I can always see some other time. I am seriously considering adding an auto message to let folk know I get their email. They just need to give me a moment to respond. I WILL finish the proposal. Maybe today? Well, today I have a meeting to go to with a potential customer. Then a workshop with one of my networking groups. I WILL get it done. Maybe tomorrow?

The Inauguration
I still haven't posted my thoughts about that and I do have a few. The post is started. I'll get it done. But in the meanwhile, I do want to tell you I bought the photo book "Yes We Can" by Scout Tufankjian. Knowing that this photojournalist followed Barack Obama for nearly two years before she knew how great he would be makes this book all the more dynamic. The faces. The tears. I was moved by the election. So-so about the inauguration. This book gave me another perspective and it was powerful. I got it for about $17 on Amazon. It's worth adding this to your cache of Obama memorabilia.

The Son
It's about report card time around here. Son's teacher sent home a sheet that would allow us to sign up for a time to meet but she checked off the box that said there were no issues with Son and she didn't need to see us. Cool. Until we got the actual progress report:

Writing - Should work on elaboration and stronger endings. Focus on developing heart of story.
Science - Good test score. Project not on topic.
Penmanship - Work on connections.
Other - Appears to be uncertain when given direction for assignments or on instruction.

In order to improve he needs to revise and edit work; improve the quality of work; listen attentively; and follow directions.

Was I supposed to NOT be concerned about this? Son had reasons why he didn't understand some things. They each get 1 on 1 time with a teacher who focuses on reading. So he misses class. The project? I must have missed something too when he did it. I know I am always frustrated at home by how much Son doesn't seem to get when he's doing homework and how much work it is to pull things out of him that I know he knows or he would know if he just stopped to think for a minute. Seems she was having that same issue at school. So it's not me being too demanding. Good.

I know what I am always telling Son. She needed to hear his thoughts and we needed to be sure she and I were in agreement about her expectations. We needed to meet. Mr. T and I agreed he was on his DS way too much and it was messing up his ability to concentrate and his teacher said she noticed that as well in this generation of kids. Of course Son didn't agree with any of that but his time got drastically cut during the school nights anyway. He asked for Brain Age and had the money for it so I bought it and he's on that DS playing now. We're going to re-do that project, even if he gets no credit. He asked to be in Little League and I signed him up because he insisted he wanted to do and I can't pass up a chance to get him outside running around of his own free will. I added some extra handwriting work after he's done with his homework and the school has a study website to help them get ready for the testing that's coming up for them soon. He'll be OK.

Well, I can say more but I won't right now. Time to get dressed and ready to go. I have 3 more posts to work on and you can all expect to see those soon. Otherwise this thing would get crazy long, longer than even I do and you know I write tomes on here.

But before you go:
Have you voted for us today in the Start Up Nation Leading Moms in Business 2009 Competition? Check it out here. We'd REALLY appreciate it if you vote and you can do it every day until March 31, 2009 PT. There's even a new meter there now to show you how hot we are! Go ahead. Vote! We wanna be hot, hot, hot! Thanks for your support!

Oh Sonny Boy

I have 2 children. They are both the offspring of Mr. T and myself. They look alike, they act like, sometimes they even annoy alike. In my analysis thus far, Daughter exhibits the traits I like or accept in myself. Son exhibits the ones I have issues with.

I've talked about him before and will continue to do so not just because it's my blog and I'll whine I want to, but because this is how I process.

Daughter is moody, like me. It doesn't bother me.
Daughter isn't really a morning person, like me. I respect that.
Daughter has a fiery temper, like me. Son fears her at times. I just smile in recognition or else put her in her place.

Son is picky. I never called myself this but yeah, I like what I like and forget the rest. Still, I want him to be open because I wish I had been braver about things when I was younger.
Son is dramatic. Don't really see myself this way but that fiery temper tends to be my response to things sometimes and certainly that is over the top.
Son is slow to accept change. This could be related to the pickiness. I'm cool with change that I initiate. Otherwise, I may need a minute to readjust.

If you put my two baby bears on a rainbow and gave them a color, Daughter would be red and Son would probably be blue. So why do I clash more with my blue Son? Still figuring that out.

I admitted to a friend not too long ago that I prefer dealing with Daughter because she's easier for me. Ironic, considering I never wanted a daughter in the first place for fear we'd be too much alike and fight all the time. Son is actually easy to love. He's sweet, respectful, sincere, affectionate, smart, and when you really think about that whole pickiness thing, I suppose it shows he's strong-willed too. Who can't like those qualities? Well, those aren't the things that get to me.

Before you tell me not to compare my children, I tell you I already know they are individuals and to love them for who they are, blah blah blah. The fact is Daughter is brave. I wish Son were moreso. So many times things have come up that I am certain he would have liked if only he weren't so afraid of new things. When Daughter gets stressed, she gets angry. I suppose that is an emotion I understand so it doesn't bug me as much, though I do tell her she'll get nowhere with it. Son, on the other hand, cries and whines and repeats himself over and over and it nearly drives me nuts because of the relentless repetition of it all. If something doesn't make sense in his homework, he whines for help (I really never liked whining.) and there is this whole begging thing in his voice that grates on my nerves. I want to tell him to man up. Stop whimpering. Just say you don't get it in a normal voice. (I told you I know he's 8. Doesn't change how I feel.)

Now, I don't make things easy on them, I confess. When it comes to homework, I don't hand out answers like candy on Halloween. I say, "Look at it again. Read it again. Tell me what you understand. Tell me what you don't understand. Look at the homework in its totality. Is there nothing there to clue you in as to how you should get your answer?" (Generally, this is related to math homework.) Unlike me, Son is a linear thinker and that is something I don't know what to do with. If he knows one way to get an answer, then that is what he does forever. The moment the numbers change order or the math turns to words, all hell breaks loose.

"Son. You CAN do this. Stop. Think. Read it slowly. Doesn't some of this look familiar?"

"I don't know! I can't do it!"

Wanna get me riled up? Tell me you "can't" when you haven't even tried.

So I get stressed and wonder how to teach him how to think creatively. How do I convey that there is usually more than one way to get an answer. 9 times out of 10, when I come home to that unfinished homework he says he can't do, I ask questions, I say what I said before and suddenly he can do it after all. Still, he doesn't realize yet that he CAN do it if he tries and that all I ever ask is that you at least try before you give up. Don't immediately jump to how you can't or how it won't work or how it's not exactly how you thought it should be so it must not be the right way.

My struggles with him is in his confidence. I get angry when he downs himself, saying he's stupid or doesn't know how to do things. "I don't like math because I can't do it." But he can! Even his teachers from every single grade so far say he can. Now, I tell him he may not like it, and that's fine but he can't do it? He's lying to himself and needs to cut it out.

I suppose my fight with him is not about today, it's about tomorrow. I'm afraid he won't see what I see - a smart, creative kid with so many natural abilities if he'd let himself be aware of them. I fear he'll be a follower. Sometimes you have to but never at the expense of your own will and morals. I'm scared he'll miss out because he's suspicious of new things. When we have our shouting matches - well, me shouting, him whining - I'm pretty sure he's in the moment. I keep thinking of what today's insecurity could develop into if I don't snap him out of it. But the counselor in me also is aware that I have to be here and just make myself chill out and embrace the boy of today lest he think I don't like him for who he is. Couldn't be further from the truth. It's who he is that I see so clearly. But right now it is masked by the qualities that need refinining. And that remains the challenge - setting aside my ways so I can deal with his effectively and shine a spotlight on the things he has yet to appreciate.

It's simply not easy for me. Don't be surprised if I vent some more on the topic one day. I know all of this frustration on my part risks our future relationship, at least during those teen and early adult years when so many people are coming into their own and don't know what they don't know yet. I know that I risk giving him some sort of complex maybe or driving him into himself because he thinks I don't accept him.

Still, in all my frustration, it is easy for me to tell him how great he is and in my imperfection, I can only pray that he will one day see that all I ever wanted was the best for him and we'll finally reach a place where he too fully loves himself as much as I love him. He's my first-born after all; the one who showed me that being a parent is an honor and receiving the love of a child is a privilege. He's the one who started me on the path to enjoying simply providing for him because it made me feel good to see him healthy and happy and content to just be my son. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize all that but I have my signs. I listen out for the familiar, "Hug and kiss. I love you" that I get every night before he goes to bed. He insists upon it, in fact. That's how I know we're still in the game. I intend for us to win it.

Trash Talk

A lovely, windy Saturday spent saying Happy Birthday to Trash-O-Saurus.

Son and Daughter go on a treasure hunt.

He's looking. She's looking. Who will finish first? (He did.)

While I wait, pictures of Unidentified Discarded Objects. (Well, ok. They were cans.)

Ummm! A cake shaped like a trashy dinosaur. Yum!

And free ice cream too!

Photo opp inside an indescribable house of gar-bahge.

Schoolchildren wow us with their eco-friendly creations.

And college students too!

It's a twister!

What a load of garbage!

What a close-up load of plastic garbage!

Some boxes to amaze you.

And the Bridgeport Bluefish (yeah baby, Connecticut has baseball!) stopped by to say hi too.

Time to make our birthday hats.

And wear them too.

"Mommy! Take my picture!"

Hmm, if I put this here, it will balance the other side. "Mommy, get me the raisins please!"

Nothing like throwing trash at each other inside a cage to have a little fun!

Where is Son? Hiding inside the glassfault sculpture.

Then it's home to upload all the pictures. Another busy day for us.

Another Fine Day

Mr. T told me last night to pack a lunch for Son. He had to do training at his job so Son would have to stay with Nana all day. All week his school has been closed and I have been dropping him off at Nana's house in the morning so Mr. T could pick him up after he went to the gym. But even with his DS, I knew Son would not be too keen to hang out in the house all day, especially since today was a perfect Spring day; the first day I was willing to walk around without a coat and didn't regret it.

"What? That's OK. I'll take him to work with me," I told Mr. T. A lot of people were out so I knew Son wouldn't make too much disruption plus it's Friday and everyone is even more relaxed. I knew Son would be game. He and Daughter like to go to work with me. It's not that they find fun things to do all day long there but it's just enough and the playfulness and patience of the people around me are just enough to make them feel welcome and make me feel like I can get some work done even though I don't usually opt to stay the whole day.

When I told Son this morning, that big smile of his erupted all over his face, as I expected. I only take him or Daughter if I REALLY think I need to so they don't really go that often anyway.

He had his DS so I knew he'd be able to entertain himself for at least part of the time. I was hoping to put him on a spare computer since so many people were out but the ones I wanted to use were way too slow for the computer games he wanted to play. No matter. He played with the DS; drew pictures for 4 co-workers, one of which was scanned by the recipient and is now a screensaver for another; made a paper airplane on which he wrote notes, threw them over the wall at the young woman who sits behind me who then proceeded to read the message write him back and throw it back at him. (It helps that most of my co-workers are best friends with their inner child.) Son watched colorful pellets evolve into various vehicle shapes as yet another co-worker showed him a "trick." He helped feed the CEO's fish. We ate lunch outside at the park across the street after which we swung in the swings as high as we could go and then played "fort" until a bee chased us away. Oh, and of course, there were a few candy treats thrown in for good measure.

Now all of this was throughout the course of the day so there was lots of "I'm bored" sprinkled throughout all this activity but overall I got some things done and he got a mini adventure that once again rated high enough to make him want to go back again. Daughter wants to know when she can go again. Maybe next Spring.

Birthday Buddies

I should have taken more pictures. I should have blogged on the actual day but I was so busy on Friday buying my son a much needed dresser and getting food and such for his slumber party that I didn't even think of a picture - besides the official blowing out of the cake (trick candles and all) - until the next day.

Son turned 8 - my favorite number - and 3 of his friends came over to wish him a happy one, but only 2 stayed the night - and stayed up ALL night, at that.

Daughter, so cute she is, played the hostess, helping me get things together, taking the presents the boys brought over, arranging their things in Son's room. She knew it was his special time and I had already told her to let him have his space but she must be a part of things because he is her brother and her best friend and sometimes she acts like she's the big sister and....darn it! My kids are truly adorable sometimes! My girlfriend brought her 8-year-old daughter (one of the remaining members of the trio since the other one moved South) and her daughter's 10-year-old sister. So my Daughter claimed them as HER guests and had her own fun for awhile. When it comes to playmates, age is nothing but a number for dear Daughter.

Son was in his glory because it all somehow turned into a DS party. His friends brought their Nintendo DS and favorite games and they swapped, chatted by WiFi (yes, they were sitting next to each other as they chatted via DS) and generally kept their eyes on the game but barely on each other. Nevertheless they were all happy campers and I survived my first child's first sleepover.

My Son -

You have made it eight years and yet you are still as dramatic as ever, silly as ever, sensitive as ever. I remember being your age and so I am realizing just how grown up you probably THINK you are right about now. But you should see you from my perspective. You are still so small to me and the depth of your innocence is astounding. I fight to protect that every single day as I ask you about your day and what you learned and who did what or said what to you. You are my biggest test of patience that I fail pretty much every day and I thank God for that test pretty much every day. I was happy before you but until you, I had no idea what real fulfillment felt like. You will probably never understand real pride until you have your own mini you. All the achievements in the world are simply pointless unless I am doing it for you. And fight? Oh, the fight I have in me when you tell me some other silly child had the audacity to even look at you the wrong way or some adult overstepped their authority.

It sounds so corny. It IS so corny but it is so very true,
my world was merely black and white until God gave me you.

I love you. Happy birthday. - Mommy

Lead, Follow Or....What?

How do you teach leadership?

This has been something I've been struggling with since I was pregnant with Son. I knew there would be a ton of things I'd want to tell him over the years so I started writing him letters as things came to me when I first found out he was on the way. I'm not sure right now if leadership was one of those topics at that time but it sure is one now.

If you aren't a parent yet but will be one day or if you are brand new at it or shoot - if you're as clueless about some of this as the rest of us, one important thing to remember is people are pretty much born with a certain personality. Life and circumstances affect it, for sure, but a lot of things are innate. The child who succeeds in everything they do. The one who tries. The one who has to be pushed. The one who is friendly and outgoing. The one who is shy. That's built-in stuff, my friends, so don't beat yourself up about it and don't let a therapist blame for you for it later. I believe God wants us to watch these babies, pray over them, try to discover their gifts, talents and natural inclinations, and then take all that to figure out how to guide them in the path they should go according to how God made them - not according to how God made you.

It's not easy. Sometimes our own dreams and ambitions and tendencies get in the way. I know they do for me. But I try to force myself to remember these babies of mine are who they are and they must live their own lives one day. So I want to try to teach them how to be who they are and do what they enjoy and yet how to wrangle their shortcomings so they don't get unnecessarily hurt because of them. I want to encourage the stuff I know will make them strong and happy in the long run. But sometimes what's a "good" trait and what's problematic is all mixed up and I'm not sure what to say about it.

Son. You knew this would be about him, didn't you? He's my challenge since he's my oldest. Early on we could tell Son might be a follower. I can't explain it. It was just what we thought, much like we can clearly see Daughter is a leader, and not always in a good way. When they're together, Son comes down to Daughter's age level. But that's OK. She's a smart cookie so he's not stooping that far. They basically get along and play together and what more can you ask of a brother and sister with 3 1/2 years between them?

Son has Pokemon trading cards. I bought them for him for Christmas and he was truly elated when he unwrapped them. I still don't know if this is HIS thing or just another must-have picked up from the group he hangs with at school. At the ages of 7 and 8, a lot of things are going to arise from that collective mentality, I know.

Last night I picked up Son and one of his friends from their cub scout meeting.

"Mommy, Z won't give me back my Pokemon cards."

"What? You brought cards with you?"

"No."

"He has your cards from some other time?"

Son then spoke in tongues as he explained how last Thursday, Z wanted some weird-named card and Son traded him two other strangely named cards for two equally tongue-twisting cards. At some point, Son decided it wasn't a good trade and wanted them back but Z wasn't giving them up. Great. A debate. Just what I was looking for during the ride home. On top of that, I could see Son was going to get upset.

So what do you say? They are trading cards, after all. That's what he did. You can't get trader's remorse afterward. You suck it up because you should have thought of the importance of them before you let them go. But on the other hand, you say you are friends. If one friend is going to get upset, are you really going to let trading cards be the reason for it?

"Son, these are trading cards. That's what they are for. You wanted what you traded for at the time so you should live with your decision. Z has a right to keep them. It's the code. And Z, you see Son is upset. This is your chance to be a friend and swap back. Friendship isn't easy but it's more important than cards. It's your decision. You two work it out."

I wanted that to be the end of it. I didn't want to be in this. But Son wasn't letting go. Z was unusually quiet as Son nagged him to trade back. "Please, Z?" Eventually Z blurted out, "Ohhhh, stop it! Give me time to make up my mind!"

We got to the parking lot where I hand Z over to one of his parents but we had to wait a bit for his father to arrive.

"Please," Son continued begging. "Please! Please!"

If you had been there you would have seen my skin crawl and watched it turn red as my blood boiled. It was all I could do to stay out of it. Son appealed to me again.

"What do you want me to do, Son?"

"Call his mother."

"To complain about trading cards? I don't think so, baby."

Z's father showed and out he went to get into his own car. Son's crying got louder but I didn't realize it until I got back into my car and closed the door. I waited until we were driving once again. I could only imagine what Z was saying to his own father.

"Let me tell you something, Son. Don't you ever, EVER beg that boy or ANYONE for anything every again! Got it? They're cards, for crying out loud. You're upset? Fine. Cry at home! But don't you allow yourself to break down in front of these kids."

Extreme talk, I know. And I knew I had to explain this but first I had to get that off my chest. Z is a leader. A strong one. I've listened to him malign Daughter to Son during the few times I've taken her with me to pick them up, telling Son, "Just ignore her," when she tried to be part of the conversation. Z is a middle child and has no sisters so I understand the psychology of it all but I made sure he understood (and Mr. T has had to say the same, I found out) that he was not going to belittle my girl to my boy and start a rift in a perfectly good relationship. Son already acts like she isn't there when friends come over and I expect this but it hurts her feelings and she doesn't get it.

I could see years of Son being a lapdog to Z and God knows who else and I wasn't having it. I was already trying to figure out how to get the boy to do independent thinking. The last thing I needed was for him to get labeled as a baby among his peers for crying over trading cards. But in explaining all this, there's the whole balance of reacting to things as they really are and then telling them how it should be and acting as if it were. It's a difficult dance to master.

I told Son about being a leader and being a follower and standing alone.
I told Son it's alright to cry but you have to learn to check those feelings in certain places.
I told Son that Z wasn't wrong about the cards and neither was he. It's life.
I told Son to start thinking about his criteria for friendship and making sure people fit the bill before you bestowed that title.
I told Son that the school years are tough and kids can be mean. Don't make it easy for them to make your life hard.

Hopefully he gets his cards back but what I'm really hoping is that he'll never trade his self-respect for someone else's approval.

Erractic Cling

I am livid right now and it will seem so small you'll wonder why.

You see, Son is super affectionate. I know he was born this way. For as long as he's been able to control his movements, he has fallen asleep by clinging to someone. As a baby, he'd palm my face and drift off. Even if he moved, his hand didn't. I let him sleep with me until he was three. Not always recommended, I know, but he was mine and I liked watching him sleep. By the time he was three, though, Daughter had settled herself in for entrance into the world 8 months later so it was time to transition the first-born to his own bed.

He made the change faster than expected but his clinginess never changed. He had a pacifier early on but I tossed that thing by the time he was two. Nevertheless, the sucking habit sticks with him too and I know he's not even aware he does it. To this day, when he's in that baby mode and wants to cling to me, his lips spontaneously purse like he's sucking on something and he strokes my face or my arm or my hand. or my back. Now, I don't mind affection generally speaking, but after almost 8 years of this, it is wearing thin. I know this is him yet I roll my eyes ever time I see him sneaking up and I brace myself. Oh boy, free me already! And in case you're wondering, yes, he does this to Mr. T. also.

The problem for me, however, is he does this to just about anyone. Family members seem OK with it but we try to intercept before he wears out his welcome. I am always telling him to give people their space. I keep trying to explain to him that not everyone wants to be touched. Still, he does it. My big problem is he's forever hugging on his sister and kissing some part of her out of the blue like he does with us. I know he doesn't mean any harm but it's enough already.

I've told him repeatedly that he has to keep his hands to himself. I can't impress it upon him enough that this overzelous affection of his is going to land him in trouble one day and it would be unnecessary trouble. The wrong girl. The wrong place. Anything could be misconstrued.

"No one should ever have to say no or stop to you more than once, Son. Never."

He doesn't get it. I know he doesn't. It's not serious to him. It's meaningless the things I say. He keeps coming up out of the blue, hugging us and kissing us. I say quit it and he smiles like it's a challenge. I'll bet it just doesn't seem that big a deal yet, huh?

Well, really it's all about learning to respect other people's space. That's all I want from him. But how many times has Daughter come to tell me how he kissed her cheek yet again. Or he's hugging her and not letting her go. I've told him repeatedly to leave her alone. "She's your sister. Not your girlfriend. Stop touching her when she doesn't want to be touched." I have said this. I have snorted this. I have yelled this. But just about daily I have to say the same thing and I am beyond annoyed with it.

He sits in his room now while I calm down because I have had to scream it yet again. "I'm sorry," is all he can say to me but I'm still mad. "Why? Why can't you keep your hands to herself? Can't you understand that outside of here there are going to be people less tolerant of your unwillingness to listen and take no for no? Someone is going to hurt you one day. The wrong person and you could end up in jail, Son. Or worse, dead. What do I need to say to get you to see this?"

Yeah, I talk in extremes when I do this but for me it's the same as getting it through his head that he has to do well in school and he has to be the leader or stand alone but to be careful whom he follows. He doesn't understand it yet that he is a black male and that society is not yet there when it comes to not jumping to conclusions about him and his behavior. The last thing I want to hear down the road is that he was silly with the wrong person.

I don't know. Maybe I need to hug this out of him, huh? Maybe if I let him hug me all day likes he wants to, he can get this clinginess out of his system. Maybe he's just not getting enough affection from me. Maybe I'm blowing this up bigger than I need to. Yet, I don't think so. I think he needs to learn self-control. He'll be 8 soon and these things get less cute as time goes on.

I think I'm calm now so thank you for listening.

Indescribable

Yesterday, my son was missing was 15 minutes. For Mr. T. who had called to ask me if I had him, it had been a little longer. For my mother-in-law who had been at home waiting for Son to arrive, it was even longer. For my 7-year-old who had gotten off at the wrong bus stop, it was probably an eternity.

I had a doctor's appointment and afterward went home to wait for a meeting I had to go to at Daughter's school. As I drove down the street headed to our street, Mr. T's ring sounded in my pocket.

"You got Son?"

"What? No. Why would I have him?" I looked at the clock. It was 4 and he should have been at my ML's about 3:20.

"My mother said he didn't get off the school bus."

"What? I'm near the house, maybe he forgot he was going to her house and he's there."

I turned down our street as I said this, hoping to see him standing outside our door.

"My mother just left our house. She drove over here when he didn't show."

All I could do was listen to him as I pushed all desires to panic aside.

"Did you try your sister's house? Maybe he went there."

As I pulled up to her house, which is around the corner from us, I saw Mr. T driving up behind me. I rang her bell.

"B. Have you seen Son?"

"No, I was over at mommy's house waiting with her. He didn't get off the bus."

Mr. T sat in his car. I could see him thinking.

"OK. Where would he be," I asked out loud. I called his school hoping someone was still there. "He's not the wandering kind. At least not outside of our presence." The phone kept ringing at the school.

"No answer," I said to no one in particular. Then I remembered the little girl who lives across the street from MIL and takes the same bus as Son. She's a 6th-grader now, always protective of Son when he's on the bus and she would have made sure he was with her.

"Did you talk to S," I asked Mr. T. He perked up at the idea.

"No, I'll go see if she's home."

"OK, and I'll go to the school."

He drove off and before I could get to the end of the block he called.

"My mother has him. The police brought him home."

"The police? How did they get him?"

"He got off at the wrong stop and there was a woman who saw him and called the police."

Oh thank God, I thought, hanging up the phone and heading toward my MIL's house.

I've read this crap enough times. Kids smaller than mine have been let off at the wrong stop. It's always a miracle a person gets their child back safely. I mean, when they don't go where they are supposed to, then how in the world do you begin to look for a needle in a haystack? We don't know every stop that bus makes so there was no way to trace the route ourselves. We would have had to call the police but thankfully someone else beat us to it.

I got to the house and saw the police car still out front. Running in the back door, there he was eating a cookie, his signature silly grin nowhere on his tearstreaked face. He looked composed but clearly wasn't just a short while before then.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

"He was brave," the officer told me. "Knew his address and was able to tell me where to go."

There had been confusion about why he got off where he did and as we explained to the officer that Son was getting off this stop all this month, I clutched my son and stroked his face, my hands constantly reassuring me that he was really there. I'm looking down at him and thinking how big he feels to me now yet his face betrays his age and while he's tall, he's always been slight. His jacket may be bulky but clearly he's still a baby. So how did this bus driver let him get off at the wrong stop?

"You know, I want to give this guy the benefit of the doubt but Son has been getting off here all month. The school knows about it and they are supposed to tell the bus drivers too. It makes no sense. Was he a new driver, Son?"

"No."

Everyone just shook their heads.

"I am going to make a report and give it to the school and the bus company."

"Good," I replied. "I will be fussing them out tomorrow."

All this went down in the space of one hour. I had Son take us back to the house of the woman who called about him so I could thank her in person as well as see the street where he got off so I could figure out how this mixup happened. I saw the street. It still makes no sense.

"We could have been childless," Mr. T said later that night.

"Not childless. We still have Daughter. But there's no need to think that way now."

But how do you not? If we had needed them, we have his latest pictures and we have his fingerprints. We would have called the cops the moment Mr. T found out that S had not seen him either. Actually she hadn't been on the bus that day and that was part of the issue for Son. If she's not there, the bus driver doesn't stop at the street he needs to get off on so he thought he'd get off down the street instead. But he misjudged and found himself someplace he didn't recognize. A dead end street. Two other kids got off there too - they were all the last kids off the bus, he said. When Son realized he was lost, he started to cry and the kids took him to the house of woman they knew who used to babysit them. She had been calling our house while we were out looking. When we didn't answer, she asked her husband what they should do and that is when they looked out and saw a cop outside dealing with another situation. That cop called another whose job is dealing with children and that is the officer who brought him home.

As I thought about that I realized that there was no point in imagining the worse because it was clear that when Son got off at the wrong stop, he got off in the hands of God who steered him not only to a woman with a 7-year-old of her own but he sent a cop down her dead end street as well. It was under control all along. That may have been why panic never got a chance to settle in.

Son knows home numbers but he hasn't memorized our cell phone numbers yet. He will now. Mr. T and I went to bed thinking that things could have been very different. I have chosen to not dwell on it nor to imagine how lost my son may have felt because that stuff only breaks your heart. He's safe. That's what matters and the bus driver's company has lots of explaining to do to me. Today I'm just thanking God for helping me to remember that He sees in low places and in high; He is the ultimate protector of children even though things don't always turn out as we pray they will. We can't explain all the evil that happens to children and we'd just pull our hair out trying to understand the seeming inequity of it all. I can't go there. I can only focus on the 2 He's given me and thank Him that I still have 2 to continue caring for.

The Sweet Smell of Adolescence

Nope. Not ready to put that post up yet. Or the one that came after it. I know. I know. Hurry up, already. Well, the person we are surprising has yet to get her surprise so I STILL can't post. Now, because Co-worker 1 is going to be away for a week, we have to wait until SHE gets back. Everything is postponed until the 22nd. You can hang on, can't you?

Here's a little something else in the meanwhile.

At what age does a kid become, um, an olfactory challenge? For Son it is 7 years, 7 months. Mark the day, my boy. October 11, 2007 was the first time ever I told you. "Pew! You stink!" And you didn't even have gym at school that day!

"Mr. T! You let Son put on pajamas?!"

"Why?"

"You didn't smell him a mile away? Son, go over there and stand next to your daddy."

Mr. T. passes out.

"Son, PLEASE go take a bath!"

Time for deodorant, dear boy. And at 7 years, 7 months, - seven being the number of completion - it's very fitting. Another rite of passage completed. Oh, and he also has some little penguin girl declaring her love for him online - some girl from school, he says - and he's given her a heart but I told him, "No way! Take it back! You are too young to giving away your heart." One rite of passage at a time, thank you very much.

Join The Club?

So, my other post has to wait to go up. In the meanwhile, let me tell you Son's latest thing. Son - the bane of my bank account. The new Cub Scout who loves Transformers and Pokemon and is as silly as they come. Son. What's Son's newest thing? Club Penguin. Been here? Heard of it? I hadn't either until last night.

Son went to his friend's house after school yesterday for a play date. Aside: Such a silly term but time's have changed. You've got to make appointments to see your friends now. I guess there is no more knocking on the door. "Can Billy come out and play?" But in this case, Son and Son's Friend Z don't live within walking distance - at least not for them just yet. Too young.

So at Z's house, Son discovers Club Penguin and has not been able to stop talking since. "It's like the real world only it's not!"

When I came home last night...

"Mommy! Come here! I need you to name my penguin."

"What?"

"My penguin. Z and I were playing online and we went to Club Penguin. So now I need a name but every time we pick a name, it's not available."

Husband: "I keep trying and nothing is available."

Of course I still don't know what they are talking about but I am more patient than normal because I know Son is also waiting on me to make 3D glasses with him online for some reason I have yet to find out, but he has not bugged me in 2 days.

So this club is for penguins and they have their own world and Son needs to name his so he can get in there and see his friends but every name is taken.

"Oh. Well that happens all the time with things like these. You're probably going to have to add a number."

"Oh please! I need a name for my black penguin. And you're so good at these things. You thought of the pop up book. I never would have thought of that. You have good ideas."

Flatterer.

"How about ------?"

We try it. A no go. We try his first choice again and other options, all to no avail.

"How about ------?" he says.

It's available. ------ it is.

Now, I would tell you the names but I have to be a little cautious here, don't you think? I already told you the club. I can't put a name to my little penguin, even if it is a fake name. But he loves it and now I find out that there is a membership. Oooooffff course there is! Son asks me about it this morning but I'm thinking he's already a member. I asked a co-worker who also has a 7 y.o. son if she knows about this. Of course she does. So there's a lot you can't do if you aren't a member but I'm not up for more money going out right now - birthday parties, school trips, cub scout fundraiser, school fundraisers, book orders, unexpected doctor visits, Daughter's birthday to come - I'm being nickle and dimed as it is! Not one more thing, please!

Sigh. Next paycheck coming up soon. One more monthly bill. Oh well. See you at the Club!

Just So You Know...

Yes, my child is now a cub scout - wolf pack! Shoot me now. Shoot me now.

Drafted?

My son wants to be a Cub Scout. I don't know if it's truly his original thought, inspired by the flier that was sent home yesterday. Or if it's mostly influenced by the fact that a friend of his is in it. But when I asked him why he wanted to do it, his first response was he heard they teach you how to skateboard. I can't argue with this reasoning since it's rarely bad to learn how to do new things, though I have a hard time believing skateboarding is one of their activities. Having been a Brownie myself (never fully cooked to Girl Scout. Just wasn't in me.), I do see the benefit in doing something like this but should we let him? I keep seeing dollar signs and drains on my remaining energy.

So I took him to the info meeting last night, to his surprise, since we were on our way to the library when he tells me the flier sent home mentioned the meeting would be that very night. (Thanks for the advanced notice, guys.) But when he comes to me with reasonable requests, I have to find a way to honor them. Going to a meeting was the least I could do.

Since I didn't have a flyer but there was a sign conveniently posted near the library (with no address), I figured out where the church was that it was to be held. Eons pass with us listening to the den leader - nice guy if not a little loquacious. They build cars, they sleep over on battle ships, and oh yes, older kids do have some sort of skateboarding badge they can earn. Say what? It's not expensive - to register - but I see now that signing him up for Cub Scouts (Tiger Cub for his age) is like enlisting the whole darn family! They expect up to - gasp! - par-ti-ci-pate!

I already have a job and other stuff to do. I already promised my 3rd child to the PTA this year by actually putting myself on a committee. (Parental guilt is probably how the ranks of the PTA continue to grow.) The scouts want me to be there too! fundraising and helping and stuff! Groan! And some troops meet EVERY WEEK! Oh yes, that is what I was told. That's not including the monthly meeting with the larger group. Are they nuts? Am I for even considering it?

But I asked him again.

"Do you REALLY want to do this?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I can learn things, and make new friends, and it will be fun."

Now he chooses to get logical. Darn it. There is a meeting on the 19th so Son can see who his den leader would be should we decide to go through with this. I told Husband he needs to go because he would be as integral a part of this as I would be. I'll let you know what we decide.