Soapbox: Talk to Your Kids About Transition

The other night I was watching my son sleeping. His eyelids were fluttering a bit, and I thought that he was probably dreaming. He looked so peaceful, like all sleeping children do. There's nothing more relaxing than watching a healthy, sleeping child. Yep.

That's when the thought came to me: Zane will be driving in thirteen more years. Holy Crap! And then I wasn't so relaxed anymore. But it does illustrate that parents need to think about the future for their kids NOW.

What I am referring to is more than the standard, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" talk. There's so more to this than that. We all want our children to have dreams, and most of us want those dreams to have some fulfillment. But those dreams need to have a foundation of realism to them.

For example, let's go back to the "What do you want to be when you grow up?" question. I have lost count of the number of teenagers who tell me that they are going to play for the NBA/NFL/ETC. Parents need to steer their kids toward more realistic expectations for their career choices. Teach your kids to give themselves options. A Plan B, or Plan C, etc. And this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Does your child want to go to college? How do they intend to pay for it? Do they have the grades to earn the scholarships? There was never a time in my life that I did not intend to go to college. It was just assumed that I would. But my parents didn't talk to me about paying for school until they told me that they were going to pay for it. Up until that point, I just figured I was going to get by on my good looks. (I was kind of cute back then--and naive!)

Does your child understand the concept of budgeting? Do they understand that the paychecks that come into the house pay for 'invisible' things such as electricity, internet access, or garbage pickup? Do you talk about mortgage payments? Right now, we tell Zane that we have to work to pay for his "presents" at Christmas. When he's older, we will discuss how the money comes in and where the money goes, so he has a realistic concept of what he will need to live as an adult.

Does your child want to drive a car? How are they going to pay for a car, if you don't have one to give them? Who will pay for the insurance? Who will pay for the gas? Are you freaking out yet? Take a deep breath.

I work with special needs children. Some of these kids are going to need a lot of help to be successful. That need for help isn't going to cease once they hit 18. Is this child going to be able to make decisions for themselves once they hit 18 and are considered an adult? Is this child going to live in a group home? Is this child going to be able to get a job? Is this child going to be able to drive? If not, how is this child going to get from their house to their job? Is this child able to take care of their medical needs? What is going to happen to this child if their parents or siblings are not around anymore?

These are scary questions for some people to think about, but they NEED to be thought about, and talked about, throughout your child's life. In the world of Special Education, this is called Transition Planning, but this stuff should be for all kids. The great people over at Autism Speaks have created a tool kit about transition. It is excellent, and even if you don't have a child with autism, you should check it out.

I'll get off the soapbox for now. I hope I've got you thinking!

Holy Spaces

San Fernando Cathedral was founded in 1731 and is the oldest, continuously functioning religious community in the State of Texas. In other words, it's freakin' old. When I am downtown, I like to go there to meditate for a bit.

As soon as you enter the cathedral, you feel the hush. Say what you will about the Catholics who colonized this area, they understood viscerally how to inspire the awe necessary to any House of God. The smell of incense permeates the very bones of this place. There is no doubt that you are in a holy space, whatever your religion. The interior is cool and quiet, a sweet blessing on a hot day. There's something comforting about the permanence of a building that has been here for so very long.

I like to sit in the back. As I kneel, I can sometimes feel the prayers of the millions of worshippers who have come through this cathedral over the centuries whispering around me. When I add my prayers to theirs, it feels like my ghostly fellow penitents give my prayers more power, as my words seem to rise like the smoke of incense into the air above me.

What are some holy or sacred spaces that bring you peace?

Self-Confidence Can Be Good

We've been hitting the local Chik-Fil-A on Fridays after we pick up Zane. The reason: enclosed, soundproofed playroom for the kids. Larry and I find a seat next to the glass wall, Zane heads into the room to play, and we enjoy some quiet while we eat and keep an eye on him. Nobody is rushing, nobody is complaining, nobody is hungry. Everybody is happy.

Tonight, when we were finished eating, and Zane had played himself out, we helped him put on his shoes. As soon as the shoes were on, Zane took off running, and since I had had my back turned when he did it, I didn't see where he went. I immediately looked toward the door when I turned around. No Zane.

I could hear his voice, I knew he was still around, but I couldn't see him. I heard Larry start laughing. Larry, being taller than me, knew exactly where Zane was.

"What?" I asked him, still looking around for visual confirmation of my child. Then I saw him. Zane was at the front of the store, where you order the food and pay for it. There were four females, including the manager(that's the one with the keys!) leaning over the counter in front of Zane so they could hear him. They are smiling at him.

Uh-oh. Must investigate, and pray nothing expensive is broken or was purchased. Larry was still chuckling. I gave him my best Mom Glare. He finally explained what was going on.

Zane had run right up to counter and told the manager of Chik-Fil-A that he wanted ice cream. Knowing my child, he had a marvelously dazzling smile on his face when he made his request. And do you know what? They GAVE him what he asked for! One of the girls brought him a small ice cream cone and handed it to him. No charge.

I just stood there with my mouth hanging open, mentally stuck for a moment. Then I told the nice ladies "thank you", Zane told them that as well, and we headed out the door.

I wonder if we sent Zane into Best Buy and told him to ask for an iPod...

Conversations at the Kitchen Table

"Mama, I like this," my son said, referring to the cut up pieces of hot dog I plopped down in front of him last night.

"That's great, Zane," I replied. My husband was also at the table, eating a hot dog that is not cut up, because he is old enough to do that now. I was attempting to hem up some of Zane's pajamas. This(sewing) requires a great deal of concentration on my part. I am a self-taught seamstress, and I pretty much suck at it. Tonight, I have jabbed myself with the needle so many times that the local blood bank has called to ask if I need a refill. I am so not hungry. However, I sat at the table with Zane and Larry to have some sort of Family Dinner Time.

"You have a bear shirt," Zane told his father.

"Yes. Yes I do, Zane," Larry told his son. (We try to respond conversationally, so that Zane learns about reciprocity and other important social skills that will allow him to one day get a job or date or accept an Oscar.)

I accidentally pulled the thread out of the needle. Since I had sore fingers and the usual family vision problems, I could not clearly see the eye of the needle, so it was taking me a lot of effort and mental cursing to thread the needle for the third time.

"When the sun comes up, it will be light outside," Zane tells us.

Larry made some reciprocal response about it being daytime or whatever. I was finally very focused on my sewing task at that point, and had succeeded in tuning most everything out so I could concentrate.

"I have a penis," Zane continued, picking up a piece of food and putting it in his mouth.

I blinked.

Now I WAS listening, with both ears. My son said one of the 47 words on the Parent OMG! List. Was I concentrating so hard that I missed something? I looked up at Larry, who had the deer-in-the-headlights look. This was visual confirmation that I had definitely heard what I thought I heard. The Mom-Guilt Expressed commenced.

"What do I do? What do I say? Do I agree with him? Do I disagree with him? What if he asks if I have a penis? What if I say no and this bothers him? Is this going to mess up his normal developmental processes? What if he requires therapy and can't get into an Ivy League school because that's on his record? Is Jerry Springer still on the air? Holy...!"

I jabbed myself again with the needle, because it's always been difficult for me to escape my little 'fear loops', as I call them. I looked at Zane, wondering where this runaway train of thought(mine, not his) was headed. He was smiling and looking very content.

"I need Cheetos. I need them, Mama." Zane points to the bag of Cheetos that is on the table.

Parent crisis #4271 averted. For now, anyway.

The Scream

I was five or six years old. We lived in El Paso, Texas. We were getting ready to go somewhere, so I was sitting on the couch waiting for everyone else. I can't remember if my brother was in the room with me, but my dad was somewhere else in the house.

My mother is walking to the door, talking to us. As she opens the door, the sunlight that spills joyfully into the living room blinds me and I put my hand up to cover my eyes. I can only see the lower half of my mom's body as she pushes open the screen door, and then she is screaming.

She is screaming and jumping around.

She is screaming, jumping around, and flailing her arms.

My mother is screaming, jumping around, and flailing her arms.

It is the first time I've ever heard my mother scream.

It is the first time I've ever seen my mother afraid.

It's the first time I've ever seen my mother go completely batshit crazy.

I'm fascinated.

My father rushes in by this time to save the day. A tiny garter snake had somehow climbed to the top of the screen door and fell on my mother when she opened the door. I was surprised that the poor snake hadn't keeled over from a heart attack with all the screaming my mother was doing. Once the snake was safely inside a coffee can with holes poked in the lid, my family went on about our day. The snake was later released somewhere which did not involve screaming housewives.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday: Now with More Spring!

I have some more fabulously colorful pictures of flowers by my wonderful photographer friend, Laura Parker. My posting these awesome photos here is an experiment designed to encourage the coming of spring, and so far it appears to be working! It's going to be in the 80s here by the end of the week, and there is a great chance I will start seeing real bluebonnets along the highway. w00t!

I have NO idea what kind of flower this is, but it sure is pretty!

I love this intense color!

This is sort of like a bluebonnet and a whitebonnet! But not really.

There aren't a lot of fields like this with wildflowers around here--because some idiot plowed them up and put in, not a parking lot, but a row of stores. Which is so very sad.

Again, no clue what type of flower this is, but it is bright and sunny!

Worldschooling

I have this friend, who is one of those people who works awfully hard. She works hard and as a result she does very well at pretty much everything she does. She was in the military. She went to nursing school and graduated pretty quickly. She married a fireman who very obviously adores her. They have a farm near here that she is tending. She gave birth THREE times without any drugs, which right there should tell you that she's tougher than me. And most importantly, she has three beautiful girls who are as smart as their mom.

She decided to homeschool these wonderful children, and when she posted this on Facebook, I did the friend thing and was encouraging. What I was thinking, however, was ARE YOU CRAZY???? Well, actually, I embellished that sentiment a bit, but you get the idea. I've known many people who have homeschooled their children, and I think the same exact thing about all of them. Even before I had Zane, I thought that about homeschooling. I keep my thoughts to myself, because nothing gets people into fisticuffs faster than bringing up the homeschooling question.

I am not condemning homeschooling, so all those oversensitive types out there can calm down. There is simply no way that I(me/myself/and) would ever consider homeschooling. It's not a matter of competence, which I think is very necessary for most things in life. I do have a teaching certificate and I know how to use it. I'm also relatively intelligent, even after donating half of my IQ points to my child. I still won't homeschool for several reasons.

First and foremost, I hate math. Hate it with a passion usually reserved for the opposing team on game day. It's my nemesis. Math doesn't come easy to me, I'm slow at it, and some forms of math strike me as inefficient and therefore useless(Trigonometry!). Will I want to spend any time teaching math to my child? That would be a resounding NO. Since math is definitely something required to survive out in the Big Bad, however, I would be forced to try. I would probably be able to get him through addition and subtraction without displaying my true feelings regarding the topic. But there is very little chance that I will not pass my hatred of all things math-related on to my offspring. I want my son as well-rounded educationally as possible. You never know--he could be good at math, and then maybe he will explain it to me.

Second, to homeschool and do it correctly, it's definitely a hands-on activity. Creativity is a must! Anyone who just sits their kid in front of a computer and walks away isn't homeschooling, because there's no 'schooling' involved. A parent has to sit next to the child and interact with them and listen to them answer questions and do activities with them. My friend from the first paragraph, for example, had her kids mummify a dead chicken the "old timey" way for a science project. That is light years beyond my creativity level, and I would crack under that kind of pressure. Learning is not just regurgitation, no matter what all those standardized test scores want you to think.

Third, a good teacher teaches a student to use what they've absorbed from a lesson and apply it to problem solve or create something new. Except when that parent has spent all day long being a teacher, when do they get to relax, regroup, and recoup? I know that when I come home from work, I still have work to do, such as cooking dinner. If I am at home all day with my child, responsible for his education, clothing, feeding, and all that other stuff, when do I get to do anything else? Right now, my son is three years old and he is interested in EVERYTHING. Zane wants to know what I am doing, why I am doing it, and what would happen if...ALL THE TIME. My time away, to read, exercise, work, shop, etc., helps me keep my horizons expanded and keeps me sane.

Fourth, I have very strong opinions that I don't always keep to myself, such as my opinion that no child should ever be without healthcare because adults have to have a pissing contest in Washington(All this partisan crap is all about pissing and marking territory. See? Strong opinion!). I don't want my child to grow up spouting MY opinions. That is called brainwashing. The good thing about public education, and some private(aka the Jesuits), is that there are many people with many opinions and much more knowledge than I could ever hope to share(particularly in the area of the insidious Math), and being around all that cerebral diversity will help my child become a well-rounded individual with his own opinions formed by his own experiences, not mine. I can live with that, even if he becomes a Republican.(That might kill his father, however, who is a legacy Democrat)

Finally, I pay taxes. I pay taxes that go to a school district to contribute to education. I pay this money whether I send my kid to public school or not, whether the government decides to cut education out of the budget entirely. Why double dip? Since I am already paying for it, I am going to take advantage and send my child to school. Do I expect the schools to churn out my son as a perfect, tax paying model citizen? No. Am I going to rely solely on the schools to educate my child in all aspects of life? No. Am I going to rely solely on the schools to teach my child good manners, proper behavior, and respect for his elders? No. Am I going to place any and all blame for the choices my child makes solely on the schools? No. No good parent does any of that. After all, my husband and I were his first teachers. We know what his teachers are going to be going through once Zane hits kindergarten. We are expecting a lot of phone calls.

I still have a pretty good idea, based on my own experiences, what Zane is going to need to survive as an adult. We will 'enrich' what the school provides, by providing him activities and adventures to see the world around him and the people who live here. If he has questions about his world, we will answer them, even if it is a horrific math equation with Pi. Essentially, Zane is going to be attending three schools: the traditional school, the school of his peers, and the school of Mom and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa.(First rule of Grandpa-school: do not pull Grandpa's finger)

Don't call it homeschooling. Call it Worldschooling.

Book Review: Sir Quinlan and The Swords of Valor

I requested this book, Sir Quinlan and the Swords of Valor, from the Blogging for Books website because it looked interesting. I have always been a sucker when it comes to knights in shiny armor, let's say. When I received the book, the main description on the back cover said, "Two friends face the Dark Knight's deadliest scheme, but only one knight has the courage to overcome." Misappropriation of Batman's title aside, sounds promising, doesn't it?

I noticed that this was the fifth book in a series, and perhaps if I were to read the first four books the characters in the story would have felt more than the two dimensional. As it was, the story fell flat under the weight of the author's expectations. The character of Quinlan presents as a dull-witted, obedient sort who yearns for excitement without any understanding or insight into his own motivations or the motivations of others. For the most part, he does exactly as he is told. When he does not, bad things happen.

The story of Sir Quinlan and the Swords of Valor is supposed to be about the difference between sloth and purpose. This is far from what the story actually tells the reader: Quinlan's best friend Tav, someone he's trusted and loved and admired his entire life, adopts a pet, Tav's behavior changes completely, and when it counts, his best friend in the entire world(Quinlan) abandons him.

By making apathy a physical entity in the form of a pet, the author makes it appear as if this particular malady is more similar to an addiction to drugs or even demon possession than ennui. Several times characters with paythas are described as if they literally have a "monkey on their backs", and it is very obvious that the animals are controlling the behaviors of their 'owners'. Clearly, apathy is not at work here.

Quinlan's lack of compassion is explained away with the line that "Every person must choose for themselves." An addict doesn't necessarily have a choice after a certain point in their addiction; in order to break free of their cravings, they require the interventions of others. Quinlan himself has a pet at one point, and has to 'break free', so he should surely have had the empathy as well as the compassion to understand what Tav is dealing with. As a servant of the Prince, Quinlan had a responsibility to help his friend break free of his addiction, and he did nothing except stare "sadly". Quinlan is actually the one who displays apathy when it comes to helping others, not Tav.

In addition, by making apathy into a character separate from the people it inhabited, the author essentially removed all responsibility for that apathy from the people experiencing it. They did not 'choose' to be apathetic, they were enslaved. Without their possession by apathy, they would not have otherwise engaged in that behavior. Therefore they cannot be held accountable. Mr. Black essentially undermined his own storyline in this book.

There are many people out there who enjoy the Knights of Arrethrae, and it may be that the other books in the series are better evidence of the author's "unique approach to telling biblical truths". Based on this particular book, Sir Quinlan and the Swords of Valor, I'll won't be reading the rest of the series. Mr. Black comments that his purpose in writing this book was to contrast "between two knights who choose different paths--one of apathy and one of purpose." Apathy is noted by the author as resulting from spiritual blindness and worldly distraction, but he never actually explains what he means in reference to the novel. The word that Mr. Black is actually attempting to illustrate is sloth, which refers to spiritual apathy or a disinclination to action. While the character of Tav, who is supposed to be the apathetic one, does display a sudden disinclination to action, there is little evidence presented in the story to indicate the character's spiritual apathy. We never read any words that are from Tav's point of view, so we don't have any idea if he is aware of what is happening to him or if he tried to fight the possession. There's no true insight into any of the motivations of the characters, but Tav in particular seems to have the short end of the stick.

Angels

Tonight, on the drive home, I noticed that the clouds in the sky had formed up as a huge wing. It extended across my windshield, and I had plenty of time to look at it since it was going my way. Seeing it made me smile. When I see the shapes of wings in the clouds, I think of angels being in the sky looking over us. Yes, I believe that angels exist. You can laugh at me, it's okay.



Every single time I've been at a dark point in my life an angel has shown up. From the time when I was seventeen and saw the shadow of angel wings behind the altar during Mass to the day I took this picture of a man riding a dragon in the sky. An angel has even visited me in the form of a DPS officer with the intense, piercing blue eyes and a very kindly face. There's always been Something or Someone 'Other' around, telling me that whatever my problems, whatever my heartache, it was going to be okay.

Notice that I didn't say that an angel showed up and took care of my problem FOR me, although if one did show up with a check for a couple of million bucks I certainly would be properly grateful. Heaven helps those who help themselves, remember? No, at my lowest points in life, when I am looking for strength, courage, support, and most importantly, hope, the angels are there. My angels have shown up in various ways over the years to give me hope and strength to face my issues and work through them. I am extremely grateful for that.

Although I wouldn't say 'no', if someone did take a few of my responsibilities away for a bit. Like housework. And I would TOTALLY be okay with coming home to a clean house and finding dinner ready every now and then. And maybe if a free masseuse showed up mysteriously...

Nerd Love

I am an old school nerd. Not an OG, of course, but I remember back before computers pretty well. Nerds are/were defined by their love of pens(and D&D, but that's for another time). The most obvious of us out there were willing to wear pocket protectors and thus suffered the scorn of the masses. What most people didn't understand is that those brave souls were wearing pocket protectors to protect the PENS, not the shirt.

I love pens. I love looking at them. I love holding them in my hand and twirling them a bit to feel their balance. I love that first time picking up the pen and writing, when you discover the flow of the ink on the paper. When the ink glides smoothly across the page, all is right with the world. I will sit there with my pen and just write or doodle(does anyone else 'doodle' by writing the names of all the Presidents in chronological order, or is that just me?) and listen to the pleasant sound of the pen as it writes. This is how Nerds enter the profound meditative state so aptly labeled 'Nerdvana' by Dogbert from the Dilbert comics.

I don't buy cheap pens where the ink flow is an iffy proposition. I buy the gel ink pens with the rollerball tips. Not a major expense. That would be excessively frivolous in these economic times. Just enough of an expense so that I feel a little decadent using the pen, but no completely hysterical if I lose the pen. I have a small phobia that I'll fall in love with a pen and it will be discontinued, so I will buy that pen in bulk. My purse weighs 50 pounds because of all the pens I've crammed into every possible place. You never know when you might run out of ink and need a new pen!

I go to a lot of meetings in my chosen field, and at the conclusion of these meetings, when all parties have reached consensus, we sign our name to a piece of paper to indicate that agreement. Inevitably, someone at the table will 'borrow' my pen to sign their name. They will admire my pen...and then they will try to walk off with MY pen. This is a serious offense in my book, because my pens are the Precious to me. Every. Last. One. I have followed people out of the meeting room because they've walked off with my pen, and have even chased offenders out to their car to retrieve my pen with the single-minded focus of Gollum.

I know this love of pens seems a bit off to other people. I don't care. Pens are deserving of adoration in my opinion. The pen made it possible for EVERYONE to write whenever they wanted, wherever they wanted, however they wanted(that last part still gives English teachers fits). It was no longer necessary for a person to memorize everything. If you could think it, you could write it down. If someone else said it, you could write it down. Isn't that great? (All my fellow Nerds out there are now glassy-eyed, some drooling, thinking fondly of their pen collections. Now would be a good time to check their pockets for chocolate, if you are so inclined.)

Pens are awesome. You should have some. Really.

Yeah, That's About Right

I was in the bathroom with Zane; he was taking a bath. I was putting some clothes away, but in general I was thinking of numbers and counting. Always opportunities for learning, I say. Especially when the learner is corraled in the bathtub.

"Zane, how old are you?" I asked him.

"Three," Zane responded. He was busy playing with the bubbles in his bubble bath, but I was glad that he was still paying attention.

"And what comes next after three?" I quizzed.

"Old," came the response. And yes, I did laugh. Probably a little more hysterically than I would have liked, but I did laugh.

It's a GREAT thing that I'm not a nurse.

While waiting in a tiny room the other day for the doctor to come and tell me that my son is ill with some random virus/bacteria/anthrax/creeping crud, I once again decided that I am happy that I am not employed as a nurse. If I am completely honest with myself, the rest of humanity is probably very happy about my career choice as well.

Both of my parents went to nursing school. That was where they met. I should have been a shoe-in for nursing with that background. The very first book I remember wanting to read was Gray's Anatomy. Growing up with the usual bumps, bruises, and virulent cooties of childhood, my parents never freaked out or overreacted. (Which was good--kids take their cue as to how to react from their parents. If the parents freak, you have hysterical children, and nobody wants that.)

While I could handle all the book learning just fine, I just don't have a very good bedside manner. If you're REALLY sick, that's one thing, but if you're just bellyaching or malingering, you will find me less than sympathetic, if not downright rude. My mother-In-Law often suffers convenient(for her) attacks of the "vapors"(for lack of a better word), where she will end up on the couch with a wet washcloth on her forehead and a wastebasket next to her. She remains on display until she knows for sure that she doesn't have to do whatever it was she is trying to avoid. She has done this so many times that I just stopped even acknowledging her when I walked by on my way to the kitchen. I'm not a big fan of drama. And what do you say to that after the 42nd time, anyway?

"Hey! I really like how you have that arm thrown up over your eyes--it really brings out the angst in your pretend illness!" (In the interest of marital bliss, I usually don't say anything at all.) When I am working with my middle school students, and they complain about being "sick", my usual response is probably not going to win me any humanitarian awards.

"Are you bleeding from an eyeball? No? Then you're fine." I am better with the younger kids, I do the standard Mom thing and put my hand on their forehead. If they feel warmer than expected, they go to the nurse, because a fever means that whatever they have is contagious.

Another reason I would not be a good nurse: if anyone around me projectile vomits, I'm outta there. I do NOT handle that vomit smell very well; it in fact encourages an immediate gag reflex that almost never ends well. If I can remember to breathe through my mouth, instead of my nose, I can sometimes manage without adding to the mess. But you don't usually see the nurses sharing a wastebasket with their patients.

A third reason I would not be a good nurse is my unfortunate tendency to react inappropriately to unexpected developments. If I kind of know what is going on or what is going to happen, I'm calm. If there is any sort of monkey wrench thrown into the mix, it's a crapshoot how I will react. It's quite terrible, actually. When my husband, who is terrified of needles, passed out during one of his chemo treatments, I just sat there and watched and laughed as he slid out of the chair. It was hysterical laughter, but still inappropriate.

The last reason that I would make a terrible nurse is my needle phobia. The idea of jabbing someone in the arm or trying to take their blood just gives me the heebies. If I were a nurse, I would have to take Xanax just to contemplate giving someone a shot. Then I would have to keep my eyes closed while I gave the shot. This would lead to some less than optimal needle sticks, and some angry patients. If I had to actually take someone's blood or put in an IV, I would be so icked out by the idea of the needle going into the vein, I would likely faint dead away.

So I would be the kind of nurse who rolls my eyes at you because I think you're bellyaching, who tells you to 'suck it up' when you're sick, who runs from the room when you barf, and who faints when I have to stick a needle in you. That's pretty sad, but realistic! Aren't you glad I'm not a nurse?

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

For those of you who don't know me, I call these posts Semi-Wordless, because I just can't shaddup for even one day! These are some more absolutely gorgeous photographs taken by my friend Laura Parker. Since it's still rather ickly outside I think that seeing some bright colors will cheer everyone up. Enjoy!

This one is my favorite!









Aren't these gorgeous? I can't wait until spring has sprung!

First Annual Bring Your Ironman To Work Day

We dropped off Zane at the daycare, and then I dropped off Larry at his school. I got into the car and looked back. There he sat, looking back at me: Ironman.



I felt kind of bad for a few moments, since he rode a good 30 minutes in the car not safely restrained. Then I thought that perhaps the fact that he's Ironman would render him impervious to most automobile crashes. I decided to take him with me. To work. I've always wanted a lackey.



We had a brief discussion over who got the comfy chair, which I won, and then I put Ironman to work. Or rather, I tried to. He flat-out refused to go and get me coffee. He just stood there. I felt that this was certainly not the proper way for a lackey to behave.



Ironman apparently has an extreme aversion to filling out forms, which I found odd for a bazillionaire. It was probably some paper cut related trauma. I can totally understand that. That's why I hate filling out forms, too.



Ironman's spelling is atrocious! Hadn't he ever heard of spellchecking? Ironman responded that he was a physicist, not a dictionary. I told him to stop channelling Leonard McCoy from Star Trek.



Ironman was as bad at speaking on the phone as I am. I can't tell you how many people he 'accidentally' hung up on(Sorry, Mom!)! This was very frustrating, as I had such high hopes for our office relationship. However, toward the end of the day, I did find one thing that Ironman could do in my office that really came in handy.



He was a great pen holder.

Love is a Verb

Lots of people are going to be talking about love today. They will be writing cutesly little love notes, and really bad poetry. (Okay, and some good poetry as well.) There will be proclamations of love from rooftops, and not a few marriage proposals. I am not a big fan of Valentine's Day, probably due to some earlier traumas related to always being the one kid/teen with no valentine on February 14th. But I am not here to rant about my childhood.

All this talk about love, as I hear it, is about Love as a noun. A noun, in the vernacular of Schoolhouse Rock, is a person, place, or thing. I disagree with that concept. Love is NOT a noun. A noun is pretty useless once you get out into the muck that is Life. Love is a verb.

Actions(Verbs) speak louder than words(nouns) when it comes to love. If you love someone, it shows up in your actions. We don't just talk about it; we DO for people we love. We make them breakfast. We put an extra cookie in the lunch that they take to school. We make them chicken soup when they are ill. We take a ballroom dancing class even if we have two left feet. We listen to detailed and minute histories of various comic book heroes we have never heard of. We hold their hands when they are sad. We hug them when they are grieving. We do these things because, even when it is difficult, we know that DOING these things will let the object of our affections know that we love them.

In the classic movie, The Princess Bride(If you haven't seen it, go get it and watch it right now. I'll wait.), Wesley doesn't talk about his love for Buttercup. He shows her how he feels instead by his actions; even when she insults him, he just says "As you wish." I think that is one of the best examples of showing that you love someone instead of saying that you do.

We get caught up in the hype of hearts, cutesy greeting cards, and--I'll put it out there--chocolate, and forget that it is our behavior that counts, far beyond our words. And it's no excuse if you don't have a sweetheart; there are lots of people out there dying for someone to show them any love at all--the homeless, disabled people, and abused children, to name a few.

So today, on this day dedicated to Love as a noun, make a promise to yourself to see Love as a verb. Define your love by your ACTIONS. Don't just talk about it, DO.

Bring Sexy Back To Church?

We got this postcard in the mail the other day. At first I thought that some new nightclub or gentlemen's club was opening in the area, but then I read "Revolution Church" at the bottom of the card. On the back were the words, "Join us at Revolution Church as we bring sexy back and look at what God says about sex."

Bring 'sexy' BACK? To church? It left? Are they saying that people used go to church for sex and it stopped? What denomination was this, and why wasn't I informed? Was this before or after all the sex scandals that have been on television and in the newspapers?

Are they saying that if people go to this particular church, they will have sex? Isn't that illegal in most states, particularly if money is handed over? Will dinner be served first? Is the woman posing in those pink stilettos an altar server? Does Billy Graham know about this?

I understand the need for someone starting a new church to want to have "butts in the seats" so the collection take will be greater. I understand the need for some worshippers to require entertainment(singers, dancers, the Tijuana Brass, etc.) to endure their visits to church. I understand that there are a lot of people who know very little about sex and are afraid to ask someone. However, this particular ministry seems to be taking all this to an unhappy extreme.

This is something that should appall people. Instead, it is likely that this church will have a proverbial sellout crowd. Sex does sell, after all.

My Son the Word Police

We used to use different, more colorful words to describe our world before Zane was born. We are trying to keep Zane from using negative types of words, because he has been in trouble at school for calling other kids names. I figured that it would be easy to stop using the word stupid". It has proven difficult if not impossible.

I had no idea how many times the two of us use the word 'stupid' in normal conversations with each other. We don't usually call people stupid, it's things that get that label most often. My husband uses the word 'stupid' a lot mostly in reference to politics, for example. We call various behaviors 'stupid', such as when someone flips off a policeman and then runs into the police car. We call some ideas 'stupid'. And we call our cat Morris 'stupid' when he does things like run into a wall or fall off a window sill or try to bite the toilet paper in the bathroom.

The reason we are finding out that we use the word 'stupid' too much is because my son will tell us.

"Mama, not say 'stupid'," he will tell me if I use the word. He will scold Larry for the same thing.

You could argue with the boy, and talk to him about appropriate word usage. You could say that that particular word really applied to this situation. Zane will have none of it, and will chastise you verbally until you stop. It's best just to apologize and then change the subject. So now I have to carry around a thesaurus so I can look up words that are alternatives to 'stupid'.

On the plus side, my vocabulary skills are great!

You Never Know What You're Going To Get

When a child starts talking, you never know what they are going to say about what they see around them. We picked up Zane from the daycare, heard a good behavior report from his teacher, walked him out to the car and put him in his car seat. As we drove off, I asked Zane about his day.

"Nicholas got naked," came the response from the backseat. I glanced at Larry. "Who is Nicholas?" Larry, ever helpful, shrugged.

"Oh really?" I tried to strike a conversational tone.

"And Ethan hit Miss Gabba-Gabba, then there were cars, I drawed a picture of Nia and I poop in potty and we play," Zane continued. This was starting to sound like an episode of Jersey Shore.

Then silence from the backseat.

"What happened?" I prompted. But Zane had already moved on to the present tense.

"I pass gas," he announced. Larry and I looked at each other. EW. Then Larry wrinkled his nose, made a face, and rolled his window down, while Zane giggled from the back seat.

And people wonder why I call Zane 'Stinky Butt'.

Was It Wrong to Laugh?

We went to a party at my brother's house. It was a comfortably small party, with delicious food and good wine. After a time, all the other boys, ages 3 to 14, went outside to play in the back yard. Zane wanted to go with them. Larry said that he didn't want Zane to go outside, but I put a coat on Zane and let him go out with the other boys, who were playing soccer. I sat on the porch watching while Zane started running after the soccer ball that the other kids were kicking.

There are about 40,000 soccer balls(not kidding--I counted) in my brother's backyard. The other boys were running too fast for Zane, so he stopped and found another ball to play with. He was perfectly happy to kick his own ball instead of expecting the others to cater to him.

I cautioned the older boys about using the smaller ones as speed bumps, and that was the extent of my comments. Boys like to run and play, so let them run and play. The older boys made minor adjustments so as not to run over the little ones, and all was well. Zane did get knocked down one time when he ran in front of a teenager, but he was fine. I know this because I checked.

As we were driving home, I got to hear a lecture from Larry about how the older boys could have hurt Zane and we could have been going to the emergency room, etc. All the way home, I hear about how we should be careful so Zane doesn't get hurt, etc. I ended up feeling pretty rotten. I was being a terrible mom when I allowed Zane to run and play like that, is what I heard. (Perception being in the eye or ear of the beholder, and all that.)

After we get home, we all head upstairs to "put on the jammies", as Zane says. I pause in the bathroom to get my blood pressure medication. I hear Larry and Zane walking out of the bedroom, heading towar the stairs. I hear a thud, then Zane crying. I went to investigate.

After all that talk about being careful with Zane, my husband let Zane walk right into a wall.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

As some of you know, we got snow here in San Antonio on Friday, February 4th. We got 4/10ths of an inch, and it shut down the interstates and all the schools.



I know what you're thinking. You are thinking, "OMG! Those people in San Antonio are LAME! We've had 14 feet of snow here in the last five minutes and we still got to school on time!" You are probably rolling your eyes at us, too. I don't blame you--I rolled my eyes, too. Until I went outside in my flip flops, and realized that under that 4/10ths of an inch of snow was an inch of ice. Then I was glad they cancelled school.



We got Zane up, put his coat on, got him outside. After all, there's snow out there, and it hasn't snowed here since 1985! And what kid doesn't just LOVE snow?



Zane went outside. His dad made him a couple of snowballs. He threw them, and then he was done. Total time outside: 5.8 minutes. We went back inside, and this is how I know that Zane is my child:

Silence is Definitely Golden

We were at the drive-thru at Wendy's the other day after picking Zane up from daycare. I am extremely tired. I am at the part where you roll down your window and tell a disembodied voice what you want. Zane is trying to say something while I am talking, and per his usual routine, if you don't hear him or acknowledge him in some way, he gets louder. My husband is trying to tell Zane to be quiet for a second.

Me: "I'd like a kid's meal with..."

Zane: "Mama!(decibels increase to yelling across the room level) MAMA!(decibels increase to loud car stereo level)"

Mr. Reasonable: "Zane, you need to be quiet so..."

Me:"...mandarin oranges...Zane, I need you to be quiet for a minute..."

Zane: "MAMA!(decibels increase to elephant stampede level)"

Mr. Reasonable:"...your mom can place our food order..."

Me: "...and milk..."

Zane: "MAMA!!!!(decibels increase to an NBA playoff game where the home team is winning by 2 and there's four seconds on the clock and the ref just called a foul)"

Mr. Reasonable: "...so you can get your prize..."

I don't do well with loud noises. I don't do well when more than one person is trying to talk to me. I just could not think with all that racket. I snapped. I did not care that I was a couple of feet from a speaker that broadcast my voice to the entire restaurant.

"KNOCK IT OFF!!!!"

MY decibel range was somewhere in the range of a thrash metal concert in front of THREE 767 jet engines and a rocket ship blasting off. (at least those voice lessons from college were good for something!)

Silence from the back seat. Silence from the front seat. Silence from the Wendy's. Silence from the three cars behind us--one guy even turned his radio off. I turned in my seat, and for good measure, used the patent-pending Mom Glare to emphasize my need for complete silence from the other occupants in the car. I took a deep breath.

I turned and apologized to the poor girl working the drive-thru for ruining her hearing, completed our order, then pulled up to the window to pay. It was the fastest drive-thru service we have ever had. As we were driving home, Zane finally recovered from his shock.

"Mama, I am NOT happy with you!" He said. I laughed an evil laugh that wasn't the least bit hysterical. Not at all.

A Tiger Has Passed

My beautiful cat Tiger passed away peacefully this weekend. It was extremely sudden. On Thursday he was fine, by Sunday he was gone. Which wasn't nearly enough time to say goodbye, but I didn't get a say in that.

Tiger was a great cat. He was gentle, and loved to be petted. In fact, whenever someone would pet him, Tiger would purr like crazy. Tiger had the softest fur and loved to be brushed. He never bit or scratched anyone, and was always willing to play. He was chatty, and liked to hang out next to the fridge in hopes of getting a snack. When he wanted attention, he would sometimes swat me with his paw if I tried to ignore him.



Tiger liked to go outside in the backyard and hide in the bushes for a shot at the birds. He wasn't really interested in catching the birds; the one time he actually DID get a bird, he was so shocked that he dropped it.



This is my favorite Tiger picture, and how I will try to remember him: surveying his kingdom. I wish that I could look out at my world with the same assurance.

RIP, my old friend.

A Good Old Girls Night Out

I got to go to a party this evening. It was a Pure Romance party, so I knew it would be fun. I had been looking forward to this all week! The party was being held at the Prickly Deli, off of Pat Booker Road. The Deli was new; my friend Angela is starting her own business. Since she was going to be busy getting her deli business off the ground, she was liquidating her Pure Romance stock. Everything was significantly reduced, which added to my shopping craze. I think I bought one of everything. Maybe two. Then we all sat around and ate good food and had good wine and we did what all women do: talk. Mostly we talked about sex, since that is what we were there for. We also discussed our children and how they've grown and some of the ups and downs of parenting. The kind of discussion where everyone is on the same page, even if we aren't at that particular paragraph. I love these moments of camraderie. I wish that I had more of them.

The first thing that I do when I get home after these parties is hand over my bag to the Hubs. For him, days like this are almost like Christmas. He gets very excited about using the Pure Romance products and trying the new toys. Which is good. It gives him something to think about and plan for. After you're married and have kids, there is no more spontaneous moments anymore. Romance at our house, with our very active 3 year old, is a slim prospect most days, if we are not careful. But we make plans and talk about it anyway, just in case an opportunity arises. (Uh,you know what I mean.)

Expressive Language Play

Zane is in the bathroom. He informed me that I have to stand outside the bathroom while he does his thing, and of course, I want to know what the heck is going on in there. (Little boys seem to have a penchant for shenanigans while in the bathroom, don't they?)

"Zane, did you poop?" I ask him.

"No, I peeped," he replied. I snickered. I've always been a sucker for all sorts of word play. Except for bad puns--I don't think that anyone likes bad puns. Except for my dad, maybe. But he's a dad, so I think that's an occupational hazard.


On another topic, lots of Blog Hops happen over the weekend, and here are a few. These are great ways to meet new people, as well as increase your followers. If you're interested, click on the buttons!

A Miraculous Recovery

We got a call from La Petite this afternoon; Zane had a 102 fever. When we got there, Zane was sitting in the lap of his teacher, looking pitiful. We asked him how he felt.

"I feel sleepy," he said. We took him home, and all he wanted to do was sit in my lap. Larry brought over the ear thermometer.

"Nooooo!" Zane did not want anything in his ears, I guess.

"Zane, we have to take your temperature so we know if we have to take you to the doctor," I told him. Which wasn't completely true. We had already called the doctor's office, only to be told that since fever was the only presenting symptom, we should avoid the doctor's office. We did not tell Zane all this.

"No, Mama, I feel good now!"

That's my boy!

Soapbox: God as a Commodity is not Kosher

This post is probably going to make some people very mad, but I gotta get it out there. If it DOES make you very angry, maybe the next thing you need to think about is why.

I have noticed a disturbing trend lately. On a number of business vehicles and store signs, I have seen that the owner has indicated that his/hers is a "Christian" business. In a number of local ads in newspapers, tv and online, owners are going out of their way to tell consumers that they are a "Christian" business, or that they cater to "Christians". (I'm not singling out Christians, I am sure that there are other religions who do this, it is just that we don't seem to have a lot of Cthulhu worshipers in this area.)

I am not an over-the-top religious fanatic; I'm just your random, garden-variety church-goer who usually sits in the back pew. I am pretty tolerant of most things, religion included. I believe what I believe, everyone else can believe what they believe, and we can all sing kumbayah at the next World-Wide Weenie-roast, unless your beliefs come with dietary restrictions. As far as I am concerned, it will all get sorted out, and it certainly is not my place in this universe to judge another's beliefs and behaviors and find them wanting. Judge not, someone wiser than me once said.

However, I really must protest this use of religion in the name of selling stuff. Invoking the name of God to sell things and make yourself money is just not okay. Jesus had some issues with the moneychangers in the Temple because of this very thing; why would anyone think that He would be okay with Dan the Plumber making cash the same way? If you shop at the "Christ the King" store or the "Christian Family Bookstore", do you get a special favor direct from God? And what about those who are less than honest, who put that 'Christian' sign up to lure in the suckers? Should God smite them?(Forget that last, I just wanted to use 'smite' in a sentence because it is a very cool word.)

Now, if you want to wear your special 'Christians R Us' hat when you visit a lonely elderly person or go to work in a soup kitchen or foster a family of orphans, go for it. That kind of advertising, backed up by right actions, I think we can all happily support.

Any idiot can say they're Christian/Jew/Muslim/King of the Planet; many people out there say these words daily and then behave horribly. Meaningless words like that will flow away from the speaker and burst in the sunlight like bubbles. BE your beliefs, and translate them into right actions. That is the key.

I'll climb off this soapbox now. I hope that I've at least stimulated some discussion that doesn't degenerate into fisticuffs.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

I feel a need for some springtime color in the middle of these freezing temps!

Laura has been my friend for nearly thirty years, even though we can't remember some of them anymore. I happen to think that she is a darn fine photographer, and over the years she has been gracious enough to send me some of her work. These were taken at the Dallas Botanical Gardens, I believe. Enjoy!

It's Going to be Freakin' Cold

At some point this morning, a cold front is going to show up here. There will be rain and LOTS of wind. This is what we call a Blue Norther, and they really aren't very fun. The wind is going to throw the temperatures here into freezing, and we won't see them rise too much for the rest of the week--a hard freeze. The weatherman even said the S-word--snow. This made the entire city collectively lose their minds in giddy anticipation. It made me cringe.

I hate this roller-coaster weather. If it were just cold and stayed that way, I would get acclimated to it and be just fine. Instead, my brain has just spent the past couple of days enjoying beautiful sunny weather in the 70s. My cats were just in the backyard eating random lizards and just lazing about in their contentedness, while my son tried to pedal his bike around our cul de sac. I actually contemplated putting on shorts this weekend, completely ignoring that the sheer whiteness of my legs can be seen from space. That's how great the weather was yesterday.

My brain is going to have a difficult time adjusting to the sudden plunge in temperature, and is going to be completely useless. I'll be in such a fog that I won't get anything done. Nobody is going to want to get out of bed because it's cold, and who can blame them? Can we cancel school/work on account of hibernation? It really is going to be sleep-in weather tomorrow. I don't want to get out of bed while it's cold outside, either!!