Jack's New Family, An Older Child Adoption Story

My Reality Is Better Than Reality TV

Every morning as I drive in to work I listen to DAVE FM, a station which plays a decent number of hits from the 1980's. I get nostalgic for those years, when I was in my 20's, even though a lot of the music was cringe worthy. Around 7:50 every morning one of the deejays read Hollywood Dirt, a little gossip time, lifted, I know, from websites like tmz.com, but that's OK. Today's "dirt" was all about TV stars I had never heard of. I had to yawn.

When I was growing up, I was a TV-holic. I was always sitting on the floor in front of the TV, every minute possible, until my mother hollered at me. I watched the 4:00 movie every single day throughout middle school and high school, and from that I got much of my love of movies, and my encyclopedic knowledge of movies and actors.

Now, I watch a few minutes of the Today show in the morning while I am feeding the children their breakfast, and that's it. Maybe once a month I'll watch 30 minutes of something else, usually HGTV. I just don't have time to watch, but I also am appalled by most of what's out there.

I find "reality" shows particularly offensive, simply because they are so false. Once a camera is turned on someone their behavior changes. They play to the camera, whether consciously or subconsciously. I would much prefer to watch the old Candid Camera, because then you got real reactions - and it was a lot more true and funny. I also don't like the aspect of people degrading themselves to get money or prizes. I watched an entire episode of The Amazing Race because it was set in Moscow, a city where I've been several times, and I wanted to see the sights. I was appalled. Several times I just had to turn down the sound. Alesia watched with me and was also uncomfortable. It was so negative about nearly all the competitors. A lot of it was also totally stereotypical - for instance, hiding clues in a huge display of matryoshka [nesting dolls].

I watched 5 minutes of American Idol when it first started, and I found myself yelling at Simon and wanting to bash in the TV. I know he inspires that reaction in a lot of folks, but why put yourself through that on purpose? Speaking as soneone who has been singing professionally [although sporadically] for many years, I can tell you that an audition like that is the most nerve-wracking thing in the world. I was so sympathetic to the contestants, it was too painful to watch.

Why do we, as a society, love to see people humiliated, or doing degrading things like eating bugs [Fear Factor] or going out on dates with people we don't like, etc.? I cannot understand it.

I spent over a month in Kazakhstan and I never saw those kinds of reality shows there - and I spent a fair amount of time watching TV, trying to understand the programs with my limited Russian.  They may have those shows, but I didn't see them. Now, a lot of homes in Kazakhstan have satellite dishes, but they use outhouses, and what does that say about them? I am not a sociologist. But at least their poop is outside, while we spend lot of time watching it on TV!!

The last TV show I used to consciously make an effort to watch was Ally McBeal. That was BK - before kids. I mainly watched it to snort derisively at the distorted version of the legal world, but I have to admit I found it funny sometimes, and original. Once the dancing baby came on, however, it was the end. They had turned the corner into total wacky land and they lost their audience then, is my analysis.

Now, PK - post kids - I think the real world is pretty dadgum funny and interesting, if you pay attention. I had to stifle a giggle this morning, as I was on a conference call with a woman who has a speaking voice like an extra in The Wizard of Oz.

I rode up in the elevator this morning with a tall woman - probably 6 feet tall - who had teeny weeny feet, and long prehensile toes. She wore open-toed shoes, which was really startling. I half expected her to sprout wings and a tail when she got off the elevator, scowling because she'd caught me staring at her toes in the mirror. I couldn't help it. She could strangle someone with those toes.

In choir rehearsal at church the other night, I wanted so bad to laugh out loud. The basses and tenors have a line in a song that sounds EXACTLY like it comes from the song "Who Will Buy" from the musical Oliver. I was in Oliver, some years ago. Musically, this line is an exact copy. [Maybe I should listen to old Broadway cast albums, and write bestselling church music. Hmmm...]

I once blew a job interview, years ago, because the guy interviewing me had the exact same voice as Kevin Costner, who was still pretty hot then. I couldn't think about anything but that voice. I'm sure my answers to the questions made no sense whatsoever. He didn't look like Costner, but that didn't matter.

Years ago, I went on a blind date with a guy who looked exactly like Alfred P. Newman, the red-haired freckle faced guy on Mad magazine. After opening the door and momentarily flashing back to all the Mad magazines I read in middle school, I thought about faking illness, but I didn't. I must be honest, though - I only went on the date because I wanted a free dinner and I knew it would make a funny story for later. I was right. Highlights of the evening included me changing from a sexy black dress to a jumper and heavy sweater before we left; a dinner where I was quizzed with fanatical scrutiny about everything from the amount of times I worked out every week, to the amount of fat grams in the dinner entrees; and we ended the evening with one of the worst movies I have ever seen, so bad I can't even recall the name of it. I ensured that he would never ever call me again - since I didn't want to be bothered - when I spoke these words: "I'm really anxious to get married and have kids SOON." He burned rubber leaving the apartment complex.

This is what makes me a unique - and some would say quite bizarre - person. I hear similarities in voices, and spot strange anomalies, all the time. I am constantly making connections and seeing patterns, where nobody else sees them.

Some of you may remember the show on Comedy Central some years ago where they played old B movies and had these little puppets in the corner of the screen making snotty comments about the films throughout. I think it was called "Mystery Science Theater" or something like that. It was clearly thought up by people who have the same weird thought patterns I do. I never found it that funny, though. I guess familiarity breeds contempt.

However, I hear similar voices in my head, all the time, pointing out silly things and laughing at the world. It's how I stay sane.

My mother always says, If you don't laugh, you'll cry. Laughing is better!

Amen. Here endeth the lesson.

Muscles and More

My morning was horrifically busy. I had 3 conference calls at work.  I have several cases which are messy.  Basically, I manage 25-35 cases where employees sue Home Depot for discrimination of various kinds. It's always interesting.

I left work early and picked up Michael from school. He immediately said he was hungry. I doubt he had eaten much lunch. I think I am going to have to start packing him a lunch every day, since he’s a picky eater. Alesia loves bland cafeteria food. So we stopped and got him a taco to eat on the way to the hospital.

The fitting of the prosthesis was fascinating. It was a hollow, clear plastic little tube, without a hand. I guess they add the hand later. The tube was the perfect size for Michael’s arm, however.

Before they showed it to him, they pulled out a laptop with some sort of program on it, and held up two wires to his arm, with little disks on the ends. As he touched the discs with his arm muscles, lines on the computer jumped. Looked like an EKG readout, but in color, and there were little cars below each line. So the therapist would say things like “Can you make the red car go, Michael?” and he would comply. I was amazed. They found the points on Michael’s arm which did the best job moving the lines on the computer, and drew dots on his arm. Then they fitted the little tube over his arm and drew the dots on it.

They said it would take about two weeks to get in the arm’s components. I didn’t make a return appointment because I want them to call me when it’s done and ready.

When we got home, Alesia came in shortly afterwards. I spent the late afternoon helping her with a biology project. I don’t see how a student without a computer could do the project.

I took Michael to karate, and it was not a happy experience. The class was full of advanced belts, and the teacher just taught to them. Michael looked like a liliputian among giants. He couldn’t do some of the moves, either. I told him we will go again tomorrow night, and hopefully Mr. Quinn or Mr. Hamburger will be there. They are excellent teachers and have real rapport with the kids.

We talked about eating when we were in the car. Michael has been hungry all day. After the doctor, we stopped and got him a milkshake. I hope and pray he is growing. He said he didn’t want to eat, all day. I explained that food is fuel, and he has to have it. He said with his birthmother he was always hungry. I explained that that’s probably why he is so small. He didn’t ever get enough nutrients. He told me not long ago they often spent the night in unheated places, and sometimes ate raw pasta out of the box. They were homeless the last couple of years he was with her, which is why he missed so much school he had to repeat 1st grade.

After karate class he said he wanted to come home and go to bed. I think he was just stressed out. It was such a busy day. After he ate some dinner, he perked up considerably.

Alesia got a call from a school friend tonight. Hallelujah, she is making more friends!

True Confessions

I belong to several message boards for adoptive parents, and the main Russia board on adoption.com always has interesting topics. Today, I found my all-time favorite topic.

What do you do, as a parent, that would've horrified you a few years ago? The answers I've read are pretty tame, from weekly trips to McDonalds, to letting them bathe just 3 times a week, to letting kids eat food dropped on the floor. [Note: I don't let my kids eat food dropped on the floor. I was raised by a mother and grandmother who are germophobes.]

I thought it would be fun to list all the dodgy things that go on at my house. LOL Nobody should think I am Martha Stewart or the perfect mom. I don't come close, in the housekeeping department, but I think I score high in the "meeting emotional needs" department.

So here's my list, and I dare any parent out there to tell me they haven't done at least some of these:

     I never remember about washing bed sheets, and we sometimes go several weeks without that.

     We occasionally eat pancakes and sausage for dinner. [Alesia is a great pancake chef now, and needs no supervision]

     Sometimes we just have sandwiches for dinner. I've been known to let Michael eat a slice of baloney and some potato chips for dinner.

     I sometimes let the kids watch movies with a bit too much s*x and/or violence. However, if there's anything in there really questionable I talk to them about it. I still feel movies are far better for them than TV, which we rarely watch.  [My kids saw movies with every kind of violence and sex act imaginable when they were in the orphanage - Michael said the other day he saw "Saw" a horror movie about mutilation. I was aghast that he had seen that kind of garbage. So their innocence is blown, in a way, but I still choose every movie they watch and I allow no horror or anything really raunchy]

     I have been known to tell my kids we will not watch a particular movie because it's bad or stupid. I cannot tolerate any movie starring Lindsey Lohan, and although we own High School Musical, I will never watch it. Unlike apparently every other femal of my generation, I have always HATED the movie Grease. I won't allow it in my house.

     We never, ever eat broccoli. I hate even the smell of it.

     Unless he is particularly dirty, Michael usually bathes every other day, and Alesia skips a day sometimes, too.

     My early training as an actress comes in handy, when I do imitations of my kids to show them how ridiculous they are being sometimes. This is particularly effective with Alesia, a/k/a Miss Bossy Boots...

     I almost never tell my kids to clean up their rooms or bathroom. I am lucky, because Alesia is a neat and orderly girl, and Michael just doesn't mess up anything much.

     Along those same lines, I can get rather weird about punishments, in my endless quest to find ones they actually dislike. Last night I fined each child for various infractions. [I am saving the fine money for them to use for Christmas gifts.] I once told Michael if he didn't hurry up I was going to make him eat a big plate filled with meat. [He has an aversion to most meat.]

     One thing I have never done, and I swore growing up I'd never do it, is say to my kids "you better hush crying or I'll GIVE you something to cry about." My father did that to me, and it was harsh. I always felt depressed and hopeless when he said that to me.

     Having said that, I will confess that I sometimes yell at the kids, when I am frustrated. I am better than I was at first, but I still yell occasionally. They have the innate ability to push my buttons...

     There are some things I am really strict about which other mothers aren't - for instance tattoos and piercings. I told Alesia the other night she would never be allowed to date a boy who wore his pants sagging off his butt, or who had a tattoo or pierced anything. I said "Don't even think of bringing them to the house, kiddo."

     We had our last meeting with the social worker last weekend, for Alesia's final post placement report. She asked Alesia if she likes to hang out with her friends like at the mall. Alesia deflected the question by saying she was pretty busy now with schoolwork. I didn't want to tell the social worker that I don't drop Alesia off at the mall and leave her. I just think it's too dangerous. She is a beautiful girl and she is very naive. She never goes anywhere without someone with her, and I never leave her home alone. Just too many bad things could happen. Once she gets a bit more mature I will ease up, but right now I'm still paranoid.

     We pray before every meal, and before bed. Always.

     My kids don't go off somewhere without kissing me and Mother goodbye. They also get hugged several times a day. This is important.

     My kids address grownups as M'am and Sir. We are strict on that. I wish more parents did it. Kids today are too disrespectful, and it's the parents' fault, IMHO. We stress good manners.

     I think the biggest takeaway from the thread I saw was that we are all human, and we all do things that others might criticize, but we love our kids and we all try super hard to be good parents. Adoptive parents go through so much h*** to get our kids home, we try harder, I think, than most, although we certainly make mistakes, too.

Sad Sack

When I called home this afternoon, I reminded Michael that he needed to finish his homework or he couldn’t go to karate. He had two hours to finish it. He chose instead to go with Alesia to walk Brian’s dog. So we sat and did homework and he missed karate. I will not let it interfere with his schoolwork. Hopefully he learned his lesson.

I told him to start on his science and let me come upstairs to the bathroom and to change clothes. A few minutes later he came trudging in my room, head down, totally dejected. “Michael, honey, what’s wrong?” I said. He hung his head.

“I dunno.”

“Well buddy I can tell by your face that something is wrong,” I argued softly, trying to hug him. He resisted. “Talk to me.” He shook his head.

I got him down on the bed and started tickling and he couldn’t help it; he laughed. Then he frowned again. “What is it Michael?! Talk to me!” I said, but cajoling, not in a mean way.

“I stupid.”

“No, of course not. You’re a very smart boy.”

“NO! I stupid!” he argued.

“Michael, I bet if I called Ms. Moore right now she would say what a smart boy you are. Everyone thinks you’re smart. Me, Alesia, Granny – we know you’re smart.” He shook his head again.

“Michael, you are doing SO well! I am so proud of you. You are learning English so fast. I studied Russian for over a year and right this minute I couldn’t write down a single sentence in Russian.”

He continued to look like a sad sack. I worked with him on science for almost an hour, helping him craft 10 sentences in English. He finally perked up, when it was done.

Michael helps me in the kitchen. He helped me slice cucumbers for the salad. He also is in charge of Coco’s food and water, and taking out the garbage. He’s good about it all, with constant reminders.

For dinner, I made a recipe with tilapia baked in Thai sweet chili sauce. I thought it turned out well. Mother liked it. She likes spicy food. Alesia ate some of it, but declared it too hot. Michael ate a small piece, and concentrated on his potatoes. I finally got out a package of deli ham and put it on the table, and said, resigned, “Eat this instead.”

Michael looked horrified. “Mom!” he exclaimed.

“What?”

“Why you say Eat this, it’s dead!” he said.

I had to laugh.

Granny asked him about his nap this afternoon. She had told him to just lie down on the sofa for 15 minutes, so she could nap. He complied. He fell fast asleep, for over an hour. Mother said “Michael, why did you fall asleep?” He looked at her like, duh, and replied “I closed my eyes!”

We didn’t quite finish “Big” so that will continue tomorrow night, while I’m at choir.

Being Big

I spent a great deal of time yesterday preparing the paperwork for my financial aid application to Shriner’s. It was not as bad as adoption paperwork, not by a long shot, but it was depressing to tally up my debts. A few years ago I was debt free, but I had no children. I’d say I made a terrific bargain.

I looked on the web and found several sites listing the signs for early menopause. That’s what I think is going on with my body. I am lethargic, having frequent headaches, weird periods, heart pounding episodes, sweating sometimes a lot, other times freezing cold. All of it’s around the time of my period, then I get OK. I just wish I could get this over with quickly…

I told Michael tonight that we have to go see an orthopedic doctor, so he can monitor the amputation site. Sometimes the bones will grow when the child grows, and there are sharp little splinters which cause pain. In that case they will have to do surgery, as the therapist explained the other day. I told Michael they might have to go in there surgically and he started crying! I was so horrified. I held him and comforted him as best I could. Poor little guy. All his hospital experiences in Kazakhstan involved pain. I assured him if he ever goes into the hospital I will be right there with him. I won’t leave him. I will make sure nobody hurts him. He finally calmed down. [His birthmom never even visited him in the hospital when he lost his hand and was in there a month.]

Our movie tonight was “Big” – one Michael has never seen. It’s main character is an 11 year old boy, who wishes to be BIG. I know Michael can relate to that. Before the movie started, I explained to Michael about the boy’s wish on the carnival machine. I asked Alesia what she would wish for – “No acne!” was her reply. I said I wished I was skinny. Michael said solemnly, “I wish I was BEEG!” [That’s the Russian pronunciation.]

Brains are to be Used, Not Flung

We had an excellent day yesterday, fairly quiet and peaceful.

The kids and I saw a new movie which is a remake of an old Western, “3:10 to Yuma.” This version starred Russell Crowe and Christian Bale, both terrific actors. It was a really excellent movie. Mother has been after me for a while to show Michael a “cowboy movie” – she suggested Roy Rogers, etc., the cowboys of her youth. I couldn’t figure out how to explain to her that those types of cowboy films are unlikely to engage my children, used to special effects extravaganzas. The movie we saw yesterday was definitely a cowboy movie, but the actual theme was pretty complex. Was the bad guy really bad, since he did some good things? Was the good guy really good? Interesting questions, and things they need to think about. I don’t want them to view the world as a totally black and white place, since it IS filled with complexity and ambiguity.

When I went to wake Alesia this morning, Michael noticed the little plastic star on her ceiling which glows in the dark. He pointed it out. I felt compelled to mention “Michael, Alesia has a star on her ceiling. You have a brain on your ceiling.”

My cousin gave Michael a little plastic model of a brain for his birthday, and it’s a weird soft plastic that sticks to things. It looks very realistic, although it’s only the size of a tennis ball. Right after he got it, Michael flung it toward the ceiling and it stuck there, quivering, some weeks ago. It stopped shaking but none of us could get it off the ceiling, which I counted as a blessing. I could not look at it. Yucko.

This morning, Alesia, occasionally the helpful big sister, got down the toy brain, and Michael played with it up to and throughout breakfast. I finally looked at him and said “Michael, you cannot take your brain to Sunday School.” Mother and I looked at each other and laughed.

I had to scold Michael this morning because he was dawdling so much I couldn’t get him ready to go to church. He just plays, gets distracted, is always very leisurely. I scolded him, but I later sat him down for a little talk, and explained that he just has to do better about getting ready to go more quickly. I said “You can move pretty fast when you want to. I’ve seen you.” He looked at me totally without guile and said “When?”

A little while later, I told Michael an expression common in our family – “I love you a whole big bunch.” He looked at me in puzzlement. “You love me a big butt?”

It’s never boring here.

[To the person who posted a comment about eating out - I almost never pay when we eat out. Mother likes to eat out and she pays.]

A New Hand

Michael had a stellar day, a life changing day. We went to Scottish Rite for his first appointment with a therapist, to get him a prosthetic hand.

I must say first of all, the therapist was much older than I had thought from talking to her on the phone – her attitude is young. She was wearing Crocs! I immediately knew we would get along well, since I wear no other shoes. [I started to say “since I wear nothing else” and then I realized that read really strange, like a naked woman in Crocs. Don’t think we’ll be seeing THAT image on the cover of Vanity Fair any time soon, no sirree…]

Colleen [the main therapist] said within 5 minutes of meeting Michael what a cute boy he is, how smart, how well he speaks English. He has this effect on women. Before we left, she gave him a big hug. Russian women skip the formalities and rush to hug him as soon as he speaks a word of Russian, so overwhelmed are they by the power of his cuteness – this happened recently in a restaurant. But I digress.

The therapists showed Michael a number of different hand options. The one we settled on is myoeletric. They said he is an excellent candidate since he had a totally functional hand until age 5 and lost the hand to frostbite.

Michael has about 1 ½ inches of forearm left below his elbow and it’s quite a flexible “short arm” [our term]. The therapists were admiring of the surgeon’s work, saying they left a good pad of flesh and a nice incision. He has had almost no pain in it. He can move it enough to press the myoelectric buttons.

They casted his short arm with these strange looking bandages, and measured him. Well, they measured first. He was patient throughout this. We will go back probably several more times, to fit it, refine it, and Colleen will help Michael learn how to use it. The model he chose looks a bit hand like, it’s not a metal hook, but it functions much the same as the hook.

I asked how we will make adjustments when he grows, and was assured that all kids need new Prostheses every year and half or thereabouts. If Michael hits a growth spurt, like Alesia did, this may mean more trips back.

I am a bit nervous about the cost of it all, but I am told I can apply to Shriners to pay for what Cigna won’t cover. Since I am drowning in debt at the moment, my bleak financial picture will be a strange blessing. My grandfather was a Shriner, which might come in handy. I need to dig around and find a photo of him in the Fez…

I am so optimistic about this being a life-changing experience for Michael. I know he was nervous, but oh so excited. I am excited for him. He was hyper in the interminable commute home through the Friday traffic [normally a 20 minute trip, in Friday and rain we were traveling for over an hour.]

The therapist said she takes a group of kids to camp every summer. Michael said he would love to go next July. I think it would be good for him. Maybe by then I can bear the prospect of him being away for a week. I also want to take a day trip down to Warm Springs Georgia, which is not far away.

I sort of dread hugging Michael and feeling this apparatus, this fake thing instead of my boy. I will adjust to it. I’ll do anything to make him smile and feel whole again.

The Boy, the Book, the Donuts

Michael was so adorable today, going to school early for the Donuts With Dads breakfast. Our wonderful neighbor and friend Brian was Michael's stand-in "dad." They made such a cute pair this morning. I hope Brian's partner Darryl will e-mail me the photo he took so I can post it on here.

Adoption Ark, my agency, has listed Jack's New Family on their website, which I hope and pray will result in better sales. I need help with marketing. It's not my area; I'm an ignoramus about it. I am learning the hard way.

I posted this on one of my adoptive parent forums:

As most of you know, I self-published my children's book, Jack's New Family, a few months before I brought my son home in May. It's selling well for a self-published book, but I haven't made back the printing costs yet. I'd really like to make enough from the sales of it to finance the publication of a book about Michael's adoption. It's hard to do unless you work with a big publisher.

Finding a big publisher to publish books is really tough, without an agent. I have a manuscript about my daughter's adoption which I am shopping around to publishers. I just got my first rejection slip last week. I'm sure it won't be my last, alas...

Anyway, the reason I am posting is that my agency, Adoption Ark, was incredibly generous about putting a blurb about the book on their website [www.adoptionark.com]. They get more than 3,000 hits a WEEK on there, which is incredible. They aren't even one of the bigger, better known agencies, either. It got me to thinking, what if some of the other agencies would put a blurb somewhere on their websites? I believe the best way to do this would be for an adoptive parent who has used the agency to contact them about my book. 

[BTW, I have already contacted all the regular sources which might sell my book, like Tapestry Books, adoption.com, etc.]

Several folks on here have ordered the book. It's written from the perspective of an 8 year old Russian orphan boy who is adopted by an American mom. He tells his feelings about being adopted and all the big changes in his life. A number of parents have told me they found it interesting, and/or useful to give their older adopted kids. The feelings are universal, no matter what country the child is from.

So if you're willing to help me out with the book marketing, I'd appreciate it. My main goal here with all my books is simply to educate people about how wonderful it is to adopt older kids. I doubt I'll ever make enough to be able to quit my day job! My home e-mail is thompsondee@bellsouth.net.

Thanks,
Dee

Brothers and Sisters

When Michael first came home, Alesia was wonderful with him - for a while. Then a normal sibling relationship developed. Lately, Alesia has been jealous of her brother, and until the other day had been acting really ugly to him, too often. It hurt his feelings. I told him to ignore her, but it hurt my heart to see her behavior. Even spending extra time with her didn't help.

Alesia was so obnoxious to Michael the other night, not letting him in the bathroom when he needed to go, and finally pushing him out and banging his head with the door. I was livid when I found out. I was so angry I had to go calm down for a few minutes. I then sat her down and had a talk with her about being a bully, and how disappointed I was in her behavior. I kept my calm, which was remarkable. I reminded her that in the orphanage bigger kids always bully and beat up the smaller, weaker ones. I said "Remember when you were small and that big girl beat you up?!" - a memory she revealed one day, sobbing, some months ago. She looked uncomfortable but I didn't think I was getting through. She is 16, Mike is 11, and a small boy - 64 lbs. to her 115.

I called Michael in there, in my room, and made them both sit on the rug, facing each other, holding hands. I told them they had to tell each other they loved each other, then sit there for five minutes. Michael looked at Alesia, smiled, and said he loved her, very easily. Alesia started giggling. She said she couldn't say it. I kept prodding her. She kept giggling. Probably embarrassment. Finally, impatient, I said "Alesia, do you love Michael?" and she said "Yes!" I was relieved.

I said "Alesia, the main reason I adopted Michael was because I wanted you to have a sibling. One day me and Granny and your uncle, we will all be gone. You will have your brother, though. So you need to be developing a close bond now."

They kept sitting there, but not holding hands, for another 5 minutes, then it was off to bed. They both got the giggles and giggled the whole time. I was fine with that.

I was skeptical of the efficacy of this method, but I have to say, it worked. Alesia has been much nicer to her brother, even spending a ggod bit of time yesterday helping him with homework.

I am so glad they are getting along better. I was so upset about it the other night I couldn't post about it.

Busy Wednesday

We had a really busy day. Lots to do at work. Came home and rushed to church for dinner. Ran Mom and Alesia home. Michael stayed for kids' hour, and got a ride home.

Went back to church for choir practice. A lady in choir had a diabetic episode of some sort. She is elderly, and also has epilepsy. I hope she is OK. We had to call the ambulance.

Alesia started her new English class and her new Algebra class. She has the same Algebra teacher, which is great. Her English ESL class sounds like it’s a lot easier. She said there are two Russian kids in there, “but they look mean.” I told her to be nice to them anyway.

Alesia had to write a paragraph about something for English. Her thesis sentence was that smoking is bad for you. I read the paragraph and made a few corrections. Michael said how long will I live? I said “Well, if you don’t smoke, and you don’t drink, and you eat right, you could live to be 75 or 85, or maybe even longer. In Russia, the life expectancy for a man is 58 years. That’s just a little bit older than Tim. Too young. They smoke and drink too much over there.”

He said “I remember a man in Kazakhstan, he smoke too much, drink too much vodka. He dead now.” 

I have told both kids they must never, ever drink. They come from alcoholic birth mothers and it’s a trait passed down in families. I know – I had alcoholics on both sides of my family. I don’t drink anything any more, not even the occasional beer. It upset Alesia. I just hope and pray she and Michael never, ever drink.

Alesia asked me last night about Homecoming. I explained that Homecoming is when the Alumni of a school theoretically return “home” and they have a dance and a special football game. She asked if anyone would ask her to the dance. I said “Honey you’re a freshman. I don’t think so. But if you are asked, you let me know. I will need to meet and confer with the boy and approve him, and meet with the parents to arrange chaperonage and transportation. It will be a tough process.” Her eyes got very big.

She then asked me about The Prom. I said “The PROM is like the Academy Awards of school dances. I doubt anyone will ask you since you’re a freshman. If they do, we’ll buy you a real pretty dress.” I was thinking to myself yes m’am we’ll buy you a very conservative dress, not some hoochy mama dress like girls like to wear nowadays.

I am getting so old.