The Crab Chronicles

Sandwich and Stereotypes

It's been a weird, discombobulated sort of weekend. I had a number of plans that just didn't come to pass. I did get to spend some time with Lesleigh yesterday, and she stayed for dinner last night, which was fun.

I cooked hamburgers on the grill, and made homemade White Acre peas, squash, and a peach cobbler that turned out pretty well.

My friend Paul came over today to work on Mother's computer, and we had some time to chat.

I find as I grow older and Mike gets older and more independent, I need time to hang out with my friends. It keeps me sane.

I am the middle of the "sandwich generation" - caring for my child and my mom.I love them both and it's my privilege to care for them, but I need a break now and again.

Michael and I took Colton yesterday, and we saw Men in Black III, which is a really fun romp of a movie. I recommend it totally, as long as you're not expecting high art. It's just fun. There are some unexpectedly touching moments, too.

My old friend from high school, Jeff Joslin is also in it, which makes it fun for me.

I was sort of disgusted to see a preview for something called Hatfields and McCoys, which is going to be on History Channel tonight. All I could think was well whoop-de-doo, that's how you combine EVERY southern stereotype imaginable and set it to a redneck-on-crack sountrack, and let's see how many people will be watching that hogwash?! Did the feud actually happen? Yep. Does that make it a great subject for a miniseries? Not necessarily. I adore watching Kevin Costner and Bill Paxton, but this whole concept is just disgusting.

Can't I EVER see the south portrayed honestly onscreen, without playing up all the negative stereotypes?! Dang. If you've never been to the south you'd think we are either Gone With the Wind racist nitwits or Dukes of Hazzard rednecks. Hollyweird keeps recycling the same old stuff.

To add insult to injury, they filmed this in ROMANIA, according to the review in the New York Times.

We're about the same as everyone in other parts of the country, except we generally have better manners and we talk slower.

Period.

Grrr.......

I will say this, all these guys [who are in the movie] are awfully attractive, to an old lady like me, so I might tune in just to see them...

From left, Tom Berenger, Powers Boothe, Kevin Costner, and Bill Paxton

Carrying Food

Mother and I were talking with Michael tonight about different courses he can take and clubs he can join next year in high school. Mother recalled that my brother had taken a cooking course once and loved it. He is now a FOODIE. I am too. It's cements our relationship. Even when we're pissed off at each other which happens occasionally [cough cough] we can still talk about recipes and foods.

The south is all about food.

My family is all about food. Good food. Food that doesn't come out of a box, usually.

I was inordinately delighted to put into my frittata last night the first produce from my garden, an Italian eggplant, sliced thin and sauteed, along with the onion, red pepper, mushrooms, and other delicious ingredients.

I don't even eat raw tomatoes, but I fuss and fret over the tomato plants in my garden like you wouldn't believe.

I took my boss a tomato from my garden last summer and he washed it and ate it like an apple. I thought wow, what a non-southern thing to do. Where's the white bread, Duke's mayonnaise, and salt?! But I was very flattered. He then told me I needed to bring the other partner some tomatoes.

Score.

I've missed some excellent blogs over at a blog I like called The South in My Mouth, including this one, which I heartily agree with. Mother and I were talking today about her mother (I knew her as Mamaw) and how she considered Chef Boyardee spaghetti and meatballs an exotic dish.

Mamaw was old school. A wonderful old-fashioned southern cook. I will be eating her fried chicken, bisquits and gravy in heaven one day, but the most "different" thing I ever saw her eat was Egg Foo Young.

Anyway, what I loved about Catherine's post was how correct she was about southern mamas, and how one responds to big events. It's simple, really, you "carry food."

My brother and I grew up seeing Mother and Daddy "carry food." The conversation might go something like this:

Dad: "Phil Jones lost his mama last night."

Mother: "Oh dear, can you get out the big yellow pot? I will start the soup right now."

They carried supper to the new neighbors. They carried supper to the couple who just had their first baby. They carried supper to dad's assistant who had just moved into a new house.

When we got a second freezer, Mother started to freeze spaghetti sauce, chili, homemade soup. That way she could instantly produce homemade, yummy food.She just had to time it right so it was thawed by the time Dad got to the house.

Corn muffins freeze well. My mother makes the best corn muffins in the world, the recipe of humorist Lewis Grizzard. I actually shared the recipe not too long ago.

My aunt Jane makes the best banana bread in the world, and she keeps loaves of it in the freezer to carry to folks. I start drooling the moment I hear Mom say "Don and Jane are going to stop by."

When I go to heaven, I will get to eat some of Jane's banana bread hot from the oven, slathered in real butter.[Excuse me while I wipe off some drool]

Anyway, I digressed. As usual.

When my Papaw died in 1972 there was a lot of yummy funeral food. However, nobody brought meat. Mother was appalled. After that, she resolved that when she took food to a funeral it would be a dish containing MEAT.

One cannot sustain life on potato salad or tuna casserole. Not at Elva's house, anyway. [Sorry, vegetarian friends..]

Beef stew, chili, homemade soup - these are the Mother-approved hearty foods for folks who are coping with life's big events. (I like to take things like chicken and rice, or maybe a quiche.)

When my dad died we got about 10 veggie trays and cold cut trays from Kroger. It was July and hot as hell. We didn't particularly wish for veggie trays or cold cut trays. One kind neighbor brought small aluminum loaf pans filled with homemade macaroni and cheese. My brother and I thanked her profusely and hid them. We pulled them out and feasted after everyone had left. God bless her.

One of Mother's close friends cannot cook. She can prepare food that is healthy but she doesn't season anything. She won't even salt it. Her food is as bland as baby food. When I was a kid and ate over there I didn't mind, but as an adult?! No thanks. She brought a lot of food when Dad died. We thanked her profusely and tossed most of it out. She could make good deviled eggs. We ate those.

That's the thing about living in a small town. You know who can cook and who can't cook. Sometimes when you go to a party at the home of a non-cook it's wise to find out if the food was catered, or the host's daughter made the food, or whatever. If you like to go hungry and all that's offered is chips and salsa and maybe some store-bought cookies, you want to be prepared.

When I was in college and started cooking for my friends I always began each dinner party with this announcement: "If this isn't fit to eat, Domino's Pizza is on the speed dial."

I never had to keep that promise.

Of course, hungry college students will eat anything...

I like the fact that my kids have seen me "carry food" to people, many times. I hope they will continue the tradition.

Connections

I was thinking yesterday about connections, and today I hear that a cousin of mine has died. I didn't really know her too well, but I am praying for the family. I have a huge extended family, because all of my grandparents had between 8 and 12 siblings, most of whom grew up and had children.

My cousin Warren is my 4th cousin, I think. We have to go back 4 generations to find the common ancestor, who died decades before either of us were born.

Doesn't matter. I cherish Warren and Kim. I feel closer to them than some of my family I am closer to by blood.

I used to be very interested in family genealogy and I have charts of all my cousins and grandparents and great-grandparents. I love charts.

Too bad all of life can't be neatly organized in charts.

[OTOH, I despise spreadsheets. I can make them, and use them, but Excel is not as user-friendly as a good old-fashioned chart, IMHO.]

I also heard from an old friend of mine from Home Depot days, and rejoiced in the fact she is doing very well and is not far from me, working in downtown. Hopefully we can have lunch one day.

Michael heard yesterday that he has passed the CRCT, so his standardized test scores were OK and he can pass on to 9th grade in peace, thanks be to God. He feels like he is going to pass Math, too, thank goodness. His attitude and demeanor are totally altered, much for the better.

We had a frittata for dinner, loaded with veggies and cheese, very filling, and some homemade applesauce I made on Sunday. He ate good portions of both. An hour later he said "Do we have anything to eat?!"

Yep, he's growing! Had shot up half an inch the other day when measured. Thanks for the growing prayers. Keep 'em going. We'll buy more groceries.

I feel a lot of support from other adoptive moms out there. We are all connected in such a profound way. I am always enlightened, inspired, and even left in tears by the blogs I read every day, those of my friend Cindy B, Cindy L, and Stephanie. There are others I read weekly, too - too many to list here.

A friend of mine has been texting Alesia, thanks be to God. I know she's alive. She's not speaking/texting to me right now. I keep praying for her, though, many times a day.

Despite the fact that I don't have much time to socialize, I feel very connected to a huge community of friends, cousins, neighbors, etc.

Some people say computers are a bad thing, but I totally disagree. Facebook is like a virtual cocktail party, with everyone chattering about this or that, some things profound, some trivial. Nevertheless, it provides a sense of community, and people crave that.

I don't really know more news. Hope everyone has a blessed Tuesday!

Look At My Beautiful Family

When I was a kid and walking down the street in either Augusta or Knoxville with my dad, it was always tedious. We couldn't go anywhere quickly. People Dad knew would stop him and want to chat. He was so well known, from the bank where he worked, or Kiwanis or the board of this or that organization, that he knew most of the other businesspeople in town.

I quickly learned that if he called a man "Chief" or a woman "Honey or Darling" that meant he couldn't remember their name.

My friend Cindy LaJoy lives in rural Colorado, and has three adopted Asian boys and two caucasian girls. I only say it that way because they get stared at a lot, out there, and it's gotten really uncomfortable for her at times. She posted about it on Facebook. I wished I could comfort her in some way, but of course I can't change public curiosity or opinions.

But at least I know what it's like to be stared at.

I also know how I felt sometimes with my dad. My father was a tall, handsome man. He was always well dressed. Next to him, I felt like the fat, ugly little girl, many times.  Sometimes people would look at dad, then me, clearly puzzled that such a handsome man produced a lumpish kid like me, but they could see the curly brown hair and high foreheads and know right away we were biologically connected.

So I know a little tiny bit of how Cindy feels, with her kids. A tiny bit.

To me, after reading her blog for so many years, and emailing, and Skyping, I feel like Cindy and her kids are family. One of my daydreams is to take a trip out west, one day, with Michael, to see the LaJoys, and see that part of America.

I wonder if people in Colorado will stare at me and Michael?! He is clearly part Kazakh. I am clearly not. He is missing his right hand. I am not.

I have a friend who adopted a limb difference child from China a few years ago. My friend, Jim, lost one of his lower legs as a result of an accident, so he wears a prosthetic leg. One day at an outdoor cafe in China, a group of Asian ladies stared at Jim and his little 5 year old son so long, Jim finally got mad and went over to them, whipped off his prosthetic and put it on the table right next to them. "Yeah, I am missing my leg, and son is missing his arm. SO WHAT?! Don't you know it's RUDE to stare?" He berated them for a minute, grabbed his leg, put it back on, and walked away. They likely didn't speak English but his body language and tone spoke volumes.

In Asian culture, sad to say, kids with congenital limb differences almost always get put up for adoption. There are many little boy babies and toddlers with limb differences that are available. Some are so minor, maybe just a missing finger or a club foot. Those kids are all considered "special needs" which is so bizarre to me. (So... if you want to adopt a baby or toddler from China and don't feel like waiting around 3-5 years, look into special needs adoption. Much quicker process.)

I feel blessed that we live in a very diverse area. Michael's school isn't all white, by any means. In fact, you see just as many Hispanic and black kids, and some Asian kids, at his school.

Walking down the street in Atlanta, you are likely to encounter all races, and all types of families. There are 2 mommy and 2 daddy families. There are big families with many kids, and little ones, like mine.

In the law firm where I work, all three lawyers are married to a lady of a different ethnic background, and they all have children.

I wish Cindy could march up to the people who stare and say "Thank you for taking the time to contemplate my family. Aren't my children BEAUTIFUL?! They all came to me through the miracle of adoption, and I am so blessed to be their REAL mom. I hope you will spread the word that families come in all different sizes and races nowadays. Thanks and God Bless."

Then again, wouldn't it be nice if she never felt like she had to explain her family to anyone??

The two kids in the middle are Angela [Cindy's child now] and Michael, at their orphanage in about 2006.

Mama Day

Over at my mother's blog she has her favorite saying, and it's one I share totally: If you don't laugh, you'll cry - Laughing's better. I am blessed to have a mother that shares her ideas and opinions freely, laughs with me a LOT, and who has discovered the joy of writing [blogging] in the last few years.

You see, my mother probably thought she was past mothering [heavy duty mothering] years ago, when Bruce and I left the nest, but now she is almost the co-parent with me in the raising of Michael. She also helped me a lot with Alesia.

Most grandmothers get to relax and just have fun times with the grandchildren. Not Elva. She is in there with me, in the trenches. I am a single mom, but not really a single mom. Elva has my back, and that has made a huge difference in my life and the lives of my children.

Michael and I saw a delightful play last night, The Waffle Palace. Very funny. Lots of physical comedy, songs, etc. in an intimate space. Loved the play. Will write my review later today.

Coming home in the car, though, Michael asked me why it is that he makes other people laugh but none of his friends make him laugh. I pointed out that I make him laugh, sometimes. I wasn't sure where he was going with this but we kept talking. Teen angst is a constant presence in our house, now. 

When we got home, I spent a lot of time in Mother's room, talking to her about Mike's feelings and how to handle him. That's a typical example of how she helps me. Most single moms don't have that ability to confide in someone.

I was lucky to have a mother, growing up, who was able to often just listen calmly and without passing judgment. When I was a teen, especially, that was important.

I am not that skilled. I fly off the handle a lot. I am trying to moderate that.

Being a mother is the hardest job in the world, and it's also the best job in the world. There's nothing like it. I wish I had more kids. Then again, I think the Lord knows what he's doing, and we all get the right kids for us.

Just thought I'd share a few sentiments and photos on this mother's day.

Happy Mother's Day to my mom, Elva Hasty Thompson! You're the best and I love you a great big bunch!!

Anniversary Day

Wow, I'm getting tired of all the drama in my life. I majored in Drama in college [no kidding] but enough is enough already.

I have a meeting at school this morning, I think. Can't blog about that.

Mother's computer is screwed up. We need to get it fixed. My computer guru thinks she likely has a virus. Whatever she has, it's very upsetting to her when her computer is messed up.

My mother reminded me that yesterday was a terrible anniversary. On May 3, 2005 she fell and broke both of her shoulders, and had to be hospitalized. It was a horrible ordeal for her, and very upsetting for the whole family. I'll never forget my daughter's scream when we got home from school and found Mother lying in a pool of blood on the laundry room floor.

Mother now has a metal plate and screws in her left shoulder, and has never fully regained use of that hand. However, she is still with us, and for that I am grateful.

Yesterday was also my grandfather's birthday. Bob Hasty was born in 1896, in Canton Georgia. Remember I blogged about the banquet for him a short while back? [Also, here is the news story about it.] Well, we got in the mail a video my cousin made that night. I was able to watch myself give a speech and not cringe in horror.

My boss teases me about sounding very southern, and I like to deny that, but he's right. My accent is a mixture of Georgia and Tennessee [I grew up in Augusta and Knoxville] and I'm OK with that. The boss is from New York but he has almost no accent. Somebody in our office has to represent... LOL

and speaking of baseball...

Over at Pioneer Woman's website there's a terrific list of baseball movies and I was delighted to read that, but disappointed that they left out one of my personal favorite movies, Angels in the Outfield. Boy that one makes me cry every time. Awesome movie.

I am SO glad it's Friday..

Banquet for the Cherokee County Sports Hall of Fame

Yesterday was a milestone day for my family. My beloved grandfather, Robert Keller Hasty, was honored at a banquet for the Cherokee County Sports Hall of Fame up in Canton, Georgia. [above is a page from the program about my grandfather's career]

I owe a huge thanks to my cousin Warren Story and his wife Kim, for telling me last year about the existence of the Cherokee County Sports Hall of Fame. I had no idea about it.I live in DeKalb County.

I also owe a huge thanks to the Cherokee County Sports Hall of Fame for areeing to posthumously honor my grandfather. All of the other inductees last night were alive and well, and gave moving speeches about the importance of family and teamwork - and I was so glad Michael was there to hear that. [Mother wasn't feeling up to the trip. It's about an hour away, and took us a lot longer in the Friday afternoon traffic.]

My grandfather Bob Hasty grew up in Cherokee County, and his father and grandfather lived there, and there are still many Hasty cousins who live there today. There is even a road named Hasty Road. My great grandfather donated land to build a school there about a hundred years ago. The final resting places of many of my people are in Cherokee County.

Last night was a thrill for me, for several reasons. I got to see my cousin Robin Hasty Blankenship and her family, some of whom I hadn't seen in more than 10 years. I also was able to see my grandfather get recognition in his birthplace. I know he was smiling down on us from heaven.

Aside from getting lost going up there, and lost coming back [I rarely go outside my house without getting lost, and the GPS wasn't working], it was a stellar evening.

This was made when my grandfather played for the Philadelphia Athletics in 1919-1924, for Connie Mack. He went on to play in the Pacific Coast League out in California, then came back east in the late 1920's and played for the Birmingham Barons and the Atlanta Crackers. [The Braves moved to Atlanta from Milwaukee in 1965.]

Anyway, I had to give a speech last night on behalf of the family so I wasn't focused on taking photos, but here are a few:

[from left] Warren [whose mama is a Hasty], Kim, Michael, and me.

Mom's first cousin Frank Hasty and his son, also named Frank Hasty.

My cousin Robin's son Brent and his wife Jada. Their two little boys are already playing on baseball teams - the 5th generation to love the game. Yay!

My cousin Jan Rusin and her husband, who drove up from Albany Georgia, and Susan Hasty [in profile].

The little boys belong to Brent and Jada and Michael Hasty, and the two grownups here are Robin's daughter Lana and Robin's husband, Tim.

This is my cousin Raye's son Michael, and his child Dax. (In the background is Brent and Jada's son Bryce.) Michael Hasty is a talented graphic artist and designed the image above of Papa, which you can order from his company, Inkhaus. His post about the poster is here.

[For some reason, my photo loader is giving my issues, so I am going to save the rest of the photos for another post.Jan is also going to send me some of her photos, too.]

I told several stories about my grandfather during the banquet and they are below. I have to write things out before I can tell them, but I don't like to read when I am speaking.[I wrote in third person because I wasn't sure if I was going to tell these, or the person introducing me.]

On one occasion, Bob Hasty was pitching to Ty Cobb. Bob threw a pitch that went a little wild and Cobb had to sidestep a bit to avoid being hit. Bob Hasty never would’ve aimed for a batter’s head. Cobb was pugnacious, though, and marched out to the mound, accusing Hasty of trying to hit him with the ball. Bob Hasty just stood there and let Cobb rant for a moment, and Cobb threatened to punch him.  Bob Hasty then said quietly, “These people paid money to see a baseball game, so we need to finish the game. After it’s over, you and I can just step into the alley and you can take a swing at me if you want.”

Hasty was 6’4, 220 lbs. Cobb immediately started sputtering, “Hey, now, I was just kidding Bob! Us Georgia boys got to stick together!”

There are others I didn't get to tell, because I didn't want to stand up there too long. Plus, I sort of thought that if I talked too long it would be boring, and/or I might cry.

Hasty was also a contemporary of Babe Ruth and he gave an interview to Jimmy Jones of the Atlanta Constitution in 1933 entitled Hasty Tells How to Pitch to Ruth. [I re-read it just now] Pitchers were always passing around tips on how to pitch to Ruth, hoping he wouldn’t get a home run. Another pitcher, Scott Perry, told Hasty to pitch it low and outside, and Ruth would only hit a grounder.  Hasty threw it and: [in his own words] “… there was a crack of a bat and something that sounded like a bullet whistled past my head, burning the tip of my left ear like a red-hot iron. I didn’t have a chance to move, let alone duck. I turned and looked toward center field and there was the ball, scooting along like a streak of lightning. Ruth, after reaching first base, turned and yelled at me not to ever try that pitch again, or I was liable to get hurt. Needless to say, I never did. I decided that if that was the proper way to pitch to Ruth, it wasn’t worth a suicide.”

One time, Hasty was pitching and a fan in the stands started heckling him, yelling rude things, even profanity. This went on for a while. Hasty ignored him. Finally, during the 7^th inning stretch, Hasty walked over and climbed up into the stands, where he could look the heckler in the eye. “Hello. I just want to let you know that nothing you do or say bothers me in the least. You paid your money to be here, so you go right ahead and say whatever you want. Enjoy the game.” Hasty went back down to the field and the heckler didn’t shout, or even say another word, the rest of the game.

The only negative thing about last night was when I got home I was totally exhausted. I slept 9 1/2 hours! Haven't done that in many years. It was a great night, though.

The rest of the weekend is going to be anticlimactic. LOL

Happy St. Paddy's Day!

St. Patrick's Day in our house has always been celebrated, but not for the same reason as you might think. It was the EVE of St. Patrick's Day, in 1956, when my mother went to a party at a friend's house and met my father.

She said she looked at him and immediately knew, he was THE ONE. Nine months later, they were engaged.

Happy St. Paddy's Day to you all!

Happy St. Paddy's Day to my mother, and my dad up in heaven!

Soup for Three

I have always despised the term "sandwich generation" but I guess that applies to me. It certainly felt like it yesterday. Mom was upset. Michael was upset. I was the middle. NOT a happy afternoon.

However, I think it's inevitable, when you have three generations living in the same house. There's no way everyone is going to be happy all the time.

We had planned to go out to lunch, but that got canceled.

However, I went over to see Lesleigh and visited with her. She has decorated her apartment a lot more, and it was fun to see that. Les let me vent to her a bit, and that helped.

Then my cousin Frank came over for a visit. He was in town for a funeral. He and Mother have always been more like siblings than cousins, and it was good to see him, spend part of the afternoon with him. I encouraged him to talk about his career, because I want Michael to learn more about different careers. Frank used to design and draw up plans for big industrial plants. Brilliant man.

For dinner, I made a big pot of soup, which I hadn't done in a long time. It seemed like a soup day. It was cold and windy. I was trying to make it like the Pasta Fagioli soup you get at the Mad Italian. I love that stuff. Mine was similar, but I added some ground beef. Michael ate a huge bowl of it, plus fritos. I decided to share my "recipe" here.[I throw in extra garlic powder, onion, etc., so it's never the same twice, but this is basically it]

Dee's Pasta Fagioli Soup

1 lb. ground beef

about 3 cups of tomato puree

4-6 cups beef stock

1 cup red wine

2 cloves minced garlic

1 tablespoon Italian seasoning

5-10 drops of tobasco

1-2 cups mixed beans [rinse off the beans in a colander first, then boil for 3 minutes]

1 chopped onion

salt and pepper to taste

Saute the onion in some olive oil until soft, about 15 minutes. Brown the meat in a large heavy pot. Add onions to meat. Add garlic. Add everything else. Cook on low for several hours.

Serve with Fritos on the side, and with a salad.

[NOTE: the word "fagioli" simply means "beans" in Italian]

Storms

My plan yesterday was to do absolutely nothing but of course that didn't happen. I have one child at home, and my mother lives with me. You'd think parenting would be easy and painless, but alas, you'd be wrong. There never seems to be an end to all the things that need doing around here.

I guess the Lord knows best, though, as I have a very low tolerance for boredom. I find it difficult to just sit and read now, for more than maybe half an hour, and I used to spend hours engrossed in books. That was when I lived alone, though.

Michael has been exhibiting more and more teenager behavior, but nothing horrible, just aggravating. I drove him and Colton over to a nearby elementary school to play basketball for a couple of hours, and they were supposed to walk to Matthew's house when it got dark. I was sitting at the computer and I looked outside and it was dark. I called Matthew's mom to make sure Michael was there, and none of the boys were there. I got in the car and found them. I took Matthew and Colton to Matthew's house and brought Michael home. I'd told him very clearly to be back at Matthew's house BEFORE it got dark. I reminded him of that when I told him he couldn't hang out at the house as I'd originally promised. I didn't yell or scream, but I consequenced.

In retaliation, Michael didn't put on his seat belt. I told him to put it on. He pulled the belt over his waist but didn't click it. I stopped the car a few blocks from home and told him to put it on or the car wouldn't move. He argued that we were almost home. He's gotten where he won't put his belt on, despite warnings from Mother and me, including the fact that in Georgia it's illegal to ride in a car without a seatbelt. He snarled "I don't CARE," when I reminded him of that.

I finally just reached over and clicked his belt, and drove home. He was fuming.

The other thing he does which annoys Mother more than me, is he comes to the table without a shirt on. The downstairs stays hot because Mother is always cold. Mike likes going shirtless. Mother never tolerated my dad or brother coming to the table shirtless, and there's no reason why Michael can't obey that simple rule, but he's being defiant about it more and more.

I am not sure what to do. He's good 90% of the time. He's 15 1/2, not a baby, and mature in a lot of ways, so giving him a consequence like taking away his iPod seems silly. Also, taking away stuff doesn't really work with him. He lived in poverty so long when he was in Kazakhstan, where possessions came and went, that he is really not very materialistic, which is a great thing, except when I'm trying to consequence him.

I told him to just keep an old shirt downstairs and put it on when he needs to sit at the table.

The worst part of it all is simply my inner turmoil. I keep thinking, in near panic, of how I didn't handle Alesia's teenage years very well, and now she's gone. I don't want to screw up with Michael. Of course, my rational mind reminds me often of how totally different they are, but my reactive, emotional mind still inwardly recoils in fear. So I am trying not to yell. I'm trying to remain calm. I'm trying to figure out how to handle Michael the right way.

UPDATE: Michael and I had several talks about his behavior after I originally wrote this post. I think he is onboard with improving the teenagey attitude. He was quiet and cooperative all afternoon, at least. Still, pray for us. LOL

PRAYER NEED

I have known for a week now that my brother has had a rough time lately. He has a little house in SC that he has lived in more than twenty years, and when storms swept thru his town about 10 days ago, lightning hit his house and the upstairs caught on fire. He got it put out with a garden hose but his electrical system got fried. His homeowners will pay for most of the damage, but it's been a tough week for him. Keep him your prayers.

 

Me and Bro, about 1963, when my hair was REALLY short. LOL.