The Crab Chronicles

Giggling At the Geriatrics

I am getting attacks of the giggles today. Semi hysterical laughter is not really encouraged in a law firm or department. The last attack was a few minutes ago. I am in my cubicle. I was reading this review of the new Will Ferrell movie, Semi Pro.

When you see Will's photo, in character, you probably just think oh, he's playing another goofy sports figure. I thought, "OMG, his hair looks similar to mine! Aaaagh!" and I got tickled. Then I read down to the end where he quotes the song he sang [in the movie] which is a ripoff of Barry White. That made me laugh so hard my cube neighbors inquired about my mental health.

Earlier today, I was [blessedly] alone, getting my second cup of tea of the morning from the high tech beverage station in the breakroom, and I thought about an aquaintance of mine who sent me a comment yesterday berating me for my condemnation of tattoos and body piercings. I didn't publish her comment. Not because I was mad, just that it's, like, totally my blog? And like, I just have a right to my, uh, like, opinion? OK? She's about 15 years younger and has a very different perspective. OK, fine. Write your own article or blog and explain how beautiful tattoos and body piercings are - it's a free country.

Anyway, I just got this mental image of what a nursing home is going to look like in 50 years, when I am long dead and the twenty-somethings of today are senior citizens. Here's Grandpa, wearing his pants falling off his butt, his boxer shorts showing, his big shiny bling necklace, with a big old ring in his nose and a stud in his lip. What a cutie. There's Granny, in her hip hugging jeans, tank top, spiky pink hair, showing off her tattoos and her pierced eyebrows and tongue. Gangsta rap is emanating from their rooms. They make Maxine look like a Norman Rockwell grandma..

Maybe the giggling fits are emanating from a place of deep nervousness, a place I don't talk about at parties. Bruce called last night from a pay phone and said he's flying out tonight, headed to Kuwait. Intellectually, I know he will proably be fine. Emotionally, I am not. I am going to have to calm down or my chocolate addiction is going to spiral out of control. Chocolate makes my pants too tight.

Alesia and I went to the Aveda Institute here in Hot-lanta last night, for a casting call for hair models. I was just there as a driver and guardian. Alesia had straightened her hair, and had on nice jeans and a pretty teal shirt. She looked just beautiful, without artifice. I was surprised and amused to see the collection of odd ladies who showed up. There were only maybe 3 women who were what I'd call reasonably attractive. The rest were very tall, multiply pierced, big toothed, etc. One girl was 6 feet tall and a size 0, and had on a tank top and a micro mini skirt that I would characterize as "gynecological." For Los Angeles, it's probably a conservative look - here in the bible belt, she looked like a hooker.

I told the tubby little Aveda guy with the spiky hair and the glittery Star Wars tee shirt that Alesia has naturally curly hair, and he got very excited - "Is it just wavy, or ringlets?!" he asked breathlessly. "Oh, it's ringlets, when it's clean." I answered with a smile. "I'm making a NOTE of that, honey!" he responded. I bet she gets a call back. The "artists" are flying in from ALL OVER THE WORLD [I used caps - listen and you can hear the fabulous excitement with which he said that] - and they will CHOOSE who they want to work with, on March 14th at the Hyatt Regency. [I will be there, of course, if Alesia is there. I will be the one wedged into a chair, trying not to giggle.]

Alesia was quiet and serene in the Aveda salon, and read a magazine, while I filled out the paperwork. They took a polaroid photo of her, I told Tubby about her curls, and we left. I gave Alesia a lecture in the car about making contacts, being cooperative with whatever they might choose to do to her hair, and the importance of being professional. We might go ahead and do a little resume for her if she gets this job. I will bank her $200 and it will be the start of a college nest egg. If she could do a little modeling and save her money over the next few years, it will sure help. I don't think we can count on her getting an academic scholarship.

Getting Busy

Last night, we were on the way home from karate, and Michael decided it was great fun to let loose with this huge, barking laugh, sounding like a seal on PCP. After just a few minutes of this, I wanted some of that PCP. I told him to hush. He did. Then he started it again, when my attention was stupidly diverted by actually driving. I again told him to Be Quiet. He was quiet for about ten seconds. I finally looked at him and said, through gritted teeth, "If you do that again, you will go home and go STRAIGHT TO BED!" He hushed.

This morning, we are on the way to school. He starts the barking laughter again. I gave him The Look. He said, with great animation, "Remember last night, you said if I did it again I would have to go straight to bed? Well?" Of course, I had to laugh.

"Nice try. Not happening."

My kids are always trying to catch me in things like that. It's like being interrogated by small lawyers, all the time.

Last night, I berated Alesia for bringing home an F in Biology, reminding her that all those zeros she's got [in the online gradebook, which I can pull up any time] add up to a horrible 52, which is 18 points from passing. She looked at me with great annoyance. "You said that grade was my responsibility, and you wouldn't bug me about it!" she protested. "Yes, but that was before I noticed you getting EVEN MORE ZEROS after I had already fussed at you!" was my retort. I had foolishly assumed that once I brought the zeros to her attention, she would turn in the work. She is making good grades in every other subject, even a couple of A's. For a kid with a learning disability, that's awesome.

However, Biology is another matter. I have lectured until I am blue in the face. I have threatened punishment, told her I'd take her in early for tutoring, hire a tutor, etc. [I can't help her because I do not understand it - the teacher is really tough!] I have done everything possible to help. I've looked at her online grades and berated her numerous times. I've tried backing off. However, like I told her again last night, I cannot sit there next to her and hold her hand while she's supposed to be doing her work. She has to be responsible.

She says she does her homework and lab work and turns it in. Somehow, the teacher mysteriously loses it. I could not let that statement pass without commenting. "Really? So you turn it in, and as soon as you're out of the room, your teacher finds YOUR paper, balls it up, and throws it in the trash, right? Wow. I had no idea she was so evil." By the time I finished this little rant, Alesia was doubled over, giggling.

My humor is sometimes my curse.

I finally told her [again] that if she fails, she will have to go to summer school. I will have to pay for it. "I will take that out of your savings, if I have to pay $200 or $300 for you to go to summer school!" I warned her. That's a lot of dog walking money.

SINGLE MOMS UNITE

I was looking at a website for an adoption agency recently [not that I was thinking of adopting again, but I wanted just to see their site], and it said their Kazakhstan program was only open to married couples. Outraged, I e-mailed the site coordinator. Her response: they are being told by their people in Kaz that there is a new law that will be passed banning adoption by singles of "young, healthy children." Well, that ticked me off, too. I pointed out that my children were neither young nor completely healthy at adoption, but they still got adopted. The response was that most everyone they deal with wants healthy babies, not older kids.

I had posted a thread on one of the adoption forums about this, because I have seen this sort of anti-single moms misinformation on other sites. I got back a response which I am awaiting permission to reprint here, but it was quite elegant. Basically, it said that in a lot of countries [think Russia and China] single mothers are viewed as pariahs. Single women don't adopt. There's still a huge stigma associated with adoption even by married couples. Many single women cannot get good enough jobs to support children on their own, also. Some singles give up their kids in order to get married, and men don't want to support children who are not theirs. It floors me to read things like that.

In those countries, the idea of a financially stable, successful single woman, willing and able to adopt a child, is just unknown. She pointed out that American movies and TV don't portray successful single adoptive moms. We are invisible. They get a lot of our movies and TV shows, and we aren't shown. So foreign governments view single women with great suspicion, and give preferential treatment to two parent families. This is SO infuriating to me!!

I am brainstorming ideas on how to correct this idea. I am thinking a film might do it. Perhaps a documentary, showing happy single moms with kids of all races and sizes, in nice homes??! Perhaps a feature film about my adoptions? Such a film would not be cheap to produce, not the ambitious project I envision anyway. So maybe I need to start a non-profit, to raise the money. Hmm... I have friends who work for nonprofits.

The bottom line is, there are children in orphanages being denied loving homes, because there is no daddy in the picture. These kids will be on the streets, turning to crime and prostitution, or even suicide, when they are 16 and/or 17 years old and get kicked out of their orphanage. Isn't a single, loving parent and a chance at going to college and making something of your like better than THAT?! A lot of single women can give that promising future to a child. These governments ought to be PROMOTING adoption to American single women, not denying them the possibility!! Did I mention I am FURIOUS?!

Time to get busy.

The Healing Power of Silly

There is really nothing to report, and yet I have an instinctive feeling I will be too tired to post tonight. That's why I'm trying to train myself to think up posts every day right after lunch. It takes self-discipline, which as anyone who knows me will tell you, is NOT my strong suit.

My daughter's school was without power all day yesterday. We had violent storms on Monday night, into early Tuesday morning. So what did the school do? Why, they put her on a bus, along with all the other kids without cars, and sent them to sit in a middle school gym all day. No learning took place. I asked her how she felt about that and her cheery reply was "I didn't mind! I got to talk to my friends all day!" I was thinking, what a huge waste of her time. The school should plan better.

Alesia had a terrible headache and was somewhat nauseated last night after eating only a very small dinner. I thought it might be a combination of the medication and the high dairy content of dinner. I didn't push her to eat. I sure hope these symptoms subside. I hate to see her feeling rotten.

I have been saying for years that everyone needs to take extra Vitamin C - not only when you're getting sick, but all the time. Finally, I feel vindicated. Now they're saying it prevents wrinkles! Check this out: Vitamin C article. I have taken as much as 2,000 mg in a day and had no ill effects.

I think I need more silly stuff on my blog. Real life is somber enough.

Silly = good mental health, IMHO. So:

SILLY STUFF I READ AND DO

I have to share something. This is one of my favorite sites: Oddly Enough. [Yay! I finally hyperlinked successfully!] Every day, I study bizarre photos and make snide comments about them. As busy as I am, this counts as a hobby.

This is a site I like to read, even though I get highly annoyed sometimes with the blog's author: Dooce. She gets a bazillion hits a day, and has been able to quit her job and support herself from selling ad space on her blog. If I could do this, abandon my cubicle, I would fall to my knees in gratitude and say 100 Hail Marys and 500 Our Fathers. And I am not even Catholic! [I do like their dresses, though.]

One important mother/son bonding ritual I do with Michael is this: he likes to pinch my lips together [think of making a "fish face"] and then I say silly things in a fake Irish accent. This causes a lot of giggling on his part.

Sometimes, in the car, the kids and I hold contests to see who can belch the loudest. This causes a lot of giggles, too.

I like to say mean things to Coco in a sweet voice. "Oooh, look, you made a nasty poopy, how horrible, I need to put a cork in your teeny behind, huh?" She wags her stumpy tale and looks at me adoringly. Solid proof she doesn't know English, right there.

When I have Alesia in the car by herself, I like to make funny comments about people in other cars. [For example: "Oooh, look, he's wishing he hadn't drunk so much Pepsi! He needs to pull over, you can tell by his face! Yikes!"] When she turns bright pink and snorts while giggling, I feel a real bonding moment.

I used to have people tell me all the time that I should be a professional comedian. I agree. If an audience can stand 8-15 minutes of snide and snotty comments, I can do that. BUT - I hate traveling, so that's out. I realize that YouTube opens up all sorts of amateur possibilities, but I cannot bear to see myself on film. It's sort of the same feeling I get when I'm driving in bad weather and my car slips around, out of my control - sheer panic, terror, and revulsion.

A Uniform Boy

We picked up Michael’s uniform tonight, after I got home from work. His practice was canceled because the field was too wet. The uniform is a pretty deep green color. I had to explain about colored shirt for home games, and white shirt for away games. He insisted on putting it on as soon as we got home. Here he is in it:

Mike looking "cool" in his new uniform..

We made the tomato soup recipe found on the Pioneer Woman Cooks website. It was FABULOUS! I am not all that crazy about tomato soup, but this was incredibly rich and tasty. We had that and some croissants, and sliced ham, and it was not a difficult meal to prepare. [Mother wants me to add that we used Taylor's Cream Sherry, not cooking sherry, and we used a hand blender with it, for a smoother consistency.]

Here's the recipe: Fabulous Tomato Soup

We measured Michael again, just before bed. It looks like he has grown another half an inch! I thought he had grown. He was so tickled to see the new mark on the door. He has grown so much since he got here, both mentally and physically.

My friend is moving out of the condo, to a place closer to his little boy. I am glad he is getting his life settled, in a new way. He needs to re-orient towards being a bachelor again.

Now I just have to re-list the condo and resign myself to taking a loss on it. The market is so awful, but I don’t think it will get better any time soon.

Tornado Weather

Getting Michael out of bed this morning was like trying to get a cat to tap dance. For a few minutes, there was just a lot of noise [me singing].

After his shower, he put on his own bathrobe and swept past me indignantly, instead of giving me his usual After Shower Dance and water shake-off. I followed him into the hall while he hung up his towel [we hang towels over the faux iron railing around the stairwell].

Suddenly, there was a loud CRACK of thunder! Lightening raced across the sky! The rain pelted the roof like a hail of bullets. Mike stood completely still, listening.

"I can't go to school in THAT," he declared. Nice try. Now go downstairs for breakfast.

I gave Alesia a refresher lesson in tornado safety on the way to school. She had watched a movie about tornadoes in Geography class yesterday, so she actually listened, I am pretty sure.

I got to work late and there was nobody here. I went up and down the hall. Finally, I spotted a lone lawyer from my group. By 9:30ish everyone had appeared but my assistant, who had been in Traffic Hell, trapped in her car for 2 hours. She finally went back home.

When I was pulling into the parking garage, my friend Bronwyn called to tell me there was no electricity at Alesia's school. I had dropped her off about 45 minutes before that and noticed nothing wrong. She was worried they would release Alesia and she couldn't get home. "They will have to send them home on the bus," I pointed out. I immediately switched into Legal Mode, thinking about liability. Sometimes it's good to think that way. I called Mother and told her Alesia might come home on the bus, but as of lunchtime she hadn't shown up.

Alesia is taking a massive dose of antibiotics - 4 pills every morning, 4 at night. I was sort of horrified when I saw the medication for the H Pylori and really looked at it carefully this morning. On the way to school, Alesia said it had given her the trots. Of course I didn't have Immodium with me. [My kids like to tell me they are hungry and sick as soon as we get in the car going somewhere, where I can't do anything about it.] I told her to just dash for the bathroom if she needed to, and not to worry about it. I came in and sent her teachers an e-mail telling them she's on this medication which is causing difficulties. Sometimes the cure is worse than the problem, of course.

I went to GNC at lunch and got some probiotic acidophilus tablets. The doctor told me to do that. People don't realize that powerful antibiotics kill all the good stuff in their gut, too. I have learned the hard way that taking probiotics is the best thing, when I am sick. [E-mail me if you want to know more - it's too icky to discuss here..]

I was coming back from the lunchtime errand and a nice looking young woman opened the door for me, since I was carrying my 50 lb. purse and a drink. I smiled at her and realized she had an earring in her nose. She turned and walked away from me, and I noticed a huge tatoo on her upper back.

I just don't understand why an otherwise pretty young woman would do this to herself. It's mutilation. I see very visible tattoos and piercings and I think, "You poor thing, you are mentally ill."** I have actually gone on the internet, trying to figure out exactly why people do this. I found one article by a woman with pierced naughty parts saying it was erotic and beautiful. I have to counter with nope, only someone who is really nuts thinks sticking metal in your skin is beautiful. I recently had a conversation with a friend whose teenaged son got two body piercings in his lower lip the day he turned 18. This caused her such anguish, to see her handsome son so disfigured. She is hoping he will take out the metal when he has gained some maturity. She said, "I told him, maybe 5% of the people who see your face think it looks cool. The other 95% of us think it's crazy!"  Amen, sister.

Anyway, I should get off my soapbox, and get ready for more rough weather. The temperature is dropping and we are supposed to get snow flurries tonight! Michael wore shorts to school. That's life in Hot-Lanta.

** I have a couple of friends who have small tattoos in discreet places and I don't think they're crazy. A little off perhaps, but not crazy. It's the huge, glaring tattoos on non-felons like David Beckham that horrify me.

H Pylori and The Moon

It has been an exhausting day. I stayed up until 11:30 last night watching the Academy Awards. I turned them off when the Best Screenplay was given to a woman with a huge tattoo on her arm. It was so horrifying, I turned off the TV.

Alesia had her appointment with Dr. V this afternoon. Her stomach pains have not abated, despite the fiber chews and the Prilosec. I was afraid she would have to see a gastroenterologist, and get an endoscopy, but not yet. She tested positive for h pylori – a bacteria in the stomach that can cause gastritis and ulcers. She had issues back in the orphanage and has had them ever since, although they have been worse in recent months.

She has to take 2 weeks of heavy-duty antibiotics. If her stomach issues don’t go away after a few more weeks, it’s off to the specialist. I hope she gets better. I hate the thought of an endoscopy – a tube run into her stomach while she’s sedated.

Bruce called tonight and said he didn’t know anything, except he was still thinking he will fly out Thursday, to Kuwait. He was in good spirits. He was going to spend some more time on the weapons course – and shooting targets is his favorite thing to do.

Mike had to write a poem using all his spelling words. We knocked it out in about 10 minutes. I have written a lot of poetry in my time, and I don’t worry about regular metre or rhymes.

Here’s the poem:

Harold pulled a trick jacket out of the bucket.

It didn’t fit his neck.

The ticket in his locker said there was only one chance,

and the police would erase his record, scrubbing it clean at once,

like the brick he had thrown through the window that spring, so long ago.

The commotion brought dedicated volunteers running down the avenue.

The police were at his house in minutes.

Since he had only one chance, he ran,

his face to the moon.

 Throw in the word “moon” somewhere in the poem, and you will get a better grade. That’s three years of grad school talking. LOL

It's Oscar Night! Grab the Beef Jerky and Clean Clothes!

We reappeared at church today. I want to get back into our normal weekend routine, get the kids back on track. It was good to see familiar faces, and reconnect.

We had lunch at Red Lobster, a favorite lunch place. The food there has improved a lot now, after a period of decline. It’s not my first choice of places to eat, but it’s very close to the house, and the service is good, and the food not bad.

I didn’t realize until last Friday that Mike needs to play soccer wearing long knee socks. So we headed off to Sports Authority to get knee socks. Another $10. I wonder what’s next? I am starting to feel like the endless sports spending will bankrupt me one of these days.

We headed up to Acworth [45 mintues away] to see my friend Kate. We missed her son Tommy’s birthday yesterday, because we wanted to spend time with my brother. We gave Tommy his present and I gave Kate a copy of the DVD of film footage which Tom shot here a few weeks ago. Kate and Tommy are in a lot of it, and Kate was very supportive. Michael sat there, glum and embarrassed.

When we were in the car going to Acworth, Mike kept pointing out all the sports cars on the interstate. Finally, he said, “Mom, when I grow up, I want a Ferrari.” I said nothing.

Alesia replied, with older sister smugness, “Michael you will have to have a good job before you can afford a Ferrari!”

I jumped on the bandwagon. “That’s right. You need a really good job, making lots of money, and to get that, you need a good education. You need to go to college. To get to college, you have to make good grades in school.”

I meant to bring it right back to the importance of learning the multiplcation tables – which he still is iffy on – but the stress of driving in extreme traffic took over my brain. It’s actually easier to drive on an 8 lane superhighway where there’s bad traffic because people can’t go too fast. Today, there were maniacs roaring past me at 90 mph, and road hogs, puttering along at 55. I felt like I was on a weird version of the Indy 500 where about 10% of the drivers were on crack, and 10% were on qualudes.

The highlight of the day, for the kids, was jumping on the trampoline in Kate’s back yard. It was a typical wintry day here – in the 50’s. Mike had never jumped on a trampoline before. He had a blast. Alesia jumped, too, completely forgetting her 16 year old “cool dudette” decorum, and acting more like a 10 year old. It was so cute to watch. I stood and “spotted” for them for 30 minutes. Looking back, I realize now, to see my children have 30 minutes of total bliss, was well worth the long drive. I wish I could afford a trampoline.

I almost forgot the Academy Awards are on tonight. I am watching them as I type this.

I have not seen any of the films nominated for best picture. The only movie I saw which got some nominations was “Ratatouille.” Great little movie, BTW.

Bruce saw “No Country for Old Men.” When I asked him if he thought I should take the kids to see it, he said vehemently “No! Not unless you want them to watch an incredibly cold-blooded psychotic killer for two hours!” OK, Bro, point taken.

There was a Kazakhstani film nominated as best foreign language film – “Mongol.” I already ordered it on Netflix, though there is quite a wait. It didn’t win. I can’t wait to see it, though. It’s the first of a 3 part trilogy about Ghengis Khan. For those unfamiliar with Kazakhstan history, it has been part of the Great Silk Road, connecting Europe and China, for centuries. The Kazakhs are actually over 120 different tribes, and the Mongols are one tribe. Russia didn't come into the picture until the mid 19th century, and now a lot of Russians are leaving the country, since the president is Kazakh.

My son is clearly mixed Russian and Kazakh heritage so I find this particularly fascinating for that reason. A lot of Russians in the Far East, where Alesia is from, also have Mongol strands in their DNA.

I am only a tiny bit Cherokee Indian – about 1/32 – yet I find films about Native Americans fascinating. I am only interested in big budget films about Celts – which I am mostly –if they feature something extra, like Mel Gibson with big hair and a short skirt in Bravehart…

It’s funny, I can remember when the Oscars were the biggest night of the year, for me. I used to have a big party every year, and plan it for days, fix all kinds of food, invite everyone I know, etc. Tonight, I started watching the Oscars while wearing a bathrobe, having just eaten a sandwich from Jersey Mike’s.

The whole family watched the first hour or so.

Mother kept peering at the screen, frowning, not knowing most of the presenters.

While watching, and laughing at Jon Stewart – BTW I was the only one who got all his jokes, probably because we are about the same age - I was also helping Alesia fold her clean laundry.

Mike ate the beef jerky brought by his uncle and kept running to the kitchen for more water.

Coco kept running in Mother’s room to poop on the carpet. I cleaned that up just before coming upstairs for bed.

Yes, the years of having big parties on Oscar night are long gone. Life ain’t glamorous no more, dadgummit.

I’m not crying buckets of tears.

Soldiering Through It

We slept in, ate a small breakfast. We had no milk this morning so I sent Bruce to Publix to get milk, and he took Michael. When they came back, they had some flowers for me and Mother, and Bruce had bought us a movie – Stripes, ironically.

I looked at the Stripes DVD. It’s always been a favorite movie of mine. “They are going to get a TOTALLY warped picture of the Army from this, Bro” I teased him. “You’ll have to explain real soldiers don’t dance around like Bill Murray does in this.”

We ate lunch at The Mad Italian in Dunwoody. It’s a franchise but has excellent food, at reasonable prices. I ordered 1 brownie for dessert, thinking I was being good, getting just something tiny, which I would then share, and they brought this enormous brownie that was as big as my hand! Bruce and I shared it.

After lunch, the kids rode bikes. Bruce had done laundry this morning. He packed up his civilian clothes and put them in Mike’s closet, and left some other things in the garage. He checked e-mail. He paid some bills online.

I sent this to my aunt and uncle:

It has been such an emotional day, yet low key. It's hard to think. It's hard to write down my feelings. I hate he is going, yet I know it has to be done. I am excited, yet I am sad. I worry about Mother being upset...?? [So far, she seems fine]

Bruce has not sold his house in Columbia. He has closed it up - no electricity, etc. - and forwarded his mail here. He paid up his house payments and car tax, etc. for a year. He spent several weeks getting everything ready, so he could go away for a year. He has good neighbors and they will check on the house from time to time, cut the grass, etc.

Bruce left his truck here. I like driving it - it has a V8 engine. It's like riding a bucking bronco, though, compared to my little mazda, which is more of a docile mare... [I like the horse imagery though I haven't been on a horse in 30 years, LOL.]

I had thought Bruce was a colonel when I first heard he was back in the army, but he corrected me and said not quite yet. He has to do some course work, and maybe pass a test or something? and then he will get his next rank. He said he was going to go for it since he was back in, since it will mean more $$$. You know, most any kind of course one needs to take now, can be done on the computer. You can attend a college and live in another state, and get your degree. I know several people who have done that. They only go to the campus a few times a year. He may go back to school when he gets out, he has said, but nothing is certain just now.

He has no idea, right now, exactly where he will be, or what he will be doing. He doesn't even know exactly what day he's leaving - maybe Thursday. We told him of course to let us know asap. He said he will call before he leaves.

When he is there, he can e-mail us every day, and he said he will try to get a cell phone and call us as often as possible. He said you can get good deals on international cell phones in a lot of places in the middle east.

I told him to let us know if there is anything we can send in a "care" package, anything he can't get there and needs. I have heard of troops needing toiletries, or maybe just wanting books or magazines, or whatever. We can send him things thru the APO [armed forces postal service - you send it to them in New York and they route it overseas to the serviceman or woman].

Mother and I had been praying hard for him to do something else with his life. [He seemed to be in a rut.] Even though it's rather scary, we feel like this is what he's supposed to do, to gain a different perspective on things. Already I see a change in him. He has been more family oriented in the last few weeks than we have seen in a long time. He has also seemed more relaxed and happy.

I sent out an e-mail to my huge extended family, asking for prayers. Luckily, most of my family are Christians, or have some kind of faith in a higher power.

Michael took a long bath tonight, with lots of toys in there. He likes baths. I have to caution him, though, I am pretty particular – he must soap up and shower off, and wash his hair, before getting out. Since I’ve been an adult, tub baths have not seemed too hygienic to me, since you’re sitting there in your own dirt, essentially.

Mother asked Michael tonight if he missed Uncle Bruce. Mike nodded sadly, his head turned away from us. “I wish I could get in his bag, and he took it.” I got big tears in my eyes.

Earlier tonight, I was sitting in my room, and my cousin Jan called to say her mother had passed away. She was elderly and in a nursing home, but still – that’s her mama. Nobody can replace her. Another cousin e-mailed me yesterday to say she is getting a divorce, after many years of marriage and two children – and it’s not her choice to divorce, which is so sad.

 

Since I wrote that, we ate dinner and watched a movie, our usual routine. The kids insisted on eating MRE’s for dinner. These are Meals Ready to Eat. They are issued to soldiers out in the field. For some bizarre reason, the kids like them. The food is a lot better than it used to be, but still pretty bland. About two steps up from airplane meals.

Mother and I tried some food from My Girlfriend’s Kitchen. Great food, but the burritos were a bit too spicy. The spinach/artichoke dip was pretty spicy, but edible. We went there after I took Bruce to the airport to catch a shuttle back to Ft. Benning. The kids were playing with friends. We needed a distraction. Our friend Lindsey works at My Girlfriend’s Kitchen [www.mygirlfriendskitchen.com]. You basically go there and they have all the ingredients ready and you assemble either a small or large meal for your family. They have 14 dishes to choose from. It was so interesting to see the stations – which look like small buffets. A working mom could go in and make up suppers for two weeks, come home and throw them in the freezer, and her cooking is done for two weeks. Wow. I urge you to try it if there’s one near you – it’s a franchise.

Life keeps going.

 

Doing Our Part

My brother got his orders today. He is going to Kuwait sometime next week. He thinks he is going to be in an administrative post, maybe in Kuwait, maybe in Quatar, doing something like coordinating the delivery of supplies to the troops. He isn't really sure. He just knows he's heading for Kuwait.

Mother called me right before lunch. I was calm. We chatted about it for a few minutes. I hung up and thought about my brother in the middle east. I remembered the sense of discomfort and discombobulation I felt in Kazakhstan, and started crying. A year of feeling like that - in a hostile place, with people around every corner who don't like Americans. I had to cry a while before I could calm down enough to eat.

I know military families face this every day. There is nothing special about us, not really, but this is MY brother. He's very smart. He's a good soldier. He will be very far away.

Here's where I have to have faith.

I waited and told the kids at dinner. They were very calm. Bruce came in to spend a night with us. They asked him some questions. He said he will likely get leave after about 6 months, and be on back here for 45 days or so. They didn't get upset. I don't think they have any concept of how far away it is, or how dangerous.

When we were kids, Bruce never wanted to spend the night away from home. I went to camp, to spend the nights with friends, even on a couple of vacations with other families. He stayed behind with Mom and Dad. Now I'm staying behind and he's going away.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  
Here we are with Dad in about 1969. I still have this baby doll.

I will do more crying before he comes back. I won't cry in front of the children, however. I hate that he has to go over there. I want him to do his job with honor, though, and then come home, feeling like he was there for a reason. I suspect there are a lot of forces at work in that part of the world, and I will likely never know anything but the tip of the iceberg. So be it. God is everywhere.

He will come home a different man. We will all be different, next time we see him. We will know something new about sacrifice. We will also be stronger.

At the end of the movie Saving Private Ryan, Tom Hanks' character is dying and he says to Matt Damon's character - the kid they went in to "save" - "Make this count." He meant, make my sacrifice count for something. For some reason I can't get that image out of my mind.

I would rather focus on this image:

Dancing Guy Update

Michael reported that his oral report, in character as Harriet Tubman, went very well. His "girlfriend" Trinity was Mohammed Ali. Yep, you heard right. Apparently several little boys and Trinity all decided to be Ali.

[When I was a kid I LOVED boxing. I watched all Ali's televised fights. We rigged up a gym in the garage and I practiced. Then I grew boobs and that was the end of that dream. Sorry kid, no more boxing, you're Dolly Parton now. YUCKO!! I digress.]

Michael reported, just before bed, that the other boys teased him about being Harriet Tubman. "I will NEVER be Harriet Tubman AGAIN!" Well, OK son, I won't force the title on you. The point was, he learned about the Civil War and slavery and we got in some valuable history lessons there. That's more important than "float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!" - but hey, I can still TALK like Ali. Whatever.

Michael said yesterday that when his class was in the library there was a special story time, and the librarian read the copy of Jack's New Family that I had donated to the school. She said that Michael's Mom had written the book. I am so glad they did that. It gives the other kids some insights on what it was like for him, coming to America, and being so jolted out of his comfort zone. I'm sure even the poor kids in his class can't imagine the poverty he knew.  [I find it hard to imagine myself, and I've been to Kazakhstan.]


Last weekend when we were at Sam's, I bought a BEEG box of restaurant quality gnocchi - an Italian dumpling made mostly of potato and a little flour. I first had them years ago at my friend Maria's house, and loved them. I was so tickled to get the gnocchi! My kids would love these, I thought. I cooked them and tossed them with some sour cream - all Russians like sour cream, right? Wrong. The kids HATED the gnocchi. Alesia at one and looked at the second one on her plate, like it was made out of poop. I just stared at her until she ate it. Michael carefully put enough picante sauce on each of his 8 gnocchi to effectively disguise the taste.

Now, of course, the classic Sam's conundrum - what the heck do I do with two more big bags of gnocchi??!!

Maybe Barbie can use them for a "snowball" fight...