The Crab Chronicles

Halloween Memories

I was awakened this morning at 5 a.m. and had to use the bathroom. While in there, I heard noise in Alesia’s bathroom. I went in there to investigate. She was awake. I asked if she was OK and she said yes, she was cleaning the bathroom. I made her get back in bed and gave her a quick lecture about how 7 hours of sleep is not enough. (She wasn’t cleaning up, although the bathroom really needed it.) She was going to spend an hour in there working on her hair and makeup. She has done it before. She’s missing sleep. She argued that she had gotten enough sleep. I warned her that if I ever saw her go to bed with curly hair and have straight hair when I went in to wake her up at 6:30, which has happened numerous times before, she would be punished.

There is a boy on the bus that she likes, and she was getting ready to see him. Hopefully he will remain just a friend.

She then chose to wear a tiny shirt that shows her bare midriff. I lectured her about that right before breakfast. She kept pulling it down and arguing that it wasn’t too short. I finally just told her, the school rules prohibit bare midriffs and she might get sent home. If that happened, I warned, she would be punished. She later said she kept her hoodie zipped all day.

I left work early and drove to the school. Alesia and I met with her counselor about what she will take next year. It’s sort of more of the same – History, Spanish, Algebra 2, a couple of electives, and Chemistry. I was completely appalled by the fact the school requires everyone on the college track to take CHEMISTRY [cue horrifying music]. If I had had to take Chemistry to get out of high school, I never would’ve made it. There was a teeny weeny bit of it in my Biology and I nearly had a nervous breakdown. My brain doesn’t function when it comes to chemistry. However, the counselor explained that if Alesia gets the 504, she can get a parapro in the class to help her.

For one of her electives Alesia chose PE. Not something I would have chosen, but she likes PE and it’s team sports, which will be good for her. She also chose another Home Ec class, Food something or other. So I feel like it will be a good schedule. I just hope I don’t pass on my Chemistry phobia to her. She’s good at math and formulas, though, unlike me…

I came home and did some serious house cleaning. The kids helped me. I scrubbed the range top. I scrubbed the kitchen floor. I polished silver. I scrubbed the living room rug. Yikes.

I took Michael to his friend Clay’s house for a spend the night party. He was beyond excited. They came by the house when he was walking around with his crew of boys, and I took their photo and Mike came in and spoke to my friends.

I had a little Halloween get-together here at the house. Lesleigh came over and we had a good visit. Melissa and Andrew came over with their girls, who looked so cute. Alesia took the girls trick or treating in our neighborhood, because we have good cooperation – most everyone has candy for the trick or treaters. Melissa brought over some wonderful chili and we feasted on that.

Andrew is a neurophysiologist, and I was telling him about Alesia’s migraines. He said he can help me get her an MRI. He questioned Alesia about the symptoms and said we should rule out sinus, but he thinks it sounds like migraines. He works with a neurologist at Emory. I feel greatly relieved, having spoken to him.

Mostly I just want to go to bed. My house is clean and I’m exhausted..

Happy Halloween!!

Here's my little angel of death. Don't the socks just make the outfit?!

Alesia, Marina and Katie

Here are Melissa and Andrew and their cute girls!

Michael's trick or treating buddies.

Resisting Nerd-dom

I re-read yesterday’s quick post and realized it sounded like Mike never got to bed last night. He sacked out on my bed and fell asleep, and then I got him up and walked him back to his bed. When he first came home I could pick him up, but now he weighs close to 90 lbs., so he has to walk. He rarely bumps into anything and he has no memory of it the next day.

I put music on his CD player at night for him to listen to as he falls asleep. I have learned that he falls fast. Once he is horizontal and still, and we have had prayers, he is out in about 2 minutes. [Unless someone sends me an email of something screaming…] For the past week he has been listening to one of my all-time favorite artists, Mary Chapin Carpenter.

Mary Chapin Carpenter [MCC] is, in my opinion, one of the best songwriters and singers in the world. Her lyrics are always powerful. This is from her song Beautiful Racket, off the CD Between Here and Gone:

So your day begins like this

Wondering what might have been

Old regrets and chances missed

Borne away on some lambent wind

Her music is so powerful, I can listen to it all day, although that particular CD is not a favorite. She still has great lyrics but her recent songs sound like re-treads, musically. I have always loved singer/songwriters like MCC, James Taylor, and Paul Simon. I also like classic R&B. Yeah, I'm weird.

She did an early song called I Am A Town, which I saw her sing in concert some years ago, when my Dad was alive, and I later bought the CD and listened to it obsessively. The song talks in the persona of a small southern town. When my Dad was sick with cancer and I was driving back and forth to Augusta all the time I would listen to it and cry because it made me think of my dad and his life. It took about 500 listens before I was able to hear it and not cry. I had thought at one time I might sing it at his memorial service, a cappella, as a tribute, but when the day came I was barely functional, and singing anything was not an option. Mother had a service completely devoid of any music because she was afraid she would break down and sob in front of a packed church and so, no music. No sobbing either, not in public anyway. Mother has a horror of crying in public.

She has a new CD out, a compilation of Christmas music and I would love to get that for Christmas. Hint. Hint. 

MCC gets labeled as country, but she's not really. I know country. We saw a lot of country music concerts when we lived in Knoxville, I guess because of the proximity to Nashville. Bruce used to take a flashlight and read a book. He always said he didn’t like country. Years later, I found a George Jones CD in his truck. You can’t deny your roots.

Then again, we are 50% mother and she was a professional singer in her youth and has a deep love of classical music.

When we are driving around downtown Atlanta and spot a pretty older church, Mother almost always says “I’ve sung in that church.”

Mother and I have talked about her death several times. She wants to be cremated. I am fine with that. I’ve told my kids, cremate me. No need to pay for a ridiculously expensive funeral. [The ridiculous cost of funerals is one of my soapbox topics, so don’t get me started…] Anyway, I’ve told Mother we WILL have music at her memorial service and I will choose it. [She won’t be there to protest. LOL] I am thinking about a nice eclectic mix, maybe something by Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, Placido Domingo, Willie Nelson, Rod Stewart, Leontyne Price, and of course the B-52’s. Wouldn’t be a party without the B’s…

I was in the car with Mother once and put on a CD I thought was pretty neutral, Aretha Franklin’s greatest hits, and as soon as Mother heard the first song she hollered “Get that crazy rock and roll music off there!!”

“But she’s the first lady of soul,” I protested weakly.

“Then just stop this car because I am getting out!” she barked.

“OK, OK, calm down…”

[I think I’ll start the memorial service with Aretha’s version of Dr. Feelgood…. ]

When I die, I don’t want the kids to pay for a funeral or a cremation. Donate my body to science. I should provide great research opportunities for the cure for cellulite. Maybe they can find a cure for fat thighs and Hobbit feet, too.

For me, no funeral. Just have a big party. Play lots of Stevie Wonder, KC and the Sunshine Band, The Temptations, The B-52’s, Marvin Gaye, and any other good party music [excluding rap of course]. Think of me and smile. Tell funny stories. Eat chocolate cake and lobster tails. Read out loud from my collected works, and marvel at how many typos I committed in my lifetime. Instead of having a “viewing” of my body [a custom I’ve always thought was barbaric] instead have a screening of one of my favorite movies, Groundhog Day, which teaches good lessons about happiness and morality and it’s also funny. 

I think death can be quite funny. I love black humor anyway. When my great uncle Jake died, Dad got his few personal effects from the funeral home, and stored them briefly in the storage room of our garage. I was 8. I walked in there one day and saw Jake’s false teeth gleaming at me from the shadows and nearly wet my pants. I ran out screaming. I adored Jake but those teeth were not my favorite part of him. Now, the memory amuses me.

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We were in an awkward moment last night just before dinner, when Alesia sang a snippet of melody and asked me what the name of the song was. “You know this, Mom? What’s the name of it?” I froze like a deer in the headlights who has spotted the muzzle of a double-barrel shotgun. “Uh, I’m not sure, hum it again?” I said weakly. She hummed it. I looked at Mother, who also looked horrified. “I, uh, don’t know, sorry kiddo,” I said lamely. “Mom, you know that song!” she said. This time she hummed a different melody. She has no ear for music. She could’ve been humming the Russian national anthem for all I knew. Fortunately, food was imminent and she dropped the line of inquiry.

Alesia may not be good at music but she's a fierce little warrior woman when it comes to those she loves, and I love that about her. Michael read a story yesterday for language arts about a deaf child with an older sister, and how the sister took up for him. When Alesia got home, Michael said to her “If someone called me a freak, what would you do?” Mother said Alesia looked extremely ticked off and said “I would beat their BUTT!” or words to that effect. “Beat butt” is how she remembered it later. She is very protective of Michael and just adores him. Of course, he gets on her nerves, like any younger brother, and they argue and fuss. They are close, though. When we go on long car trips and they are stuck in the back seat together they almost never fuss.

Michael is my resident clown, sometimes inadvertently. When Michael got home from school today I was dying to hear about the program the boys saw at Fernbank. I asked him what the program was and if he liked it. He answered this way, his voice dripping with disgust: “It was boring. They just talked about armpit hair and pimples!” I could hear Mother in the background laughing. Turns out they didn’t tell Michael anything he didn’t already know. We’ve talked about puberty and how that affects boys, here at home, several times.

Michael had an eye exam today. He was very grumpy and apprehensive before going in, as usualy with any new experience. He asked me last night why he had to have the exam and I explained that Granny and I are concerned about his eyesight. To prove my point, he had just tried on my regular glasses and instead of wincing and pulling them off his face as quickly as possible, like most folks, he said “Wow, I like these. I can see out of these.”  After I told him he might need glasses, though, he drew back, frowning. “You’re not gonna make me wear NERD GLASSES?!” I tried to think what he was talking about. All I could come up with was the poster for the movie Revenge of the Nerds. “No, they will have a lot of frames to choose from, and you can pick what you like,” I tried to reassure him.

The optometrist found that Michael is far sighted and has astigmatism. We ordered a pair of glasses. Michael is intrigued with the idea of wearing the glasses. I sure hope they help him to see better. Maybe some of his recent fussiness is frustration with his sight. He picked out non-nerd frames, fyi.

IN OTHER NEWS

We finished Mike's big social studies project after getting home from the eye doctor. I am dead tired.

My friend Cindy [Big Mama Hollers is her blog] is going through a terrible ordeal with two of her children who are exhibiting severe behaviors, plus other difficulties. Please say a prayer for her and her family.

We heard from Bruce that he was catching a plane for Kuwait tonight, and hoped to be home Saturday or Sunday. Yay. Mother and I are both anxious. Say another prayer for his safe and speedy travel, please.

A Brief Report and a Touch of Nostalgia

Day 3 with Alesia free of migraines, hallelujah! She seems her old self again. Prayers do work miracles!

Michael has been drama free all day. Yay! I told him he couldn’t ride his bike to tennis practice and he was irritated, but he got over it.

I just got the third email where it looks normal, then a scary face jumps in front of me and screams. I am so ready for Halloween to be over!! At least the emails! Michael woke up and came in here and insisted on seeing the scary email. Now he won’t go to bed. I want to horsewhip whoever came up with that!!

Alesia had a therapy session by herself with the therapist. She seemed lighthearted, even buoyant, by the end of it. I tried to take a nap but I couldn’t relax. The maintenance man was in the next room talking loudly on his cell phone. Wish I had his job. LOL

That’s all the news to report. Tomorrow will be a really busy day. 

This is a photo of my beloved grandparents, Wilma Butler and Bob Hasty, when they were "courting" in about 1922. He was 6'4 and she was 4'11. She scandalized the town of Marietta Georgia when she became the first debutante to bob her hair! She was a little fireball her entire life, even when she was an old lady and I knew her as Memaw. I hate the term "steel magnolia" but it describes her to a tee. My grandfather was a gentle giant who was much loved. I still miss them, but I know they are in heaven looking down on me.

Wonderfully Made

It has been strangely cold today - highs were in the 50's. For HOT-lanta, this is like Arctic winter. We actually ran the HEAT last night! Yikes.

Michael decided to move as slowly as possible today, after I dared to put his clothes on his bed – a red shirt and new blue jeans. He wore the shirt, reluctantly, but opted for his cozy new athletic pants instead of jeans. He moved as though he’d just been injected with thorazine when he got to the breakfast table and learned he would actually have to fix his own water and whatever he wanted on his Eggo waffles. How horrible. It’s like a contest of wills. He doesn’t want to eat breakfast, so he tries to move slowly and get to skip it altogether. I don’t allow unfed to children to leave my house for school. Just doesn’t happen.

What a mean mommy I was, sitting there shoveling oatmeal into my face. I had just gotten up, checked email, laid out Mike’s clothes on the bed, gotten out tonight’s corned beef and fixed it so it’s nearly ready to cook [Mother will add her special ingredients, garlic and soy sauce]. I had made Mother’s coffee and my tea. I had cooked the waffles.

After eating, but before I left, I called Alesia back down to take her pills, watered the plants we brought in last night, took out the trash, and partially unloaded the dishwasher. Then I dressed. Then I looked at the clock and realized we needed to leave, so I skipped the bathroom visit, something I regretted after the 35 minute drive through traffic across town.

Before Michael left, he aggravated me to the point where he lost all TV privileges for a week. After I told him that, I hugged his stiff little body. I also insisted on a kiss before I let him out of the car at school. He may not be happy but he is reassured I love him. This may be the hardest lesson he learns as an adopted child, that discipline doesn’t mean a lack of love. In fact, I equate fair discipline with the most real kind of love, the love of a person who cares about trying to make their child responsible and healthy, and steers them towards leading a good life. It’s easy to let a kid zone out in front of the TV or computer. It’s a lot harder to present life lessons that are painful sometimes.

My friend Cyndi, eloquent as always, wrote such a powerful and beautiful post - I urge you to read it, whether you are a parent or not.

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When I got home, Michael was at his tennis lesson. I got Alesia, picked up Mike at the courts, and headed off to see the condo. The new beige carpeting was put down today. It looks beautiful. The new bathroom floor looks gorgeous, too, although it needs another light cleaning. As fate would have it, when I got home, I got a call on my cell phone from an agent wanting to show the condo tomorrow! I am praying…

Michael was in a FOUL humor tonight, until I got some supper in him. I’ve never seen someone so grouchy. He whines and complains loudly. You’d think he was being tortured. Mother said all he ate for an after school snack was some cookies. So I was not sympathetic.

Michael’s school is doing a sex education program for the 5^th graders on Thursday. He is very excited about it. He proudly told me he already knows the vocabulary. I wanted to shout You Dadgum Well SHOULD know it, after my Birds & Bees talk last year! Yikes. I used illustrations and proper medical terms, too. He kept looking at me with great skepticism and some amusement, like “I KNOW you are kidding. When is the punchline?!”

When I was a kid, my mother gave me a book called Wonderfully Made. It was as bland and banal an explanation of sex as you can get. It said the man and woman together got the egg fertilized and 9 months later there was a baby! Whoopee. The mechanics of it all was a mystery. Mother explained it with such nervousness and embarrassment that I had a lot of questions, only I was too embarrassed to ask them. It took YEARS before I got it all straightened out.

Sometimes I think I'd trade our older kid issues for diaper changing. Then I regain my sanity.

The Broccoli Rant and the Dancing Dog

Pioneer Woman has a recipe today for baked acorn squash. It’s here . I read it with a look on my face approximating how I would look in the movie theatre watching Saw [which, for you non-movie lovers is a series of movies about people getting body parts lopped off in creative ways. Yep, I’m not kidding.] It’s not that the acorn squash recipe was akin to lopping off body parts. It’s just that putting maple syrup on squash seems to me, well, really bizarre. It’s like sweet potato pie, a staple food here in the south. I cannot eat it. It’s just, and I hate to say this, too sweet. There, I said it.

I always tell the kids the words “too sweet” are meaningless to me, with my gargantuan sweet tooth.

Last night at dinner, when we were all sitting around eating fried fish, somehow the subject turned to broccoli. If you don’t already know this, let me make something clear: I despise broccoli. I won’t let Mother cook it because it smells up the house and makes me nauseated. I don’t care how much cheese you dump on it, I will not eat a rubbery little tree that belongs in a science fair exhibit. The children don’t eat it either. They had never even seen broccoli until they were adopted and came to America. Occasionally we find it in entrees at Chinese restaurants. Mother says this is not real broccoli because it’s entirely too crunchy. No, in the great southern tradition, she likes her trees cooked to mush. Then all the tiny balls fall off the trees and manage to go everywhere. It’s too horrible; I have to stop thinking about it.

Let’s think about something more pleasant, shall we? I had a nightmare last night in which I was forced to eat broccoli. Just kidding. I actually did have a nightmare where I was in an office building with a lot of ghosts around and they were not friendly. I saw a friend of mine and she was cleaning a pistol, and as I watched she put it to her forehead and fired. I started screaming and crying, and I was running everywhere trying to find a phone so I could call the ambulance. There was no phone anywhere. I just kept seeing the bullet hole in her head. Aaaargh! It was horrible. It was a vivid, Technicolor dream, and somehow it was like an old 1970’s horror movie.

I have tried all day to analyze what could have caused me to have that vivid, terrible nightmare. There are anxieties that I cannot express, it seems. A couple of times over the weekend, the kids asked me why I was in such a foul humor. I didn’t think I was in a foul humor, but obviously they thought so. I did kind of snap a few times. I remember always knowing when my mother was worried, as a child.

Everyone worries. I like to deny I am worrying, though. When I was younger I would just throw myself into whatever activity was handy. I loved to swim in Denial River [pun intended]. Here is a list of a few things on my mind now: Alesia’s headaches, Michael’s social studies project, my diet, yard work I never find time to do, Bruce traveling home from Iraq this week on leave, etc. etc. A friend of mine at work said Friday it was a good day to curl up on the sofa with a cup of hot chocolate and watch an old movie. I never do that. We watch a movie about every night, but I never take a day and just chill out - too many things to do.

The way I see it is this: I was single and childless for the first 20 years of my adult life. I did exactly what I wanted. Now I have people to take care of and my time is filled up, and that’s fine with me. It’s a lot happier life.

I had to go by Kroger and pick up yet another Imitrex refill for Alesia. Thank God she didn’t have a headache today. She helped get Michael’s clothes washed, and helped Mother change her bed linens. Her personality was back to normal, too. We chatted on the way to Kroger.

She told me a boy in school had asked her if she was “mixed.” She said she’s from Russia but she might have some Asian, too. She doesn’t know. He said “You don’t know?” which embarrassed her. I told her there are people here in America who don’t even know the full names of their own grandparents, or what their ethnic heritage is either. I explained that I know a ridiculous amount about my own genealogy but most people don’t. [Strangely, since I became a mom I am not so interested. Of course, now I have little or no free time…] Anyway, I think she handled the question just fine.

I asked her if the boy appeared to be “mixed,” too. “No. He had really red/orange hair,” she reported. “Okey dokey, sounds like pure Caucasian then…” I laughed.

I went by to see Michael at tennis practice after Kroger and he had left his bike propped against the fence, not locked. I told him tonight that our deal was, he locks that bike when he’s up there, so now he has lost the privilege.

Mike lost 5 points this morning for refusing to finish his breakfast. He was not happy when I asked him tonight if it was worth it. “It was just a bite, Mom, why did you make such a big deal about it?” he whined. “Michael, you could have eaten the last of your oatmeal and drank your water in 2 seconds flat. Was it worth losing 5 points?” He continued to sulk. “I was full,” he mumbled.

We are still in the testing phase. He is testing me to see if I will follow through when I punish him. He is learning the hard way that I mean what I say. However, I am trying to be calm and even-handed. Losing my temper is counterproductive with him.

Last night when I went in to tell Mother good night, Coco was snoozing on the end of the bed, as usual. Mother was playing a lively tune by Floyd Cramer on her CD player. I started a little dancing to Floyd and Coco woke up, stood up on her hind legs, and danced with me. She loves to do that. We should go on the Letterman show. LOL

Keep my brother in your prayers. He is traveling home from Iraq this week for a two week leave. He has to camp out at the Baghdad airport in hopes of catching a flight to Kuwait. We’re hoping to see him this weekend.

Hot Enough For Michael

    I was praying this morning, before and in church, that I would be able to get everything done today. I hate that our weekends are always so busy. I didn’t get Alesia’s history reading with her done, my room still needs dusting, and there are a few other things that fell by the wayside.

           The church we’ve been attending, St. Bede’s, has a preschool that is very small but respected, and the kids are so precious. They came in today and sang “This Little Light of Mine.” It was hysterical. One little boy on the end of the row wouldn’t open his mouth to sing until the line that went something like “Satan’s not gonna stop my song, NO!” and he got excited and waved his arms and shouted NO! with great enthusiasm.

           I allow Michael to play his Gameboy during the sermon, but that will not last forever. We talked today at lunch about the content of the sermon, because Rev. Chalaron told a very funny story about her cat, and Michael was listening to it. Alesia has always been calm and good in church. We told Michael the importance of the last story in the sermon was that God’s kingdom is all around us, and we are all doing his work every day. The point is to make a difference now, not just wait to go to heaven. I totally agree with that.

           We had to park a ways away this morning, so Michael and I went to get the car, while Alesia waited in front of the church with Mother. I pointed out a historical marker that talks about the mill that used to be at the site. I explained that mills used to be on the creek, and people got corn ground there. I then explained that Atlanta has a lot of roads with “Ferry” in the name, too – Paces Ferry, etc. named after ferries along the Chattahoochee River. He interrupted me “You mean named after fairies? Real fairies carried people across the river?!” I couldn’t see his face to know if he was bluffing to be funny, or he really was getting his words mixed up. “No, Mike, f-e-r-r-I-e-s, not fairies. Tinkerbell was nowhere along the Chattahoochee.” Alesia made a similar mistake not long after she learned English. The words “ferry” and “fairy” do sound alike when Mom and I say them.

           We had lunch at our favorite Mexican restaurant, and then did the grocery shopping. This afternoon in the grocery store Mike was very ticked off because I told him he couldn't wheel around a meat display doing 90 mph. He [and Alesia] had also gotten a lecture about not leaving the front door open. He sulked, and told me I had "ruined his morning." I pointed out that I was not being unreasonable about anything, and that if he would learn to obey I would consider giving him more choices. The last thing I said was, "First, you have to obey, kiddo. Then you will get some more choices."

           Michael and I worked all afternoon on his social studies project. What a pain. Especially since he had lost his notecards and outline. We went to Michael’s [the crafts store] and bought some things for the poster, which is huge and complicated. Alesia was white as a sheet the whole time. She has not felt well all day, poor kid, but it wasn’t a migraine.

           I cannot tell if the medication is helping Alesia or not. I pray it is helping.

 

I bought Michael a down vest at Old Navy yesterday. He has worn it all day today – dressed for really cold weather. It was a little nippy today but not cold. I told him to not even think about complaining about being hot indoors.

 

Here he added shades and his Naruto necklace. This is how he went to church. Fortunately it's a very laid back church and we sat in the back. LOL

Happy to be a Real Mom

I was up early to meet the carpet guy at the condo. He measured for carpet in the main room and sunroom. I am replacing the high quality blue carpet in there with cheap brown carpet. I hate to do it, but if it sells the condo, it’s worth it. I am also putting new flooring in the smaller bathroom, something that looks better than the brown/yellow combination in there now.

Michael’s therapy session today dealt with how he hears his birthmom’s voice inside his head sometimes, saying the mean and negative things that turn him into a little zombie huddled in his dark room. The therapist told him he can turn off that voice.

One thing I really appreciated was that to illustrate her point, the therapist drew two stick figures, a little Michael and a larger Michael, and behind the smaller one she put “BM” for birthmom, and behind the larger figure she wrote “RM” for Real Mom. She pointed out that he is the same boy in both pictures. He was very interested in that.

The therapist asked him if his birthmom told him he was worthless and didn’t deserve anything good and he nodded, his face reflecting surprise and distress.  He said on a scale of 1 – 10, with 1 being almost no love and 10 being all the love he could ever need or want, that he felt like his birthmom loved him 2 [not surprising, given that she abused him terribly]. I scored a 9. She drew the numbers at the bottom of the drawings and circled 2 for BM and 9 for Real Mom.

I felt the 10 would have been a more accurate score for me. As if reading my mind, the therapist said “Now Michael, I think Dee loves you 10 plus. I have known a lot of parents who adopted kids, and not all of them love their adopted kids that much, but your mom loves you 10 or more, because she sees what a wonderful boy you are.” He looked skeptical. She continued, “If you were not a good boy, you think your mom would’ve adopted you?!” and he smiled. “No, she adopted you because you are a special, wonderful boy.”

Michael’s demeanor has been far more sunny all day. When we got home, I found a quiet moment to hug him and tell him that I love him when he’s good, and I love him when he’s bad. I may not like him when he’s bad, but I still love him.                                                                                                                                            

We ate lunch at a little sandwich shop in Chamblee, a small town not far from Tucker, where we live. The little downtown area has been somewhat revitalized with antique stores and cute little shops. It was very pleasant. We ate next to an open door, which was fine because the weather was nice – in the 70’s.

While Mother napped, the kids and I went to a big Goodwill store about 20 minutes from the house. We found some more cheap movies [Die Hard 2, Beethoven, one of the Batmans, Dr. Doolittle 2]. Alesia found some pajama pants and a cute pair of sandals. I found a really nice framed needlepoint sampler that I am going to put in the smaller of the condo bathrooms, to spruce it up. The entire bill was $31. Everything looked brand new, too. That’s why I love shopping there.

We next went to Old Navy in the mall, and got Mike some pants. He only found one pair of jeans he liked. He wears somewhere between a boys’ 12 and 14. We got 14 jeans, and 3 pairs of athletic pants with elastic waists. He can’t wear shorts all winter, not on the cold mornings anyway. We also got him a nice lined down vest, which he can wear with a hoodie and be perfectly warm most winter days. So he’s set, I hope and pray, for the winter.

Our movie tonight was Rain Man. I had forgotten Tom Cruise was ever that young. I remember when the film came out in 1988. I saw it with my father. I had to explain to the kids why an imported Lamborghini had to pass EPA standards, and a little about wills and trusts, but they followed the story really well otherwise. It’s really a remarkable film about family.

Mother and I shared a chuckle tonight at dinner. I was tired and so didn’t do much about dinner. Alesia and I had frozen fish sticks, mother had a hamburger, and Michael had hot dogs. Coco has been sort of listless all day, with one of her frequent tummy upsets. She refused to eat all day. Finally, tonight, I got her to eat some tiny bites of an old stale croissant. At one point I looked at Mother and said, “I’m sitting here feeding croissant to the poodle and I am eating fish sticks and garlic toast. What wrong with this picture?!”

Just a normal Saturday night.

Alesia has gone all day without a migraine. I pray this will be a new trend…

Mammoth Michael Drama Day

I don’t know where you were this morning at 6 a.m. but here’s where I was: standing in the shower, rinsing off all my shoes. Yes, the overnight Efferdent bath got my tub and my Crocs sparkling clean. When I told Michael yesterday that Efferdent is used to clean the dentures of people who put their teeth in a glass at night he gave me a look of utter horror. “Oh that’s gross,” he said loudly. “YUCK!!”

This is one of the best things about wearing Crocs: they can be washed.

Michael has a pair of Crocs and he loves them. He cannot wear them to school, however. They are required to wear tennis shoes. When I was a kid, back in the dark ages before personal computers and videogames and MP3’s, I had to wear dresses and school shoes every day. School shoes were never tennis shoes or sneakers or trainers – whatever y’all call them. My first school shoes were black and white saddle oxfords. I was unable to wear tennis shoes to school until about 6^th grade. That was the year we were finally able to wear pants, and not just on cold winter days. Nowadays, kids can wear anything, including tattoos…. Yikes.

Michael said last night he wanted a pair of Crocs with wooly lining. I have seen those on the website. They are called Mammoths. I pointed out that we live in Atlanta, where is never gets really cold. “I WANT some!” he demanded. “No.” I replied. He has gotten waaaaaay to cocky lately. “Let me show you something,” I said, hopping up to go to my closet. I pulled out a pair of wooly lined Sketchers.

“Right after Alesia came home I bought her some shoes and she wanted these, too, even though I told her it would never be cold enough to need them,” I explained, showing him the nifty brown suede clogs. “The first time Alesia wore these to school, she came home complaining that her feet were way too hot,” I explained. “She never wanted to wear them again, so they became mine. I wear them maybe once a year.”

Michael was immediately intrigued. “Cool. I want to wear them!” he insisted. I let him wear them around the house last night. They are strangely gender neutral shoes.

This morning he wanted to wear them to school. “No. You are not allowed to wear anything but tennis shoes to school!” I said, exasperated. Mother and I had each told him last night he couldn’t wear them to school. He also didn’t want to wear long pants. It’s cold, rainy, and foggy today. I capitulated on the pants but I held firm on the shoes

Next, he refused to eat the fried eggs I had cooked for him – this after he refused to say what he would eat for breakfast. Alesia had a headache this morning, plus threw up her breakfast – twice – so I didn’t have time to tango with Michael. He fixed himself a big bowl of stale Fruit Loops and ate alone, in the dining room. He was furious. I was irritated. I didn’t blow up and yell at him. I sorta let it go, but not really. I emailed the therapist when I got to work. Hollering at Michael does no good.

I am torn between letting him just wear what he wants to school and suffering the consequences – teasing from other kids about a plaid shirt and a pair of cammo shorts, for instance – or trying to protect him. He has enough to deal with already, with his arm. He doesn’t know how to put together outfits, though, or dress correctly for the weather. I knew if I let him wear the shoes to school I would’ve gotten a call saying to bring him some proper footwear.

Michael was reading aloud from his book last night, and Coco decided to protest. I think her tiny brain was addled by the 3 stale croissants she had been given. She will turn down gourmet type. So Michael starts reading and she starts whimpering, with every word coming out of his mouth. I swear, she would happily eat a dozen croissants and just explode. She fits in with our family, that’s for sure. LOL

Between the rain and the foul humors this morning, it was a really yucky day, until I read this blog and it made me laugh - what a hoot. Even a spinster like me can appreciate it.

Michael and I tried to go to a carnival at his school tonight when I got home from work, but there were so many people there we couldn’t park on the school grounds. I refused to park a mile away and walk, since it was cold and raining. Mike got really ticked because he wanted to eat cotton candy, and see Ms. Hickey, his beloved ESL teacher. I told him, there are just some things I cannot control. I took him to Goodwill to bum around but it didn’t help his mood.

Alesia went with her friend Elena to see High School Musical 3 tonight. Elena’s parents and I felt the girls could go by themselves, which is something we’ve never done before. They are both 17. Neither drive, so they were taken and picked up by Elena’s dad. Now, you must remember both girls are somewhat immature, so I don’t allow Alesia to go anywhere alone, just yet. Elena is actually more responsible, though, and I trust Alesia with her.

After we got Michael to eat, he was better. I think he was bummed about missing the carnival and Alesia going to the movie. He will work himself into these states where he will do nothing but sit in the dark, on the floor, in his room, and I have to get creative to get him to cooperate. I threatened to take away points, cancel his Halloween celebrations, etc. – no dice. He wouldn’t come downstairs and eat. Finally, I said “If you don’t get your butt downstairs you will have ruined my evening and that’s not fair.” He reluctantly came down. He goes too long without eating properly and gets really disobedient, but I am learning how to get him out of those black moods. It is no fun, though.

After dinner, I let him watch Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader? – one of the few TV shows I can tolerate. I am not smarter. That's clear. Then we watched True Lies. Alesia came home in a great good humor. So, not too bad a day, if I overlook all the Michael Drama…

Six Degrees of Itchy Feet

Sometimes it blows my mind how OLD I am – 46. I cannot fathom it. We went by my old high school when we were in Knoxville a couple of weeks ago and it felt like I was just there last week, except the campus looks a lot nicer now. My class was the first to graduate after going there all four years, and it was 1980 when I got my diploma. Some of you reading this were not BORN in 1980. Yikes.

We watched the original Star Wars movie the other day, and the kids kept saying "What's that thing?! What's going to happen?" and I finally said "Y'all, the last time I watched this was in 1977 - like 31 years ago! I don't remember!" They stared at me like I was from another planet. I well remember the summer of 1977 when Star Wars came out. I remember watching a Today Show interview with all the lead actors. Harrison Ford was SO hot then. Ahem…

 I plan to get all the Star Wars movies from Netflix and watch them, just so they will have that American cultural reference. All American kids know Star Wars. We’re also going to see other classic American movies but I am not sure yet which ones.

We were watching the Will Smith movie I Robot last night and I said offhandedly, “This is from a book or a story by Isaac Asimov, I think, a great science fiction writer – “ and before I could continue, the kids said “A** him off?!” and started wildly giggling. They didn’t calm down for a minute. “Well, I bet he was Russian, with that name…” I tried to continue. They were not listening. They couldn’t get past the word “a**” which is a naughty word in our house.

Michael’s new hand will be great, when he can wear it. This morning, he didn’t wear his hand. He showed me a bruise on his short arm, near the elbow. I suspect that is there because he played tennis wearing the prosthetic last night. I talked to Michael’s physical therapist that the school provides. She’s a nice young woman – the one who taught him to tie his shoes with one hand. She is going to help him learn to type with just his left hand. The prosthesis cannot be used for typing – the fingers don’t separate. I thought at first that giving him therapy at school was a waste of funds, but now I am sold on the idea.

Michael has had to read a book called Hatchet, which everyone in his new class is reading. It’s actually a pretty interesting story, about a plane crash where the only survivor is a 13 year old boy, and how he manages. Last night Michael went through about 20 pages. He read most of it, although Alesia read some pages, just to save time. The amazing thing to me is that his reading has improved so dramatically, just in the past couple of months since he started school. He continues to make phenomenal progress. His word knowledge is amazing too, and I don’t know how he does it – I never see him pick up a dictionary. He was reading his social studies lesson in the car yesterday on the way home from getting his prosthesis and I stopped him, “Do you know the word ‘scarce’?” He said yes, when you don’t have enough of something it’s scarce. I was flabbergasted. He understands words like “obsessed” – a favorite of his. I’ve never heard Alesia use that word.

It’s so fascinating to see how differently Michael and Alesia are, academically. Michael is hard to get focused, but when he does focus, he can learn really quickly. Alesia is much more disciplined, much better about sitting down and doing homework, but she learns slowly. We’ve tried to explain to her [me and the therapist] that learning slowly is not a bad thing. I know it’s frustrating for her in class, though. She cannot keep up with all the verbal information she gets every day. If a teacher tells the kids something verbally that’s not in the book, Alesia is probably not going to remember it, write it down, and be able to know it for the test.

Michael and I were having a funny conversation yesterday in the car on the way to his appointment. He bought a bag of Cracker Jacks [his new favorite snack] and it had a little “prize” in it, a drawing of Abraham Lincoln. In one of those funny, six degrees of separation sort of things, I told Michael that we are connected to the 16^th president. Honest Abe’s mother’s name was Nancy Hanks. I remembered reading somewhere that actor Tom Hanks was a distant relative of hers. Tom Hanks’ sister is an adoptive parent and writes a pretty interesting blog [http://sandrahanksbenoiton.wordpress.com/] which I read. Sandra and I are “cyber friends” – how I classify folks who are friends but we have never met in person. So Michael is connected to Abraham Lincoln, through me and my Hanks connections. I don’t expect anyone to be terribly impressed by that. I am just amused that I could come up with it… LOL

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Michael has been invited to a Halloween spend-the-night at his friend Clay’s house. I am happy for him to go, but my only concern is that he be able to sleep. I told him today, he has to go on and get a reasonable amount of sleep, and not stay awake all night playing videogames.

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For a couple of weeks now I have had a strange itching on the bottoms of my feet. I’ve tried every crème in my arsenal – and I have quite a few, because “rash” is my middle name. I read something that makes me feel it might be athletes’ foot. It finally occurred to me tonight that I ought to clean and disinfect my Crocs and Teva sandals, since I probably keep re-messing up my feet every morning. So right now my Crocs are soaking in a bathtub full of antibacterial soap and efferdent tablets. Michael had fun throwing in the Efferdent tablets. LOL

I hope it works. I cannot stand the itching feet much longer.

New Hand 2008

It has been such a busy day.

 

Michael got his hand back, the same chip that is, but in a larger arm socket. So now he can get his prosthetic on and off more easily. He was not as thrilled as last year when he got his first ever prosthetic, but he was tickled, I could see. He will be able to do a lot more now. He rode his bike to tennis practice. He has to wear the hand to ride it.

 

Tonight, Alesia spent about 20 minutes and read part of her history lesson to me, about ancient Greece. I am making her read a little very day, and I help her when she doesn’t understand it. I think this will work out better than cramming before the test.

 

Alesia did well today – no headache – and we were congratulating her. Spoke too soon.  We were watching “I Robot” and a headache came on at 9 p.m. She took her medication, and threw it up a few minutes later. I felt so sorry for her. When she was upstairs vomiting, Michael asked me in a very sad voice, “When will Alesia be well?” I wanted to cry. “I don’t know, sweetie.”

 

I am just mentally exhausted from the strain of worrying about Michael’s school, worrying about Alesia’s migraine, worrying about the stupid condo that never sells. I keep trying to remember that it’s all in God’s hands, not mine.

 

If you or someone you know has adopted a baby from China, you might want to see this blog post about some cool dolls –

 

http://thetomlinsontribegrows.blogspot.com/