We are having some strange weather here. The
high today was in the mid 60’s. This morning the entire city was
shrouded in thick fog. Driving to work was surreal. I felt like I was in a Stephen
King novel. The traffic was very light and there were several cars whizzing by
me at 70 mph, which added to the sense of imminent danger…
Menopause is a wacky beast. I felt all
morning like I was fixing to get my period again – bloating, cramps, headachy.
Of course, all that mess stopped months ago. This is like a faux period, or a
phony war, or the cubic zirconia of monthly misery – take your choice.
I had such a hard day yesterday that I was
in a very foul mood last night. Maybe it was faux PMS. I got really ticked with
Alesia because she had a Geometry project due today which should’ve been done
over the weekend, and wasn’t, because she didn’t even look at her agenda all
weekend. So I was not inclined to help her with it, and told her so. After I
picked her up from school, she announced just as we got home that she had
forgotten her Geometry notebook and she had the project due. So I turned the
car around and took her all the way back to school to get it out of the locker.
Fortunately the school was still open, due to band practice. So then It was
time to pick up Michael from tennis practice. I spent from 5:10 p.m. until 6:50
p.m. in the car.
Last night, as I was waiting for Michael, I
saw him totally goofing off after his match was done. The tennis courts are
outside and I can park right next to them and watch. He was supposed to be
helping clean up the courts. The last thing, all kids are supposed to put the
hundreds of tennis balls back in the coach’s carrier thingy. Michael spent a
fair amount of time hitting Clay with his tennis racket. Well, not really
hitting him, OK, but shadow hitting – no impact, just major annoyance. Poor
Clay finally started running away from Michael. Michael gave chase, wildly
swinging his racket. I told him at dinner last night I better never see that
nonsense again. It took all my self-control not to jump out of the car and holler
at him.
My father would’ve been furious to see that
behavior. He was a fanatic that his children behave correctly in public.
We didn’t watch a movie last night. Alesia
had to do her Geometry project. Michael and I watched the last half of Antiques
Roadshow. I hadn’t watched it in ages. I love that show. After a crazy day, it
was soothing to watch experts evaluate the junk people unearthed from their
attics. One lady had a painting worth $300-500,00!! Lord have mercy.
At the end they showed funny little clips of
people holding their stuff and saying what it was worth, or not. One guy held
up a pretty coffee table and said how as a child he’d never been allowed to
even touch it, and he had just found out it was only worth $100 – and he was
going to go home and give it to his kids to play with! LOL Another guy, a big
beefy cowboy/redneck looking fellow [this was Dallas] held up a teeny little
decorated plate and said his sister had made him take it down there “And it
ain’t worth pee-doodly squat!” – Michael just chortled at that.
After the first few times I watched Antiques
Roadshow, I remember running around my Mother’s house in Augusta, pointing at
or holding up all the antiques and asking her where they had come from and how
old they were. She was highly annoyed, until she watched the program with me.
We have several antiques in the house, most of them passed down through the
family. I don’t have any intention of selling them, however. I told Michael
that the bed he sleeps on, the frame anyway, was bought by my grandfather in
1923 for $11, and it was secondhand then. The rails are made of decorative iron
and they’ve lasted this long, so I didn’t figure he could hurt it.
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I heard from the soccer coach today that
Alesia didn’t make either one of the soccer teams. I emailed him and he basically said she didn't have enough skills. Well she's never had the chance to be on a team, so duh. He could give her some extra help and she'd be fine. She is 17 years old. I can’t find a local team that will take
her, due to her age. By 17 most girls are either really good and play at a high
level, or they’ve quit.
I just feel so bad for her. I hate that she was with all those girls for 5 days, making friends, getting lots of great exercise, and then they tell her she’s not good enough. She was so upset this morning. Thanks a lot. I will send you the therapist’ bill.
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We worked on Michael’s Memory Box tonight.
It was like pulling teeth to get him to do it. I even bought him a nice little
box at Michael’s crafts store, and gave him the tempera paints we use for
crafts things. He loves to paint. He hated figuring out what to put in it. I finally
just copied out a photo of all 5 of us, and coaxed him into talking through a
paragraph about it, which I typed. We also put in a photo of me and him at the orphanage with
me reading jack’s New Family to him, a keychain souvenir from Myrtle Beach, and
a recipe for Bud’s Chicken, one of our favorite family recipes. Mother is going
to coach him on his oral presentation tomorrow.
Last year he had to do an oral report in
front of the whole school, on Harriet Tubman. He had to dress up like her. Man
was he irked about that. He told me this memory box thing would be worse! I
said “Worse than dressing like a girl?” and he said “Yes! I am not famous like
Harriet Tubman!”
He asked me tonight what would happen if I
lost my job. I explained that I would still get some money from unemployment
and I would just find another job. I know, having been homeless, he worries. I
told him, however, that if we just had to, Granny could support us. We’d just
have to move, probably. Uncle Bruce would help, too. He kept asking about
different scenarios. Finally, I said “Michael, if Granny and I both die, Uncle
Bruce will take care of you and Alesia, OK? He would never let us down. You
will never not have someone there for you.”
That seemed to satisfy him. “Would we live
here or in Columbia?” he asked. “Knowing Bruce, probably yes,” I answered.
If some freaky thing happened and me and
Bruce and Granny all died, I guess I need to figure out which cousin would get
custody of Michael. Alesia is almost 18, so that’s not an issue, although I’d
like her to stay with him until she finishes high school. I obviously need to
revise my will. When I was growing up we used to talk about this kind of thing
at the dinner table. My father handled wills and estates for a bank. He used to
give lectures and presentations about wills.
I wrote my first will when I was 7, and left
everything to my dolls, because I was Mad At The World. Mother still has it, I
believe.
This
was drawn by Michael for Uncle Bruce. He likes to draw cars. [What? You didn’t
know it was a car?!]
