The Crab Chronicles

Adoption Tax Credit - IMPORTANT!

As you may already know, adoptive parents get a tax credit of almost $13,000 and it's a great way to offset adoption expenses - that's for either domestic or foreign adoptions. People who make a lot of money [I forget the exact figure] don't qualify, but I've never known but one family that made so much money they didn't qualify. It's a great way to make adoption affordable to normal, middle class families. The tax credit means you get back, dollar for dollar, whatever you paid in taxes. It can be spread out over 3 years, too.

The tax credit is in danger of not being permanent. It's up for renewal soon. Please see Rainbow Kids website here for a better explanation than mine.

I would not have been able to adopt my kids if I hadn't gotten this tax break!! It's about getting kids into loving homes. The $13K doesn't pay all the expenses in a foreign adoption. Both my adoptions cost over $20,000. Even domestic adoptions involve expense.

These are the states where we need to get the congressmen and senators onboard. If you live in one of these states, please go to the website for your folks and send them an email, or write them a letter, supporting the tax credit. The link above has instructions.

West Virginia
Delaware
Connecticut
Rhode Island
New Hampshire
Vermont
Massachusetts
Maine
Idaho
Oregon
Nevada
Montana
South Dakota
New Mexico
Arkansas
Hawaii

Is Wrestling Fake?!

We watched a really delightful movie on DVD last night, Bottle Shock. I reviewed it here .

It stars Alan Rickman and Bill Pullman, two awesome actors. It was filmed in California wine country, a place I’ve always wanted to visit.

When it was over, Alesia said something like she wished she had a glass of wine. I said “You cannot drink alcohol until you are 21. That’s the legal age.”

I’ve told her that before. She still looked surprised. She said “But I’ll be 18 soon!”

“It doesn’t matter, you cannot drink then.”

She kept repeating “I’ll be 18 soon!”, almost manically, over and over, smiling and giggling. It was really quite bizarre. It was like she was goading me, trying to make me mad. I held my temper.

I think what’s happening is that kids at school are telling her she can do whatever she wants at 18 [her birthday is July 9] and she is listening to them. I don’t think she’s in danger of running away, but I really fear some stupid behavior.

We’ve talked about this in therapy several times, but I think we really need to address it again, because she is so susceptible to bad influences from other kids at school. I think it’s staring to really sink in that she may look 17, but emotionally she is about 14, and that’s upsetting her. She can’t express that in a healthy way, though.

This morning at breakfast she wore an outlandish outfit, shorts and shirt that didn’t match, and a hoodie that really didn’t match. She sat down at the breakfast table and said to me “I DON’T care what you think of my outfit, but I want to know if the colors coordinate!” I told her no, and wearing three difference patterns looked bizarre. She looked at me and said “Oh no, you CAN wear different patterns if the colors match!”

I didn’t try to dispute that, but it was very hard not to tell her she looked weird. She almost missed the bus due to fooling with her hair, which was in two braids. She looked like a homeless Swiss Miss.

I told her to quit messing with her hair, and go catch the bus, NOW. I told her I didn’t want her to miss the bus, because then I would have to take her to school. She said “So?!” and I said “If I take you to school, that makes me late to work.” It’s so exasperating sometimes, getting her to see how her actions affect others. She doesn’t think about inconveniencing me. She got so mad she flounced down the stairs and wouldn’t even tell me goodbye.

When she got home from school, Mother said “How did your friends like your hair?” and Alesia said “They thought it was adorable!”

 

After school, more drama.

Michael said in PE today he fell coming down the slide. Nothing injured, apparently. I asked him what he did to fall coming down the slide. He described something that I didn’t really understand, and ended by saying “Well, when Jeff Hardy [the wrestler] does it, he doesn’t get hurt.”

I wanted to scream, SON HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU WRESTLING IS FAKE?!!!

Mother called me about 4, laughing, and said both kids had gone to the tennis court. I was surprised, since Alesia always says she doesn’t like to play tennis. Michael guilted her into going with him. He had asked her to go to his match last weekend and she refused, but said she would go hit balls with him sometime. This afternoon he said “You PROMISED you would go down there with me and hit balls!” and he badgered her until she gave in.

I am thinking he has a future as a car salesman…

 

Life is What Happens

I saw this quote this morning and knew I had to put it in here:

No wise man ever wished to be younger.
- Jonathan Swift

I read something the other day I liked but I didn’t save the exact quote. It went something like this: When you get older, you finally become the person you really always were. I like that. I certainly concur.

When I look back on my younger self, I realize I wasted so much time on idiotic things, and I wish I could have a “do-over.” I kept thinking my life would finally start when I got married and had a family. Looking back, I cannot believe how naïve I was. I put up with some witchy, horrible bosses, and a lot of bad treatment from guys, and I never tapped into my real potential. I got an inkling of that when I first read this:

Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.

- John Lennon

I also spent a lot of time worrying about my appearance. I actually used to keep a list of every outfit I wore to work, every day. I didn’t want to wear the same outfit too often. Whether I was heavy or thinner, clothes were very important.

Now I see them only as a means to an end. As I like to say now, my fashion goal can be summed up in one word: clean.

I am re-reading and writing a synopsis of a screenplay I wrote almost ten years ago called The Theory of Hip Movement, a romantic comedy based a lot on my life before kids. I am going to send it to an old high school buddy of mine who is now an actor in New York. I quit writing screenplays when I adopted Alesia because I just never had time any more. What little writing time I can eke out during the day is devoted to my blog and my books. However, I think the three full-length screenplays I managed to finish were all good stories. Not great screenplays, but solid stories. Trying to market them and get an agent just got very tiring and discouraging. Maybe Jeff can do something with them, who knows. I could sure use the money from a sale.

Back to the younger thing, though. I would love to have a younger body, but the brain I have now. Experience has been a tough teacher, but I have learned.

When we were eating dinner last night, I don’t remember how it came up, but Alesia said with some resentment, “You won’t let me work. You won’t let me drive. I’ll never get to drive!”

“I never said you won’t ever drive,” I answered, making a big effort to control my temper.

Her passionate declarations continued all evening. She implied strongly that since she was 17, I was being horrible to not let her drive and work. I pointed out that she has to be able to drive to go to work. I don’t think the bus is safe. I also pointed out that she cannot work and go to school. Some kids can handle it, some cannot. I didn’t come right out and say it, but we have discussed that she is not mature enough to drive, in my opinion. I was thinking about letting her start learning this summer, but I am not sure about that.

I think what’s happening is that the other kids are asking her why, at 17, she isn’t driving or working, and it makes her very uncomfortable. She then takes out her resentment on me.

I am not sure what to do about this, but it’s something we need to discuss with the therapist, again. Mother and I have seen great improvement in Alesia’s maturity in the past year or so, but she still has a ways to go. She is still a very concrete thinker, for example, with little ability to do abstract thinking.

 

I helped Michael finish his homework last night, and we discussed panic. Reading a story and then answering questions about it causes him to panic a lot of times. We hear “I CAN’T DO THIS!” and he is so distressed and pitiful looking. Last night I showed him the 4 questions on the back of the language arts assignment and he wailed about not understanding. He then got a lecture.

“Michael, when I was about your age and I got a tough math assignment, I used to oftentimes look at it and get scared. Then I would think OH NO, I can’t DO that! And then you know what happened?” He shook his head. “Then, if I let that panic take hold, I really wouldn’t be able to do it. But if I took a deep breath and stayed positive, and said something like OK, this is hard, but I will get some help. I can do this. Well, then I could do it.” [This relates back to “attitude” which he hears about a lot, but I was trying to give him a concrete example of how it stymies him.]

After we talked about each question, he was able to answer it easily. Sometimes he doesn’t understand the question.

I have ordered some books and CD-ROMS for him to work on this summer, to hopefully help him improve his reading comprehension and be really ready for 6^th grade next year. He is going to need to do some work every morning this summer, like he’s done in the past. I also plan to go to the library every weekend, so both kids can do some reading over the summer.

A friend of mine at work asked me about how we cook pork tenderloin, and I gave her my mother’s wonderful recipe, which is below. Of course, we belong to the “taste and add” school of cooking, like my friend (who is from New Orleans originally) so this is just a guide:

ELVA’S PORK TENDERLOIN

Take your pork roast and melt a stick of butter in the skillet and brown it. Pull it out and set it aside. Cut the heat way down. Add the following, to taste [start with a tablespoon]:

Soy sauce

Minced ginger

Apricot jam, or orange marmalade

Fresh garlic, minced

Onion powder

Balsamic vinegar

Few drops of Tabasco sauce

Fresh black pepper

Honey

1 tablespoon good mustard or teaspoon dried mustard

Stir and taste it until it tastes right. Let it come up to a simmer for a minute. Put the meat in a pan and cover with the sauce. Bake on 350 for 30 minutes to an hour, depending on the size of the roast.

EGGROLL CABBAGE [easy]

In the store, look for bags of shredded cabbage like you use for coleslaw. (They are usually by the bagged lettuce.) Get a couple of those. Get a deep skillet and put a generous amount of oil in the bottom – if you can have the fat, use bacon drippings or brown a piece of bacon and use the drippings. If not, any oil is fine. Cut up an onion and brown it; take it out. Throw in your cabbage and cook it down, stirring a lot as you add things. Add in generous shots of soy sauce, black pepper, and seasoned salt. Taste it. When it’s wilted to the desired softness, toss the onions back in and cut off the heat. Serve with the pork roast.

SAMPLE MENU:

Pork roast

Eggroll cabbage

Rice or new potatoes, buttered

Some kind of fruit dessert would be good, too. Here’s an easy one: get a fresh mango, peel and chip it up. Add one small carton of blueberries and add a cup of vanilla yogurt and some fresh cinnamon, to taste. Toss together. Enjoy!

Power Outages and Planting

High drama in the past 12 hours. Last night’s blog was written yesterday at lunch, which is why I didn’t mention the drama.

Around 9 last night we’re watching a movie [“Night Shift” – a wholesome comedy about hookers in a morgue] and the power goes out. The kids and I just sat there in stunned silence for a moment, waiting for the power to come on. Finally, Mother came out of her room, looked at us, and said “Why are you just sitting there?! Find the flashlights!”

We found them. We have approximately 1,276 flashlights in the house. Some of them actually work. Usually, the ones the kids shine in our eyes work beautifully.

I told the kids I would read to them, since the movie was kaput. I found one of my dad’s Lewis Grizzard books and started reading. While I read, and had a chance to trot out my long-dormant acting skills and use my normal [southern accent] voice, the kids were busy looking for candles, making patterns on the ceiling with the flashlight battery, running to the window, etc. So I soon gave up.

I have trained myself to e-nun-ci-ate carefully around Alesia, since her auditory processing disorder means she doesn’t understand southern too well. Michael understands southern just fine, thank you. He gets tickled sometimes and imitates me, in fact. I will make a good old boy out of him yet. [He already likes cars, wrestling, and guns…]

This morning, Alesia came downstairs just as I was hollering back towards Mother’s room, as I do every morning, “Your coffee’s ready!” and she hollered back “Thank you!” Alesia looked puzzled and giggled a bit. I asked her what was funny. “Granny said “I Love You” when you said her coffee was ready,” she relied.

“No, Sweetie, Granny said thank you.”

We have these kinds of exchanges several times a day.

 

I told Michael this morning that I know what I want for Mother’s Day. He looked at me suspiciously. “I want an hour of your time on Sunday,” I said casually.

Then he looked really suspicious. “Why?” he demanded

“I want you to help me build a rocket ship so we can fly to the moon,” I replied.

“Oh, in that case, I will help you all day!” he enthused. I just smiled.

“Seriously, what do you want?” he nagged.

“Seriously, I will tell you on Sunday,” I said. If he knew the plan is for him to do yard work, he would start planning the stomach ache now. I plan on asking Alesia for the same thing. The difference is, she will not argue about it.

Mother said what she wants is a trip to a book store. I told her nope, remember, she wants Bruce to build her a new raised garden bed. I told Bruce that. She keeps saying book store. I don’t mind taking her to the book store, but we need to talk some more about the garden and how much SHE really, really wants it. I might even break down and plant a broccoli tree. [aaaargh! What am I saying?!]

I put in the melon seedlings in the new melon patch [see photo above, which was made several years ago - now there are a lot more plants on the patio]. I mixed up a lovely melange of potting soil and mushroom compost and worked it in to the soil a bit last night, while Michael stood next to me and watched, saying the potting soil mud mixture looked like vomit. Tonight I put in more soil and compost, though, to try and enrich that ground. The previous composting I did there didn’t make it wormy enough. If I shovel garden dirt and don’t see at least one worm with every shovelful, I am not happy. I am going to write a poem called Worms Are Our Friends.

I put in all 5 of my melon seedling, carefully patting the rich mud around them, and said my gardening prayer, which goes something like this: "God, please let these grow and produce at least one piece of edible fruit, and not get eaten by rabbits or bugs, amen."

I put in my 5 cucumber seedlings the other day, and within 24 hours one of my seedlings was gone. Looked like something just chomped it down to the ground; maybe a rabbit. We have rabbits in the yard sometimes. They are not that cute and they need to stay busy, not mess with my garden. I wish they ate bamboo. I have to kick down bamboo seedlings every day or two. Whoever planted the stand of bamboo in the back yard had no idea what trouble it would cause for future owners. [Whoever planted that bamboo was flat out crazy, in my book. Whenever I see ornamental bamboo in some zen-like container I sneer. I hate it all! Almost as much as broccoli….]

The pumpkin plant in the melon patch is thriving. Maybe this year I will save some money on Halloween pumpkins.

One year when I was a kid, a pumpkin plant grew in the little garden plot beside our back deck. [It was probably the result of a mistaken belief I had as a child that I could grow food with minimal work.] The pumpkin vine grew up the support pole holding up the deck, and produced a nice little pumpkin, but it got perilously close to crashing down. Dad decided to build the pumpkin its own platform, coming right off the support pole to the deck. The pumpkin basked in the sun and got fatter there.

One day, the pumpkin was gone! An evil witch had snatched it up and eaten it! Really!

Don’t buy it?? Oh well, truthfully, I don’t remember what happened to the pumpkin, except we didn’t get to use it for Halloween. The platform stayed up for a while. I think Barbie used it for sunbathing. Then Ken rappelled up there are tried to – well, anyway, it was not a pretty scene. Barbie is a tough gal, though…

I really need sleep. Trying to sleep with the window open last night was too stressful. It was like camping. Yikes.

Hey Jude

I had an annoying bout of lactose intolerance this morning, and was late to work.

I ate a big bowl of cereal for breakfast, and then as I was headed upstairs I spotted a Coco mess on the floor and cleaned it up. Then I got woozy and nauseated. I was actually groaning as I went up the stairs, and Michael was looking worried. I got him to school, and went back home for a bit.

The lactose intolerance has only happened recently. I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted, no problemo. Not any more. I am going to have to remember to take Lactaid, or just skip dairy. No, I can’t skip dairy. I love cheese and sour cream and ice cream and all those rich dairy desserts waaaaay too much. That’s why God made Lactaid.

This morning at breakfast, Alesia had left the table, and we were watching NBC’s story about how large company CEO’s made less money in 2008, but not a lot less. They still made a million or two last year. Michael watched that thoughtfully. When the story was done, I muted it and looked at him. “You know how they got to be CEO’s? They went to college. Before that, you know what they had to do?”

He didn’t answer.

Mother interrupted. “Those guys did their homework in the 5^th grade!”

I was a little annoyed at Mother for stealing my thunder, but I let it ride. Great minds think alike.

“They did their homework in 5^th grade, 6^th grade, through high school, and college. Homework means a good education, and a good education is important to being successful in life.”

He just looked at me. I hope he was thinking about our house rule, if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

"If you want a CORVETTE, you need to do your homework so you can get a good job one day!Those things cost a LOT of money!" I added.

He gave that some thought.

I didn’t tell him a lot of people despise CEO’s and CFO’s, nor did I tell him the Bill Gates dropped out of college. There are always annoying details which aren’t important when I’m on my soapbox.

I have noticed that when I put in a photo of a hunky man like Hugh Jackman, I get more hits on the Crab Chronicles. I want the hits to keep on coming. So I am going to try and include a photo of a hunky guy at least once a week, and see what happens.

Hugh Jackman is a great guy, in my book. He’s been married for 15 years to the same woman, and he has two biracial adopted children. If he would just shave his face clean more often, he would be incredibly hot.

Jude Law is another actor I have always found incredibly sexy. He apparently has the morals of a goat, but running off with the nanny didn’t seem to hurt his career. His photos are below. In photo #1 you see the kissable cutie pie. In shot #2, you see the fashion disaster. Jude, babe, who dresses you?! Is it an actor thing, a British thing, or just some sort of fashion dyslexia? Enquiring minds need to know.

 

Have you ever been in a movie with someone who talks back to the screen? “Go on, kiss her!” / “Look out, he’s got a gun!” / “That baby is not yours, idiot!” My daughter is a movie commenter. Only at home, though. I was so annoyed with her last night.

“Alesia, while you are turned around, telling me how beautiful Alicia Keyes is, I am missing big chunks of movie dialogue!” I rebuked her. “Run it back!”

“Gosh, Mom, why are you fussing? I always talk back to the movie,” she protested.

“Yes, but you need to learn to not comment OUT LOUD,” I told her.

“But I can’t help it. It’s so exciting!” she argued, giggling.

I wish I had $1 for every time she has yelled at the TV “Kiss her! Why don’t you KISS!!??”

When she says that, I like to say “Look at ‘em swappin’ spit! [Or] Swappin’ spit is not all that interesting. [Or] Yuck, think of the germs they get swappin’ spit like that! Eeeuw!”

My father used to say things about “swappin’ spit” to me. I like to think one day Alesia will make similarly hormone-deflating comments to her overly excitable 17 year old daughter…

For now, she is not amused. At all.

Ornery Boy

Bruce promised the kids recently that he would take them camping. This was startling to me, because I have never heard him say he wanted to go camping. He has had to spend the night outside so many times for Army exercises, it didn’t appeal to him. However, he does have a belief that everyone should have a basic ability to function outdoors, so I think maybe his thought is to teach them some basic boy scout type skills. Since neither of my kids is interested in scouting, I am all for the camping idea. However, I have made it clear that I will not go.

I don’t camp, unless something like nuclear winter makes it inevitable. Ditto for hiking.

I am very enthusiastic about movies set in the great outdoors, and I love IMAX movies. I like to experience the beauty of the outdoors while sitting in a comfy chair in an air conditioned theater, with a clean bathroom nearby.

Bruce told Alesia on the phone last night he had bought something for her for the camping trip - a “cot.”  Alesia couldn’t think what the word meant. She was really puzzled for a moment. I badly wanted to say “It’s like what you slept on at the orphanage!” but I didn’t. Those little beds weren’t quite cots, but they weren’t proper beds.

Of all the people in the world, my brother is one of the few that I would trust to take my kids away for a few days. He can be gruff, but he is also very kind, and he likes kids. He particularly likes my kids, I think because he can have a bit of the parenting experience but it’s only temporary. He can show them things that I don’t do, like how to make a campfire, catch a fish, etc. I am toying with the idea of telling them they cannot take ANY electronic devices, which will irritate them, but they need to be cut off sometimes. I think the outdoors are more fun when you are listening to music on an MP3 player, but then again, sometimes you need to listen to the breeze, and the birds.

I wasn’t always such a wussy when it comes to the great outdoors. I spent many hours outside as a child. I was a champion mud pie maker. Bruce and I used to wander around the woods behind our last house in Augusta. There was a special place I called the Hiding Place, where the foliage grew in such a way that there was a little space inside, like a little tent, and I would sit in there and feel peaceful.

I have a Hiding Place now. It’s called Mom’s Bathroom. (It’s not as peaceful, but it’s easier to access.)  

I am getting really tired of the rain. Yesterday was beautiful all day until we were headed home, then torrential thundershowers hit. Saturday we had several thundershowers. My plants are loving it. I wish we’d have rain maybe just every third day, though, so we’d have enough sun to balance things out.

My melon seedlings are almost ready to plant. I am so excited about the melon patch. I also planted all 6 cucumber seedlings in the garden after I got home.

Michael came home and slept half the afternoon. He wasn’t feeling great. Then he wouldn’t eat a good snack and cooperate with homework. Part of it was being tired and just overdoing it with tennis yesterday. I tried to help him with homework and he was being fussy, and I just said OK, that’s it, do it yourself. I am not helping you when you’re like that.

He’s gotten so ornery lately it really tried the patience of me and Mother. I am going to try some tough love in regards to the homework. He is smart and he can do it, he just doesn’t want to. He needs to get it in gear.

We finished watching The Secret Life of Bees, which is a good movie. I read the book years ago and loved it. The movie wasn’t as good, unfortunately. It lacked much of an emotional punch. Michael has requested we next watch a comedy. I agree.

Mother got irritated with the kids tonight so I just came upstairs so they could watch the movie in my room. Mother didn’t feel well. She talked on the phone a long time to a close friend whose husband recently died. Mother has had a half dozen people she loved die just in the last few months. It has taken a toll on her.

Sometimes the kids are a great distraction, sometimes they get on her nerves. Such is life. We take care of her as best we can, and she does the same.

Nail Biting Tennis

It has been a unusual day. Michael had two makeup tennis matches, so he is really tired.

 

Since his ALTA match yesterday was postponed due to rain, he played this morning. The doubles team he and Matthew played was excellent. They beat Mike and Matt by a hair. It was a nail-biter all the way. I never knew tennis could be so exciting.

 

Late this afternoon we drove over to Snellville, way out in the country, and Mike played a cute little blonde boy named Jacob. They were about evenly matched in skill. Jacob beat Michael, but it was not a drubbing. Mike played hard. He was already tired, though. I hope we don’t have these scheduling issues again.

 

One nice thing about the match this afternoon was the setting. It was a newer swim and tennis community and there was a beautiful lake a short distance from the court. The weather was beautiful, sunny and breezy. I enjoyed talking to Jacob’s mom. The only negative was when we were coming home we ran into heavy thunderstorms.

 

I stopped on the way home and got Michael some chips and a drink, and he was sitting there eating his chips, watching the sheeting rain, and he said cheerily at one point, “This is better than a movie!”

 

When we got close to home, we saw a white pickup truck, and Michael said wistfully, “I wish that was Uncle Bruce.” I said I wished that too.

 

Then we got a call from Bruce later, and I am hoping he will come over this coming weekend since it’s Mother’s Day.

 

I am thinking of telling the kids for my Mother’s Day present I want free yard labor. Ooooh, if I can only plan on it…

 

I had an email from Pasha, my dear friend who helped me so much when I was adopting Alesia in 2004. He’s a young engineer now, and he lives in Khabarovsk, still. He taught himself to speak, read and write English. He also knows Korean and Japanese. He’s brilliant, and a total sweetie. I think of him as a younger brother. I was so glad to hear from him. He has called occasionally over the years, but not emailed. I hope one day he can come to visit us.

Thunderstorms and Tennis

It’s been a screwed up day, mainly due to the weather. We had severe thunderstorms last night – thunder shook the house half the night.

 

I got the kids up early. Alesia was helping out our neighbor with a kids’ birthday party [18 3 year olds for 3 hours!]. Mike was scheduled to play a single match at 9. The mother called me at 8:30 and said the courts were too wet to play, so we postponed until late tomorrow afternoon. I was sort of relieved.

 

Since we were unexpectedly free this morning, I took Mike to get a haircut. I promised him we’d go to Sports Authority for some new tennis shoes [on sale] if he cooperated with the haircut. He cooperated. The woman cut off more than we discussed, however, and really chopped his bangs. He was upset. I told him the only difference between a good and bad haircut is about two weeks. Didn’t help much.

 

We found him some new tennis shoes at a great sale price at Sports Authority, but he still moped. Then he saw a poster of Jeff Hardy, a weirdo looking wrestling guy he likes, and that perked him up. I don't let him watch wrestling on TV, or go to matches, but he likes to play the Nintendo wrestling games. I am sure he picked that up from the boys at school.

 

When we came home, he took mousse and made his hair into a Mohawk. I told him to go show Granny. He wouldn’t tell me what she said. I told him he had to go shopping at Kroger with us, and I hoped he was ready for some verbal abuse about the Mohawk. We’re talking Tucker, Georgia, here, not the big city. He flattened it.

I got his photo, but you can't really see his bangs. They were just combed back.

 

 

It ended up his regular tennis match, the championship match scheduled for this afternoon, got canceled, too. More rain.

 

Tomorrow we have to do the makeup matches. It will be quite a tennis day.

 

When we were in Kroger, I was parking the car, and Mother and Michael were inside getting a cart. Mother said a tiny girl said to Michael “Where is your hand?” – pointing to his short arm. He didn’t reply. Mother said she was so nonplussed she couldn’t say anything, but finally managed to mumble, “He lost it!”

 

We asked Mike later if he was upset and he said no. He gets that question a lot from other kids and just says “I lost it in an accident,” which is what I told him to say.

 

He has a great attitude about it. I told him next time, just tell the child a tiger ate his hand!

 

I am twisted.

Alesia ended up not going to the mall with Elena. She got a call from Elena, who had to do homework. Alesia was disappointed. However, I took her to Target and she got some cute shorts and a new bathing suit.

Our movie tonight was Yentl. It was a good opportunity to teach the kids about Judaism, and listen to gorgeous music. I know all the words to all the songs in the movie. I only sang along to the final song, softly. The kids have never really heard me let loose vocally, which is a good thing. LOL

Friday At Last

This morning when I was in the kitchen rushing around to get the lunches made and the breakfast cooked, Alesia came in and asked me to French braid her hair. I said OK. She was very sweet about it and she was already fully dressed. However, I was thinking as I did it, wow, this is going to throw me behind in getting everything done, and I don’t want to run late. Right after the braiding was done, Alesia said “Mom, I will help you. What do you want me to do?”

Well, I was flabbergasted. She never offers to help me in the morning like that. I set her to work. She fixed the sausage and waffles, got her drink, even helped me tie Michael’s shoes.

So we weren’t late, and in fact I had time to enjoy a leisurely breakfast.

I thought her helping me showed some real progress and maturity on her part. I thanked her before she left for school. I asked Mother later if she had suggested this to Alesia and she said no.

My girl is finally gaining some maturity. Well, that was my thought.

 

Then tonight she asked if she could go to the mall with Elena tomorrow and I said OK, Who else is going? Who’s driving? When will you be home? She got annoyed. “These are standard questions, kiddo. I would ask them no matter what the situation.”

 

She really got irritated when I told her to speak English on the call. She likes to speak Russian so I don’t know what she’s saying.

 

Oh well.

 

Michael has two tennis matches tomorrow. It’s pouring rain right at the moment, and we've got thunderstorms moving through. Hope it clears up before morning.

 

We watched the end of Saving Private Ryan tonight. I had spread the movie over three nights because it’s so intense. The kids responded well to it. We also watched some of the features on the disc, that talked about the actual history the movie is based on. Michael paid close attention. Alesia was busy making a birthday card.

 

SPOILER ALERT  [for anyone who hasn’t seen Saving Private Ryan, stop reading]

The first time I ever watched that movie, it just blew me away. I went home and cried and cried. What got to me was Tom Hanks’ character, at the end, telling Ryan “Earn this,” meaning, so many men have died to save you, you need to lead a good life and earn our sacrifice. Of course, that’s impossible. It was only 2 years after my father had died, and I had this eerie feeling I was being sent a message. My dad died at 65, far too young, but it was his time. He worked like a dog, and left Mother financially well off. It was like I was being told, your dad sacrificed so you could have a good life, now go out and really live your life. I just had that strange feeling that Dad was telling me something, wacko as that may sound, so be it.

 

Three of my four uncles were in World War II, and they made great sacrifices. Today, we are raising kids who don’t have any real understanding of that. That’s why it’s important to show kids this movie. Hopefully by the time I show it to my grandkids I won’t be sitting there crying at the end.