Last night the kids were all elswhere; Rachel spent the night at a friend's house, Kevin went to my dad's early, and they picked Alex up from his date at 10:30 and he went to my dad's as well, leaving the house very quiet and Ian looking at me like, "You're going to hurt me, aren't you?"
Other than Rachel's night out, it was orchestrated, yes, but not for the reason he assumed. I just thought it would make it easier this morning, when Alex would pointedly skip church, leaving Rachel and Kevin dragging their heels, and frankly, Ian and I as well.
This has been along time coming; while Alex has had his doubts and has openly questioned the church he's been raised in, Ian has waffled for years, and I was never exactly Catholic. The truth is that if not for our kids, I suspect Ian would have drifted away in the wake of his divorce--he lost a lot of respect for it when he realized he could throw a ton of money at it and have an annulment very quickly--and I never would have bothered.
Our involvement is entirely kid-centric; it's hard to avoid when the kids are in the school they're in and because we've gotten as involved as we have. But we're where we are because we did want to give them something to center belief around; Craig, when he posted a comment in Ian's earlier post, was right: Ian was cold cocked in the face by a nun when he was 12 years old. I think much of his "respect" for his church is fear, and that's not the best thing to build your faith on.
I doubt we'll pull them out of their school; their friends are there and they are getting a very good education, but if next Sunday rolls around and no one has turned the alarm on, and then the Sunday after that, I just don't think anyone in this family will be heartbroken.
Well, no more than they already are. It's fair to say Ian's is, just a little bit.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
They liked it, at least
If you don't want your kids to read something, don't print it out and leave it on your desk.
Not that them reading it is a bad thing, but 1) it leaves an opening for at least one of them to poke fun at you and 2) it leaves the other squealing about romance and asking too many questions. And it leaves them wondering why Mom wrote it the way she did, and with whom did she intend on sharing it with?
Not that them reading it is a bad thing, but 1) it leaves an opening for at least one of them to poke fun at you and 2) it leaves the other squealing about romance and asking too many questions. And it leaves them wondering why Mom wrote it the way she did, and with whom did she intend on sharing it with?
Friday, March 26, 2010
Some of the questions I get surprise me...
Do you really think your youngest kid is gay?
This is a question that I've left sitting in my formspring inbox for several days; it's not the first time I've gotten it in one form or another, both here and IRL. I've deleted it in the past (and deleted it from formspring) and essentially taken to task people asking it. My son is eleven years old; he shouldn't be defined by a concept as adult as sexuality yet. Still, I have touched on the issue several times, not intending to be evasive, but apparently have been.
The truth is that we don't know. I doubt Kevin knows. By this age with Alex and Rachel there was little doubt, though either one could surprise the hell out of us at any point, because frankly, they're all kids and are undoubtedly struggling with what they feel, why, and for whom. Just because Alex has a girlfriend and spends more time fishing for her tonsils than I'd like, that doesn't mean anything in the long run. Just because Rachel has a massive crush on a squeaky kid named Seth, who knows.
It doesn't matter. Our kids are who they are, and we love them unconditionally. We will welcome into our home and our lives whomever they end up with; all we really want—and I do feel safe in speaking for Char on this—is that they find someone they love who loves them back, and that they indulge in commitment and not in stereotypes. I don't want any of them bed hopping their way through college; I don't relish the idea that some of the absurd garbage that spews on Texts From Last Night could be submitted by one of my kids.
They could all be gay, all be straight, whatever. It doesn't change anything. I'll accept whomever they are, however they are.
However.
That doesn't mean we don't have some valid concerns. No, we don't know in which direction Kevin is headed, and we'll do whatever we have to in order to help him find his way if he needs it, but I do worry about the judgment he'll get at the hands of others, and I worry how difficult high school is going to be for him. How tormented will he be, or will he be at all? Is he the kid we pull out of parochial school in favor of public, just to save his sanity? Would it even matter?
Whether my youngest is gay or straight or bisexual, he marches to his own drumbeat; his interests certainly give one pause, and the older he gets the more obvious the differences between him and Alex at the same age become. He skirts around the stereotype; he loves the arts, particularly the grace of dance, he's developing a killer sense of fashion, he's slightly built, and he simply has that vibe.
He's also got a major crush on Elizabeth (he still practically says her name in italics) and talks about “someday” being married with kids.
None of it means anything.
All I care about is what he's facing; either way, unless puberty brings some major changes, people are going to make assumptions about him, and treat him based on those assumptions. People can be cruel and judgmental, and that's not something I want my son to have to face.
It's not something I can completely protect him from; but what his mother and I can do is make sure that all of our kids understand that this home is someplace safe, where they will be loved no matter what, treated with respect no matter what, and that the people with whom they have relationships will be welcome.
This is a question that I've left sitting in my formspring inbox for several days; it's not the first time I've gotten it in one form or another, both here and IRL. I've deleted it in the past (and deleted it from formspring) and essentially taken to task people asking it. My son is eleven years old; he shouldn't be defined by a concept as adult as sexuality yet. Still, I have touched on the issue several times, not intending to be evasive, but apparently have been.
The truth is that we don't know. I doubt Kevin knows. By this age with Alex and Rachel there was little doubt, though either one could surprise the hell out of us at any point, because frankly, they're all kids and are undoubtedly struggling with what they feel, why, and for whom. Just because Alex has a girlfriend and spends more time fishing for her tonsils than I'd like, that doesn't mean anything in the long run. Just because Rachel has a massive crush on a squeaky kid named Seth, who knows.
It doesn't matter. Our kids are who they are, and we love them unconditionally. We will welcome into our home and our lives whomever they end up with; all we really want—and I do feel safe in speaking for Char on this—is that they find someone they love who loves them back, and that they indulge in commitment and not in stereotypes. I don't want any of them bed hopping their way through college; I don't relish the idea that some of the absurd garbage that spews on Texts From Last Night could be submitted by one of my kids.
They could all be gay, all be straight, whatever. It doesn't change anything. I'll accept whomever they are, however they are.
However.
That doesn't mean we don't have some valid concerns. No, we don't know in which direction Kevin is headed, and we'll do whatever we have to in order to help him find his way if he needs it, but I do worry about the judgment he'll get at the hands of others, and I worry how difficult high school is going to be for him. How tormented will he be, or will he be at all? Is he the kid we pull out of parochial school in favor of public, just to save his sanity? Would it even matter?
Whether my youngest is gay or straight or bisexual, he marches to his own drumbeat; his interests certainly give one pause, and the older he gets the more obvious the differences between him and Alex at the same age become. He skirts around the stereotype; he loves the arts, particularly the grace of dance, he's developing a killer sense of fashion, he's slightly built, and he simply has that vibe.
He's also got a major crush on Elizabeth (he still practically says her name in italics) and talks about “someday” being married with kids.
None of it means anything.
All I care about is what he's facing; either way, unless puberty brings some major changes, people are going to make assumptions about him, and treat him based on those assumptions. People can be cruel and judgmental, and that's not something I want my son to have to face.
It's not something I can completely protect him from; but what his mother and I can do is make sure that all of our kids understand that this home is someplace safe, where they will be loved no matter what, treated with respect no matter what, and that the people with whom they have relationships will be welcome.
Losing My Religion
Alex is a news hound. He's the kid who reads the newspaper every day, and tries to get a few of the headlining stories in before leaving for school. He subscribes to Newsweek and Time, often picks up another news magazine while standing in line at the store, and he surfs around online for updates to the day's news.
Before school this morning he checked the headlines online, and by the time Char was telling him to get his stuff together and come out for breakfast, he'd read this in several incarnations. That he was angry is an understatement, but more than that, sadly, he wasn't surprised.
He brought his laptop out to the table and showed me a few of the articles he'd read, and when I was done reading, before I could even say anything to him, he looked right at me and said, I'm done with it, Dad.
I know he expected an argument, and Rachel and Kevin braced for it (and hoped for it, I think), but it seemed like the wrong thing to do. His belief in organized religion as a whole has eroded over the last few years, and lately he's been increasingly vocal about his specific issues with the Catholic church. Where a few months ago he was agreeable with the idea that he would still function as a church member, partake in school activities and attend church with us every week until he was sixteen, the look on his face this morning was absolute: he is honestly done.
We could force the issue; we are within our parental rights to drag his ass out of bed every Sunday morning and require him to go through the motions, but to what end? The last thing I want to do is foster a systemic disbelief in him, and I don't want to be the catalyst that pushes him to feel as if he needs to prove the absence of theism. If we give him this now, give him the freedom to explore how what he believes fits in with the world he sees, I'm hoping he'll cultivate faith on a level that works for him.
It would have been nice if he had been able to take a few more years to slowly pull away instead of feeling like he was shoved out, but I completely understand where he's coming from, and to be honest, I'm reaching the end of my own religious rope here. The only thing that has me holding onto it is my kids; Char wasn't raised Catholic and doesn't have a particular belief in Catholic dogma. This is something she's done for me, because it was important to me.
Alex has a dozen reasons for wanting to head in his own direction, and I have a gut feeling Kevin will run from it in a few years. Rachel is only there because her friends are; she finds much of it absurd and has almost as many questions as Alex does, but because her entire social life is tied into that school, she'll likely hold on longer.
But when she lets go, I'm not sure there will be anything left of it for me to want to hold onto.
Until Alex started questioning so openly, I honestly did not realize how many of my own doubts that I had. But this morning, just the idea that the man who is supposed to be infallible in matters of the church may have not only covered up a mass molestation by a single priest, but used bribery to achieve that cover up?
This isn't the church I grew up in, not anymore.
Before school this morning he checked the headlines online, and by the time Char was telling him to get his stuff together and come out for breakfast, he'd read this in several incarnations. That he was angry is an understatement, but more than that, sadly, he wasn't surprised.
He brought his laptop out to the table and showed me a few of the articles he'd read, and when I was done reading, before I could even say anything to him, he looked right at me and said, I'm done with it, Dad.
I know he expected an argument, and Rachel and Kevin braced for it (and hoped for it, I think), but it seemed like the wrong thing to do. His belief in organized religion as a whole has eroded over the last few years, and lately he's been increasingly vocal about his specific issues with the Catholic church. Where a few months ago he was agreeable with the idea that he would still function as a church member, partake in school activities and attend church with us every week until he was sixteen, the look on his face this morning was absolute: he is honestly done.
We could force the issue; we are within our parental rights to drag his ass out of bed every Sunday morning and require him to go through the motions, but to what end? The last thing I want to do is foster a systemic disbelief in him, and I don't want to be the catalyst that pushes him to feel as if he needs to prove the absence of theism. If we give him this now, give him the freedom to explore how what he believes fits in with the world he sees, I'm hoping he'll cultivate faith on a level that works for him.
It would have been nice if he had been able to take a few more years to slowly pull away instead of feeling like he was shoved out, but I completely understand where he's coming from, and to be honest, I'm reaching the end of my own religious rope here. The only thing that has me holding onto it is my kids; Char wasn't raised Catholic and doesn't have a particular belief in Catholic dogma. This is something she's done for me, because it was important to me.
Alex has a dozen reasons for wanting to head in his own direction, and I have a gut feeling Kevin will run from it in a few years. Rachel is only there because her friends are; she finds much of it absurd and has almost as many questions as Alex does, but because her entire social life is tied into that school, she'll likely hold on longer.
But when she lets go, I'm not sure there will be anything left of it for me to want to hold onto.
Until Alex started questioning so openly, I honestly did not realize how many of my own doubts that I had. But this morning, just the idea that the man who is supposed to be infallible in matters of the church may have not only covered up a mass molestation by a single priest, but used bribery to achieve that cover up?
This isn't the church I grew up in, not anymore.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Bringing Down the House
As much as it seems like it might be, life in UndrVille Estates is not revolving around my crotch. In fact, other when Char tries to torment me, knowing I don't yet have my doc's clearance to go very far at all, and when I have to pop a pill for the pain (which was only once today and once yesterday, courtesy of Goofy, formerly known as Dingleberry, when he landed on me after leaping off the headboard) it hasn't exactly been a topic of discussion at home.
Over the weekend the topic was term papers and book reports, which required trips to the library and bookstore, and a major discussion on the topic of an essay Alex is drafting for English class. They're spending a few weeks on the journalistic process, and this week they're working on op-ed pieces. He's tackling the subject of the Church as an imperfect entity; Char and I are not at all sure this is a good idea, but the assignment sheet clearly states the subject matter is up to the student and is not graded on the content of their opinion, but the basis for their arguments as supported by fact and the clarity of the writing: spelling and grammar count.
My son is going to shred the Catholic church. In an English class held in a Catholic school.
His arguments are well thought out and he has plenty of supporting research material (as it applies to his opinion) and he has the ability to write the essay without it becoming a bullying statement, but Char and I keep bringing up the same point: it's a Catholic school, son, and this is not going to go over well.
He'll either get an A, or get suspended. He won't get expelled, because if he goes so do Rachel and Kevin, and along with it all that tuition money and the random “donations” throughout the school year.
Alex will back down and write something else if we insist, but how can we? We've spent fourteen years raising this kid to think and speak for himself, and we've encouraged him to voice his opinion as long as he can state it without attacking someone personally and without making the target of his opinion feel stupid or worthless. He can do this and maintain respect; we can't tell him to not write the essay.
That doesn't make us feel at ease with it.
Tomorrow he and Char expect to get their test results. Who knows, he may go out in a blaze of glory and find life will be much more comfortable out of high school. I hope not, but we're bracing for it.
Over the weekend the topic was term papers and book reports, which required trips to the library and bookstore, and a major discussion on the topic of an essay Alex is drafting for English class. They're spending a few weeks on the journalistic process, and this week they're working on op-ed pieces. He's tackling the subject of the Church as an imperfect entity; Char and I are not at all sure this is a good idea, but the assignment sheet clearly states the subject matter is up to the student and is not graded on the content of their opinion, but the basis for their arguments as supported by fact and the clarity of the writing: spelling and grammar count.
My son is going to shred the Catholic church. In an English class held in a Catholic school.
His arguments are well thought out and he has plenty of supporting research material (as it applies to his opinion) and he has the ability to write the essay without it becoming a bullying statement, but Char and I keep bringing up the same point: it's a Catholic school, son, and this is not going to go over well.
He'll either get an A, or get suspended. He won't get expelled, because if he goes so do Rachel and Kevin, and along with it all that tuition money and the random “donations” throughout the school year.
Alex will back down and write something else if we insist, but how can we? We've spent fourteen years raising this kid to think and speak for himself, and we've encouraged him to voice his opinion as long as he can state it without attacking someone personally and without making the target of his opinion feel stupid or worthless. He can do this and maintain respect; we can't tell him to not write the essay.
That doesn't make us feel at ease with it.
Tomorrow he and Char expect to get their test results. Who knows, he may go out in a blaze of glory and find life will be much more comfortable out of high school. I hope not, but we're bracing for it.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
At 4 a.m.
He sat up in bed, looked around the room like he was confused, and said, "It's just a BB gun. What could go wrong?"
I think I'm glad he keeps his guns under serious lock and key.
I think I'm glad he keeps his guns under serious lock and key.
Friday, March 19, 2010
It's 3 am I must be...something
In a twist, me winding up in the hospital under the knife was a good thing for the kids, especially Kevin. Neither of us realized how much Char's accident and long hospital stay was still in the back of his mind, but when we told the kids I was having surgery, he had a mini-meltdown. We tried to stress that all that would happen was the removal of what was basically a big, deep zit, but he only heard surgery and hospital.
He understands that as bad as it looked the first time he saw his mother in the hospital, that she recovered, got better, and is fine now, but I don't think any of her progress has erased that horrible feeling he had. He panicked, and there wasn't a whole lot either of us could say to make him feel better.
Alex and Rachel wanted basic information (they got no specifics) and were satisfied with the answers they got, but we weren't sure they felt as good about it as they tried to make us think.
When they told me I was staying overnight, Char called Brad and told him to bring the kids. By then I was awake and alert, a little drugged up but not badly, and while it hurt, I could sit up in bed. Alex and Rachel came in the room as if it was normal; Kevin had to be coaxed in.
His relief was obvious. He was fighting the image in his head of Dad flat on his back with tubes and wires everywhere, but what he saw was Dad sitting up, smiling, one IV line, wearing that ridiculous hospital gown. He wanted to crawl up on the bed with me, and I was prepared to suck it up and let him, but Alex put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him with, They punched a hole in his junk, I don't think you sitting up there will feel very good.
Instead of upsetting him, just the idea of someone doing things to my junk made Kevin laugh.
I don't think Rachel wanted to hear that, though, because she let this long, perfect teenaged girl sigh out, and grumbled that she was ready to go home.
But who would have guessed, our youngest actually needed something like this in order to really grasp that things aren't always ugly at the outset when you're hospitalized.
No announcements; it's almost 3:30 in the morning and I couldn't sleep, and there's no way I'm waking Char up for anything.
He understands that as bad as it looked the first time he saw his mother in the hospital, that she recovered, got better, and is fine now, but I don't think any of her progress has erased that horrible feeling he had. He panicked, and there wasn't a whole lot either of us could say to make him feel better.
Alex and Rachel wanted basic information (they got no specifics) and were satisfied with the answers they got, but we weren't sure they felt as good about it as they tried to make us think.
When they told me I was staying overnight, Char called Brad and told him to bring the kids. By then I was awake and alert, a little drugged up but not badly, and while it hurt, I could sit up in bed. Alex and Rachel came in the room as if it was normal; Kevin had to be coaxed in.
His relief was obvious. He was fighting the image in his head of Dad flat on his back with tubes and wires everywhere, but what he saw was Dad sitting up, smiling, one IV line, wearing that ridiculous hospital gown. He wanted to crawl up on the bed with me, and I was prepared to suck it up and let him, but Alex put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him with, They punched a hole in his junk, I don't think you sitting up there will feel very good.
Instead of upsetting him, just the idea of someone doing things to my junk made Kevin laugh.
I don't think Rachel wanted to hear that, though, because she let this long, perfect teenaged girl sigh out, and grumbled that she was ready to go home.
But who would have guessed, our youngest actually needed something like this in order to really grasp that things aren't always ugly at the outset when you're hospitalized.
No announcements; it's almost 3:30 in the morning and I couldn't sleep, and there's no way I'm waking Char up for anything.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
TMI, TMI, TMI
The last four days have been nothing but TMI. So the whole world (or the half a dozen people who regularly read this blog) know that I had the unfortunate experience of a prolonged erection requiring medical care. Oddly, when you think about being able to keep it up for that long it's hell, yeah, she'll be walking funny tomorrow but the reality is basically awful.
For the record, I don't recommend trying to have sex for nearly four hours; no one walks away from that without some chafing. And yes, we tried everything our perverted brains could think of, but at some point it stopped being fun and I was begging her to just leave.it.alone.
She feels responsible, but really, how could she be? That spur of the moment very horny backrub probably saved me from worse problems later; I'm sore as hell right now, but I realized in the middle of the night I could tell a difference, because I didn't get up to pee three times. The cyst was just big enough (more like a mandarin orange, not like a fist sized tangerine) to press on my bladder, my prostate, and a key blood vessel; I never felt any pain, and never suspected a thing, but not having to get up was a bonus.
The news I did not want to hear upon discharge from the hospital this morning: there's a very slim chance, less than 5%, that I may never get another really good erection. I haven't had one since Monday (no surprise, considering) and won't purposely try for a few more days, but I guarantee if I wake up tomorrow without one, I may cry.
For the record, I don't recommend trying to have sex for nearly four hours; no one walks away from that without some chafing. And yes, we tried everything our perverted brains could think of, but at some point it stopped being fun and I was begging her to just leave.it.alone.
She feels responsible, but really, how could she be? That spur of the moment very horny backrub probably saved me from worse problems later; I'm sore as hell right now, but I realized in the middle of the night I could tell a difference, because I didn't get up to pee three times. The cyst was just big enough (more like a mandarin orange, not like a fist sized tangerine) to press on my bladder, my prostate, and a key blood vessel; I never felt any pain, and never suspected a thing, but not having to get up was a bonus.
The news I did not want to hear upon discharge from the hospital this morning: there's a very slim chance, less than 5%, that I may never get another really good erection. I haven't had one since Monday (no surprise, considering) and won't purposely try for a few more days, but I guarantee if I wake up tomorrow without one, I may cry.
The one where I break my husband's penis
Monday morning I got up early and turned off the alarm to let Ian sleep in; Alex and I were going to take the placement tests, so I thought I'd drop Rachel and Kevin off at school, take the damn tests (yes, damn tests; Alex thinks he did well but I am positive there's someone at that school laughing his ass off at mine) then by the time I got home, he would be up.
He was awake, but not out of bed, when I got back; he was laying in bed with the cats curled up on his chest, and he hadn't gotten up because he didn't want to disturb the, (yes, the cats he says he “hates.”) He had both of them snuggled up to his chin and was watching The View. That's when I should have presumed everything was going to go downhill, but all I thought was how cute it was he was letting the cats sleep on him, and that he'd complained about a back ache on Sunday, so I picked the cats up and put them on a chair, told him to roll over, and started to rub his back.
It honestly started off as just a back rub, but he enjoyed it a little too much...long story short, without the aid of Viagra or Cialis, by one in the afternoon I was freaking out, because I'd broken him, and he was starting to get uncomfortable. His doctor (and that was one of the most uncomfortable phone calls I've ever made, and you can be sure he made me make the call) suggested an ice pack, and if that didn't help; go to the ER.
We wound up at the ER. If I thought the call to the doctor was uncomfortable, telling the 20 year old at the counter was embarrassing as hell. She was as professional as she should have been, but I did notice she couldn't help but peek over to where Ian was miserably hunched over in a chair. They took him right in, which obviously annoyed people who had been there first, but at that point I didn't care. He was moving past uncomfortable into it hurts and I have to admit, I felt responsible.
They tried another ice pack, a muscle relaxant, they tried numbing his entire groin, but nothing was working, so they decided to drain the blood.
If you want to see a grown man try to not cry, tell him you're going to jab him in the penis at least twice to draw out as much blood as possible, and then tell him you're sorry, but you need to stick him a third time.
They wanted to admit him to get a better look at what caused the problem (other than me) but Ian being Ian, he refused and said he'd follow up with his own doctor—which really meant “I feel fine now, and I'm done letting people play with my junk.” So he wasn't thrilled with me when I made him an appointment for Tuesday morning.
Longer story shorter, he had a cyst that was blocking the works. So this morning I dragged him out of the house, not quite kicking and screaming, and he had surgery to remove it. The cyst was big, about the size of a tangerine, and it's surprising it didn't cause him problems or pain before this. Everything went well, but a couple of hours after the surgery he was running a low grade fever, and they decided to keep him. He started to tell them he was going home no matter what, but I convinced him to stay by threatening to tell the kids exactly why he was suddenly having this surgery (all they know is he had some pain, saw the doctor, and the doctor wanted the cyst out.)
I still feel bad about it all, but if he hadn't had this happen now, chances are as the cyst grew and began to slowly press on things more he would have had gradual problems, chalked it up to age, and wound up permanently impotent. And that would not have gone over well at all.
He was awake, but not out of bed, when I got back; he was laying in bed with the cats curled up on his chest, and he hadn't gotten up because he didn't want to disturb the, (yes, the cats he says he “hates.”) He had both of them snuggled up to his chin and was watching The View. That's when I should have presumed everything was going to go downhill, but all I thought was how cute it was he was letting the cats sleep on him, and that he'd complained about a back ache on Sunday, so I picked the cats up and put them on a chair, told him to roll over, and started to rub his back.
It honestly started off as just a back rub, but he enjoyed it a little too much...long story short, without the aid of Viagra or Cialis, by one in the afternoon I was freaking out, because I'd broken him, and he was starting to get uncomfortable. His doctor (and that was one of the most uncomfortable phone calls I've ever made, and you can be sure he made me make the call) suggested an ice pack, and if that didn't help; go to the ER.
We wound up at the ER. If I thought the call to the doctor was uncomfortable, telling the 20 year old at the counter was embarrassing as hell. She was as professional as she should have been, but I did notice she couldn't help but peek over to where Ian was miserably hunched over in a chair. They took him right in, which obviously annoyed people who had been there first, but at that point I didn't care. He was moving past uncomfortable into it hurts and I have to admit, I felt responsible.
They tried another ice pack, a muscle relaxant, they tried numbing his entire groin, but nothing was working, so they decided to drain the blood.
If you want to see a grown man try to not cry, tell him you're going to jab him in the penis at least twice to draw out as much blood as possible, and then tell him you're sorry, but you need to stick him a third time.
They wanted to admit him to get a better look at what caused the problem (other than me) but Ian being Ian, he refused and said he'd follow up with his own doctor—which really meant “I feel fine now, and I'm done letting people play with my junk.” So he wasn't thrilled with me when I made him an appointment for Tuesday morning.
Longer story shorter, he had a cyst that was blocking the works. So this morning I dragged him out of the house, not quite kicking and screaming, and he had surgery to remove it. The cyst was big, about the size of a tangerine, and it's surprising it didn't cause him problems or pain before this. Everything went well, but a couple of hours after the surgery he was running a low grade fever, and they decided to keep him. He started to tell them he was going home no matter what, but I convinced him to stay by threatening to tell the kids exactly why he was suddenly having this surgery (all they know is he had some pain, saw the doctor, and the doctor wanted the cyst out.)
I still feel bad about it all, but if he hadn't had this happen now, chances are as the cyst grew and began to slowly press on things more he would have had gradual problems, chalked it up to age, and wound up permanently impotent. And that would not have gone over well at all.
Monday, March 15, 2010
No Viagra required
Holy shit; without upsetting the delicate balance of TMI, but they aren't farkin kidding when they say if it lasts more than 4 hours, go to the ER. But damn, the cure is far worse than the reason you're there.
This is why I love my friends--
--the look on Char's face when being told the definition of raw dog when she was clueless what Alex meant when overheard telling one of his friends You raw dog her and I will kick your ass.
Having teenagers, it's educational.
Having teenagers, it's educational.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
I only lost 9 games of 9 ball tonight
Brad wanted to spend some time with the kids tonight, without us hanging around; he didn't even try to back out when Char told him that us leavng meant he also had to keep Alex and Stephanie at a respectful distance, so we went out. We met Dack and Theresa for dinner and then headed to the bar to shoot pool, tried to cheat a lot so that Char wouldn't humiliate us over and over, and we were home by 9:30.
First words out of Brad's mouth: You're a disgrace. I think he meant me.
Sure, when the kids were little we'd have milked the free babysitting for all it was worth, but now it seems like more work than anything else to stay out late. The bar we frequent is filled with twenty-something kids and the music is annoyingly loud, and once nine o'clock rolls around the level of slutdom jacks up and we're ready to bolt. Hell, anything those kids are trying to do on the dance floor, we can just go home and do, without having to get each other drunk first.
But, my father in law is still here and wants to spend some time talking to his daughter, the kids are all still up, and Alex and Stephanie are sitting a little too closely together on the sofa, but Kevin is right there so I don't feel like I need to go in there and be a pain in my son's ass.
Maybe Rachel will play a board game with me.
Christ, I'm bored.
First words out of Brad's mouth: You're a disgrace. I think he meant me.
Sure, when the kids were little we'd have milked the free babysitting for all it was worth, but now it seems like more work than anything else to stay out late. The bar we frequent is filled with twenty-something kids and the music is annoyingly loud, and once nine o'clock rolls around the level of slutdom jacks up and we're ready to bolt. Hell, anything those kids are trying to do on the dance floor, we can just go home and do, without having to get each other drunk first.
But, my father in law is still here and wants to spend some time talking to his daughter, the kids are all still up, and Alex and Stephanie are sitting a little too closely together on the sofa, but Kevin is right there so I don't feel like I need to go in there and be a pain in my son's ass.
Maybe Rachel will play a board game with me.
Christ, I'm bored.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Ask Me Anything
In a grab for Thumper's Attention Whore Crown (I'd look GREAT in a tiara!) I jumped on the bandwagon and started a formspring page. I had it sent to oush the questions and answers to Facebook, but I got so many questions right off the the bat that it would just clutter my friends' pages, and I don't want to be that guy.
With some help from Thump, you can add comments to the answers at a new blog, Ask Undr Anything; you can read, comment, and ask questions there.
I will win that Attention Whore Crown one way or another.
For now, if you want to read the questions and answers, just pop on over to the page at formspring. It's not set up to allow comments or back and forth dialog, but I'll figure a way around that, at least until the questions trickle down to be reasonable to push to FB again. You people are funny and thoughtful; I kinda like the dialog.
With some help from Thump, you can add comments to the answers at a new blog, Ask Undr Anything; you can read, comment, and ask questions there.
I will win that Attention Whore Crown one way or another.
S-k-o-o-l
Alex called from school during his lunch break; the placement tests for math, science, and English are Monday, and he needed to know for sure whether or not he was taking them. If he was, we had to call the school and let them know so that his absence for the day was excused, or one of us would have to go into the office when we picked them up, because while we were off being awful parents keeping our kids out of school for three days, a notice was sent home with the expectation that it would be returned, signed, noting that we intended for our child to take said tests.
When I picked them up from school (having called the office, I didn't see a point of having to get out of the car if I didn't need to) he was carrying a load of books, and had Rachel and Kevin carrying even more for him.
I need to cram for the tests. I want to ace them.
To me, that defeats the purpose of these particular tests, but if the kid wants to spend his weekend studying, I'm not going to stop him. He's intelligent enough; he asked that we keep him in check, make sure he takes breaks, and for God's sake make sure he stops at 5 p.m. Saturday and jumps in the shower, because Stephanie is coming over at 6 and the world will end if he has even a hint of B.O.
(Yet another reason to like this girl; she doesn't expect him to take her out every weekend. She grasps the problems of neither of them being old enough to drive, and doesn't mind just hanging out, and really doesn't mind hanging out here. They don't seem to mind if Kevin and Rachel watch whichever movie they've rented with them, and Alex doesn't mind when Stephanie disappears into Rachel's room to do whatever it is teenage girls do. I'm honestly not sure.)
He hit the books as soon as we got home, getting his regular homework out of the way, and didn't surface until Char called him out of the den for dinner. Rachel peppered him with questions about what he thought the tests would be like and how hard; Kevin wanted to know if he thought college was going to be fun or too much work. After some consideration they all decided that it couldn't be too hard, because they'd all been there while I slogged through my master's and PhD. If Dad can do it...
Your father can do a lot of things what would surprise you, Char told them. He might have made it look easy, but he worked hard.
Before I could revel in the compliment, Alex looked at her, quite seriously, and asked, What about you, Mom? Why didn't you ever go to college?
The easy answer was that when she graduated from high school, her choices were 1) get a job, 2) get a job, or 3) become a stripper, which is just another job. As badly as Brad wanted it for her, he didn't have the means at the time to pay for even community college, but he did have a friend of a friend of a friend, who could put in a good word for her for a job that would actually take her places.
So she took the job, moved clear across the country, and here we are now.
Did you ever want to go to college?
She did; I remember her mentioning it a few times when we were dating. It wasn't something she could easily accomplish at the time, though, not with her work schedule, and not with the expense of living on the east coast. She was, however, putting money aside so that her sister would be able to at least go to a community college. She thought that between what she could save and what her father could scrape up, Nika would have a chance at getting a little more out of her education than she had.
Before Char could deny having ever wanted a higher education, I answered for her. She'd wanted to, and we have even talked about her going after we got married, but it never happened.
The placement tests are walk-in, and open to anyone, Alex told her. And you have lots of time to get an application in for the summer term. I need a ride there everyday, anyway, you know.
I think Char was amused. Not tempted, but amused, and she pointed out to Alex that she was turning 40 this year, a little old to be thinking about getting a college education that would take four or five years to get through.
How old will you be in four or five years if you don't start now?
She tried to stumble through an answer, and lamely popped out with how I had wanted to take a class or two, thinking about getting my teaching credential. She never mentioned that she mostly did not want me to do that.
So? The SUV has like seven seats, Mom, you'll both fit on the ride to school every day.
Her next counter was that she didn't need a college education to be a Mom; whether she learned more about Shakespeare or not, or if she learned anything about basic algebra, that wasn't going to make a difference in how the house got cleaned, the laundry got done, and dinner got on the table. And she was perfectly happy with the life she has.
What about education for the sake of itself? You don't need a reason to learn, and there is no reason for not being open to learning new things.
But--
No one said you had to get a degree. Just take some classes.
But--
Take a class with Dad. Men like hot co-eds, you know.
There was no but there; I agreed with the boy, and told her I'd be more than happy to take a class or two with her, and I'd work hard to not embarrass her.
Her back is up against the wall, and she doesn't have a compelling reason to not take those placement tests on Monday. The problem is, she also doesn't think she has a valid reason to take the tests and then apply to the school.
So help Alex and I out here; give her a reason or two. She wanted this fifteen years ago, there's not a thing standing in her way other than the voices in her head.
Help me convince her.
When I picked them up from school (having called the office, I didn't see a point of having to get out of the car if I didn't need to) he was carrying a load of books, and had Rachel and Kevin carrying even more for him.
I need to cram for the tests. I want to ace them.
To me, that defeats the purpose of these particular tests, but if the kid wants to spend his weekend studying, I'm not going to stop him. He's intelligent enough; he asked that we keep him in check, make sure he takes breaks, and for God's sake make sure he stops at 5 p.m. Saturday and jumps in the shower, because Stephanie is coming over at 6 and the world will end if he has even a hint of B.O.
(Yet another reason to like this girl; she doesn't expect him to take her out every weekend. She grasps the problems of neither of them being old enough to drive, and doesn't mind just hanging out, and really doesn't mind hanging out here. They don't seem to mind if Kevin and Rachel watch whichever movie they've rented with them, and Alex doesn't mind when Stephanie disappears into Rachel's room to do whatever it is teenage girls do. I'm honestly not sure.)
He hit the books as soon as we got home, getting his regular homework out of the way, and didn't surface until Char called him out of the den for dinner. Rachel peppered him with questions about what he thought the tests would be like and how hard; Kevin wanted to know if he thought college was going to be fun or too much work. After some consideration they all decided that it couldn't be too hard, because they'd all been there while I slogged through my master's and PhD. If Dad can do it...
Your father can do a lot of things what would surprise you, Char told them. He might have made it look easy, but he worked hard.
Before I could revel in the compliment, Alex looked at her, quite seriously, and asked, What about you, Mom? Why didn't you ever go to college?
The easy answer was that when she graduated from high school, her choices were 1) get a job, 2) get a job, or 3) become a stripper, which is just another job. As badly as Brad wanted it for her, he didn't have the means at the time to pay for even community college, but he did have a friend of a friend of a friend, who could put in a good word for her for a job that would actually take her places.
So she took the job, moved clear across the country, and here we are now.
Did you ever want to go to college?
She did; I remember her mentioning it a few times when we were dating. It wasn't something she could easily accomplish at the time, though, not with her work schedule, and not with the expense of living on the east coast. She was, however, putting money aside so that her sister would be able to at least go to a community college. She thought that between what she could save and what her father could scrape up, Nika would have a chance at getting a little more out of her education than she had.
Before Char could deny having ever wanted a higher education, I answered for her. She'd wanted to, and we have even talked about her going after we got married, but it never happened.
The placement tests are walk-in, and open to anyone, Alex told her. And you have lots of time to get an application in for the summer term. I need a ride there everyday, anyway, you know.
I think Char was amused. Not tempted, but amused, and she pointed out to Alex that she was turning 40 this year, a little old to be thinking about getting a college education that would take four or five years to get through.
How old will you be in four or five years if you don't start now?
She tried to stumble through an answer, and lamely popped out with how I had wanted to take a class or two, thinking about getting my teaching credential. She never mentioned that she mostly did not want me to do that.
So? The SUV has like seven seats, Mom, you'll both fit on the ride to school every day.
Her next counter was that she didn't need a college education to be a Mom; whether she learned more about Shakespeare or not, or if she learned anything about basic algebra, that wasn't going to make a difference in how the house got cleaned, the laundry got done, and dinner got on the table. And she was perfectly happy with the life she has.
What about education for the sake of itself? You don't need a reason to learn, and there is no reason for not being open to learning new things.
But--
No one said you had to get a degree. Just take some classes.
But--
Take a class with Dad. Men like hot co-eds, you know.
There was no but there; I agreed with the boy, and told her I'd be more than happy to take a class or two with her, and I'd work hard to not embarrass her.
Her back is up against the wall, and she doesn't have a compelling reason to not take those placement tests on Monday. The problem is, she also doesn't think she has a valid reason to take the tests and then apply to the school.
So help Alex and I out here; give her a reason or two. She wanted this fifteen years ago, there's not a thing standing in her way other than the voices in her head.
Help me convince her.
Friday, March 12, 2010
We think, but very little
Nika's fiancee, Peter, didn't realize until last night that one of our kids was adopted; we didn't tell him which one, it was more like “Guess and if you get it right, you get an extra slice of birthday cake.” The kids were all at the table, laughing over a first-grader joke that Toni thought was the funnies thing ever, and I don't think they knew what the adults standing in the kitchen were talking about.
Peter considered it for a bit; Kevin has so many of Ian's talents—they can both dance like there's no tomorrow, they can both sing beautifully, and Kevin mimics Ian's habit of raising one eyebrow when he's either surprised by something or just doesn't completely buy what someone is telling him. And he looks like me; I evidently take after my mother's Hispanic roots, and Kevin is more Hispanic than anything else.
Rachel doesn't really look like either of us, and there's no clear composite of Ian's Irishness or my racial mix to be found by just looking at her. She's quieter than anyone else in this house (we think she got that all out of her system when she was a toddler) and much more deliberate in how she approaches things. The boys are both very outgoing, while she's a bit shy and it took her a while to warm up to both Peter and Nika.
Alex doesn't really look like either of us as well, but he has Ian's moodiness surrounding him(I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you are moody), and he's as deliberately ponderous as Ian is (without the shades of annoying paranoia.) He has Ian's quirky sense of humor, he plays the piano as beautifully as Ian does, he's as fiercely protective as his father and as generous. He has my eyes, and is sometimes as stubborn as I can be.
Kevin and Alex, Peter decided, were far too much like their parents; Kevin looks like me, Alex acts like Ian. He concluded that it had to be Rachel.
We let him have another slice of birthday cake anyway.
With a lot of parents, you ask them which of their kids is the adopted one and they have to stop and think about it; I don't think I've ever had to do that, but I am often taken aback by the question, because it's usually asked as if it matters. It doesn't. Ian pointed out while he was musing Kevin's birthday and that moment we first held him, the connection was the same. I did all the things with him that I did with Alex and Rachel when they were placed in my arms, and tough guy Ian, he cried the first time he held all three kids.
So no, I don't have to stop and think about it; maybe because there was something very special about the way Kevin came to us, that the people in my family knew before we did that we were his parents. That he's our son is an act of providence.
I love that from the outside, it's not that easy to guess which of the kids was that gift of fortune and destiny; that's how it should be. I love that Alex looks like his grandpa Conor and that Rachel looks like her grandma Maureen, and I admit, I especially love that Kevin looks so much like me. That no one can be sure, or that it would never occur to anyone that we adopted one of the kids, just serves as proof that families aren't created from biology, but from the heart.
Eventually the kids did notice that we were all looking at them and wanted to know why. Peter shrugged and told Kevin, “I was just telling your Mom how much you look like her.”
Kevin laughed and said, “Better Mom than Dad.”
Like Ian, I have a hard time believing he's eleven years old. Unlike Ian, I can't wait to see the teenager he'll be and the man he'll become. Because for all our faults, I think we're doing a pretty good job with these kids, and I want to see them as adults.
But not too soon. I'm allowed to be inconsistent in that; it's a rite of motherhood.
Peter considered it for a bit; Kevin has so many of Ian's talents—they can both dance like there's no tomorrow, they can both sing beautifully, and Kevin mimics Ian's habit of raising one eyebrow when he's either surprised by something or just doesn't completely buy what someone is telling him. And he looks like me; I evidently take after my mother's Hispanic roots, and Kevin is more Hispanic than anything else.
Rachel doesn't really look like either of us, and there's no clear composite of Ian's Irishness or my racial mix to be found by just looking at her. She's quieter than anyone else in this house (we think she got that all out of her system when she was a toddler) and much more deliberate in how she approaches things. The boys are both very outgoing, while she's a bit shy and it took her a while to warm up to both Peter and Nika.
Alex doesn't really look like either of us as well, but he has Ian's moodiness surrounding him(I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you are moody), and he's as deliberately ponderous as Ian is (without the shades of annoying paranoia.) He has Ian's quirky sense of humor, he plays the piano as beautifully as Ian does, he's as fiercely protective as his father and as generous. He has my eyes, and is sometimes as stubborn as I can be.
Kevin and Alex, Peter decided, were far too much like their parents; Kevin looks like me, Alex acts like Ian. He concluded that it had to be Rachel.
We let him have another slice of birthday cake anyway.
With a lot of parents, you ask them which of their kids is the adopted one and they have to stop and think about it; I don't think I've ever had to do that, but I am often taken aback by the question, because it's usually asked as if it matters. It doesn't. Ian pointed out while he was musing Kevin's birthday and that moment we first held him, the connection was the same. I did all the things with him that I did with Alex and Rachel when they were placed in my arms, and tough guy Ian, he cried the first time he held all three kids.
So no, I don't have to stop and think about it; maybe because there was something very special about the way Kevin came to us, that the people in my family knew before we did that we were his parents. That he's our son is an act of providence.
I love that from the outside, it's not that easy to guess which of the kids was that gift of fortune and destiny; that's how it should be. I love that Alex looks like his grandpa Conor and that Rachel looks like her grandma Maureen, and I admit, I especially love that Kevin looks so much like me. That no one can be sure, or that it would never occur to anyone that we adopted one of the kids, just serves as proof that families aren't created from biology, but from the heart.
Eventually the kids did notice that we were all looking at them and wanted to know why. Peter shrugged and told Kevin, “I was just telling your Mom how much you look like her.”
Kevin laughed and said, “Better Mom than Dad.”
Like Ian, I have a hard time believing he's eleven years old. Unlike Ian, I can't wait to see the teenager he'll be and the man he'll become. Because for all our faults, I think we're doing a pretty good job with these kids, and I want to see them as adults.
But not too soon. I'm allowed to be inconsistent in that; it's a rite of motherhood.
It's hard to type in the car
The key to a quiet drive home seems to be to run the kids ragged for three days; we're halfway home, and they all conked out after ten minutes in the car. I felt a little bad, telling Kevin we had to leave because he was having a great time and getting the hang of the snowboard, but Char's Dad and sister will be waiting at the house, along with Erin and the grandkids, solely to celebrate Kevin's birthday. Erin baked a cake, which was enough to get him off the board and into the car; he was excited about seeing them all and can't wait to tell them about learning to snowboard, but it didn't take long for his chatter to slow and then stop, and for Rachel and Alex to both drift off, too (needless to say, Char's driving; I'm not stupid enough to drive and type at the same time. Not quite.)
I woke up at 4:30 this morning and without intending to, woke Char around 5 with the aroma of coffee. She didn't seem to mind too much; we took the chance to sit there and take in the view one last time, musing over the scramble eleven years ago when we got the call to tell us Char's cousin was in labor and had decided she would just "hold that baby in place" until we got there. We called Brad and woke him (are you fucking insane? It's the goddamned middle of the night and that kid isn't popping out for at least twelve fucking hours, and can't Conor watch the damned kids until after lunch? I'll be fucking awake by then. Yeah, if you thought I had a mouth, you should wake him up at five in the morning sometime) and were headed for the airport by six (and yes, my Dad was able to watch Alex and Rachel for a few hours, but not for a few days; he needed Brad's help for that) and in California in time for Kevin's birth.
(So there you go. One state to cross off your Where in the World are Undr and Char? list.)
While we weren't in the delivery room, Char was the first non-medical person to hold Kevin, gave him his first kiss, told him for the first time how loved he was. When she handed him to me, it was just as overwhelming as the moment I first held Alex and first held Rachel; it didn't matter whose DNA this baby had, he was every bit my son, and I felt that instant connection. I loved him before he was born, but that moment--it was no different than what I felt with our other kids, and honestly, that surprised me.
It was hard as hell to let the nurse take him; we had agreed, reluctantly, that if she wanted to, his birth mother would be able to see him without us, to hold him just once to say goodbye. That terrified us; she still had the right to change her mind, and who could not want that perfect little boy? She was only 13, but she carried him for nine months and gave birth to him; it was a haunting possibility that left us both scared as hell until his biological grandmother, Char's aunt, sought us out to tell us to not worry; she'd been with her daughter while she said goodbye to him, and while it was hard, she knew she just couldn't keep him. She was grateful that we wanted him so badly; it wasn't just that we would be able to give him anything he needed and much of what he just wanted; she was handing him over to someone with her own blood. Like Char, one of her parents is black, the other is white and hispanic. Kevin's biological father is white and hispanic. She wanted Kevin to fit in; like Char, she'd never felt like she fit anywhere, and knew she was stuck where she was at until she was old enough to run.
Char's aunt said simply She's thirteen going on thirty. She made a mistake, but she's smart enough to know the right thing to do.
We both wonder from time to time how often she dwells on him; she's twenty four now, graduated from college, and has gotten out of the neighborhood Char ran from when she was eighteen. We also both wonder when Kevin will ask to meet her; I have mixed feelings about that, but I know he's curious and sooner or later he'll want to. We agreed years ago that once he was eighteen we wouldn't stand in his way, and we would facilitate the meeting, but if he asks before then, we're just not sure.
But we have right now. And right now our youngest son is drooling in the back seat of the car, and we're headed towards home where he'll spend what's left of his birthday with most of the people who love him. I only quantify that because I have no doubt that his biological mother and grandmother love him; the people waiting at home, though, are the people who matter most to him right now.
When the kids got up at 6--they purposely got up early to get in as much time on the skis and snowboards as they could--Char dug a tape measure out of her purse; it's a tradition, measure the kids on their birthday to see how tall they've gotten. In the last year he's shot up over 3 inches and is starting to lose that small-for-my-age look. He's a shade under the five feet tall I wasn't sure he'd actually see before becoming a teenager, but he hasn't lost his goofy, funny, bright outlook to the teenage gloom and doom, and I hope he never does. He's an amazing kid, and there isn't a day that we aren't grateful that Char's very young cousin trusted us to give him a good life.
But damn. He's eleven. This is the last of his little-boy years. Next year he'll be a pre-teen, and the year after, a teenager.
Damn.
I woke up at 4:30 this morning and without intending to, woke Char around 5 with the aroma of coffee. She didn't seem to mind too much; we took the chance to sit there and take in the view one last time, musing over the scramble eleven years ago when we got the call to tell us Char's cousin was in labor and had decided she would just "hold that baby in place" until we got there. We called Brad and woke him (are you fucking insane? It's the goddamned middle of the night and that kid isn't popping out for at least twelve fucking hours, and can't Conor watch the damned kids until after lunch? I'll be fucking awake by then. Yeah, if you thought I had a mouth, you should wake him up at five in the morning sometime) and were headed for the airport by six (and yes, my Dad was able to watch Alex and Rachel for a few hours, but not for a few days; he needed Brad's help for that) and in California in time for Kevin's birth.
(So there you go. One state to cross off your Where in the World are Undr and Char? list.)
While we weren't in the delivery room, Char was the first non-medical person to hold Kevin, gave him his first kiss, told him for the first time how loved he was. When she handed him to me, it was just as overwhelming as the moment I first held Alex and first held Rachel; it didn't matter whose DNA this baby had, he was every bit my son, and I felt that instant connection. I loved him before he was born, but that moment--it was no different than what I felt with our other kids, and honestly, that surprised me.
It was hard as hell to let the nurse take him; we had agreed, reluctantly, that if she wanted to, his birth mother would be able to see him without us, to hold him just once to say goodbye. That terrified us; she still had the right to change her mind, and who could not want that perfect little boy? She was only 13, but she carried him for nine months and gave birth to him; it was a haunting possibility that left us both scared as hell until his biological grandmother, Char's aunt, sought us out to tell us to not worry; she'd been with her daughter while she said goodbye to him, and while it was hard, she knew she just couldn't keep him. She was grateful that we wanted him so badly; it wasn't just that we would be able to give him anything he needed and much of what he just wanted; she was handing him over to someone with her own blood. Like Char, one of her parents is black, the other is white and hispanic. Kevin's biological father is white and hispanic. She wanted Kevin to fit in; like Char, she'd never felt like she fit anywhere, and knew she was stuck where she was at until she was old enough to run.
Char's aunt said simply She's thirteen going on thirty. She made a mistake, but she's smart enough to know the right thing to do.
We both wonder from time to time how often she dwells on him; she's twenty four now, graduated from college, and has gotten out of the neighborhood Char ran from when she was eighteen. We also both wonder when Kevin will ask to meet her; I have mixed feelings about that, but I know he's curious and sooner or later he'll want to. We agreed years ago that once he was eighteen we wouldn't stand in his way, and we would facilitate the meeting, but if he asks before then, we're just not sure.
But we have right now. And right now our youngest son is drooling in the back seat of the car, and we're headed towards home where he'll spend what's left of his birthday with most of the people who love him. I only quantify that because I have no doubt that his biological mother and grandmother love him; the people waiting at home, though, are the people who matter most to him right now.
When the kids got up at 6--they purposely got up early to get in as much time on the skis and snowboards as they could--Char dug a tape measure out of her purse; it's a tradition, measure the kids on their birthday to see how tall they've gotten. In the last year he's shot up over 3 inches and is starting to lose that small-for-my-age look. He's a shade under the five feet tall I wasn't sure he'd actually see before becoming a teenager, but he hasn't lost his goofy, funny, bright outlook to the teenage gloom and doom, and I hope he never does. He's an amazing kid, and there isn't a day that we aren't grateful that Char's very young cousin trusted us to give him a good life.
But damn. He's eleven. This is the last of his little-boy years. Next year he'll be a pre-teen, and the year after, a teenager.
Damn.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
He wants to fly
I appreciate the good thoughts, but I'm fine, really. I was a little numb yesterday, but who wouldn't be?
Kevin's birthday is tomorrow; he'll turn 11 while trying to shred down the beginner's hill on a rented snowboard. We asked him what he wanted to do on his birthday, his answer was "get a snowboard and try it." So today he and Alex took a 4 hour snowboard class, and then spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get the hang of it.
In his head, Kevin soars like this:
In reality, his day went more like this:
But he still had fun, so tomorrow we'll rent the boys boards again, and either Char or I will ski the beginner's slope with them while the other skis the blues with Rachel (she was offered the chance to take the class, but pointedly turned her nose up at it; in Rachel-speak this means "I really want to, but they'll make me look bad, and I refuse to look bad next to my little brother, so next year, when they're really good, I'll want to take the class so I look pretty good for a beginner." I totally understand.) I imagine we'll stay out as long as they want and then head home by evening, give Kevin as much of his birthday in the snow as he was hoping for.
I expected to have to drag the boys off the slopes this afternoon, but they were both tired and ready to go by four o'clock, and starving on top of it. We caved to the pleas coming from the back seat to stop for food, because they were going to DIE before we could get back to the condo (10 minutes away), elicited a promise that they wouldn't cram themselves full of junk, and stopped at a buffet. Alex at a buffet is almost fascinating to watch; he gets my money's worth, and neither of us is sure exactly where all that food he inhales goes. Kevin nearly kept up with him tonight, prompting Rachel to complain that they were "gross" and "embarrassing."
Tonight they're all playing Scrabble (and letting Kevin win), and Char and I are going to just sit here and enjoy the killer view we have from the condo. This beats adjoining hotel rooms hands down and is cheaper, so I wish we'd discovered this place years ago.
The kids were right; this trip has been a hell of a lot more fun with Char along than it would have been. She's a hell of a lot more fun to share a bed with than Alex.
Kevin's birthday is tomorrow; he'll turn 11 while trying to shred down the beginner's hill on a rented snowboard. We asked him what he wanted to do on his birthday, his answer was "get a snowboard and try it." So today he and Alex took a 4 hour snowboard class, and then spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get the hang of it.
In his head, Kevin soars like this:
In reality, his day went more like this:
But he still had fun, so tomorrow we'll rent the boys boards again, and either Char or I will ski the beginner's slope with them while the other skis the blues with Rachel (she was offered the chance to take the class, but pointedly turned her nose up at it; in Rachel-speak this means "I really want to, but they'll make me look bad, and I refuse to look bad next to my little brother, so next year, when they're really good, I'll want to take the class so I look pretty good for a beginner." I totally understand.) I imagine we'll stay out as long as they want and then head home by evening, give Kevin as much of his birthday in the snow as he was hoping for.
I expected to have to drag the boys off the slopes this afternoon, but they were both tired and ready to go by four o'clock, and starving on top of it. We caved to the pleas coming from the back seat to stop for food, because they were going to DIE before we could get back to the condo (10 minutes away), elicited a promise that they wouldn't cram themselves full of junk, and stopped at a buffet. Alex at a buffet is almost fascinating to watch; he gets my money's worth, and neither of us is sure exactly where all that food he inhales goes. Kevin nearly kept up with him tonight, prompting Rachel to complain that they were "gross" and "embarrassing."
Tonight they're all playing Scrabble (and letting Kevin win), and Char and I are going to just sit here and enjoy the killer view we have from the condo. This beats adjoining hotel rooms hands down and is cheaper, so I wish we'd discovered this place years ago.
The kids were right; this trip has been a hell of a lot more fun with Char along than it would have been. She's a hell of a lot more fun to share a bed with than Alex.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
And so it goes
Char took the kids out for dinner (which defeats the purpose of our having gotten a rental condo, specifically so we could cook for the kids and not stuff them full of more junk) in order to give me some time to myself. There's a pizza place just down the road with an arcade, so she whipped Kevin into an excited frenzy about it in order to get the other kids to not complain about it, told them I had a headache and they'd bring me a pizza later, and got them out without much fuss.
My phone rang this afternoon and I pulled off to the side of the ski run to see who it was, and almost shoved the phone back into my pocket because I knew what the news would be when I picked up. The kids were all well ahead of me and Char stopped long enough to see what was up, and followed them without question when she saw the look on my face. The call was from one of Tanner's boys; Kathy passed away this morning. She was only 48 years old, and as far as I know, had been perfectly healthy.
I think I'm numb. I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing her or speaking to her again, but I don't like the idea that she's just not tucked away safely somewhere, reveling in her step-grandmotherhood.
We managed a couple more runs before Kevin's energy started to wear off, and I realized I was watching Alex ski ahead of us all more than I watched the other two kids. Not long after Kathy and I split, she had a very brief relationship with an old friend, got pregnant, and lost the baby at about 6 months. I was angry about it at the time; she hadn't wanted kids, yet there she was having one and happy about it. When she lost it, I was probably not as sympathetic as I could have been, but I did feel for her. She'd had a taste of realizing that things weren't always as cut and dried as they seemed, and that she did want motherhood as an option. I may have taken it personally for a while, realizing that she did want kids after all, just not with me, but I got over it quickly enough.
But I was watching Alex today and realzed that if she'd had that baby, he or she would be fifteen, almost sixteen.
That's been stuck in my head all afternoon. I could pick it apart to figure out why, but I'm not in the mood for much introspection. I just feel bad for her, and I feel bad for Tanner; I feel bad for Kathy's parents and brother, and yes, I feel a little bad for myself. We never had the marriage we both thought we would, but there was a time when I loved her and when she loved me, and all we wanted for each other, even in the end of our relationship, was the best.
I've also spent a lot of time this afternoon watching my wife; you know I adore this woman, and I wouldn't trade a moment of my life with her for anything. She is everything to me, and in my son's words, I'm "totally gay for her."
I wouldn't have any of this if sixteen years ago Kathy hadn't had the courage to admit that we were over, that we'd begun the ending of our relationship on a cold afternoon four years earlier, and that she just couldn't stay.
I wish she had gotten everything out of life that she wanted; I wish I hadn't been the cause of so much pain in her life, that I hadn't been the driving force behind some of her biggest terrors. I wish I had done better. I also wish she had been given a couple of dozen more years with Tanner and his kids.
No, I won't go to her funeral. It's more than the awkwardness that would inflict on her family; for one very specific reason she wouldn't want me there, and I respect that. I don't need to say goodbye, and I can wish her family well without being there. But I will miss the idea that she's out there somewhere, finally happy.
I am grateful she got that, though; she was happy, and she deserved that.
My phone rang this afternoon and I pulled off to the side of the ski run to see who it was, and almost shoved the phone back into my pocket because I knew what the news would be when I picked up. The kids were all well ahead of me and Char stopped long enough to see what was up, and followed them without question when she saw the look on my face. The call was from one of Tanner's boys; Kathy passed away this morning. She was only 48 years old, and as far as I know, had been perfectly healthy.
I think I'm numb. I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing her or speaking to her again, but I don't like the idea that she's just not tucked away safely somewhere, reveling in her step-grandmotherhood.
We managed a couple more runs before Kevin's energy started to wear off, and I realized I was watching Alex ski ahead of us all more than I watched the other two kids. Not long after Kathy and I split, she had a very brief relationship with an old friend, got pregnant, and lost the baby at about 6 months. I was angry about it at the time; she hadn't wanted kids, yet there she was having one and happy about it. When she lost it, I was probably not as sympathetic as I could have been, but I did feel for her. She'd had a taste of realizing that things weren't always as cut and dried as they seemed, and that she did want motherhood as an option. I may have taken it personally for a while, realizing that she did want kids after all, just not with me, but I got over it quickly enough.
But I was watching Alex today and realzed that if she'd had that baby, he or she would be fifteen, almost sixteen.
That's been stuck in my head all afternoon. I could pick it apart to figure out why, but I'm not in the mood for much introspection. I just feel bad for her, and I feel bad for Tanner; I feel bad for Kathy's parents and brother, and yes, I feel a little bad for myself. We never had the marriage we both thought we would, but there was a time when I loved her and when she loved me, and all we wanted for each other, even in the end of our relationship, was the best.
I've also spent a lot of time this afternoon watching my wife; you know I adore this woman, and I wouldn't trade a moment of my life with her for anything. She is everything to me, and in my son's words, I'm "totally gay for her."
I wouldn't have any of this if sixteen years ago Kathy hadn't had the courage to admit that we were over, that we'd begun the ending of our relationship on a cold afternoon four years earlier, and that she just couldn't stay.
I wish she had gotten everything out of life that she wanted; I wish I hadn't been the cause of so much pain in her life, that I hadn't been the driving force behind some of her biggest terrors. I wish I had done better. I also wish she had been given a couple of dozen more years with Tanner and his kids.
No, I won't go to her funeral. It's more than the awkwardness that would inflict on her family; for one very specific reason she wouldn't want me there, and I respect that. I don't need to say goodbye, and I can wish her family well without being there. But I will miss the idea that she's out there somewhere, finally happy.
I am grateful she got that, though; she was happy, and she deserved that.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Stasis
Whatever I feel, which at this point is empathy for Tanner, I have to keep it to myself, at least around the kids. Whatever they think about the fact that I had a life before they were born, they don't need to be beat over the head with it, and Kevin's birthday is in 3 days. I refused to cast a pall over that. We're taking the kids skiing tomorrow and we'll be there for a few days; whatever happens I can suck it up.
Our fingers are definitely crossed that Kathy surprises everyone and recovers, but the truth is that even if she lives, it might not be the life she would want for herself. It could wind up being the life I know she'll despise.
That would really suck.
Our fingers are definitely crossed that Kathy surprises everyone and recovers, but the truth is that even if she lives, it might not be the life she would want for herself. It could wind up being the life I know she'll despise.
That would really suck.
Uncomfortably Numb, Mostly
Ian's ex-wife had a stroke yesterday; her husband, Tanner, found her on kitchen floor yesterday afternoon, but he had no idea how long she had been there. Hours, he thinks, but he wasn't sure. Now she's in intensive care without having regained consciousness, and it sounds like she's only got about a 25% chance of recovery.
Ian doesn't know quite what he should be feeling; they never got to where they were friends again, but they also never got to that place where they hated each other. They've been supportive of each other, and genuinely happy for one another when life turned out a little better that they hoped when they split up.
The truth is, he spent 18 years with her, from the time they were young teenagers trying to get to know each other, Alex's age, until they split when he was 32. He spent more years loving her than he did being upset or angry with her, and if he wasn't terrified of what might happen to her, I'd be concerned.
In the last few months, Kathy and I have formed, if not a friendship, then a strong aquaintence. I used to tell Ian that I appreciated his relationship with her because she was obviously a large part in shaping who he was when I fell in love with him. I think she's part of why he's the man he is, why he didn't fall into the same traps that his brother and sister did. She helped him grow up, and grow into himself. I do like her, and feel more than a little afraid of what's happening to her.
But Ian knows what Tanner is going through right now. He knows the fear and the anguish, and the sure bargaining with God that Tanner is doing right now. He can sympathize, and he empathizes. But he's very much afraid of how it will feel if Kathy dies, and he understands that it's a real possibility.
How do you grieve for someone you're not "supposed" to love anymore?
He's going to analyze himself up one wall and down another, working ovetime to give himself the permission I don't think he needs to really grieve for her.
For now, we wait, and hope that the next time he talks to Tanner the news will be better.
Ian doesn't know quite what he should be feeling; they never got to where they were friends again, but they also never got to that place where they hated each other. They've been supportive of each other, and genuinely happy for one another when life turned out a little better that they hoped when they split up.
The truth is, he spent 18 years with her, from the time they were young teenagers trying to get to know each other, Alex's age, until they split when he was 32. He spent more years loving her than he did being upset or angry with her, and if he wasn't terrified of what might happen to her, I'd be concerned.
In the last few months, Kathy and I have formed, if not a friendship, then a strong aquaintence. I used to tell Ian that I appreciated his relationship with her because she was obviously a large part in shaping who he was when I fell in love with him. I think she's part of why he's the man he is, why he didn't fall into the same traps that his brother and sister did. She helped him grow up, and grow into himself. I do like her, and feel more than a little afraid of what's happening to her.
But Ian knows what Tanner is going through right now. He knows the fear and the anguish, and the sure bargaining with God that Tanner is doing right now. He can sympathize, and he empathizes. But he's very much afraid of how it will feel if Kathy dies, and he understands that it's a real possibility.
How do you grieve for someone you're not "supposed" to love anymore?
He's going to analyze himself up one wall and down another, working ovetime to give himself the permission I don't think he needs to really grieve for her.
For now, we wait, and hope that the next time he talks to Tanner the news will be better.
Friday, March 5, 2010
FYI
Calling and asking if I was serious about refusing to post bail if you get your ass arrested is not funny.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Two more days
Four in the freaking morning, still awake. This is borderline pathetic; I'm 48, I should be able to sleep alone for four nights (and to be honest, no, she doesn't snore, but it helps to blame it on someone else.) It's not as if I haven't spoken to her; I've talked to her every night just to touch base and let her know the kids haven't done me in yet, but she needs to get home, because they just might. I didn't mind the bowling, because that's something I do fairly well and enjoy, and I didn't mind taking them to a movie because with Alex there, I can get up a couple times and head to the lobby. I didn't mind the couple of hours we spent in the bookstore, or that we've gone out for dinner every night and my arteries are screaming at me. But the wandering the mall and the ice skating nearly killed me, first out of boredom and then out of repeated falling on my ass, once banging my head on the ice.
They've had fun, though, and I've enjoyed having the time alone with them. Those kids laugh together like crazy, and just watching them be together is enough.
But, I'm ready for Char to come home. I miss her, and I really need to sleep.
They've had fun, though, and I've enjoyed having the time alone with them. Those kids laugh together like crazy, and just watching them be together is enough.
But, I'm ready for Char to come home. I miss her, and I really need to sleep.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Will work for Zzzzs
Monday night I slept like crap; I assumed it was because I really did not want to meet with the accountant on Tuesday.
Last night, I slept like crap; I tossed and turned and decided it was because I didn't want to sit here all morning waiting on a phone call.
But in reality, I suspect it's because Char isn't here. It's just hard to sleep without the usual sounds of staccato snoring in the background.
It might be temporary, but it will allow me to work at home, what Char wanted, and do some first-reader and editing work, what I wanted.
Going to go pick the kids up, and they want to go ice skating. This does not bode well for me.
Last night, I slept like crap; I tossed and turned and decided it was because I didn't want to sit here all morning waiting on a phone call.
But in reality, I suspect it's because Char isn't here. It's just hard to sleep without the usual sounds of staccato snoring in the background.
Employment. I haz it.
It might be temporary, but it will allow me to work at home, what Char wanted, and do some first-reader and editing work, what I wanted.
Going to go pick the kids up, and they want to go ice skating. This does not bode well for me.
I restrained myself
There was homework to be done before the kids and I could go anywhere this afternoon, and Stephanie was over for a while so that Alex could help her wade through some science homework that she wasn't quite grasping. All the kids were at the table, and the house was quiet except for the shuffling of papers and the noise I was making in the kitchen (hey, I can slice and bake cookies like a damned PRO, you know.)
Alex's cell phone started to beep with incoming messages, but he ignored it until the 5th or 6th one when he tossed his pencil down and reached for it. He read them, frowned, and then looked up at Stephanie and asked, Did you break up with me and not tell me?
I was thinking that would be pretty damned cold, letting him get a bunch of text messages about it while getting him to help with homework, but she was as stumped as he was. Someone started a rumor, and in the typical high school way, the rumor was getting back to him in volume. I presumed it was friends commiserating; no, it was a bunch of girls offering to “comfort” him through the heartbreak.
Through the rest of the evening his phone has been buzzing with text messages from hopeful 14-16 year old girls.
I admire his outward demonstration of offense at all the messages he's getting, but deep down I kind of want to high five the kid.
Alex's cell phone started to beep with incoming messages, but he ignored it until the 5th or 6th one when he tossed his pencil down and reached for it. He read them, frowned, and then looked up at Stephanie and asked, Did you break up with me and not tell me?
I was thinking that would be pretty damned cold, letting him get a bunch of text messages about it while getting him to help with homework, but she was as stumped as he was. Someone started a rumor, and in the typical high school way, the rumor was getting back to him in volume. I presumed it was friends commiserating; no, it was a bunch of girls offering to “comfort” him through the heartbreak.
Through the rest of the evening his phone has been buzzing with text messages from hopeful 14-16 year old girls.
I admire his outward demonstration of offense at all the messages he's getting, but deep down I kind of want to high five the kid.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
I think the IRS will want me to bend over
I fucking hate taxes. Also, accountants with a we go through this every year attitude. It's not my fault I don't have all my 1099s yet.
Uncomplicated taxes would be nice.
Flat tax would be nicer.
Uncomplicated taxes would be nice.
Flat tax would be nicer.
Monday, March 1, 2010
No more waiting at the gate, dammit
Over the years Char has dropped me off at the airport at least a hundred times; I'd never considered it from her point of view before. I just always grabbed my bags, kissed her goodbye, and went in. It's much more awkward on the dropping-off side; I didn't want to just pull up, kick her out of the car, and leave, so I parked and waited with her and Nika while they checked their bags, but that was it. That's as far as I could go and when they were ready to go through security, I had to leave.
Now I'm just waiting until it's time to go pick the kids up from school. I got online looking for someone to play with, but everyone is either working or they've also taken off for a few days. Yeah, cue me being pouty. I have a shitload of stuff to do tomorrow and Wednesday, but am bored out of my mind right now.
After school I'm taking the kids bowling and then out to dinner, and whatever else they feel like doing. I have a nasty feeling that at some point this week what they'll feel like doing will involve me being dragged around the mall, mostly because they know I hate being dragged around the mall.
Now I'm just waiting until it's time to go pick the kids up from school. I got online looking for someone to play with, but everyone is either working or they've also taken off for a few days. Yeah, cue me being pouty. I have a shitload of stuff to do tomorrow and Wednesday, but am bored out of my mind right now.
After school I'm taking the kids bowling and then out to dinner, and whatever else they feel like doing. I have a nasty feeling that at some point this week what they'll feel like doing will involve me being dragged around the mall, mostly because they know I hate being dragged around the mall.
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