In old movies and TV shows, Dad comes home from a trip and the kids all run to the door to greet him, happy and excited, asking Did you bring me anything? I walked through the door today and Rachel barely looked up, Alex grunted, and Kevin was bellowing Turn, turn turn! to whatever video game he was playing.
Char walked in, and was greeted with a chorus of Hi, Mom!
I see how it is.
Craig is all right. He's not great, but he's not awful; he's right on track, although some physical issues that have become apparent are giving him fits and starts. They still haven't fully addressed his blood sugar issues, and I'm not sure if they think it will stabilize and they're leaving it alone for right now or if they're waiting for some magic number, but they are keeping track. He's lost quite a bit of weight because he hasn't been able to keep much down, but yesterday he was able to eat, which perhaps not so coincidentally coincided with him finally starting to open up and talk.
My brother has some deep issues, most of which I was unaware, a few that I was acutely aware of. A few that directly involve me, and some that are indirectly caused by me. But he's talking, unpacking the baggage, so to speak. Even when he's out of rehab he'll be in therapy for a long, long time, I think.
Something that really jumped out at me: he started drinking when he was 13. That's Rachel's age. He hadn't even gotten through puberty and he was getting trashed on a fairly regular basis. He had no clue then what stepping into the party lifestyle would do to him as an adult, or how it would mold the decisions he would make in regards to simple things like homework, graduation, going to college or not. He resents the hell out of realizing that he drank his way out of any chance of getting a scholarship, effectively drinking himself into only having a high school education when deep down he wanted more. He resents the hell out of the idea that of all three of us, I was the only one who went to college; he knows I went on a scholarship, but it's muddled in his brain as me being the chosen one, the golden boy our parents anointed with a baccalaureate degree and a job clear across the country.
I had what he wanted: the degree, the job, and the girl. He has no idea what getting that degree cost me, why I agreed to the terms of the scholarship and the job, and I won't tell him because it wouldn't help anything; it's enough to know that even though he does understand that the road I took was nothing personal, to him it felt personal. To him it felt like I was getting it all, and he was getting a minimum wage job bagging groceries.
And the girl; he despises the fact that I dated Kathy all though high school and then married her. She was the one thing that mattered more than anything to him, and he always held out hope of "someday."
He also knows that hoping for that someday never made much sense. He married very young, too, had three boys, and in spite of himself tried hard to make the marriage work. When it didn't, it was just another thing he felt like he'd screwed up.
His list of things he thinks he screwed up is long, and it's a bit self-pitying, but I can understand that. He's barely scratching the surface of himself and has a long, long way to go.
He wanted to know how many times he's been in rehab, and I couldn't answer. Six? Seven? Twelve? I know he's tried it more times that I've strong armed him into it, but this is the first time I've ever felt like he's committed to it. Even so, right now I'm only giving him a 50-50 shot at carrying this off. He has too many demons, and while he accepts his own role in most of those, the weight of it all might be too much to bear.
Still, I have hope. This is the first time I'm not hearing excuses from him. He knows he stated this 37 years ago, when he was too young to accept that first drink, but he no longer blames the person who gave it to him. He's embarrassed for the things he's done and ashamed of some of his behaviors, but most of all, he's talking and it's not coated in BS.
And yes, he is the charmer and flirt Char mentioned, but that is who he is. It's been a part of his personality since he was very little. He very well could use his charm to gain trust from some woman, but to his credit that hasn't been one of his worst traits; I think I've mentioned before that he is very respectful of women, careful and considerate. It's with other men that he can be a real son of a bitch, where the drinking escalates and the testosterone rears its ugly head. He knows this; he knows he has to work on it.
But, 50-50, and to be honest, a year ago I would have guessed he had less than a 10% chance of ever being sober for more than six months at a time.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Vee Hav Vays
I've had some good reminders over the last couple of days on why I don't want to be in the position where Ian feels like he has to draw something out of me. He is very, very good at sitting down with someone who has something to tell but doesn't want to and getting them to spill it without them realizing that he's gently manipulated the conversation into going in the direction he wants. I've watched him these last couple of days sit there with his brother and his brother's counselor, and draw out of him things he just didn't want to talk about or couldn't bring himself to talk about; they've all been issues the counselor has tried to pull from Craig but just couldn't get him to talk about.
Ian makes it feel like such simple, social conversation, but for whatever reason, he can subtly nudge things into getting him the information he wants. I don't quite know how he does it, but he knows it's as skill he has, and I never want to be on the other end of it (anymore than I already have been; I'm sure he's gotten me to talk without me realizing it before.) He's usually not persistent about it; he doesn't manipulate the kids into talking about things they don't really want to talk about and wouldn't unless he thought it was critically important, but they probably wouldn't realize what was happening until they'd already told him what he wants to know.
I don't think Craig realizes what Ian has been doing, but he's talking to Ian and letting the counselor listen in. This afternoon I wasn't sure if my being there was a hindrance or not (because Craig is really getting into some deep territory) so I came back to the hotel to call the kids and then kick back for a while. It hasn't been all super-intense picking at Craig's brain; at least from where Craig sits it's been more like his brother happily came to visit, has taken him out on a pass to get some lunch and just get out for a little bit, and like they're just getting to know each other again. And I'm starting to see how they were when they were kids; they were very close then, even if they fought a lot, and I can see how easy they can be with each other. I can also see how much Craig loves Ian, and how very jealous he is of Ian. There's a lot of conflict there, like he doesn't quite get why he wants their relationship again, but resents it all the same.
We're going to head home tomorrow; Craig seems to be all right and even managed to eat and keep food down today, and Ian will come back once in a while when he thinks Craig needs him to. I'm not sure how often I'll come with him, but I've been very surprised to realize just how charming Craig can be and how much I actually like him.
Ian makes it feel like such simple, social conversation, but for whatever reason, he can subtly nudge things into getting him the information he wants. I don't quite know how he does it, but he knows it's as skill he has, and I never want to be on the other end of it (anymore than I already have been; I'm sure he's gotten me to talk without me realizing it before.) He's usually not persistent about it; he doesn't manipulate the kids into talking about things they don't really want to talk about and wouldn't unless he thought it was critically important, but they probably wouldn't realize what was happening until they'd already told him what he wants to know.
I don't think Craig realizes what Ian has been doing, but he's talking to Ian and letting the counselor listen in. This afternoon I wasn't sure if my being there was a hindrance or not (because Craig is really getting into some deep territory) so I came back to the hotel to call the kids and then kick back for a while. It hasn't been all super-intense picking at Craig's brain; at least from where Craig sits it's been more like his brother happily came to visit, has taken him out on a pass to get some lunch and just get out for a little bit, and like they're just getting to know each other again. And I'm starting to see how they were when they were kids; they were very close then, even if they fought a lot, and I can see how easy they can be with each other. I can also see how much Craig loves Ian, and how very jealous he is of Ian. There's a lot of conflict there, like he doesn't quite get why he wants their relationship again, but resents it all the same.
We're going to head home tomorrow; Craig seems to be all right and even managed to eat and keep food down today, and Ian will come back once in a while when he thinks Craig needs him to. I'm not sure how often I'll come with him, but I've been very surprised to realize just how charming Craig can be and how much I actually like him.
Monday, April 26, 2010
I promised him I wouldn't abandon him...
It's been, what, a week and a half since Craig entered rehab? This past week has been a flurry of activity for him, most of it medical and mental health screenings, and he's not doing as well as he had hoped. His blood sugar is all over the place, he's still having issues eating without nausea, and they had to remove a polyp from his sinuses.
He's an addict; there was a question of whether he should take pain medication afterward or not. He didn't think it mattered, because it's been a long time since he was able to feel anything from narcotics; I'm guessing that's because his liver is probably barely functioning.
In any case, he feels like shit, sounds worse, and needs someone. So tomorrow Char and I are heading out for a few days, for moral support if nothing else. I don't know what we can do for him other than talk to his doctors and find out how he's really doing, and then just be there for him, but that might be all he needs right now.
He's an addict; there was a question of whether he should take pain medication afterward or not. He didn't think it mattered, because it's been a long time since he was able to feel anything from narcotics; I'm guessing that's because his liver is probably barely functioning.
In any case, he feels like shit, sounds worse, and needs someone. So tomorrow Char and I are heading out for a few days, for moral support if nothing else. I don't know what we can do for him other than talk to his doctors and find out how he's really doing, and then just be there for him, but that might be all he needs right now.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The things heroes are made of
Char and I sat in the warmth and dryness of the car while we waited for school to let out; it was rainy and heavily windy, and as the kids practically fought their way across the parking lot, hair whipping around wildly, Char mused that it was time to take the boys for haircuts.
I reminded her that Kevin wanted a mohawk.
Her sigh was tinged with resignation, but she nodded and said it was fine; everyone else was right, the hair would grow back if he hated it. Her only caveat was to not get the sides shaved; he could have the mohawk, but only sort of. Leave a quarter inch of hair, two to three on top, so that if he really hated it, we could cut it and he'd still have hair.
Worked for me.
I dropped her and Rachel off at home and took the boys to the barber. This guy has been cutting their hair as long as I can remember; I don't think he gave Alex his first non-parental haircut, but it's been almost that long. He's as old as Moses, but he keeps up with trends, and neither of them have ever had a problem decribing what they want.
Alex keeps his hair on the longish side; it's never been down to his shoulders, but it's thick and just long enough that it drives Brad nuts and inspires the occasional "Alexandria" comment. It doesn't matter to me; he can grow it as long as the school dress code allows as long as he keeps it clean and combed. I don't even watch as he gets it cut; he's long past the age where he needs supervision or permission for what he wants.
Kevin, on the other hand, at least needs to check with me before the scissors come out. He sat next to me while Alex went first, and once Alex was in the chair I told him that his mother had agreed; he could get the mohawk as long as the sides weren't shaved.
He sighed much the same way Char had, and said No. Elizabeth thinks it would look weird and everyone would make fun of me, so I don't want one now.
Telling him that what everyone else thought didn't matter was pointless; he's eleven, he cares what his friends think. But, he didn't want the same "little boy" haircut; he had no idea what he wanted. While he waited for his turn, he looked though a few books, and didn't find anything he liked.
And then Alex was done.
He came into the waiting area, his hair now nearly military short; trimmed over the ears, seriously tapered in back, just a little bit longer on top. He looks a little older even, and far more serious.
Kevin went wide-eyed and asked quietly, Can I copy your haircut?
Alex grunted Sure as he flopped down into the chair and Kevin damn near floated back to get his hair cut. That Alex didn't mind being copied meant a lot to Kevin; he still has a bit of hero-worship going on for his older brother, and there aren't many things he can copy from Alex.
But the haircut, that was one, and I don't think I've ever seen him so happy to have it done.
Where Alex looks a little older (he didn't need that) and a little more serious, Kevin looks like a preteen trying hard, but it suits him.
On the way home, Kevin reminded me that we'd said that if he could save enough money to get his ear pierced, he could do it. And he asked Rachel, who told him it only cost her fifteen dollars to get hers done, and That was BOTH ears!
I agree; we had said that.
I have twenty dollars, he informed me. Can I still do it?
Char might get upset, but we'd agreed to it, so I told him yes, he could still do it--but not today. Give Mom a little fair warning.
And ask Elizabeth if it's all right, Alex teased.
Kevin just smiled. Elizabeth, it seems, loves the idea. She thinks he should get a tiny diamond stud at first, and then get a hoop later.
You'll look good Alex assured him. If it really looks good, can I copy you?
I'm surprised Kevin didn't explode with joy right there in the back seat.
So tomorrow after school I'm taking them both to the mall, God help me, and letting Kevin get his ear pierced, and in all liklihood, Alex as well.
I bet Alex checks with Stephanie first, though.
I would.
I reminded her that Kevin wanted a mohawk.
Her sigh was tinged with resignation, but she nodded and said it was fine; everyone else was right, the hair would grow back if he hated it. Her only caveat was to not get the sides shaved; he could have the mohawk, but only sort of. Leave a quarter inch of hair, two to three on top, so that if he really hated it, we could cut it and he'd still have hair.
Worked for me.
I dropped her and Rachel off at home and took the boys to the barber. This guy has been cutting their hair as long as I can remember; I don't think he gave Alex his first non-parental haircut, but it's been almost that long. He's as old as Moses, but he keeps up with trends, and neither of them have ever had a problem decribing what they want.
Alex keeps his hair on the longish side; it's never been down to his shoulders, but it's thick and just long enough that it drives Brad nuts and inspires the occasional "Alexandria" comment. It doesn't matter to me; he can grow it as long as the school dress code allows as long as he keeps it clean and combed. I don't even watch as he gets it cut; he's long past the age where he needs supervision or permission for what he wants.
Kevin, on the other hand, at least needs to check with me before the scissors come out. He sat next to me while Alex went first, and once Alex was in the chair I told him that his mother had agreed; he could get the mohawk as long as the sides weren't shaved.
He sighed much the same way Char had, and said No. Elizabeth thinks it would look weird and everyone would make fun of me, so I don't want one now.
Telling him that what everyone else thought didn't matter was pointless; he's eleven, he cares what his friends think. But, he didn't want the same "little boy" haircut; he had no idea what he wanted. While he waited for his turn, he looked though a few books, and didn't find anything he liked.
And then Alex was done.
He came into the waiting area, his hair now nearly military short; trimmed over the ears, seriously tapered in back, just a little bit longer on top. He looks a little older even, and far more serious.
Kevin went wide-eyed and asked quietly, Can I copy your haircut?
Alex grunted Sure as he flopped down into the chair and Kevin damn near floated back to get his hair cut. That Alex didn't mind being copied meant a lot to Kevin; he still has a bit of hero-worship going on for his older brother, and there aren't many things he can copy from Alex.
But the haircut, that was one, and I don't think I've ever seen him so happy to have it done.
Where Alex looks a little older (he didn't need that) and a little more serious, Kevin looks like a preteen trying hard, but it suits him.
On the way home, Kevin reminded me that we'd said that if he could save enough money to get his ear pierced, he could do it. And he asked Rachel, who told him it only cost her fifteen dollars to get hers done, and That was BOTH ears!
I agree; we had said that.
I have twenty dollars, he informed me. Can I still do it?
Char might get upset, but we'd agreed to it, so I told him yes, he could still do it--but not today. Give Mom a little fair warning.
And ask Elizabeth if it's all right, Alex teased.
Kevin just smiled. Elizabeth, it seems, loves the idea. She thinks he should get a tiny diamond stud at first, and then get a hoop later.
You'll look good Alex assured him. If it really looks good, can I copy you?
I'm surprised Kevin didn't explode with joy right there in the back seat.
So tomorrow after school I'm taking them both to the mall, God help me, and letting Kevin get his ear pierced, and in all liklihood, Alex as well.
I bet Alex checks with Stephanie first, though.
I would.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Leaning left liberally, yet somewhat conservatively
Lean to make it move, Thumper had said. It's like a motorcycle, Thumper had said. Lean left to go left, lean right to go right, Thumper had said.
About ten minutes on the Trikke, and I decided Thumper was full of shit.
I leaned left, I leaned right, and that damned thing didn't budge. I pushed started, jumped on, and leaned left and then right, and it came to a rolling stop.
Alex, the shit, looked it over, jumped on, and took off. And when I tried to get him to tell me how, he launched into a mathematical explanation involving angles and axis that, frankly, hurt my head. When he was done showing off his brain, I sighed, In English, and he barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes and said, Turn the wheel a little as you lean.
He showed me in slowish motion, and something clicked.
I managed to move that sumbitch about ten feet before it stopped.
By the time Char threatened to leave for dinner without us, I think I was going up and down the street at a reasonable pace, even if I did look stupid doing it.
Today, I managed to ride it almost two miles, and might have gone longer but rain rolled in and the wind picked up, which meant putting it away.
Char bought two Trikkes for my birthday, knowing I would want company. And she was right; this is something fun we can do together. So today she rolled hers outside, asked me to explain and then show her, and dammit she got on and took off.
Lean and skate, she said.
Yeah.
I remember when she couldn't skate for shit; she'd never even been on skates when we were dating, and I can't skate to save my life, but I managed to keep upright and teach her the basics.
Now, she's taking those principles and making me look bad.
But I don't mind, not really.
I am going to make the Trikke my bitch.
Eventually.
About ten minutes on the Trikke, and I decided Thumper was full of shit.
I leaned left, I leaned right, and that damned thing didn't budge. I pushed started, jumped on, and leaned left and then right, and it came to a rolling stop.
Alex, the shit, looked it over, jumped on, and took off. And when I tried to get him to tell me how, he launched into a mathematical explanation involving angles and axis that, frankly, hurt my head. When he was done showing off his brain, I sighed, In English, and he barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes and said, Turn the wheel a little as you lean.
He showed me in slowish motion, and something clicked.
I managed to move that sumbitch about ten feet before it stopped.
By the time Char threatened to leave for dinner without us, I think I was going up and down the street at a reasonable pace, even if I did look stupid doing it.
Today, I managed to ride it almost two miles, and might have gone longer but rain rolled in and the wind picked up, which meant putting it away.
Char bought two Trikkes for my birthday, knowing I would want company. And she was right; this is something fun we can do together. So today she rolled hers outside, asked me to explain and then show her, and dammit she got on and took off.
Lean and skate, she said.
Yeah.
I remember when she couldn't skate for shit; she'd never even been on skates when we were dating, and I can't skate to save my life, but I managed to keep upright and teach her the basics.
Now, she's taking those principles and making me look bad.
But I don't mind, not really.
I am going to make the Trikke my bitch.
Eventually.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
49 :)
Ian is not typically a birthday person; he grumbles about it every year and I think the only reason he ever celebrates is because of the kids. We make a big deal over their birthdays, and they think we should want to make a big deal about ours. This year, Ian actually hinted very strongly about what he wanted (“Hey, look what Thumper got. I want one! My birthday is coming up. I want one!”) and he teased Erin incessantly about having her baby on his birthday.
When her water broke yesterday, aside from turning into Hyperactive Boy and wanting to take her to the hospital right that moment even though she had no labor pains, he started to actively look forward to this birthday. He was getting what he wanted most, to meet his newest grandson, and even admitted that it was better than Erin had him yesterday instead of today, because that meant she would be discharged today, barring complications, and knew she wouldn't mind letting him spend an hour or two with his newest greatest love.
I let him sleep in this morning while I took the kids to school, woke him up when I got home and made breakfast for him, and gave him his present. The Trikke he was coveting so hard (well, and a second one; I know him, he'll want company as he rides.)
My dad took delivery on it for me, because hiding something here just wouldn't work. Either one of the kids would spill it, or he would find it, and I wanted at least the illusion of surprising him. My dad also assembled it before bringing it over this morning--”He's a little kid, he'll want to ride it as soon as he sees it”--and he hung around to see just how “that contraption” works.
Which was all well and good, except for the fact that Ian couldn't make the damn thing move.
Fifteen minutes of “What the hell do I do?” and he was online trying to get help from Thumper, who apparently got the hang of it right off the bat, and then spent the next hour watching videos on You Tube, until Erin and Miko showed up with Thad.
I think he forgot about the Trikke until they left for some much needed rest, and the kids were home from school. He showed the Trikke to them, explained how he thought it should work; Alex looked at it for a few minutes, asked if he could try it, got on...and took off.
It took him about 10 seconds to get it moving and another half a minute to be zooming up and down the street.
Ian was pseudo-upset for about 10 seconds, until he realized that Alex could probably get him moving on it.
Rachel tried the 2nd Trikke and could get it going slowly; Kevin not at all but he's still a bit short for it. Me, I'm not even trying today. I decided to let them have their fun, and when they're at school tomorrow Ian can show me how.
They're spending the rest of the afternoon outside playing (and how cool is it I can actually tell Ian to go outside and play?) and then we're taking him out for dinner (Red Lobster. Where else?) For someone who is usually pointedly unenthusiastic about his birthday, I think he's having a great time, but he's been warned: the bar has been set pretty high for mine.
When her water broke yesterday, aside from turning into Hyperactive Boy and wanting to take her to the hospital right that moment even though she had no labor pains, he started to actively look forward to this birthday. He was getting what he wanted most, to meet his newest grandson, and even admitted that it was better than Erin had him yesterday instead of today, because that meant she would be discharged today, barring complications, and knew she wouldn't mind letting him spend an hour or two with his newest greatest love.
I let him sleep in this morning while I took the kids to school, woke him up when I got home and made breakfast for him, and gave him his present. The Trikke he was coveting so hard (well, and a second one; I know him, he'll want company as he rides.)
My dad took delivery on it for me, because hiding something here just wouldn't work. Either one of the kids would spill it, or he would find it, and I wanted at least the illusion of surprising him. My dad also assembled it before bringing it over this morning--”He's a little kid, he'll want to ride it as soon as he sees it”--and he hung around to see just how “that contraption” works.Which was all well and good, except for the fact that Ian couldn't make the damn thing move.
Fifteen minutes of “What the hell do I do?” and he was online trying to get help from Thumper, who apparently got the hang of it right off the bat, and then spent the next hour watching videos on You Tube, until Erin and Miko showed up with Thad.
I think he forgot about the Trikke until they left for some much needed rest, and the kids were home from school. He showed the Trikke to them, explained how he thought it should work; Alex looked at it for a few minutes, asked if he could try it, got on...and took off.
It took him about 10 seconds to get it moving and another half a minute to be zooming up and down the street.
Ian was pseudo-upset for about 10 seconds, until he realized that Alex could probably get him moving on it.
Rachel tried the 2nd Trikke and could get it going slowly; Kevin not at all but he's still a bit short for it. Me, I'm not even trying today. I decided to let them have their fun, and when they're at school tomorrow Ian can show me how.
They're spending the rest of the afternoon outside playing (and how cool is it I can actually tell Ian to go outside and play?) and then we're taking him out for dinner (Red Lobster. Where else?) For someone who is usually pointedly unenthusiastic about his birthday, I think he's having a great time, but he's been warned: the bar has been set pretty high for mine.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Happy Birthday to Me, a day early
Erin came over this morning after dropping Toni off at school; the plan was for her and Char to get some last minute, pre-baby shopping done, and to stock up on groceries neither she nor Miko would feel like shopping for over the next few weeks. She was getting uncomfortable pregnant and didn't want to have to shop for more than essentials until after the baby was born, and with two weeks to go, it seemed reasonable to stock up on non-perishables. After all, she had grocery runners living a couple blocks away if she needed us and just couldn't bear to pull herself up and get the kids ready to go out.
That all sounded good, because I wasn't being forced to go and was going to get to spend the morning with Travis, until her water broke in the middle of our kitchen.
I was ready to pick her up and slam her into the car and race to the hospital; both she and Char were a little too calm, looking at watches and declaring there to be plenty of time. Erin called Miko and told him she'd be heading toward the hospital "in an hour or so" and Char called Brad to ask him to pick our kids up, and then to swing by Toni's school to get her. Erin called Miko's mother to come get Travis; she was content to babysit and wasn't going to spend all day sitting in a waiting room and preferred to watch her grandson. You couldn't have kept me away from the hospital, even if all I did was sit in the waiting room.
It took me an hour to get those women out the front door, and then another 20 minutes at Erin's because she "had" to have her laptop, Kindle, change of clothes, focus object, and probably a six pack of beer, judging by how big the damned bag was.
I was fully prepared to pull the car over and deliver that kid right there on the side of the road, she was moving so slowly. I did ask her to just cross her legs tightly and hold on for another 18 hours or so, just so that he would be born on my birthday, but holy shit, that girl has a mouth on her. I have no idea where she gets that from.
So instead of getting final baby things and stocking up on groceries, Erin and Char spent the day watching TV while Miko and I played cards and snoozed, until Erin stated matter-of-factly, Well, I think it's time.
Half an hour later, 9 lb 2 oz, 21" long Thaddeus Nicoli Kosta popped out into the world, and after getting their own very long look at him, his parents graciously allowed Char and I to count his fingers and toes and proclaim him one of the 6 most beautiful babies we've ever seen.
Baby Thad will get to go home tomorrow, but because it's my birthday, Erin promised to stop here first, so that I can properly welcome my newest grandson into my life.
That all sounded good, because I wasn't being forced to go and was going to get to spend the morning with Travis, until her water broke in the middle of our kitchen.
I was ready to pick her up and slam her into the car and race to the hospital; both she and Char were a little too calm, looking at watches and declaring there to be plenty of time. Erin called Miko and told him she'd be heading toward the hospital "in an hour or so" and Char called Brad to ask him to pick our kids up, and then to swing by Toni's school to get her. Erin called Miko's mother to come get Travis; she was content to babysit and wasn't going to spend all day sitting in a waiting room and preferred to watch her grandson. You couldn't have kept me away from the hospital, even if all I did was sit in the waiting room.
It took me an hour to get those women out the front door, and then another 20 minutes at Erin's because she "had" to have her laptop, Kindle, change of clothes, focus object, and probably a six pack of beer, judging by how big the damned bag was.
I was fully prepared to pull the car over and deliver that kid right there on the side of the road, she was moving so slowly. I did ask her to just cross her legs tightly and hold on for another 18 hours or so, just so that he would be born on my birthday, but holy shit, that girl has a mouth on her. I have no idea where she gets that from.
So instead of getting final baby things and stocking up on groceries, Erin and Char spent the day watching TV while Miko and I played cards and snoozed, until Erin stated matter-of-factly, Well, I think it's time.
Half an hour later, 9 lb 2 oz, 21" long Thaddeus Nicoli Kosta popped out into the world, and after getting their own very long look at him, his parents graciously allowed Char and I to count his fingers and toes and proclaim him one of the 6 most beautiful babies we've ever seen.
Baby Thad will get to go home tomorrow, but because it's my birthday, Erin promised to stop here first, so that I can properly welcome my newest grandson into my life.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Where everybody knows your name
Brad runs a bar; long ago it became the place we go when we want to shoot a game of pool, and it's got a small but decent area for half drunken dancing near the jukebox. We know the bartenders and the waitresses, and we know when the better nights for being there are; Saturday night is not the best night for a middle aged couple that long gave up drinking for the sake of getting shit faced and who don't grind on the dance floor. Still, it's where we went last night. Mostly out of habit.
The kids decided we needed a night out and chipped in to get us a gift certificate to Red Lobster, and then got Brad to pick them up and keep them for the night. It was a sweet, if not underfunded, gesture; we went out to dinner, then headed for the bar, not thinking that it was Saturday night and we would likely be the oldest non-employee people there.
Char wanted to shoot some pool; I don't mind losing (which is good because she always wins) so why the hell not? We had to wait an hour to get a table, just long enough for her to get a couple drinks in and just a little tipsy. It was also just long enough for the frat boys to notice her, tune me out, and develop a dozen kinky fantasies about the older woman who defines MILF.
They watched her move tentatively around the table at first, shooting less than spectacularly, and watched me win the first game of nine ball I think I've won in ten years. And then they started positioning to play against her. I backed off; I knew what they didn't, that she's been playing since she was three years old, long before she could even reach the top of the table without help.
She shot sloppily through the haze of a couple pf margaritas, but once the buzz wore off, she was on fire, and those boys decided to play her for money.
If my wife was less honorable, she could have drained them all, but she played for $2 a game, and no one lost more than $10 to her.
And somehow, I wound up paying for all their beer.
By the time I managed to get back at the table, she was on fire, and destroyed me in 3 straight games of nine ball. She offered to switch to eight ball, not that I do any better against her at that, but by then the sub-30-somethings were all drunk enough that they weren't grinding all over each other near the jukebox, and I took the chance to get a little closer to her.
Those kids? All they could do was watch, knowing that the hot MILF that had mercifully not emptied their wallets was obviously into the old guy who had just sat there and watched; I took some perverse pleasure in knowing they all understood that they'd been played with and set aside, and the old guy was the one she was going home with.
She can flirt with the frat boys all she wants; they wind up frustrated, and I get the girl.
The kids decided we needed a night out and chipped in to get us a gift certificate to Red Lobster, and then got Brad to pick them up and keep them for the night. It was a sweet, if not underfunded, gesture; we went out to dinner, then headed for the bar, not thinking that it was Saturday night and we would likely be the oldest non-employee people there.
Char wanted to shoot some pool; I don't mind losing (which is good because she always wins) so why the hell not? We had to wait an hour to get a table, just long enough for her to get a couple drinks in and just a little tipsy. It was also just long enough for the frat boys to notice her, tune me out, and develop a dozen kinky fantasies about the older woman who defines MILF.
They watched her move tentatively around the table at first, shooting less than spectacularly, and watched me win the first game of nine ball I think I've won in ten years. And then they started positioning to play against her. I backed off; I knew what they didn't, that she's been playing since she was three years old, long before she could even reach the top of the table without help.
She shot sloppily through the haze of a couple pf margaritas, but once the buzz wore off, she was on fire, and those boys decided to play her for money.
If my wife was less honorable, she could have drained them all, but she played for $2 a game, and no one lost more than $10 to her.
And somehow, I wound up paying for all their beer.
By the time I managed to get back at the table, she was on fire, and destroyed me in 3 straight games of nine ball. She offered to switch to eight ball, not that I do any better against her at that, but by then the sub-30-somethings were all drunk enough that they weren't grinding all over each other near the jukebox, and I took the chance to get a little closer to her.
Those kids? All they could do was watch, knowing that the hot MILF that had mercifully not emptied their wallets was obviously into the old guy who had just sat there and watched; I took some perverse pleasure in knowing they all understood that they'd been played with and set aside, and the old guy was the one she was going home with.
She can flirt with the frat boys all she wants; they wind up frustrated, and I get the girl.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Trying to be fair
We've reached a parental impasse. Kevin made a request; Char said there was no way in hell and I said, Sure, why not? She doesn't want him doing something he'll be picked on at school for, I don't see the harm.
He wants a mohawk. And an earring.
The kid is smart; he's not whining or begging. He just asked and is waiting for us to come to an agreement. I checked the school's dress code and there's nothing in there prohibiting either; he might run into problems with an earring, but I've seen other boys on campus with them.
Char's logic is He's eleven!
I think we'll have other battles to dig our heels in on; save it for those.
He's eleven! Plus, I'm his mother, dammit!
I can't argue with her playing the mother card, but come on. It's hair. It's not permanent.
(No, I won't go behind her back and take him to get his hair cut, and this isn't an actual argument, but one of us has to give sooner or later, and I'm a stubborn son of a bitch sometimes.)
He wants a mohawk. And an earring.
The kid is smart; he's not whining or begging. He just asked and is waiting for us to come to an agreement. I checked the school's dress code and there's nothing in there prohibiting either; he might run into problems with an earring, but I've seen other boys on campus with them.
Char's logic is He's eleven!
I think we'll have other battles to dig our heels in on; save it for those.
He's eleven! Plus, I'm his mother, dammit!
I can't argue with her playing the mother card, but come on. It's hair. It's not permanent.
(No, I won't go behind her back and take him to get his hair cut, and this isn't an actual argument, but one of us has to give sooner or later, and I'm a stubborn son of a bitch sometimes.)
Friday, April 16, 2010
We don't have to be fair, we're the parents
Ian got home late Tuesday night/early Wednesday morning and was exhausted, so I let him sleep while I took the kids to school I don't think he stirred until almost noon, and he spent the rest of the day stubbornly refusing to get dressed; if he put clothes on, he might have to do something productive, and productivity was not on his schedule.
Fine; I didn't mind and didn't have anything for him to do, though I did ask him to wear a shirt to the dinner table, but it was off fifteen minutes later.
At eight o'clock he was standing in the kitchen, reaching into a high cabinet for Rachel, when Alex wandered in wearing nothing but boxer shorts.
We've never really had a rule about being fully clothed outside of bedrooms; as long as the goods are covered, we've never said anything and it's never bothered any of the kids until now; Rachel sighed hard and asked dramatically, "Can't any of you guys put pants on? Do you have to walk around in your underwear?"
Ian annoyed her even further when he looked down at his baggy shorts and grumbled, "I'm not wearing any underwear."
In the middle of her over-acted sigh of despair Kevin headed into the kitchen, just in time to hear her say, "If I see one more boy in his underwear, I think I'll scream."
She turned around, and Kevin dropped his pants. She didn't scream, but instead stomped off, leaving a trail of complaints about the male gender behind her.
I have to be honest, I had to work very hard at not laughing at Kevin's quick thinking, but there's a new rule now: no one walks around the house pantless anymore.
The boys didn't mind, but I'm willing to bet Rachel has a few choice words the next time she walks from the bathroom to her bedroom wrapped in a towel and Ian or I tell her start dressing in the bathroom.
That will just be unfair.
Fine; I didn't mind and didn't have anything for him to do, though I did ask him to wear a shirt to the dinner table, but it was off fifteen minutes later.
At eight o'clock he was standing in the kitchen, reaching into a high cabinet for Rachel, when Alex wandered in wearing nothing but boxer shorts.
We've never really had a rule about being fully clothed outside of bedrooms; as long as the goods are covered, we've never said anything and it's never bothered any of the kids until now; Rachel sighed hard and asked dramatically, "Can't any of you guys put pants on? Do you have to walk around in your underwear?"
Ian annoyed her even further when he looked down at his baggy shorts and grumbled, "I'm not wearing any underwear."
In the middle of her over-acted sigh of despair Kevin headed into the kitchen, just in time to hear her say, "If I see one more boy in his underwear, I think I'll scream."
She turned around, and Kevin dropped his pants. She didn't scream, but instead stomped off, leaving a trail of complaints about the male gender behind her.
I have to be honest, I had to work very hard at not laughing at Kevin's quick thinking, but there's a new rule now: no one walks around the house pantless anymore.
The boys didn't mind, but I'm willing to bet Rachel has a few choice words the next time she walks from the bathroom to her bedroom wrapped in a towel and Ian or I tell her start dressing in the bathroom.
That will just be unfair.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
His first step will be the hardest
My ex-wife's death was Craig's tipping point; within an hour of being told of her death he was at his favorite bar (with our sister no less) drowning every might-have-been he felt. Usually a functional addict, this time he couldn't hold it together and wound up calling in sick, then taking vacation days, before realizing that he really would die if he didn't stop.
He doesn't know what made the light bulb go off, but says he had one clear moment of hearing his own voice in his head, telling him he didn't want to die.
So he tried to go it alone, and thought he had quit enough times that he could do it again and make it stick, and went nearly two weeks without drugs and without taking a drink. He doesn't even really remember buying the bottle of bourbon, he just knew when he was sitting there staring at it that he had to call someone who would care enough to talk him out of opening it.
He didn't think I'd get on the first plane I could, but I had told him a long time ago that when he was serious about it I would be there.
I'm not sure rehab will work, not even as badly as he wants it. There is so little of himself left in him that I don't know what he has left to fight with. I don't know if he's physically strong enough, and I don't know if the damage he's done to his body is something he can overcome. He can't eat without nausea, and his liver has to be shot by now. But, this time I'll be in his corner, because this time I know he means it.
Over two days time I spent more time talking to him that I have in the last ten years, I think. I have a better idea of when and where he derailed and how powerless he was to stop it. I also feel somewhat badly for him; he was a royal douche about it, but he loved Kathy more than I realized, but he had no idea how to approach her maturely, and the guilt he felt over having feelings for her at all pushed him into doing so many stupid things that I pushed him out of my life.
He is responsible for all those stupid things, but at least I better understand it.
I don't know if our relationship is reparable, and all I could tell him was basically, we'll see. He's not going anywhere for a long time, and I will go visit him a few times while he's in rehab, but I can't promise him what he wants, not yet.
I was able to honestly tell him something he wanted to hear. He's a fucking idiot, but I love him anyway, and I won't abandon him.
He doesn't know what made the light bulb go off, but says he had one clear moment of hearing his own voice in his head, telling him he didn't want to die.
So he tried to go it alone, and thought he had quit enough times that he could do it again and make it stick, and went nearly two weeks without drugs and without taking a drink. He doesn't even really remember buying the bottle of bourbon, he just knew when he was sitting there staring at it that he had to call someone who would care enough to talk him out of opening it.
He didn't think I'd get on the first plane I could, but I had told him a long time ago that when he was serious about it I would be there.
I'm not sure rehab will work, not even as badly as he wants it. There is so little of himself left in him that I don't know what he has left to fight with. I don't know if he's physically strong enough, and I don't know if the damage he's done to his body is something he can overcome. He can't eat without nausea, and his liver has to be shot by now. But, this time I'll be in his corner, because this time I know he means it.
Over two days time I spent more time talking to him that I have in the last ten years, I think. I have a better idea of when and where he derailed and how powerless he was to stop it. I also feel somewhat badly for him; he was a royal douche about it, but he loved Kathy more than I realized, but he had no idea how to approach her maturely, and the guilt he felt over having feelings for her at all pushed him into doing so many stupid things that I pushed him out of my life.
He is responsible for all those stupid things, but at least I better understand it.
I don't know if our relationship is reparable, and all I could tell him was basically, we'll see. He's not going anywhere for a long time, and I will go visit him a few times while he's in rehab, but I can't promise him what he wants, not yet.
I was able to honestly tell him something he wanted to hear. He's a fucking idiot, but I love him anyway, and I won't abandon him.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Just need to keep him sober for 16 more hours
This has been one of the longest days I've had in a while; the only day recently that felt longer was probably the day my wife broke my favorite toy and sent me to the ER. I got to Craig's just before midnight last night, and he was still winning the staring contest with the bottle of bourbon. I don't know why his son didn't pour it out; he says it didn't occur to him, but my gut tells me he wanted to torture Craig just a little bit.
Payback, I guess. I poured it out and chucked the bottle into the trash hard enough to break it (thinking, realistically or not, that he might try to get it and suck up the last few drops) while his son said his goodbyes for the night. I had momentary worry about falling asleep and leaving a very craving-laden Craig awake with car keys and cash, but his middle son showed up a bit later to sit up and make sure that I had a chance to sleep without worrying about my brother wandering off.
In June Craig turns 50; he now looks like he's in his 60s, and he looks every bit as tired as he sounds. Hell, my first thought was that he looks like shit. When he said he was afraid taking one more drink would kill him, he wasn't kidding. I don't think he has another bender in him.
But, he was in a good mood today, and if not for the reason I was there it could have been just a routine visit. I spent the morning on the phone looking for a rehab center that could get him in within the a couple of days, we had lunch with our sister (who, fuck her, was surprised she has more than one grandkid from her daughter, and wasn't all that impressed that she's about to have another) and I got to see my nephews.
The only place I could find that will take him now is out of state, so we're leaving late tonight and checking him in tomorrow. He's more than a little bit afraid of what this will be like; he was hoping to stay somewhat local so that his kids would have a chance to visit, if they would, but he'll be flying solo this time. That might be a good thing for him, if he can remain solely focused on his own recovery and not distracted by hoping for reconciliations with his kids.
He wants to know what this means for us, for our relationship as brothers, if he holds it together and cleans his act up, but I don't know. I'll do what I can for him as long as he's serious about it, but I don't know how far into my life I can let him. We'll see.
I guess that's the best we can hope for at all right now, to wait and see.
Payback, I guess. I poured it out and chucked the bottle into the trash hard enough to break it (thinking, realistically or not, that he might try to get it and suck up the last few drops) while his son said his goodbyes for the night. I had momentary worry about falling asleep and leaving a very craving-laden Craig awake with car keys and cash, but his middle son showed up a bit later to sit up and make sure that I had a chance to sleep without worrying about my brother wandering off.
In June Craig turns 50; he now looks like he's in his 60s, and he looks every bit as tired as he sounds. Hell, my first thought was that he looks like shit. When he said he was afraid taking one more drink would kill him, he wasn't kidding. I don't think he has another bender in him.
But, he was in a good mood today, and if not for the reason I was there it could have been just a routine visit. I spent the morning on the phone looking for a rehab center that could get him in within the a couple of days, we had lunch with our sister (who, fuck her, was surprised she has more than one grandkid from her daughter, and wasn't all that impressed that she's about to have another) and I got to see my nephews.
The only place I could find that will take him now is out of state, so we're leaving late tonight and checking him in tomorrow. He's more than a little bit afraid of what this will be like; he was hoping to stay somewhat local so that his kids would have a chance to visit, if they would, but he'll be flying solo this time. That might be a good thing for him, if he can remain solely focused on his own recovery and not distracted by hoping for reconciliations with his kids.
He wants to know what this means for us, for our relationship as brothers, if he holds it together and cleans his act up, but I don't know. I'll do what I can for him as long as he's serious about it, but I don't know how far into my life I can let him. We'll see.
I guess that's the best we can hope for at all right now, to wait and see.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
He Ain't Heavy (well, yeah, he is)...
It's rarely good news when the phone rings in the middle of the night, but with Erin pregnant and looking like that baby wants to pop out through her navel, we didn't presume that when the phone rang at 3 this morning that it was anything other than Miko calling to tell us she was in labor. He's under orders; call no matter when, because with this being their third baby, her labor is possibly going to be short, and we want to be in the waiting room when he's born.
But, it wasn't Miko calling, it was my brother. He sounded miserable, in agony, and terrified; the first thing that shot through my head was that something had happened to one of his kids, or his grandkids, or our sister. But before I could ask, he made it clear that the only thing wrong was him; he'd been sitting there staring at a bottle of bourbon for several hours and was losing the battle. He was past wanting to open it and at the cusp of needing to, and just wanted someone to give him a reason not to.
He says he's been sober for all of two weeks; he doesn't “do” AA and has no sponsor to turn to, his kids don't answer the phone, our sister would prefer he drinks so she has someone to drink with, and he didn't know who else to call.
Months ago I was mad as hell because TK gave Craig our phone number; Char told me to get over it, because “everything happens for a reason, and sooner or later you'll know why.”
This call may have been why. Who knows.
Craig's given first name is Conor, after our father. He's never gone by it; I don't think even as an infant our parents called him Conor. At three this morning, he was agonizing over never having lived up to the name, wondering if they had seen even when he was a baby that giving him that name was a mistake, that they should have reserved it for the son who wouldn't disappoint them over and over.
He's tired. He doesn't know how to fight anymore. He doesn't want to fight anymore. He wants one last chance; he's been trying to stay sober on his own and knows it's a battle he's losing. He's managed to stay off of everything except alcohol, and it's kicking his ass.
Craig has angered me as deeply as possible before; he's annoyed me and frustrated me, and made me wonder where that fine line between love and hate lies, but this is the first time he's damn near broken my heart.
I don't want to die, but if I open that bottle I think I might.
He knows that if he takes the next drink, it will lead to the next thousand, and he doesn't think he can come back from that.
I have slapped his sorry ass into rehab more times than I can count, but it's always been my idea, my will, and my force that's gotten him there. This is the first time he's asked for my help.
While I had him on the phone, Char managed to get in touch with Craig's oldest son; he agreed to go over and babysit his father, keep him from drinking, until I can get there.
So in a few hours I'm heading for the airport and getting him back into rehab, and praying that this time it works; he's hit rock bottom, I think, and he wants it.
Erin better not have that baby while I'm gone.
But, it wasn't Miko calling, it was my brother. He sounded miserable, in agony, and terrified; the first thing that shot through my head was that something had happened to one of his kids, or his grandkids, or our sister. But before I could ask, he made it clear that the only thing wrong was him; he'd been sitting there staring at a bottle of bourbon for several hours and was losing the battle. He was past wanting to open it and at the cusp of needing to, and just wanted someone to give him a reason not to.
He says he's been sober for all of two weeks; he doesn't “do” AA and has no sponsor to turn to, his kids don't answer the phone, our sister would prefer he drinks so she has someone to drink with, and he didn't know who else to call.
Months ago I was mad as hell because TK gave Craig our phone number; Char told me to get over it, because “everything happens for a reason, and sooner or later you'll know why.”
This call may have been why. Who knows.
Craig's given first name is Conor, after our father. He's never gone by it; I don't think even as an infant our parents called him Conor. At three this morning, he was agonizing over never having lived up to the name, wondering if they had seen even when he was a baby that giving him that name was a mistake, that they should have reserved it for the son who wouldn't disappoint them over and over.
He's tired. He doesn't know how to fight anymore. He doesn't want to fight anymore. He wants one last chance; he's been trying to stay sober on his own and knows it's a battle he's losing. He's managed to stay off of everything except alcohol, and it's kicking his ass.
Craig has angered me as deeply as possible before; he's annoyed me and frustrated me, and made me wonder where that fine line between love and hate lies, but this is the first time he's damn near broken my heart.
I don't want to die, but if I open that bottle I think I might.
He knows that if he takes the next drink, it will lead to the next thousand, and he doesn't think he can come back from that.
I have slapped his sorry ass into rehab more times than I can count, but it's always been my idea, my will, and my force that's gotten him there. This is the first time he's asked for my help.
While I had him on the phone, Char managed to get in touch with Craig's oldest son; he agreed to go over and babysit his father, keep him from drinking, until I can get there.
So in a few hours I'm heading for the airport and getting him back into rehab, and praying that this time it works; he's hit rock bottom, I think, and he wants it.
Erin better not have that baby while I'm gone.
She needs to come with a universal translator
At nine this morning it was mostly cool out, and Rachel tried to leave the house (headed to watch Alex's swim team tryouts because SETH! was going to be there) in a skin tight t-shirt, barely there shorts, and sandals. Alex and I were both wearing sweatshirts; she wanted to go out half dressed.
I didn't have to say a word; I shook my head and pointed towards her bedroom and she started to stomp off, flinging God, don't chuck a spaz, Dad! at me as she passed me.
I have no idea what that means, and Alex just shrugged.
I'm, like, totally, like, you know, completely out of touch, I guess.
I didn't have to say a word; I shook my head and pointed towards her bedroom and she started to stomp off, flinging God, don't chuck a spaz, Dad! at me as she passed me.
I have no idea what that means, and Alex just shrugged.
I'm, like, totally, like, you know, completely out of touch, I guess.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
He can hate me for it, too bad
One of the things Alex was looking forward to for spring was getting a shot at making the swim team. Without daily TKD he has the time, and he's a decent swimmer, so we signed the permission slip for him to get a sports physical at school.
Stripped down to his underwear, his tattoo was noticed.
His tattoo is a violation of the school's code of conduct, and might keep him from being on the team if he makes it. He can still try out, but the coach is "looking into it" and doesn't seem hopeful that he'll be allowed on the team even if he's good enough.
He hasn't asked, but I know he wants me to go to bat for him, exert some pressure because, as he puts it, it's not an obscene image and it has nothing to do with his ability to swim.
But I won't.
He got the tattoo knowing it was against the rules, school and home, and he can suffer the consequences.
I usually feel bad when one of the kids comes up against something they want help with and I can't give it, but not this time.
Stripped down to his underwear, his tattoo was noticed.
His tattoo is a violation of the school's code of conduct, and might keep him from being on the team if he makes it. He can still try out, but the coach is "looking into it" and doesn't seem hopeful that he'll be allowed on the team even if he's good enough.
He hasn't asked, but I know he wants me to go to bat for him, exert some pressure because, as he puts it, it's not an obscene image and it has nothing to do with his ability to swim.
But I won't.
He got the tattoo knowing it was against the rules, school and home, and he can suffer the consequences.
I usually feel bad when one of the kids comes up against something they want help with and I can't give it, but not this time.
Friday, April 9, 2010
I'm too old for a toddler
Erin is in the last few weeks of her pregnancy, and is feeling it. She's ready to have this baby and if sheer will could start labor, we'd be rushing towards the hospital. Miko would be ticked off because he would miss it, but I think she just wants to be done.
He's on an extended trip for work, getting some last minute things taken care of so that he can take a couple of weeks off when the baby is born, something Erin is happy about, but she's also annoyed that he's not home to help with Toni and Travis, and she's exhausted. Last week she was sick, this weeks she's just tired.
So yesterday and today, after she took Toni to school, she dropped Travis off here so that she could go home and sleep, then do as much of nothing as she wanted to until Toni got home in the afternoon. To give them a little non-infant-enhanced time together, we're keeping Travis until almost bedtime.
I'm having a blast with him, all day without Alex and Rachel and Kevin helping to watch him, but this is tiring. He's a tiny tornado, into everything and trying to walk as fast as he can, falling over every third step (at which he says quite seriously, Oh no!) If he's not trying to speed walk, he's crawling almost faster than I can catch up to him.
He's beginning to talk more, expanding his vocabulary beyond, Mama, Dada, and Oh no. He can point at Tank and say puppy and chases the cats while meowing at them. If you ask him if he's hungry he says, Yes, yes, yes! and if you ask him what he wants to do he'll tell you, TB (TV, which invariably means Sesame Street.)
What he refuses to say, though, is Grandpa. I've been trying, bribing him with cookies, but all that's doing is making him laugh at me, and he gets the damned cookies anyway.
He gives good kisses, though, so I suppose he's forgiven.
He's on an extended trip for work, getting some last minute things taken care of so that he can take a couple of weeks off when the baby is born, something Erin is happy about, but she's also annoyed that he's not home to help with Toni and Travis, and she's exhausted. Last week she was sick, this weeks she's just tired.
So yesterday and today, after she took Toni to school, she dropped Travis off here so that she could go home and sleep, then do as much of nothing as she wanted to until Toni got home in the afternoon. To give them a little non-infant-enhanced time together, we're keeping Travis until almost bedtime.
I'm having a blast with him, all day without Alex and Rachel and Kevin helping to watch him, but this is tiring. He's a tiny tornado, into everything and trying to walk as fast as he can, falling over every third step (at which he says quite seriously, Oh no!) If he's not trying to speed walk, he's crawling almost faster than I can catch up to him.
He's beginning to talk more, expanding his vocabulary beyond, Mama, Dada, and Oh no. He can point at Tank and say puppy and chases the cats while meowing at them. If you ask him if he's hungry he says, Yes, yes, yes! and if you ask him what he wants to do he'll tell you, TB (TV, which invariably means Sesame Street.)
What he refuses to say, though, is Grandpa. I've been trying, bribing him with cookies, but all that's doing is making him laugh at me, and he gets the damned cookies anyway.
He gives good kisses, though, so I suppose he's forgiven.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Building Blocks
For a couple of years, Alex has been certain that when he entered college, it would be as a pre-med student. We weren't sure why, because he never seemed particularly drawn to the sciences and was ambivalent about taking things like biology, although he always did well. We both wondered if he decided on that in junior high because he was told he had the intelligence for it, or if he was encourage to take that path by a teacher; we never wanted to discourage it, whatever his reasons were.
Today he sat at the table with my dad, going over the plans for their renovation of his master bathroom, and he was fascinated. My dad understands how things are built, how to repair just about anything in his house, and can undertake being his own contractor, but he's self taught, and his education was out of necessity. As Alex asked questions, he was able to give his grandson at least basic answers, and remarked at some point that Alex ought to consider engineering or architecture, and Alex's eyes lit up.
I don't think he'd considered it as a possibility until it came out of my dad's mouth. And his excitement over the possibility grew when Ian told him he would be entering college at such a young age that he could take time to explore more than one thing, and we wouldn't bat an eye of he changed majors a time or two.
After everyone left this evening, Ian and I curled up on the bed to watch a little TV, and we wondered why some obvious things had escaped us. Alex has always loved to figure out how things work; if something around here breaks, he takes it apart and tries to figure out why. He spent hours playing with Duplo and then Lego blocks, and later the K'nex sets that Ian bought for him. He grasps the complexity of math, he can take a small motorcycle engine apart and put it back together, and he absolutely loved helping my dad paint, move a wall, and then lay a new floor.
He's done all this school work to assure that he has what he needs to get the classes in college he'll need to move onto medical school but I think his heart has always been in other things.
Who knows if he'll switch gears when it comes right down to it, but I think we're both just very, very glad that my dad opened up to him a possibility we had never considered, which in turn gave us the opportunity to let him know that he's free to explore the world before committing to it.
Today he sat at the table with my dad, going over the plans for their renovation of his master bathroom, and he was fascinated. My dad understands how things are built, how to repair just about anything in his house, and can undertake being his own contractor, but he's self taught, and his education was out of necessity. As Alex asked questions, he was able to give his grandson at least basic answers, and remarked at some point that Alex ought to consider engineering or architecture, and Alex's eyes lit up.
I don't think he'd considered it as a possibility until it came out of my dad's mouth. And his excitement over the possibility grew when Ian told him he would be entering college at such a young age that he could take time to explore more than one thing, and we wouldn't bat an eye of he changed majors a time or two.
After everyone left this evening, Ian and I curled up on the bed to watch a little TV, and we wondered why some obvious things had escaped us. Alex has always loved to figure out how things work; if something around here breaks, he takes it apart and tries to figure out why. He spent hours playing with Duplo and then Lego blocks, and later the K'nex sets that Ian bought for him. He grasps the complexity of math, he can take a small motorcycle engine apart and put it back together, and he absolutely loved helping my dad paint, move a wall, and then lay a new floor.
He's done all this school work to assure that he has what he needs to get the classes in college he'll need to move onto medical school but I think his heart has always been in other things.
Who knows if he'll switch gears when it comes right down to it, but I think we're both just very, very glad that my dad opened up to him a possibility we had never considered, which in turn gave us the opportunity to let him know that he's free to explore the world before committing to it.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
The boy is smart, but...
I have experience on my side.
Kids just don't open up if they feel like they're being attacked, nor will they talk if they think they're being pushed too hard or their privacy invaded too deeply, but I had to get Alex to talk to me. He's open about asking questions (and I've been borderline surprised with his frankness in some of the things he's asked me) but is understandably closed mouthed when it comes to discussing personal experience.
I don't blame him for it. I'm not sure I could have discussed it with my father if he had been open to such discussions; he might have been, but I was sure all I would get from him was an admonition to get my mind out of the gutter, keep my hands to myself, and leave that poor girl alone.
Alex today is a different kid than Alex a year ago; he has matured in leaps and bounds, and is no longer angry that we put an end to his so-called relationship with the 16 year old, but that doesn't mean he wants to discuss it. That he doesn't want to discuss it doesn't mean that he shouldn't.
So, Brad and I decided to go shoot a few games of pool this afternoon and to grab a pizza and a couple of beers, and we invited Alex along. Men only, no women, girls, or little boys allowed. He jumped at it; this was different than boys night out, where his little brother tags along. This was just the guys, and it was at a bar. He's been in the bar before (Brad works there) but he's never been allowed to stay.
If I wanted him to talk like an adult, I needed to treat him like one.
Brad knew where I wanted to converation to go; he also knew I didn't want to force it. If we didn't get Alex relaxed and headed in that direction today, it was at least a start; the more he gets used to hanging around with us, and the flow of the conversations we have--and Brad and I do have some conversations that would freak Char out--he more he'll open up.
That was the hope, anyway.
Brad has an interesting love life; he dates (a lot would be an understatement) but tends to keep the women he's with at arms' length. He has no interest in ever getting married and doesn't see a point in anything seriously long term; he also agrees that the kids should be shielded from 99% of his love life, because he doesn't want for them the life he's had. Today, though, he let Alex have a glimpse. He discussed his current girlfriend, someone he thinks might be around for a little while. He alluded to his frustrations in trying to figure her out, trying to decide if the age difference was just too much to get past. How tired he gets being with her.
That was something I could empathize over. No, we didn't get graphic. We didn't discuss the details of our sex lives but we touched on the frustrations of certain aspects of our relationships. Trying to figure out what women really wanted, how to negotiate what we really wanted.
And Alex talked.
It's just as confusing when the women are older than you. You don't know what they really want, and they don't feel like they should have to tell you, because you're just supposed to know. If you try to guess, you get it wrong, and when you try to fix it, you wind up doing things you just don't think you should be doing. Things like going out to The Jungle, risking the judgment of your friends, and the potential for catching all kinds of crap from the older guys.
We let him talk without trying to make a big deal about it. I didn't want to say anything that was going to make him clam up, but at one point he did look right at me and ask how pissed off I was going to be.
There is no getting pissed off during a guy's night out.
Yet, he asked that, and I felt my stomach drop. He was thirteen, for God's sake, and no matter how open I want to be about sex with him, thirteen is far too young for anyone to have sex.
He kept talking. The more he talked, the more relieved I became. The more he talked, the more I realized he was not as angry about being forced to break it off with her as he'd let on. He knew he wasn't ready for where they were headed, and if we'd allowed the relationship to continue, sex is what would have happened. And that terrified him.
My son has done a few things I would prefer he hadn't, but in reality he hasn't done anything I probably hadn't by the time I was his age, the little I could get away with after dating Kathy for six or seven months. He's carried a huge amount of guilt over it, though, and could see no way for repentance without confession, and he was not confessing any of it.
I didn't think he needed to. All he needed was assurance that in the bigger picture, he didn't really do anything wrong.
I'm not sure he believed me, not until Brad polished off the rest of his beer and said, with an air of authority I can't pull off, God gave 'em tits for a reason, and he's not going to blame you for copping a feel.
Alex tried to nod knowingly, started to take a sip of his Coke, but then Brad added And God knows a little dry humping isn't going to make your pecker fall off.
I was not surprised to hear that come out of Brad, but I think Alex was.
As big as that conversation was, it was a fraction of the afternoon; I got what I wanted, Brad knew it, and managed to steer the conversation away from Alex's love life to finishing the renovations on his house. Since we're not going skiing over spring break as planned, they decided the coming week was a good time to tackle the bathroom, so Monday we're ripping everything out of the master bath, and Alex is going to learn how not like HGTV this is going to be.
Kids just don't open up if they feel like they're being attacked, nor will they talk if they think they're being pushed too hard or their privacy invaded too deeply, but I had to get Alex to talk to me. He's open about asking questions (and I've been borderline surprised with his frankness in some of the things he's asked me) but is understandably closed mouthed when it comes to discussing personal experience.
I don't blame him for it. I'm not sure I could have discussed it with my father if he had been open to such discussions; he might have been, but I was sure all I would get from him was an admonition to get my mind out of the gutter, keep my hands to myself, and leave that poor girl alone.
Alex today is a different kid than Alex a year ago; he has matured in leaps and bounds, and is no longer angry that we put an end to his so-called relationship with the 16 year old, but that doesn't mean he wants to discuss it. That he doesn't want to discuss it doesn't mean that he shouldn't.
So, Brad and I decided to go shoot a few games of pool this afternoon and to grab a pizza and a couple of beers, and we invited Alex along. Men only, no women, girls, or little boys allowed. He jumped at it; this was different than boys night out, where his little brother tags along. This was just the guys, and it was at a bar. He's been in the bar before (Brad works there) but he's never been allowed to stay.
If I wanted him to talk like an adult, I needed to treat him like one.
Brad knew where I wanted to converation to go; he also knew I didn't want to force it. If we didn't get Alex relaxed and headed in that direction today, it was at least a start; the more he gets used to hanging around with us, and the flow of the conversations we have--and Brad and I do have some conversations that would freak Char out--he more he'll open up.
That was the hope, anyway.
Brad has an interesting love life; he dates (a lot would be an understatement) but tends to keep the women he's with at arms' length. He has no interest in ever getting married and doesn't see a point in anything seriously long term; he also agrees that the kids should be shielded from 99% of his love life, because he doesn't want for them the life he's had. Today, though, he let Alex have a glimpse. He discussed his current girlfriend, someone he thinks might be around for a little while. He alluded to his frustrations in trying to figure her out, trying to decide if the age difference was just too much to get past. How tired he gets being with her.
That was something I could empathize over. No, we didn't get graphic. We didn't discuss the details of our sex lives but we touched on the frustrations of certain aspects of our relationships. Trying to figure out what women really wanted, how to negotiate what we really wanted.
And Alex talked.
It's just as confusing when the women are older than you. You don't know what they really want, and they don't feel like they should have to tell you, because you're just supposed to know. If you try to guess, you get it wrong, and when you try to fix it, you wind up doing things you just don't think you should be doing. Things like going out to The Jungle, risking the judgment of your friends, and the potential for catching all kinds of crap from the older guys.
We let him talk without trying to make a big deal about it. I didn't want to say anything that was going to make him clam up, but at one point he did look right at me and ask how pissed off I was going to be.
There is no getting pissed off during a guy's night out.
Yet, he asked that, and I felt my stomach drop. He was thirteen, for God's sake, and no matter how open I want to be about sex with him, thirteen is far too young for anyone to have sex.
He kept talking. The more he talked, the more relieved I became. The more he talked, the more I realized he was not as angry about being forced to break it off with her as he'd let on. He knew he wasn't ready for where they were headed, and if we'd allowed the relationship to continue, sex is what would have happened. And that terrified him.
My son has done a few things I would prefer he hadn't, but in reality he hasn't done anything I probably hadn't by the time I was his age, the little I could get away with after dating Kathy for six or seven months. He's carried a huge amount of guilt over it, though, and could see no way for repentance without confession, and he was not confessing any of it.
I didn't think he needed to. All he needed was assurance that in the bigger picture, he didn't really do anything wrong.
I'm not sure he believed me, not until Brad polished off the rest of his beer and said, with an air of authority I can't pull off, God gave 'em tits for a reason, and he's not going to blame you for copping a feel.
Alex tried to nod knowingly, started to take a sip of his Coke, but then Brad added And God knows a little dry humping isn't going to make your pecker fall off.
I was not surprised to hear that come out of Brad, but I think Alex was.
As big as that conversation was, it was a fraction of the afternoon; I got what I wanted, Brad knew it, and managed to steer the conversation away from Alex's love life to finishing the renovations on his house. Since we're not going skiing over spring break as planned, they decided the coming week was a good time to tackle the bathroom, so Monday we're ripping everything out of the master bath, and Alex is going to learn how not like HGTV this is going to be.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Even though I hate ironing...
While the kids were cleaning up after breakfast this morning, I told Ian to get me the suit pants and shirt he wanted to wear to church tomorrow, and I would iron it (this falls under laundry, so no, I won't let him anywhere near the iron, because I've seen what he does with it.) Before he could get up from the table Alex leaned across the kitchen island and asked if I would iron a dress shirt for him as well.
Ian wanted to know where he was going that he needed a freshly ironed dress shirt.
"Tomorrow is Easter," he replied, barely restraining himself from adding "Duh!" to that.
We thought he was done with church.
"I'm done with Catholicism. I'm not done with God. I'll go to church with you tomorrow and for stuff like Christmas."
I told him to go get the shirt, and as he walked past I hear Ian mutter, "I'll be damned" as he got up.
I'm not sure if Alex is going for himself of for his father, but I'm betting on the latter, and judging from how choked up Ian was, I think he does, too.
Ian wanted to know where he was going that he needed a freshly ironed dress shirt.
"Tomorrow is Easter," he replied, barely restraining himself from adding "Duh!" to that.
We thought he was done with church.
"I'm done with Catholicism. I'm not done with God. I'll go to church with you tomorrow and for stuff like Christmas."
I told him to go get the shirt, and as he walked past I hear Ian mutter, "I'll be damned" as he got up.
I'm not sure if Alex is going for himself of for his father, but I'm betting on the latter, and judging from how choked up Ian was, I think he does, too.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Slow down, dammit
There's a boy; he's 13, he texts my daughter at least 10 times an hour from the time they get out of school until 9:30, the official Dad is pissed off, so I have to turn my phone off now time. When she's not answering his texts, she's talking about him, and it's been clear for a long time that SETH! is not going anywhere.
In the same way that Kevin utters Elizabeth in italics, she says SETH! in all caps with an exclamation point.
Herein lies the rub: I'm pretty damned adamant that she's not dating (going to movies alone with a boy, etc) until she's 14. I already caved on that with Alex; I'd still be happier if none of the kids dated until they're 16, but I'm also not stupid.
Tonight, after text #13,000, she disappeared into Alex's room, and then into her own; less than a minute later an annoyed Alex wandered out because he “needed” to talk to me on her behalf.
She knows she can't date, and that's fine, but can SETH! come over? You know, to watch TV and play video games and stuff. He's a nice guy and I'll keep an eye on him---
She's not dating, don't even ask. She doesn't need a boyfriend at thirteen, Alex.
He looked at me like I had just jumped headfirst into a vat of stupid, cocked his head and said, She's already got a boyfriend, Dad. Just because they can only see each other at school doesn't mean they don't like each other, and wouldn't you rather have him here than risk him frustrated and taking her out to The Jungle?
The Jungle, I have learned, is a wooded area just off school property behind the gym where horny teenagers go to do what horny teenagers will.
He stumped me.
At her age, had some pretty girl even remotely hinted that I had a chance to take her out to the then-equivalent of The Jungle, I would have gone in a heartbeat, never mind the fact that I would have had no clue what to do.
It'll happen, Dad. He's not some pushy asshole, but if they can't spend time together out of class...
I got it. And you? Have you taken Stephanie out there?
Defiantly, Hell, no!
And the sixteen year old last year?
Jaw set, his face flushed, Can Rachel have Seth over? When I'm here, I'll keep an eye on them.
I didn't push it with him, yet, but I will. I also didn't give him the answer he expected to take to Rachel. If she wants this kid over here, she has to ask me herself.
But...
There are no “buts” in this. If she's old enough to have the boyfriend, she's old enough to ask my permission to have him over. He sighed hard—he understood—but he sighed and stomped off to tell her.
She didn't come out for nearly an hour, and when she did she looked terrified. I sat at my desk with my arms folded, intentionally looking annoyed, and made her come out with the whole thing. She really likes SETH! and he asked her to be his girlfriend and she really wants to, and she knows she's not allowed to actually date but can't he please be allowed to come over and just hang out?
Your friends are always allowed to come over and hang out, Rachel.
Even boys?
You're not allowed to go to his house, but he is welcome here, sweetheart.
Thirteen year old girls can squeal like no other, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't looking forward to the hug and kiss I knew I'd get. So tomorrow SETH! is coming over after lunch to hang out, and I am going to sit wherever the hell Char tells me to in order to avoid embarrassing my daughter, and rely on her older brother and his parentally-approved girlfriend to be the buffer.
And no, I will not refer to him as her boyfriend in front of her, not yet. He's squeaky and he wants to do things to my daughter; he has to earn the title from me.
But next up: pushing Alex a little harder to find out what the hell happened with the 16 year old.
In the same way that Kevin utters Elizabeth in italics, she says SETH! in all caps with an exclamation point.
Herein lies the rub: I'm pretty damned adamant that she's not dating (going to movies alone with a boy, etc) until she's 14. I already caved on that with Alex; I'd still be happier if none of the kids dated until they're 16, but I'm also not stupid.
Tonight, after text #13,000, she disappeared into Alex's room, and then into her own; less than a minute later an annoyed Alex wandered out because he “needed” to talk to me on her behalf.
She knows she can't date, and that's fine, but can SETH! come over? You know, to watch TV and play video games and stuff. He's a nice guy and I'll keep an eye on him---
She's not dating, don't even ask. She doesn't need a boyfriend at thirteen, Alex.
He looked at me like I had just jumped headfirst into a vat of stupid, cocked his head and said, She's already got a boyfriend, Dad. Just because they can only see each other at school doesn't mean they don't like each other, and wouldn't you rather have him here than risk him frustrated and taking her out to The Jungle?
The Jungle, I have learned, is a wooded area just off school property behind the gym where horny teenagers go to do what horny teenagers will.
He stumped me.
At her age, had some pretty girl even remotely hinted that I had a chance to take her out to the then-equivalent of The Jungle, I would have gone in a heartbeat, never mind the fact that I would have had no clue what to do.
It'll happen, Dad. He's not some pushy asshole, but if they can't spend time together out of class...
I got it. And you? Have you taken Stephanie out there?
Defiantly, Hell, no!
And the sixteen year old last year?
Jaw set, his face flushed, Can Rachel have Seth over? When I'm here, I'll keep an eye on them.
I didn't push it with him, yet, but I will. I also didn't give him the answer he expected to take to Rachel. If she wants this kid over here, she has to ask me herself.
But...
There are no “buts” in this. If she's old enough to have the boyfriend, she's old enough to ask my permission to have him over. He sighed hard—he understood—but he sighed and stomped off to tell her.
She didn't come out for nearly an hour, and when she did she looked terrified. I sat at my desk with my arms folded, intentionally looking annoyed, and made her come out with the whole thing. She really likes SETH! and he asked her to be his girlfriend and she really wants to, and she knows she's not allowed to actually date but can't he please be allowed to come over and just hang out?
Your friends are always allowed to come over and hang out, Rachel.
Even boys?
You're not allowed to go to his house, but he is welcome here, sweetheart.
Thirteen year old girls can squeal like no other, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't looking forward to the hug and kiss I knew I'd get. So tomorrow SETH! is coming over after lunch to hang out, and I am going to sit wherever the hell Char tells me to in order to avoid embarrassing my daughter, and rely on her older brother and his parentally-approved girlfriend to be the buffer.
And no, I will not refer to him as her boyfriend in front of her, not yet. He's squeaky and he wants to do things to my daughter; he has to earn the title from me.
But next up: pushing Alex a little harder to find out what the hell happened with the 16 year old.
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