Merry Christmas, Everyone

Weeks ago, I promised Toni I would take her Christmas shopping so that she could buy gifts for her parents without her parents being around. This is the first year she’s been really aware that they just might like to be surprised, and she’s smart enough to know that if she lacks enough money, Grandpa will make up the shortfall. That latter part is probably why she was very specific in asking me to take her and not Char. Char is a mom; moms make you consider the actual dollar amount in your wallet before letting you pick something out.

This was before I broke my foot; we took the kids skiing a couple of weeks ago and due to a poor choice in foot attire while trying out a snow bike, I managed to break a couple of bones in my foot. Minor breaks, but it still hurts a bit. I could have backed out, but I’m not an invalid and this wasn’t going to kill me, so Alex and I sucked it up and took her to the mall.

We hadn’t been inside for more than five minutes when I had a sudden and acute flashback to taking a three year old Alex Christmas shopping at the same mall. We’d barely gotten inside when he spied a very large red kettle and noted people putting money into it, and wanted to know why. He accepted that people sometimes need a little extra help buying food and clothing, and was fine with that, but just past the kettle was a collection point for Toys for Tots, manned by Marines in dress uniform. He was curious; why did those soldiers have all those toys?

The explanation that some people didn’t have enough money to buy presents for their kids made him sink to his knees, and he cried from deep down, so broken over what had occurred to him that it took several minutes before I was able to understand what had upset him. He got it: there were kids out there who didn’t have toys to play with, and if those soldiers were collecting toys, that meant that there were kids who were going to have a very bad Christmas, and worse—there was no Santa Claus.

He was three years old and even then too smart for his own good. Toni doesn’t share his rapid-fire ability to put mental puzzle pieces together, but I knew that kettle was going to be there, and just beyond that it, there was going to be a collection table for toys and Toni was going to want an explanation.

The red kettle was not a mystery to her; she’s seen then in front of grocery stores and is familiar with bell ringers. All she wanted was a dollar to put in it, and then grabbed Alex by the hand to pull him along. I hoped she would be oblivious to the men in uniform I could see just a hundred feet or so ahead, but it was like she zoned in on them, and wanted to know the same thing Alex had. What are they doing?

Before I could answer, Alex did. People bring toys to them, and they make sure those toys get to little kids who don’t get a lot for Christmas.

Oh, so those are some of Santa’s helpers?

If I had thought of that 13 years ago, one little boy might not have had the joy of believing in Santa ripped away from him. She was content with the belief that Santa makes good use of helpers, and just wanted to get down to shopping. Alex asked her if she wanted to go buy a couple of toys—his treat—and give them to the Marines, and she lit up. Of course she did.

Toni doesn’t have many more years of believing in Santa; she’s almost 9 years old and I suspect she has her doubts, but I didn’t have it in me to be there when she voiced a certainty to those doubts. I was grateful to my son for being quick enough to give her a better explanation than I'd had for him when he was three. He was able to turn it into something good; from then on, we’ve taken an annual shopping trip together—the last couple of years including Kevin—and have bought toys for donation. It was his idea and he saves a little money all year long for it. But I would still like to turn back the clock and give him the explanation he gave to Toni, and keep his belief intact for a few more years.

In another hour or so this house will begin to fill with family; Erin and Miko are bringing their kids, Craig is bringing Frankie, Brad is bringing some 18 year old scotch (this year, Craig is fine with it around), Nika and Peter, Dack and Theresa, TK and Becky and their kids—everyone in our daily lives that matters will be here; it will be loud and obnoxious, and a definite kind of wonderful.

And later on, Erin and Miko will take the kids home so that Santa can find them, because for now Toni still believes, and she can’t wait.

So basically, I have chauffeurs

I thought every psychological thing from the accident two and a half years ago was behind me. But yesterday we were at a stoplight and the sound of squealing tires made me flinch so hard I nearly went from the passenger seat right into Ian's lap, and I started shaking so hard and breathing so hard that he pulled into the first parking lot he could to give me some time to calm down and catch my breath.

We went into a nearby fast food place because I was damn well going to cave into the want of a chocolate shake while I fought to calm down and as we sat there I told him I thought this was all over with and that I'd mostly forgotten about it, but the look on his face said something else.

"You only drive if you have to. Since Alex got his license you drive even less. Your motorcycle has only 400 miles on it and I've put a hundred on it just to keep the battery charged."

I hadn't noticed, but he's right. I don't know why he's never pushed me to get behind the wheel more often or take the bike out, but he's right. I always ask him to drive, and I've used Alex's excitement over being able to drive as an excuse when Ian isn't available. I wanted to know why he didn't push me a little harder.

"Because you do what you have to do when you need to do it, and you're not distracted by fear when you are driving. I think it's all right that you choose to not drive or ride, and when you're ready, you'll tell me to get my ass in the passenger seat because I'm driving you bat chit crazy with the way I steer with one hand."

But clearly, I'm not nearly as all right with it as I thought I was.

I thought he would press the point and make me drive, but he didn't. I did ask him if he thought I was nuts, and as we got back into the car he said he did.

For a moment, I was offended.

"It's 5 fucking degrees outside, and you wanted a shake. You have to admit, that's a little nuts."

I'll give him that one.

Title Goes Here

A little over a month ago Erin expressed an interest in knowing where her father is, what had happened to him, and why he left when she was so young. My sister has never been exactly forthcoming about the breakup of her marriage, and the details were never mine to inquire about. She may have confided in our parents, who only told me “It’s just sad,” and I never pressed. At the time the only things I needed to know were that my sister was suddenly on her own with two young kids, and that she needed our help and compassion more than she needed questions.

I think we all (my brother, my ex, and I) expected her ex to stay in contact with their kids, no matter what the reason he had for leaving. He didn’t, though, and Val made it clear to the kids that they should just simply not ask her anything.

I had my suspicions about his whereabouts, but kept them to myself, until late in October when Erin asked me to find him. She’s not ready to face him, but does want him to know she’s interested in him, and that someday, probably someday soon, she’d like to see him and perhaps (a very strong maybe) begin a relationship if that’s what he wants as well.

I approached my sister and got the answer I expected; she doesn’t know where he is and doesn’t care. I spoke to Erin’s brother, who also didn’t know, but was certain he could get at least some basic information out of Val, and after some pressure—he wants as much as Erin does to have at least the option to connect with their father, and if warranted, kick the crap out of him—she relented and gave Jeff the last address and phone number she had for her ex’s brother.

This last month has been filled with attempts to contact the brother, tracking him from one address to the next, and two weeks ago I finally found him halfway across the county from where I initially thought he would be. He confirmed the suspicions I had over two decades ago, that Val’s ex practically vanished because he was in prison. He was full of details that I never would have guessed and was highly suspect regarding the truthfulness of them, but he pointed me in the right direction and assured me that Erin and Jeff’s father would be glad to hear from me.

When Val married him—having already had Jeff, and not too long after high school—I knew him as Billy, but after leaving prison he began going by his middle name and isn’t keen on sharing it with the world, do for the sake of my own sanity, I’ll just call him Bill here. Bill’s brother was right; he was glad to hear from me and was keenly interested in news about his kids, thrilled that they’re doing so well in spite of their parents, and was overjoyed at how many kids they’ve had.

It was a stark contrast to how my sister reacted at the news of her grandkids, which was mostly Yeah? Nice for them. Where she is almost calculating in creating distance between herself and the idea that her kids have families of their own, Bill wanted every detail I could give him. He also understood when told that Erin isn’t ready to meet him, but that she wanted—for now—to just know that he’s alive and to have a general idea where he is. He’s under no delusions about what his leaving did to his kids, but he’s open to them knowing why, especially if they know where he is now and how far removed he is from the things that put him feet first into a vat of legal trouble.

He’s more than willing to share details with me, as long as I don’t also dwell on Val’s part of it. And in hearing that, so many pieces of the Val Puzzle fell into place. Her actions and inactions, her squirrely and fairly despicable behaviors over the last 30 years, and her attitude are much more understandable now. I can look back and see how most of her life has been painted with guilt, and without going into too much detail, she has every reason to be wracked with guilt. Bill spent five years in prison to mostly protect her; he took a fall that she should have because he felt that his kids needed their mother, and if he didn’t protect her they would have both wound up in jail, and he had no idea what would have happened to Jeff and to Erin.

I can know the details; the kids, he insists, cannot. I disagree with this on so many levels, but mostly because if they did know, they would understand their mother better. Some wounds might begin to heal. It wouldn’t begin to explain to Erin why Val threw her out when she was 16 and only thought she was pregnant—it never occurred to Val to take her to a doctor and find out for sure—but it would explain to Erin the atmosphere of the environment she grew up in, and why my parents took such a leading reign in her life until they moved here.

Bill didn’t just leave and forget he had kids; Bill left and had no way to stay in contact with them, and Val didn’t help matters any. I believe Jeff and Erin would be better off if they had the full truth; Bill might think he’s still protecting Val by keeping it from them, but I think it would give them a deeper understanding of their mother and the demons that will nip at her heels for the rest of her life. Erin might be more willing to at least consider bridging some distance with her mother.

When Erin was unceremoniously shown the front door, her brother was already out of the house, away at college. He’d weathered his own version of Val as a mother but wasn’t there to see the explosion and thusly does not have those wounds. He’s eager to meet their father, and accepts that there are some things that he won’t be told. He feels he can start from scratch and get to know them man Bill is now, not the man he used to be.

For now, Erin is content to know that he’s all right and he thinks about her frequently; she’s happy that he does want at least some contact, and that he’s fine with her taking however long she needs to decide how she wants to meet him. She’s grateful that he doesn’t mind having a go-between, and that she’ll trust Jeff to be the first of them to actually get on a plane to meet him face to face. She’s relieved that I think he looks fine, acts fine, and that I believe he’s truthful about his past and his life now, and when she’s ready, I’ll go with her.

I have no doubt that eventually the full truth of why Bill left and where he’s been will come out, and when it does I’ll also go with her to see her mother, because I know she’ll want to. And if I’m as truthful about myself, it won’t be painless for me. She might consider me to be her dad, but there’s something very powerful about the draw of one’s biological parents. I’m always very aware that we’ll probably go through this more than once, because after Erin decides to meet or not meet him, and whether or not it leads to some kind of relationship with either or both of her parents, we have to face the fact that in a few years it will be Kevin feeling that pull. Frankly, I’m not ready for any of this.

Here Comes The Storm

Getting the kids to get their homework done has never been an issue before; Alex studies for fun, Rachel does her work as soon as she gets home just to get it out of the way, and Kevin never really had much to do before now. When he did have homework, he mimicked Alex and sat down at the table with his older brother and just did it.

Then his hormones began to kick in, his attitude skewed a bit, and homework has become a battleground. When asked if he has any, he grunts no, and is then scrambling to get it done at the last minute. On Wednesday afternoon, knowing that he’d be better off getting it out of the way before a weekend that was already scheduled with family outings, Char asked him how much—not if he had any—homework he needed to get done.

I have to read about 10 pages in this book we’re reading for English class.

All right; he’s not the reader Alex is, but he does read for half an hour or so every night, so she didn’t push. She did, however, ask him every night if he’d read what he was supposed to.

A few pages, his pat answer.

Get it done tonight was her reply.

He’s rushing head-first into puberty, we get that. We survived it with Alex, complete with attitude and door-slamming; we survived it with Rachel and her penchant for new-teen-drama-queen antics. Kevin has always been fairly laid back, easy going, so we naïvely assumed he might be just a little easier to deal with.

I don’t think either of us expected he would take the worst of his siblings’ traits and create a whole new pre-teen model. He has all of Alex’s attitude and then some, the snarky sarcasm that just misses the mark, he stomps through the house, and he can out-drama the queen without much effort. He’s still the same sweet kid, but when he’s on a roll…if it was someone else’s kid, I would be amused. Since it’s ours, I’m ticking away the months until the worst of it is over, and hoping that he eases out of it at about the same ages Alex and Rachel did (don’t get me wrong, they’re still rolling in teen crap, but they’ve got a handle on it and know when they’ve stepped over the line.)

Thanksgiving weekend was All Kevin Attitude, All The Time. He snarked at all the wrong times, backtalked, rolled his eyes a few times too many, stomped a few times too loudly, and by yesterday afternoon we’d had enough.

And then after dinner Alex brought up homework, knowing Kevin hadn’t done it; he was being a shit, too, but at least it was with a purpose, to make sure his little brother got the work done before it was too late.

Char was furious. She pointed Kevin towards the sofa, turned off the TV, and made him read the chapter he should have had done on Wednesday night. When he closed the book and then said he needed his notebook to finish—I might have forgotten that I need to write a report—she gritted her teeth and managed to avoid yelling at him. But when he pulled out the notebook, along with math homework he “forgot” about, history worksheets that “will only take a minute,” and a take-home quiz for his science class, her restraint lapsed and she let him have it (verbally.)

He simply sat there and let her get it out, and then made his biggest mistake. He rolled his eyes, sighed hard, and told her to stop being so dramatic. It was “meaningless” homework and didn’t matter.

She was mad enough that she turned around and left the room; he shrugged it off until his cell phone chirped with a text message, and I grabbed the phone from his hand.

You just lost this for a week.

Instant indignation. That wasn’t fair, he was getting the work done and it would be done before bedtime, so what’s the big deal?

You never, not ever, speak to your mother that way.

She started it. He seriously went to that. She started it.

One more word and you’re also grounded for the week.

His mouth opened—he had more than one more word to say—but he doesn’t dare risk it this week. If he misses dance classes this week and next week, he doesn’t get to participate in the holiday recital, and he’s worked his ass off for that.

Very quietly, he grabbed his books and headed for my office, where he could work without a parent breathing down his neck. And somewhere in that pre-teen clouded brain is a working brain cell, because I heard him pause in the hallway at our bedroom door.

I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to be mean.

Yes, we’ve gotten through it twice already and peripherally with a third (though Erin was over the attitude part by the time she moved in; she was still all teen), and his bright spots are far more frequent than his dark wannabe-teen moments, but I am not looking forward to the next couple of years, and I am bracing myself against everything that’s coming at us.

First world problem, I know.

I'm so not ready for this

I think we've hit the parts of parenting that neither of us was prepared for; we had the kids with the intent to raise them into self reliant adults, and hoped that along the way we could instill values in them that would become part of who they are, and for the most part I think we've accomplished that. Make no mistake, we have three teenagers in the house (yes, I know, Kevin is not yet 13 but he might as well be; he has the eye rolling part down pat) and there are days we go to bed as exhausted as we did when they were toddlers. For the most part, they amuse us, even at their teen-worst (I suppose that's because their worst isn't all that bad, not compared to a lot of kids we know) but there are days...

They're reaching towards problems that are pushing into adult territory, and we don't always know what to do about it. Alex, especially. He's 16 going on 30, he's in a relationship that's grown closer than I would like (read into that what you will, and you'll probably be right) and he's as serious and committed to it as he can possibly be at this age; he's also trying to figure out a way to break his own heart without breaking his girlfriend's.

He doesn't want to break up with her, but it occurred to him recently that he may effectively be doing that at the end of next summer. The realization hit him as he was pouring over information on a few potential colleges he's considering for when he's done at the community college. He's wrestling with what to do, stay here and go to school locally, which might not be in his best long term interest, or go away to school and risk distance being something that comes between them.

His realization has lead to many evenings spent sitting by the pool, in the cold, while he contemplates what he's going to do. It's almost as hard on us because we can't really tell him what to do; we can point out some obvious things, like email and texting and cell phones, and the fact that going away to school doesn't mean staying away for good. There are holidays and weekends, and unless he winds up overseas somehow he can always come home when he feels the need. We can also bite our tongues and avoid telling him that some distance might do them both some good; they're too young to be living life as if they're going to be together forever, and it might give them both some perspective.

I also can't tell him that most of me wants him to stay home and go to school here. I'm not ready to send my son out into the world and I don't imagine that I will be in 9 months. He won't be quite 17 when the next school year begins. When he was born my idea of being his mother had him here with us until he was 22 and graduating from college.

He relies more on his father when it comes to talking this out, which is good because I'm not sure I can avoid telling him how badly I want him to stay home. Ian is capable of helping him weight the pros and cons and making sure that the primary consideration is Alex's entire future, not his mother's feelings, and not his girlfriend's.

But still, he knows that if he chooses to leave, even if he can find a way to do it and not hurt Stephanie, he'll be breaking his own heart by going. And the collateral from that just isn't something I was ever prepared to have to deal with.

My dad let me leave at 18; he sent me clear across the country, and I had no idea how hard that was for him, not until I started thinking about Alex leaving. My dad let me go because it really was the best for me. I know that if Alex chooses a school out of state that it will be because it's the best for him, but I don't have to like it. And I suppose he doesn't have to, either.

All our kids

The last two weeks have been hectic; we were simply waiting for Erin to have her baby, but then Miko came down with a gastric-intestinal bug, which spread through their house like biological wildfire. Both parents, all three kids, sick as can be, so we moved them into our house, sent the boys to stay with my dad because they showed no signs of it, and moved Rachel onto an air mattress in our room because she had a mild case. They were all so sick that it was scary, especially Erin. She wanted to have that baby so badly and in her head that was going to make everything better, but luckily she didn't go into labor while throwing up everything she'd eaten for the last week.

Ian and I were lucky; we still haven't gotten it. But he never complained once about all the work taking care of so many sick people at once entailed. He cleaned up barf without gagging, and he cleaned up a whole lot of kiddie poop and never flinched. He helped Miko bathe a few times, kept Travis and Thad as entertained as you can two little boys who feel so poorly, and he held Toni while she cried (because this kind of sick is embarrassing when you're a big fourth grader and trying to show your baby brothers how tough you are.) What touched me the most was seeing him curled up on the sofa with Erin (while Miko was splayed out on the kitchen floor, because it was cooler) on one side and Rachel on the other, holding both his girls close while they shared a hushed conversation about wanting that baby to come right now, and I listened as Erin admitted she hadn't thought about her own father in over a year but was suddenly wondering what had happened to him. Ian offered to find out, and Erin wants to know.

She doesn't think of her father as her dad, though. When she thinks of her dad, she thinks of Ian. And Rachel wanted to know when she was going to stop calling him Uncle Ian and start calling him Dad; Erin has never wanted Alex to feel displaced as the oldest, and certainly doesn't want Rachel to feel pushed aside as the only daughter.

I wanted to cry when Rachel told her she would never think that, because she's always thought of Erin as her big sister. And then she texted Alex and asked what he thought, and his response was "WTF? She's our sister so why hasn't she called him Dad all along?"

Ian told her she can call him whatever she's most comfortable with, but make no mistake, she's our daughter. Our kids think of her as their sibling; and yes, we had Alex and Rachel first, so she's not intruding on the order of things, if that's her biggest worry.

Erin is a sweet, sweet girl who still hasn't come to terms with why her own mother shoved her out the door (for that matter, neither have we) and she has no idea why her father left, but that's something I've always been able to empathize with. I still don't really know why my mother left, or where she is now. I understand that pain, though I think Erin's might be deeper since she did have 16 years with her mother. But I don't think she's ever felt as unconditionally loved as she does with Ian. He never had to be asked; the moment he found out his sister had thrown Erin out, he headed for Texas to get her. There was never a question about what he would do with her; she was coming to live with us, for as long as she needed and wanted to. His heart was there before the rest of him was, and I fell in love with her the minute she stepped through the front door.

She has been a joy to have, a very bright light in our lives and we've been lucky that she settled in easily and never really looked back.

Last night, just before dinner (which was the first solid food she had wanted to face for over a week) she looked up, eyes wide, and announced that "it's time." Poor Miko still feels horrible, but he'd stopped throwing up and was keeping Gatorade down, and I'm not sure how he felt about having to get dressed and leave the house, but when she said it was time we all took her seriously.

She was very calm all the way there, calm as Miko checked her in, and calm as she went into her room. Poor Ian was a nervous wreck, calling Miko's parents and my dad, so that he could take the boys back to the house and stay with Rachel. We waited at the hospital, because Ian insists that he be there when his grandkids are coming into the world, even if it is down the hall. And at 11:20, our newest granddaughter took her first breath, on 1-11-11.

Erin and Miko named her Charlene Alessandra Kosta, and I can't tell you how overwhelmed and thrilled it makes me to have her named after me. I was so touched about how focused she is on Ian being her dad that I never clued into the idea that we're a package deal. She says I've been her Mom for years, too, and if it had been another boy, he would have been Charlie.

I can't stop crying.

Ian is thrilled, too, and threatening to call her Chuck. I'm pretty sure he can get away with calling her anything he wants, but if Toni is any example, she'll be "little princess" most of the time.

We're still around

All right, Max, because you asked.

The highlights:

• After taking the kids to Ireland, we spent a lot of time babysitting the grand kids in order to give Erin a break while she wallows in her pregnancy. This one has been exhausting her, mostly because of the vast amounts of energy her two little boys have. She spends a lot of time here, too, so the babysitting is more like just helping, but two toddlers on crack is a lot of work.
• I left Char alone to deal with our kids as well as helping Erin and took Craig to Ireland; he had time off and we’d intended to take that trip 25-30 years ago, and Char thought it would be a good excuse for me to explore some retirement possibilities. I’ll tell you what; Ireland with a recovering alcoholic is kind of a bummer sometimes. He did well around the rest of our family who drank in front of him, though. And I don’t think he’ll ever go back; this was a see it for the last time kind of trip for him.
• Overall he’s doing really well. Great job, awesome girlfriend, and moving out of TK’s soon. Half of that is wanting to move in with Frankie, half is not wanting to live with TK’s kids. They’re great kids, but with them comes their mother. Yeah. That’s back on.
• Alex is now taller than I am, but I don’t think he’s realized it yet. He needs to stop growing before he hits the freak zone.
• He’s also declared a major; while we were sure it would be engineering or architecture, he’s decided on (for now) psychology. When asked why, because we were sure he’d go in another direction based upon his interest in building and fixing things, he answered that he’s more interested in fixing people. He looked at Char right after he said it, too.
• Rachel. Holy fuck, the stream of teenaged boys that go through this house. She’s not “dating” anyone and has declared boys for the most part to be “so totally not worth it” but that’s not stopping her from flirting like crazy and driving me nuts. And I admit to some curiosity over why she’s not actually going out with any of these guys; Char tells me that none of them have passed the big brother test, and his opinion matters to her. I hope he knows this.
• Kevin. I seriously think I will be chasing him and Elizabeth around with the garden hose more than I have Alex and Stephanie. For a kid who sets off nearly everyone’s gaydar…he’s either trying to figure it all out for himself, or he’s headed for some major stupidity, or both. And no, I am not feeling relief that he’s focused on a girl; I don’t want him groping anyone just yet.
• Remember Damien? He’s testing for his brown belt this week. This kid has made a huge turn around in the last couple of years; he graduated from high school at the end of summer and is heading into the Marine Corps. He can still be a bit of a dick, but now when something completely stupid comes out of his mouth he often catches himself and apologizes. Considering I expected him to be in jail by now, or dead because he picked on the wrong person, I am impressed by how he’s done.

Yeah. That's it. Traveling and kids and traveling with kids. And a lot of waiting for grandkid #4, who isn't due for 2 weeks but could come any time given Erin's past of delivering early. There may also be some coraling of the pseudo-son-in-law and dragging his ass to a doctor, because if he does't get snipped soon, she's going to do it for him while he sleeps.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

Alex started back to school last week, and today Rachel and Kevin’s school year began. I had worried about how Rachel would do heading off to her first day of high school, mostly because this is the first time she’s gone to school without one of her brothers, but she was surrounded by friends at the bus stop and never looked back.



I wasn’t worried about Kevin heading off without his sister; he spent enough time over the summer blabbering about how much fun this year was going to be—ninety percent of that owed to the fact that Elizabeth would be joining him there—and he’s enough of a social butterfly that if the thought that he was also heading to school without a sibling for the first had occurred to him, it was a fleeting thought.



But, the summer; between friends hanging around the house and Alex’s jobs, Rachel venturing out into babysitting, camp, Kevin immersing a little further into dance, the kids kept us busy. There was still a lot of family time crammed into the chaos, and last month we took them to Ireland to meet some of Ian’s cousins and to sight-see, and then took a detour on the way home because they really wanted to see Cardiff. Secretly, they harbored hope that they would find a Doctor Who-like police box; they didn’t, but they were thrilled to find a touch of Torchwood.



Early in the summer a new family moved into a house across the street, and they have kids close to the ages of ours, and Kevin made a fast friend out of their 13 year old son, Carlos. With Elizabeth, it was like the three amigos and they spent a lot of time hanging out by the pool. He seems like a good kid, very funny and as quick witted as Kevin, but more than that he seems to have a good head on his shoulders and knows when to be polite and when he can mess with the adults around him.



He has two older brothers and an older sister, but we didn’t see as much of them. Alex hung out with the oldest boy a bit and took him on a tour of the college, but the other two kids kept to themselves a lot. If Carlos is any indication, we’ll get to know them later, after they’ve gotten tired of being so annoyed about having to move.



Ian and I did take some time for us with a quick trip to Vegas, but for the most part it’s been a summer full of kids and carting them to jobs and movies and places to hang with their friends. We’ve been babysitting the grandkids quite a bit, too, trying to give Erin some breathing room, because she is still not happy about being pregnant. She’s happy about having another baby, but she’s not enjoying getting through being pregnant and would be thrilled of one of us could snap our fingers and make this baby be here now instead of the end of October.



The cap to the summer: Ian getting kissed by one of the regulars in my dad’s bar. Male regular. And hearing Alex blurt out “Dude that’s my dad!”



Funnier, I don’t think Ian minded.

Testing 1,2,3

Heyya Chuckles

Happy birthday, angel :)

Just call him Dad

I had a nice long post here but someone was uncomfortable with it and asked me to take it down. But, in a nutshell, we went to Vegas on a whim, Ian did a few nice things for a young couple, and we had a good time.

Sometimes in the dark is a good place to be

The start of what looks like it will be a very busy summer came with news that had, frankly, stumped both Char and me. What to do with it. Keep it to ourselves or let it loose and see where it went. We weren't sure what the right thing to do was, and the one person we asked for advice, Brad, could only shrug. He had no idea either.

He came over last week to tell us that Kevin's biological mother gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl, and she wanted us to know. What we did with that, tell Kevin or not, was up to us. She married last year, has created a good life for herself far from the neighborhood no one wanted Kevin to grow up in, and now that he has siblings, she thought he might want to know.

His birth mother is an issue we've struggled with. We know that the day will come when he wants to meet her; we agreed that once he was eighteen we would facilitate the meeting if he wanted us to. We've allowed Brad to share news about Kevin and photos of him, but she doesn't know where he is exactly, and Brad has honored out wish to keep it that way. What we don't know is what we'll do if he expresses a strong interest in meeting her before then. Or what to do if we allow it and they develop a relationship.

Whether it sounds petty or not, we really don't want him to ever consider her to be his mother. She gave birth to him, and in a streak of maturity beyond her age she gave him up to us to assure he would have a good life, but Char is his mother. It's more than a title; it's part of her identity and God help anyone who gets between her and her kids. If he ever called someone else "Mom" it would break her heart.

I know other families manage it, and we've tried to position ourselves to be fair about it when and if the time comes, but now that we're staring down the barrel of the gun, so to speak, now that there's a brother and sister he's related to by blood and he's only six years from us having no say in it, we're realizing that we're not as mature about it as we thought we would be. It's one thing for him to meet her; it's another thing to contemplate where meeting her could lead.

When Brad told us he has other siblings, Char was taken aback and I got this horrible, sick feeling weighing me down. He reiterated we were under no obligation to tell him, but after some consideration, we both realized we didn't have a choice. If we didn't tell him, and he found out some other way, especially if he found out we knew and didn't say anything, the fallout might be suffocating.

So we waited until Alex and Rachel were involved in something else and called him into the kitchen, and told him. We tried to make is as non-major as we could; Grandpa talked to your birth mother, and she got married a while ago and just had twins. A boy and a girl. We thought you would want to know.

He wanted to know their names, something we hadn't asked Brad, but assured him we could.

Do I have to get them like a birthday present or something? Or at Christmas?

That had never occurred to us. But no.

Well, that's good. Alex and Rachel cost me enough.

And for now, that's all he cares about. What might be expected of him. But we both know that the older he gets, the more curious he will become, and frankly, as prepared as we thought we were, now we know we're not, not at all.

She used a lot of Kleenex, too

Rachel has a head cold; it's one of those colds where you understand that all you have is a cold, but you feel like death warmed over and your skull weighs a good 50 pounds. All you want to do is lie in bed and wallow in your own misery and whine about how much snot is running out of your stuffed up nose and how watery your eyes are.

Since there's no projectile vomiting involved, we're heartless and cruel parents and while we allow our cold-laden children to lounge in bed all day, we expect them to eat. Hell, we even bring the food to them. Whatever they want, within reason. Rachel wanted nothing more than macaroni and cheese at lunch, so Char made a giant pot of it and they had lunch together sitting on Rachel's bed.

Where Char is, the boys are sure to follow. They all wound up in Rachel's room, in spite of being warned they were going to catch her cold (Alex: I'm pretty sure she sneezed on me yesterday anyway) and when Rachel had eaten all she was going to, Char gathered up the bowls and told Alex and Kevin that their sister needed to get some sleep.

Rachel protested; she wasn't sleepy. She had a couple of chapters left in a book she was reading and wanted to finish it. Fine, she's 14, she knows if she needs a nap or not. Char left the boys in there and we did the dishes, and when I headed down the hall, I could hear Alex's voice rumbling low and peeked in.

They were all on the bed together, Rachel curled up on her side, Kevin at the foot of the bed, and Alex wedged in the middle, and he was reading to them. He looked up when he realized I was there and said, She wanted to finish her book, but her eyes are watering too much.

A couple of hours later they were all piled onto Char's and my bed to watch a DVD. Later, when Rachel was headed for bed and complaining that she was cold, Kevin got up to get an extra blanket for her, and Alex offered to make her some tea.

Once in a while, when the morbid crosses my mind and I contemplate how things would go for them if something happened to both Char and I, I worry that they'll flounder. But then days like this come around, and I know that if the worst does crash into them, they'll take care of each other. The thought made me feel pretty good. But then I started sneezing. And now my head hurts.

I completley blame the little cootie-mongers.

I have short hair for a reason

TK's oldest son, like Rachel, is headed into high school this fall. And unlike the parochial school my kids left this year, the public junior high has a "graduation" for them, which is essentially a two hour long snooze fest that even seemed to bore the kids. It's a non-event event; no caps and gowns, held in the afternoon so that half the parents can't attend because of work, all the kids in regular school clothes, fidgeting because they just want the day over with. None of the graduates seemed happy, and there was a lot of grumbling that a class party would have been much more fun.

Never say those words in front of Char. The kids wanted a party, the kids were getting a party. She told Rachel and Bryan to each invite "a few" of their friends, and we'd celebrate the end of junior high. It made the kids happy, which in turn made her happy, right up to the moment where she realized that a graduation party for Bryan meant also inviting Bryan's mother. They haven't been on speaking terms for several years because Char hasn't really forgiven her for the way she treated TK. TK has, but that's beside the point. Like it or not, we were having TK, his girlfriend, and his ex-wife-ex-Char's-best-friend in the house at the same time.

Even Kevin could see the potential there, and muttered This is going to be fun in a very oh-hell-no way.

The kids did have fun. Rachel and her friends liked Bryan and his friends, and the weather cooperated so much of their time was spent milling around the back yard and eating more food than should be humanly possible. They had a stereo going, and once the awkwardness of meeting new friends was over (and aided by Alex and Stephanie) some of them even tried dancing. Kevin and Elizabeth hung around with William and Richard (TK and Becky's twins) and while it was loud, it was tolerable. The goal was for the kids to have fun, and they did.

The adults even did a passable job of keeping the strain hidden. TK was in an awkward position; ideally he shouldn't have brought the girlfriend, but didn't see a way around it. We didn't know her well enough before this party to like or dislike her, but the kids seemed somewhat dismissive of her, and Becky obviously wishes she would die in a metaphorical fire. Still, maturity abounded, and we were able to sit and talk like grownups. I overheard the GF complain once to TK about how rude the kids all were and Becky shoot back that they were just being kids and she didn't need to try to be their friend; Char overheard it as well and covered up nicely, but she really wanted to laugh, because Becky was right. The kids were all being fine, but they didn't want to include the adults, and why would they? Ignoring us wasn't rude; they were outside having a good time, and we were inside trying to be civil.

Trying to be civil included trying to have a reasonable conversation, and when you have kids, the topic tends to drift towards them.

Important to note: TK and Becky's first child died within an hour of birth. Their fifth died within half a day. Both were born with multiple congenital medical problems, and there was nothing that could have been done to prevent it or save them. I didn't think they would ever recover from losing their first baby, and losing their last wrecked them both. They were both drowning in grief after that.

So we were talking about the kids and what they've been up to, and in a very clean moment of wonder that wasn't wrapped up in anger and sorrow, Becky mused about what their oldest would be like now. She would have recently turned fifteen, and Becky said out loud what we've all wondered all along. What would she have looked like? Would she and Alex and Rachel have been fast friends? Tomboy, girly-girl?

Char decided she would have been a princess, Daddy's girl all the way, even moreso than Rachel. And that their youngest daughter would have been the tomboy, always chasing after her brothers.

That made Becky smile and made TK laugh, and Becky said, very simply, that she misses them.

The GF look puzzled and said How? You didn't even know them. It's not like they were alive long enough for you to love them.

Before either TK or Becky could gather a coherent thought, Char leaned forward and very evenly informed the GF that not only were those baby girls loved, they were cherished and treasured, and that a day doesn't go by when Becky doesn't love them and miss them, and the fact that she went on to have her boys is a prime example of how much love she has to give to her children. We all miss those girls. We didn't have to meet them personally to feel the holes in our lives because they're not here. They were loved before they were born, and will be loved as long as any of us are still alive.

The GF was surprised, turned to TK and asked him if he was going to let her be spoken to that way. After all, he doesn't even like his ex.

He fished his keys out of his pocket and handed them to her, telling her to leave. Drive his car back to his apartment and get her own car, and just leave. He would ride back with the ex whom he might not like most days, but still loves every day.

She had the keys in her hand, but looked at them like she didn't know what to do with them until Char told her she had about ten seconds to get the hell out of our house before she was dragged out by her hair.

That got her moving. I think Char intended for us to all stay put and listen to the door slam shut, but I got up and followed her anyway, mostly because I didn't want the kids to hear the door slam shut. I expected to go back into the other room and find TK comforting Becky, but instead it was Char standing in the kitchen with her arms around the former best friend she can barely tolerate.

I was not happy when Becky left TK the way she did; it was cruel and thoughtless, but I also understood it and tried to not hold it against her. I still haven't forgiven her for the way she greeted Char last year after coming back, because it tapped into some very real pain for Char, but I can stand to be around her. I understand why TK still loves her and why their marriage exploded, and if he can forgive her for the way she left then it shouldn't matter so much to me. What matters to me is how she made Char feel about what the accident did to her.

But they did connect over the love of their kids. Char was there in every minute that Becky needed her after both girls were born and when they died, and she knows as much as TK does what Becky is feeling and how hearing that she couldn't have loved them must have hurt. And still angry or not, Char still loves the Becky she knew when they were both still pretty much just teenagers trying to pretend to be all grown up in their new jobs and the Becky who managed to be a pretty good mother to her kids even when she was desperately missing the ones who weren't there.

You don't disrespect someone Char loves in her own house and expect to get away with it.

My brother showed up not long after the GF was booted out, and we went outside to pester the kids while Char and Becky stayed inside to talk. And they talked for a long time, 95% of which I will never be told. I don't think this is a fix to their relationship, but it certainly gave it a place to start.

Craig was not surprised by any of it and mused that TK needs to meet a better class of women. I don't think he wants to meet a better class of women. I think he's just fine with dating women he knows Char will shred to pieces if she thinks she has to.

She's never threatened to drag Becky anywhere by her hair, so that says something.

Do I hope they can be friends again? Sure. Am I counting on it? No. But if Char and Becky can at least be friendly, it will go a long way in helping TK and Becky get back on track, and I think it's a track they both want to be on.

Well. Damn. LOL

Three weeks of school left, we were informed this morning by a grumpy 12 year old who was having one of those still-half-asleep mornings. Alex annoyed the snot out of his little brother by pointing out that he has finals next week, and then is done. I was mostly annoyed with the idea that Char's and my quiet time is coming to a close for a couple of months, and this place will be crawling with teen-and-tween-agers. The grocery bill will triple, because Char does not seem to believe in sending kids home for dinner; if they're here, they get fed, the only requirement is that they call some to make sure it's all right.

We may catch a break from the throngs of horny kids splashing in our pool; the kids have expressed an interest in going somewhere this summer. We hadn't given it much thought before Alex first brought it up, but in casual conversation at dinner we've determined that they do want a family vacation this year and they want to see "roots." Char has no desire to show them where she grew up, and they've seen Texas; what they want most is to see where I was born, where my parents grew up and met and got married.

I guess we're going to Ireland at some point this summer.

To be honest, I was hoping they wanted to go to Disney World. They're at the age where they could have fun and not require Mom and Dad to be right there all the time. We could borrow another kid and even the numbers out so that I don't have to get on rides with Kevin. Disney World would totally be doable, but no. They seem to think the should see the world before they're "too old."

I think it really means they want to see the world while Dad still has to pay for it.

I knew we shouldn't have raised them to be forward thinkers.

I am, she said

No matter what happened yesterday, no matter the celebrations in the streets and online (I think my favorite being Ding Dong the Dick is Dead), real life must go on and for us that meant getting the kids up in time to have breakfast and then catch the bus, getting Alex to school, and walking the dog. Sure, we can open the back door and let him outside to do his business, and we generally do that first, but Tank has his own expectations and a couple of daily walks is one of them. And Char likes to shove me out of the house every now and then so that she can soak up some silence.

Tank and I wandered around the neighborhood and when we started to pass Erin's street I figured what the hell, I'd stop by and see what she was up to, see if she wanted us to take the kids for the afternoon so that she could soak up some of her own silence. When I got there, Miko was standing on the sidewalk leaned up against the car, and he was staring at the house like he was terrified to go in. I greeted him with something lame about skipping out on work early (and in my head was thinking for a nooner but that was a might too creepy to actually say out loud, all things considered) when he said She texted me a while ago and told me I was coming home for lunch. She never does that. I think she sounded pissed off in that text.

Having been on the receiving end of a few angry texts, I completely understand. I also figured it might be a good time to take the boys home with me. That would make Char happy, and would give Erin a couple of hours before Toni got home, enough time to deal with Miko's body if she needed to.

We walked into the house and she was there, ready for him. He got three steps inside and she chucked a cupcake at him. I don't mean she just threw one, she whipped that cupcake across the room and nailed him with it right between the eyes. And before he could pick it off, she threw another one. I have to give her credit, her aim was so good that she didn't get any on his suit. But once that second cupcake had bounced off the first and Tank was enjoying some unexpected snacks, she realized I was there and hissed You couldn't come alone? You brought my dad to protect you? What the hell?

There was more, but I stopped hearing anything she said after that point for a bit. While in my heart, she's as much my kid as Alex, Rachel, and Kevin are, she's never referred to me as her dad before. And I never had a problem with that, because early on she'd expressed worry that if she called me anything but Uncle Ian Alex would feel slighted. He's my oldest and she always thought he deserved to have that. But still, Erin is my kid, even though I didn't get her until she was sixteen.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit that hearing that felt awfully damned good.

By the time I stopped not listening, Thad was crying and Miko headed up the stairs to get him, and I still had no idea what the Cupcake Wars were about, and I think by then Erin realized that whatever shorthand they were speaking was going right over my head. Tank had cleaned the carpet up pretty well, she notched down the anger a little and then sighed, I begged him to get a vasectomy. He is such a goddamned little boy.

What she was saying hadn't quite worked its way in and I fumbled out with, You just called me your dad.

You know that look women get when you've said something really stupid, when you've stated the obvious? I got that look. Well, you are. And then she kept going. Would it have killed him? Really? YOU got one and survived.

I got one because I was afraid getting Char pregnant again would kill her. Erin wanted Miko to get one because she was afraid that if she got pregnant again, she would kill him. Instead, she whipped a couple of cupcakes at his head. I had a hard time sympathizing with her, because she and Miko make some beautiful babies, and she is an incredible mother.

I'm selfish enough to want more grandkids.

By the time she calmed down enough to not want to pound Miko with the rest of the contents of their pantry I had the boy in a stroller and had called Char to let her know I was coming home with them. I sure as hell wasn't doing Erin any good being there and being happy when she hasn't quite gotten to that point. But I have no doubt that she will, because you can't look into her kids' faces and not understand that they are everything to her and she has a lot more love to give. And her kids have nearby grandparents ready to watch them at a moments' notice.

As for Miko? He's thrilled, but I will personally escort the boy to the urologist if she wants me to, because I'm pretty sure that's what a dad should do.

Pass the Motrin

Poor Alex and Ian. This place was crawling with teenaged girls last night, several more than we had counted on, and the noise level was outrageous. They wound up sitting out on the back patio in the cold and wind for a long time, trying to escape the noise. I really felt bad for Alex, because he gave up a date with Stephanie to stay home and keep Rachel amused, and in the end he really didn’t need to. They could have gone out and Rachel never would have missed them.

Every time they go sit out there, I keep thinking they look like Denny Crane and Alan Shore at the end of every episode of Boston Legal, sitting outside with a drink and a cigar, though with them the drinks are bottled water and Diet Coke and the closest thing to smoke is when it’s really cold, their breath fogs up. Most of the time when they sit out there like that I kind of want to eavesdrop, because I have no idea what it is they talk about and I’m just nosy enough to want to know. They look so serious, like they have these giant problems that have to be solved right now, and I don’t intrude because Alex is closer to 16 than 15 now and 90% of what he thinks about are things I don’t want to really know that he’s thinking about.

Ian won’t tell me exactly what they talk about most of the time, but he does confirm that much of it is stuff I don’t want to hear. So I avoid intruding. After they’d been out there a while Stephanie headed out to sit with them and I assumed that meant Ian would be coming back inside, but he stayed out there for a good 45 minutes, and every time I looked they all seemed so serious.

This time I wanted to intrude and came straight out and asked what was so deep that they were talking about. I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer, but at the same time I did.

Bathroom remodeling. They were sitting out in the cold discussing remodeling my dad’s guest bathroom and exactly what kind of finishes he wants, and whether the shower stall would look better with subway tile, 12 x 12 tile, or mosaic. And there was talk of vapor barriers and subflooring and half a dozen other things that I had no idea what he was saying when he was telling me about it.

In about five minutes he managed to bore me into wishing they’d actually been talking about sex.

In any case, they have a summer project lined up. My dad is getting another new bathroom, Stephanie is apparently interested in learning about the whole process, and Alex is one step closer to wanting to build a house from the foundation up.

I think if he ever does, it will be a soundproof cabin in the back yard where he can shove Rachel and her friends. It really did get to be too much, and when they all headed home a little after 10:30, even I had a headache.

She gets to go back to school tomorrow, though we have to make sure she has an excused out from P.E. class for at least the week. She has a follow up appointment later in the week and we’ll ask then, but I’m guessing she won’t be allowed to do much of anything physical for a while. She won’t mind it if it means getting out of chores, but she’s going to be really mad when she realizes it means no running, TKD, or even picking Thad and Travis up.

I miss being that young

Rachel is either just young or a freak of nature, or perhaps a combination of the two. She was up at a reasonable time this morning, bouncing around, claiming that she was only a little achy and didn't even need Motrin for it. She was also upset with the news that no matter how good she feels, she's not going jogging with Rob, she's not going to TKD, she's not taking the dog for a walk, and she's not doing much of anything. This includes going out with New Guy Rob, Alex, and Stephanie tonight.

She didn't try to argue the point when she normally would have, but still, she was not happy about it. Sitting around with Mom and Dad would be boring and even Kevin has plans with Elizabeth and Grandpa.

Alex and Stephanie are fairly laid back and don't go out every weekend; half the time they hang around here and watch DVDs, so Alex didn't feel especially out of line telling Rachel that they'd just stay here with her, order a pizza, and watch movies or play games, whatever she wanted. He called Steph to double check, and she was fine with the idea.

That lifted Rachel's mood considerably, and she called New Guy Rob to tell him about the change of plans. New Guy Rob, however, was less enamored with the idea and told her he assumed she wouldn't be able to go out at all, so he made other plans.

With another girl.

Granted, he and Rachel are not "a couple." She accepts that. But she's mad as hell that he didn't have the courtesy to call her and cancel their plans instead of just assuming. She was also ticked off that in the same 3 minute phone call he wanted to know if I still wanted to go running with him this morning even though it was obvious she couldn't go.

I'm trying to remember if I was as much of an ass when I was 14.

As annoyed with him as she is, when Kevin asked her if she was going to break up with him, she shrugged it off and said he's thoughtless but he's still a nice guy and there's nothing to break up, so she'll give him another chance.

I suppose this means I have to, as well.

I assumed his absence would mean Alex and Stephanie would be the only ones hanging around with her tonight, but no. In the half an hour I was outside walking the dog she called five of her friends, and they're all coming over, too.

Six fourteen year old girls. One fifteen year old girl. I'm already dreading the noise level.

Alex and I may have to go off and shoot pool or something.

I wanted Mom, too

The girl is not a complainer. She's a drama queen sometimes, but that goes with the territory of being female and fourteen; it's her divine right, and she'll outgrow it. She's also prone to hyperbole, but she comes by that honestly, having learned it well from my father, who was the master.

This evening Char went out with her sister and a few friends, leaving me with the kids and assuming, I suppose, that she would come home and all three would be happy, healthy, and in one piece.

She shouldn't assume.

I did all the things I knew would be expected; I made dinner for the kids, helped them with the dishes and then homework, fed the cats and the dog and watched out the back door as Kevin played with Tank, and vaguely heard Rachel wander past, complaining that she wasn't feeling very well. Alex asked her what was wrong and she blew it off as "just a little crampy."

Alex jabbed back with, "Again? Didn't we just suffer through you doing this like two weeks ago?"

I mostly tuned them out, worrying more that Kevin and Tank were going to wind up in the pool. I didn't even recall that she had said she wasn't feeling well until much later.

After Kevin came back inside and was in the shower, Rachel curled up next to me on the couch and said she was really feeling crappy. She tried to stretch out and lie there with her head in my lap, something she rarely does anymore, but within a couple of minutes she had her knees drawn up and was crying.

Being the genius that I am, I assumed she was just coming down with a stomach virus and that there was a 50-50 chance I'd get barfed on, but I can deal with that. Alex heard her sniffling and came out of his room to see what was wrong, and by the time he was in the living room she was sobbing.

Rachel cries when she's upset; she doesn't cry when she's sick or just feeling a little out of sorts. The sobbing made me sit up a little straighter and start to run through a mental list of what I could do to make her feel better, but when she grabbed at her stomach and was calling me "Daddy" in between breaths, I wanted to panic.

I only get called Daddy when she wants something, or something is very, very wrong. This felt very, very wrong. I picked her up, something else that hasn't happened in a long time, and headed for the door, with Alex a step behind me assuring me he would watch Kevin, call his mother, and call Erin because he was pretty sure we would be out pretty late.

Traffic fell into place; I was well over the speed limit but wasn't hindered by other cars and luckily there were no cops around. We hit the ER fifteen minutes after I left the house and she was being seen 5 minutes after that. And she was in a hell of a lot of pain, the sobbing turning from "Daddy" to "I want Mom."

I understand that there has to be some immunity to other peoples' pain and parental anxiety on the part of ER personnel. I have no issue with that. Rachel was in no position for the ER doctor to speak with her directly, what I would have normally preferred, but because he was trying to talk to me and she was still crying, I was distracted. I'm sure I looked Iike I was distracted. There wasa flurry of paperwork and my cell phone ringing because Char was trying to find out what the hell was going on, and Rachel was still crying and wanting her mother.

At some point I was signing my name to another form and the kid taking it glanced at Rachel and asked, "Does that bother you, that she wants her mother?"

What?

Why the hell would it bother me? A kid crying for her mother doesn't mean that she wants her father less; it means she wants her mother. You know, the person a kid normally associates with soft touches and warm kisses to the forehead that mean everything will be fine. That pissed me off a little, that in the middle of my kid's pain another, who should be old enough to know better, asked something as stupid as that.

For the record: absolutely not. I was there when Rachel needed me, but she also needed her mother. It's not a competition.

Half an hour later Char was there, falling all over Rachel with apologies for not being home when she needed her, and almost as soon as Char's hand was on her forehead Rachel calmed considerably. We were both there, we were both promising her that she was going to be all right. By that point she wasn't in pain thanks to a plethora of drugs, but she just needed Mom. And Mom was there as fast as she could get there.

The only issue at hand was waiting until it had been long enough from the time she'd had dinner until she could go into surgery.

And I forgot that part; appendicitis.

At one this morning they wheeled her back; she hardly looked like the same kid who was writhing in pain earlier, and she didn't seem all that afraid of what was going to happen.

Now it's nearly 5 in the morning. Char is staying with Rachel and kicked me out so that one of us would be here when Alex and Kevin get up. Rachel is going to be fine and will probably come home late in the afternoon.

But for a little while, from the moment she called me "daddy" again in between sobs, I admit, I was terrified.

She'll be fine, yes, but damn I don't think I ever want to be called that ever again, not unless she's trying to charm me into doing something she wants me to.

9 inches my ass

At four o'clock this morning I woke up and found Ian sitting up in bed, arms folded as he leaned against the headboard, and he was practically gnawing on his bottom lip. I couldn't tell if he was worried or angry and I almost rolled over and ignored him in case he'd found something to be ticked off about in the middle of the night. If I'd done something, we could deal with it in the morning. But then he sighed, so I snuggled in close and asked him what the problem was.

"I think I have to amputate my toe."

All right, from my perspective he was staring at his crotch and not his feet, but I could be wrong. So I asked why.

"It's nine inches long."

Um, yeah sweetheart, if you're really looking where it looks like you're looking, that's wishful thinking.

"I'm never going to find shoes that fit."

I suggested sandals; he balked because "then it would be out there flapping around. And someone would step on it."

I don't know why, but I got up out of bed and went into the bathroom for nail clippers and came back out, offering to take care of the offending toe for him. Just a snip here and there, and it would be fine, I promised. So he agreed; clipping it off would be all right.

I got to the foot of the bed, and lo and behold, hiding behind his mammoth feet was a tiny black cat. Tail sticking straight up. I told Ian to close his eyes so that it wouldn't hurt, tweaked his toes with my fingers a little, picked Weezer up, and then crawled back into bed. When I told him everything was fine now, he opened his eyes and looked at his feet, and marveled at there not being any blood.

I handed Weezer to him and told him she was worried about him. And people, don't ever believe his "I don't like cats" crap, because he kissed her on the top of her little head before settling back onto the bed and putting her on the pillow next to his head.

He sighed happily and mumbled "I love you," but honestly, I don't know if he was saying it to me or the cat.

If that's foreplay, Alex said as he walked into our room last night as I helped Char stretch, I'm pretty sure you're doing it wrong.

To which Char sputtered, You better not know what the hell you're talking about.

Alex shrugged it off. He had things to discuss with us, none of which had anything to do with what he might or might not know about foreplay (which for Char's sake is a good thing, because she cannot handle the concept. She would have bolted from the room.) His first question was innocent: are we planning a family vacation over the summer? Because he needs to know; registration for summer classes begins soon, but if we're planning on going somewhere, he'll skip the summer.

I would like him to skip the summer semester regardless; he doesn't have very many summers left where he can just be a kid. He sees not taking classes as being unproductive, but if we don't want him to, he'll ask Grandpa for an extra work shift or two.

We asked him to skip the summer semester. We don't have plans, but we might want to take the kids somewhere on a whim. Besides, if last summer was any indication, his friends are going to be hanging all over this place and he'll want to hang with them. Also, I bought a new high pressure nozzle for the garden hose, and I'm looking forward to hosing him and Stephanie down.

But, there was more. He looked as if he thought he was treading into none-of-my-business territory, but planned on going ahead anyway.

We know you used to say we had to be sixteen to date and then you lowered it to fourteen for me. Rachel and I were talking, and it won't bother us if you lower it for Kevin.

While that's big of them, I don't think they see the bigger picture (and I don't expect them to.)

Kevin and Elizabeth are twelve years old. Just twelve. They have no business dating in the traditional sense. Cutting them loose in a theater for a movie, to wander around the mall, whatever they think a date consists of, is a bad idea. Not because they're untrustworthy, but because they are both too young to defend against things that other people are far to willing to inflict on them. Kevin can theoretically defend himself, yes; he's strong, fast, knows how to fight, and knows what hurts. But even for a twelve year old, he's small. He's no match for someone my size bent on harm. To have to protect himself and Elizabeth? It's not a practical expectation.

Those two are also on the very beginnings of puberty and all the depths of stupid that brings. No, I don't trust them with their impulses. I don't expect them to have the capability to connect points of logic that take them from this would be fun to this could ruin our lives.

Char reminded Alex, gently, that Kevin's biological mother had him at age thirteen; she got pregnant when she was twelve.

Your little brother is twelve.

No, we won't be making any concessions for him because the girl he loves--and I have no doubt about that--happens to be his best friend.

I see where Alex is coming from. He's thrilled that Kevin is openly affectionate and has proclaimed his devotion to a girl. Somewhere deep inside him is a genuine fear that the little brother he cares so much about is gay, and he's hoping that this is proof that Kevin is straight, even if he is a bit affectatious.

Kevin's overt declarations that Elizabeth is his girlfriend mean, in the long run, very little. While intellectually Alex knows this, he wants an easier path for Kevin to have ahead of him.

So do I.

Wanting that for him, however--the easier life, not hoping that he's straight--is very different than opening him up to things he's not ready for.

We're more than willing to take him and Elizabeth to movies, to bowl, to play miniature golf or whatever else it is they want to do--the same way we did for Alex when he was hanging around with Evan, before girls became It. The same way we did with Rachel and her friends. But we can't encourage anything more because it wouldn't be the best thing for either of them.

I think Alex gets that.

Still, we were touched that he's mature enough to realize that there is no one-size-fits-all parenting and doesn't mind that his little brother might get to do what he did not. We love that he looks out for his brother and sister.

It occurred to him as he sat there and watched Char stretch that while Rachel is technically allowed to date, every single time she's gone out, he's been there. Cheese was not allowed to go out without a chaperon, and New Guy Rob has really only been hanging around the house. He hasn't asked Rachel out on an actual date.

And when he does?

Alex is 90% sure he'll be there. Not because we won't allow her out alone now, but because deep down, Rachel isn't emotionally ready to be alone with a boy and she'll ask Alex to tag along.

And without any fuss, he'll do it.

I think Char was enveloped in the motherly warmth that comes with seeing your son take another step forward, but then Alex stood up and said Just so you know, I always empty my trash can. That shit flushes, you know?

I laughed until I realized she was embarrassed enough that no one was getting lucky last night.

Semantics

Lately, Kevin has been referring to Elizabeth as his girlfriend. We're not surprised, since they've been best friends for as long as we can remember, and before he switched schools he got in trouble several times when he was caught kissing her on the playground (yes, he got in trouble. She did not. Obviously she was at the mercy of his overwhelming charms and inherent evil boyness. And apparently the homophobic teacher he had failed to make note of these transgressions. But, I digress.) That he considers her to be his girlfriend is not an earth shattering revelation.

Last night he asked, in almost an offhand sort of way, if he could take her to a movie today. Within a second, Alex and Rachel were all over that.

Alex: Dude, you're twelve.
Kevin: So?
Rachel: That's a date. You don't get to date until you're fourteen.
Kevin: But I've gone to movies with her lots!
Alex: Sucks, man, but if she's your girlfriend, Dad will make you wait two more years.

Kevin looked deflated. He has gone to movies with Elizabeth dozens of times, and no one thought twice about it, not until he slapped a label on their relationship. He was also not going to challenge me on it; he knows the rules, and he's not about to back down and say she's not his girlfriend.

Char piped up then. "It's not a date if your mom and dad go, too. What movie are we seeing?"

Kevin lit up; inwardly I groaned. The groaning doubled when he informed us that Elizabeth wants to see some movie about African Cats.

(I don't want to go, but I will. I don't pretend that I have a choice.)

Then Alex brightened. Stephanie wants to see that, too. Would it be all right to tag along?

Sure, the more the merrier, I guess.

Then Rachel decided this was a good way to test New Guy Rob. She texted him and asked if he wanted to go with us.

So in half an hour I start picking kids up and we're all heading for documentary hell, all so Kevin can not have a date.

You know I'll wind up paying for all the tickets, popcorn, candy, and soda. And then dinner after, because all those kids are hollow and will still be hungry.

I'm going to lose the battle of the dating age sooner rather than later, aren't I? Because I see Kevin and Elizabeth together at least until high school, and I'm not spending $300 every time they want to see a movie together.

My birthday, so far:

The kids are getting dressed for school; Char comes into the kitchen where I am begging the coffee maker to hurry up already.

Char: I think we need to make Kevin a doctor's appointment.
Me: For?
Char: I think he has allergies.
Me: I haven't heard him sneezing or coughing. He doesn't sound congested or anything.
Char: No, but he's gone through an entire box of Kleenex in the last week.
Me: (blink blink blink)
Char: What?
Me: He doesn't need to see a doctor.
Char: But--
Me: He's fine.
Char: A entire box, Ian.
Me: Only thing wrong with him is that he's twelve.

At this point, the offender wanders into the kitchen. Char looks at him, sighs hard, and rushes out.

Kevin: What? What'd I do?
Me: Empty your trash can more often, kid.

Funny thing is, he knew exactly what I was talking about, and wasn't the least bit flustered by it. He just laughed at his mother, and promised he'd be less conspicuous.

The little kid years are officially over.

50!

Someone is fifty years old today. We celebrated with the kids yesterday, mostly because it was Thad's first birthday and Ian wanted the focus on him, but he couldn't stop very single person who walked through the door from looking at him and saying "FIFTY!" as if it was amazing that anyone could possibly live that long. Even my dad, who is only 9 years older than Ian, had to poke the bear every now and then with a sarcastic "FIFTY!"

Tonight, Ian and I are going to celebrate his half century together, alone, which is the only thing I could get him to admit that he wants. He was pretty insistent that he didn't want any toys (unlike last year, when he turned into an 8 year old) or even anything practical. He just wants to go out and do something, which means dinner at the only restaurant that exists in his little world, and then going to my dad's bar to shoot pool (and drink for free since it is his birthday. Oh yeah, he'll take a gift from my dad.)

I really wanted to have a major blowout since it's a major birthday, but I suppose I'll let him have his way.

He might as well, because his physical is due soon, and you know what medical adventure the doctor is going to want this year :)

Happy birthday, sweetheart. I love you, and I can't wait to see the look on your face the day you find out what the "prep" involves!

And I have to survive this THREE times?

Rachel and Kevin were off for Spring Break this week, and instead of the tropical paradise vacation they hoped for, they got Dad waking them up earlier than they would have liked everyday to help him with things like straightening up the garage, washing and waxing cars, pulling weeds, and powerwashing the outside of the house (Kevin wanted to do the inside; it took him a minute or two to grasp why that was a bad idea.) Ian was nice enough to them to not pile the work on too high; he was getting them up at 9 a.m., and as long as they agreed to help without whining, their workday ended at lunchtime, and we took them out for lunch after picking Alex up.

Now, Alex has gotten used to Dad letting him drive everywhere. Ian lets him drive to school in the morning and they take the long way home after his last class lets out. I have not ridden with Alex, because he is 15 and I've reached my horrible car accident limit. Yes, I am terrified at the idea of riding with my son. But yesterday we picked Alex up, Ian got out from behind the wheel and tossed the keys to him, and looked at me like "Don't you dare tell him you're afraid to be with him." Well, I have told him that, but he thinks I'm kidding.

I'm not.

I kept my mouth shut, though, and for Alex's sake I sucked it up, even though Ian left me in the front seat. Alex wasn't bothered one bit by having us all in the car, it was like this was an everyday thing. And as he made his way through traffic, I started to relax, because he seems to know what he's doing, smooth acceleration and smooth braking. But then Ian told him to take the freeway, and I nearly lost it. I actually blurted out "Oh my God, no!" but instead of being offended, Alex laughed and took it as a challenge.

He got onto the freeway at speed, which I know is how you're supposed to do it but my God, we were going 65 mph with a 15 year old at the wheel! And then he changed lanes repeatedly, keeping up with traffic and overtaking the slowpokes, and I had to hold onto my seatbelt with both hands and just pray I didn't wet myself. I really did not want to upset him, but three or four times I begged him to slow down before he got pulled over or accidentally clipped someone else, but he's such a shit that he just laughed and kept going.

Pretty soon, I realized Kevin and Rachel were both laughing, too.

Fifteen minutes later he took the exit close to the pizza place and slowed down, and I know I was white as a ghost, which is saying something given my complexion. They were all still very amused, but I had to take a moment to tell Alex to NEVER speed like that, especially with his brother and sister in the car. And he chuckled again! Then turned around and went inside with them.

Ian wisely waited for me, but as I snatched my purse up he sighed and told me, "He never went over sixty five. In fact, since traffic was light, he spent a lot of it at under sixty. Trust me, he can go the speed limit and he does it very well."

Oh, I know he was doing at least eighty.

And my heart rate hasn't come down yet.

AND I think I wet myself a little.

But he is a good driver. And I might let him take me to the store tomorrow.

Dear Person Who Wants So Badly To Know Where I Live,

I get why you want to know; you want to know because I won't tell you. It's perplexing; normally you engage someone in conversation online, ask where they live and what they do, and they answer. A simple, common exchange, information filed away for a later date that changes nothing. You spoke to them freely before you asked, so knowing is not the dynamic element in that relationship. If someone lives close to you, you might, after a time, meet in person, have coffee or lunch, and consider developing an IRL friendship. Those with whom you develop an online relationship that live miles away, you keep it online. Perhaps phone calls. But the expectations of meeting face to face are low, because they are unrealistic.

For someone to refuse to share that information smacks of something being not quite right. Why wouldn't someone be willing to say where they live? What they do? Share photos of themselves and their kids and spouse?

I am more of the framework of mind that wonders why people share those things so easily. Many people I know share so freely that even without an exact address, I know so much about them that I could find that address in less than five minutes. Because I've seen pictures of their house/car/spouse/kids, I could theoretically take that information and use it to wreak havoc of levels most people don't want to think about. Because I know their kids' names, birthdays, nicknames, hair color, eye color--everything--were I that sort of person, the heartache I could render would be formidable.

I am not that person. I also choose to not invite that sort of person into my life, online or otherwise.

I don't refuse to share that information because I'm an asshole; I don't refuse to share it because I have something to hide. I refuse to share it because I know how easily it is to be tracked down and hurt, and because I have a wife and kids to whom my first priorities lie, I have to not care if it upsets other people.

Twenty three years ago, before the Internet became this huge thing, before the routine sharing of photos online, before texting and instant messaging and online communities where people could seek out others with similar interests and where hard and fast friendships developed, I walked into my house near Washington D.C.; my then-wife Kathy was seated in a chair in the center of the living room, sobbing wildly, and before I could get three steps into the room to find out what was wrong and console her, I was shot four times.

I still hear every one of those gunshots. The physical scars have faded, and I was fortunate in that the weapon used against me was small caliber, but I sometimes still hear those shots. I know Kathy never got over it, and she spent the rest of our marriage terrified.

It happened because I was a little bit careless on the job one time, allowed just a small tidbit of information about myself to slip loose, and someone with whom I had, to put it nicely, a difficult time with used that information to track me down.

Then it was far less easy to find someone; today it is so easy that what probably took that guy weeks of effort would take a few minutes now.

So no, I won't tell you where I live. For that same reason, I don't plaster pictures of my kids all over the place. For that reason, I went a few degrees of ballistic when Char did. All I want is to protect my family from the choices I made when I was only 22 years old.

That doesn't mean I value less the relationships I've developed online; the fact that anyone can tolerate my paranoia and remain friends with me surprises me, and those are the people I find myself able to engage with. It means a lot to me.

That I don't tell you where I live doesn't mean I don't trust you. It only means that above all, I want to protect my family.

The person online I trust the most--no, she doesn't know exactly where I live. She doesn't have my address. She knows how to get in contact, and she knows the hoops that must be jumped through in order to do something as simple as sending a birthday card, but no, she doesn't have my address.

If someone I have known for over 35 years doesn't have it and is not offended, I would hope that more people get that it's not personal.

If that's not enough, for years my own parents didn't know where I lived; it wasn't until they moved to live with us that they knew.

It's really not personal.

I'm not hiding anything other than the things that would make it easiest to find me.

I am just protective, and to be honest, a little afraid. Because these days, someone hell bent on hurting me would probably not bother trying to hurt me. If you have kids, take a long hard look at them. Wouldn't you do anything and everything to protect them? Even if it made other people point and laugh, and judge your odd paranoiac habits?

I would hope that you would.

How you know you've done something right

Overheard, the oldest boy talking to the youngest, who is being slammed by the beginnings of puberty:

Just treat girls the way you want guys to treat your sister. If you do anything else, you're a dick.

He gets it. Hell yes, I'm proud of him.

We're changing his name to Johnny

My brother is happy. I hadn't realized it until lately, but he was never happy before. Even as a kid, I don't think he was entirely happy. Don't get me wrong; there are things that have always brought joy into his life, like his kids, but real happiness has been just out of his reach.

He had all the markers of adult happiness: he had a good job, a house, terrific kids, and friends. From the outside, he probably did look happy. When he was sober, I probably assumed he was happy, too. But I didn't realize how unhappy he'd been until I saw the switch flip in February, and watched him soak up a massive tidal wave of happiness.

Her name is Francis, "but please, call me Frankie."

She's a friend of TK's ex, Becky (yes, that Becky, Char's former best friend) and they met when Frankie showed up at TK's in early February to pick up the kids. He says it was instant attraction and I don't doubt it on his end, but there must have been something because she kept finding reasons to show up at their place.

When Char and I met her, we liked her almost instantly, but we both harbored some doubts.

She knows what he's been up against, though. He's been honest with her about his addictions and why he's here instead of living near his kids. He's been upfront about his past relationships and she hasn't run screaming. He's also been clear about the fact that he could disappear in the middle of the night without any notice if he feels like he's about to slip and asks me to slap his ass back into rehab.

She's fine with it. She doesn't drink around him. She doesn't hold his past against him. And if he runs off to rehab again, she just wants one of us to let her know. She's also determined to help him get healthier than he's been; while he's done very well in his fight against alcohol and drug cravings, he hasn't done as well where food and fitness are concerned. He was getting too thin, but in the last couple of months she's cooked for him, convinced him that he'll have a much easier time keeping up with him if he actually eats. She's getting him to take long walks--I tried getting him into the gym but all he ever really did there was flirt with some of the women there. She's getting him to care more about himself.

He did care enough about himself to ask for help in the first place, but Frankie has tapped into something deeper, and he's just incredibly happy right now.

We had dinner with them last night, and when she and Char wandered off to the ladies room, I felt myself channeling my dad and in my best imitation of him, leaned across the table and told him, Jaysus, boy, don't you fock this up.

He doesn't want to, but I don't think he realizes that Char and I really don't want him to.

Frankie's a keeper. For no other reason than she makes him happy.

But I need them to have bedtimes!

Several weeks before his birthday, we asked Kevin what he wanted most. And his answer--a later bedtime. That seems like a reasonable request, but he's been problematic where bedtime is concerned since he was a toddler. He has to be reminded and pushed toward the bathroom, re-reminded that he needs to shower, re-re-reminded that lights out at 9:30 does not mean turning the light off but then turning a radio on and singing with it for the next hour.

We decided to give it a try, though. Weekends he's allowed to stay up later anyway, so we offered him the chance to judge for himself how late he thought he could stay up and still be able to drag himself out of bed in the morning.

Friday night he stayed up until 12:30 and was not happy when he and to get up at 8 to get to his dance class on time. Last night he went to bed at 11, and was still not happy when I got him up at 8 this morning for the hell of it.

We planned on telling him this afternoon that he needed to be in bed no later than 10 on school nights, and even then we might change that if he has issues getting up and ready for school.

But then I overheard him talking to Alex, who offered brotherly advice:

Don't be stupid about it. Just because they didn't give you a bedtime doesn't mean you don't have one. Rachel can stay up all night if she wants but she always goes to bed by ten thirty. I go around eleven thirty. Give ten o'clock a try for a week, and if you can still get up, try ten thirty. Just don't be stupid.

We could tell him the same thing over and over and he wouldn't listen; Alex says it once, and I know he'll listen.

So tonight we're just going to wait and see what he does. It would be very nice to not have the nightly go-to-bed struggle.

On the other hand, it's just another step towards all the kids being grown up, and I'm nowhere near ready for that. Next year he'll be a teenager, and I think he's going to be a fun teenager, but I can't help but dwell on the idea that Alex is heading towards being gone sooner instead of later, and Rachel won't be too far behind him.

You really don't get enough time to raise your kids, do you?

12...

Kevin is definitely our sensitive kid; when the earthquake hit Japan yesterday, we turned the TV off and worked at keeping him away from the news. We didn't want to close him off from what was happening, but we didn't want him to see it as it unfolded, and as it turns out, that was probably a good thing.

If we'd let him watch and he had seen footage of the tsunami as it rolled into Japan, and the live coverage of people and cars speeding down roads trying to save their own lives as that water rushed in, he would have been one wrecked kid today.

He can handle knowing about it; he can't handle seeing it, not as it happens

Still, this morning Alex was up earlier than Kevin and woke me up; he'd been watching the news, following events as they unfolded, curious about how Hawaii and the western U.S. was going to hold up to what was headed for them. In watching it all he realized that Kevin was going to go to school and likely they would watch some coverage in class, and thought we might want to prepare him for what he would see.

Horribly, I admit, my first thought was that this was a shitty start to his 12th birthday.

Alex woke him up early and while he was still trying to shake the sleep away, we tried to explain to him what had been happening all night, the enormity of the damage in Japan, the possibilities of what it also might mean for Hawaii and the west coast, and then let him decide if he wanted to see it at home before going to school.

He wanted to see it.

While we sat there watching video from yesterday and last night, Alex offered him explanations of how tsunamis function, why boats are safer at sea than docked, and some of the things that can happen when the water reaches land.

It was informative to me, as well.

Kevin watched with interest, but not agony, which was what we worried about. He asked questions, gave a few of his own observations, but he absorbed it better than I expected. When he left to catch the bus, we were satisfied that if he had to watch video of the quake and tsunami at school he wouldn't be too shaken by it.

That didn't keep us from worrying while he was in school.

He got home a little while ago, and they did discuss it at school but they weren't shown anything too graphic. And he said that what he chewed on the most all day long wasn't the people, though he does feel bad for them, but the animals. He wondered how many people had to run and leave their pets behind. He was bothered by the idea of so many stray cats and dogs being swept up. Even the lost livestock bothered him.

Still, he was all right, and what he took from it was that he wants us to be prepared for something awful. Where, he wanted to know, are the cat carriers? How fast can we get to them? If we had to grab and go, would we be able to get all the cats and the dog?

I didn't know. I wasn't going to tell him we could, because in a true emergency, we're grabbing the kids. If we can get the pets, we'll get them.

What he wants now is to have carriers in every closet, and near the front door. I don't know that we'll do that, because there are a hell of a lot of closets in this house, but we can make sure there are enough in the front closet, easy to get to. And we can place some in the closets we know the cats like to hide in.

This is how he turned 12, spending the day contemplating what to do in an emergency, and his thoughts were less with himself than they were with others.

He wants to go out to dinner for his birthday, but before we go he just wants to go outside and take Tank for a walk, then play a few video games with Alex and Rachel. Last year he was learning to snowboard; this year he just wants to hang.

Next year he turns 13, and I'm not sure either of us likes the idea of 3 teenagers in the house. Damn.

The wheels on the car go round and round

March 2nd was Alex's Magic Day--the day he was old enough to take the test to get his learner's permit. I've tortured him for weeks with it, never saying whether we were going to allow him to take the test or not. He asked, but the answer was always, "We'll see." There was no needed explanation for "we'll see" because he knows well what it means. We'll see about grades, behavior, cooperation, attitude, and how good the bribes are.

We had no intention of not allowing him to take the test, but I also know better than to promise anything. If he'd shown up with another tattoo, there would be no permit. Slacked off on his share of the kids' chores, no permit. There were a lot of things that could get in between him and that trip to the DMV, and I wasn't saying yes or no until the evening of March 1st. There was only one incident lately that had "no" on the tip of my tongue, one that only would have delayed it a day or two, when he exploded at Kevin for being in his room. Kids yell at each other, sure, but that doesn't mean we allow it as a matter of course. But, when Char pointed out that Alex had asked him nicely to stay out of his room because he had math homework papers all over the place and he really didn't want anything scattered, but Kevin went in anyway and moved a critical paper, I could hardly hold that against him.

Wednesday morning before his first class I took him to take the test; we waited an hour before he could take it, it only took him 10 minutes to take the actual test, and it was another 30 minutes of bullshit waiting until he had her permit in hand.

And then I was a total dick and would not let him drive to school.

After I picked him up in the afternoon I took him to the old dojang and let him drive around the parking lot at about 15 mph, and he practiced braking, backing up, and parking, and it was enough to make him happy. I'll take him back tomorrow, but I'm not letting him onto a street until he's started driver's ed, which begins Monday.

Char refuses to be the parent responsible for teaching him to drive. She doesn't want to be in the car until I'm sure he's a good driver; it's less a fear of what might go wrong and that he's going to wreck than it is a fear that she's going to shriek and scare him at the wrong moment. This is fine; my mother wouldn't ride with me for a long time, either. I was taught to drive by my dad, who wasn't driving at all at the time.

I am resigned to not driving for the next six months, at least when it's just the two of us in the car. I don't think he'll be practicing with the other kids in the car yet.

I have no real worries about how good a driver he'll be. I worry about the fact that when he gets his license he'll have a 16 year old's brain in his head, and with that comes questionable judgment. I worry that he'll be 16, with his own car, a girlfriend, and will no longer be chauffeured around on dates. That combined with the 16 year old brain, it gives me pause.

For now, though, I'm going to try to enjoy the process of watching him grow a little. I haven't forgotten what a big deal getting my license was and how it felt the first time I took the car out on my own. I never would have guessed that my parents were probably nervous wrecks about it, and I hope he doesn't realize it, either.