Ian is sick, the kind of sick that has him flat on his back and shivering because he can't get warm enough even though he's been running a temperature. The high was 103o, which was enough to get me to drag him to the doctor. Normally forcing him to see a doctor would have been accompanied by a lot of whining, but he felt so bad he didn't even have the energy for that. Diagnosis: the flu.
He was less upset with the idea that he had the flu than he was that he got sick right before Rachel's birthday, and was more worried about ruining it for her than he was worried about getting worse. My dad and his brother picked up the slack and took her and her brothers out to dinner, and she got to do everything else that had been planned, but it was without her dad or me there, and she seemed just fine about that. As long as Ian makes it up to her--she's using it as a way to get some quality Daddy time--she's fine. And she's old enough to understand.
Then tonight rolled around. He was going to drive her on her first date, and as much as he hates the idea that she's even thinking of boys and going places with them, he wanted to be the one to take her. Alex agreed to go (because Rachel's date, Cheese (really, his nickname is Cheese) was not going to be allowed to go without Alex as chaperon) but Alex doesn't drive, and Ian was pretty firm on the rule being that until we get to know Cheese and his parents better, if they go out, he's driving them.
He wasn't going to now tell her she had to delay her first date. So he called my dad, who agreed to stand in for him. Cheese, Rachel said, wasn't happy. Evidently Cheese is terrified of my dad. And he should be; my dad is a pretty formidable presence. Rachel's obviously not afraid of Grandpa, but she wasn't happy, either, because Grandpa is not the drop-off-and-leave kind of chaperon. He fully intended to go into the theater with them, even though Alex and Stephanie were going to be there.
Still, they went. And Craig picked Kevin up to take him to another movie, so that Kevin would have something fun to do this weekend, too. And sick or not, Ian and I were looking forward to a quiet evening just lounging in bed watching TV. He's had an appetite today, and I was going to order a pizza for him, well aware than he'd probably just nibble at it, but after the kids all left he asked for grilled cheese instead, ate half, and while I tried to snuggle up to him and watch TV, he fell asleep.
Slowly but surely he's starting to feel better, but I think he's still got several more days of staying in bed and away from the kids.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
4 AM
Ian woke me at around four o'clock this morning; he snuggled just a little too close, held on a little too tight, and the result was waking me up. My first thought was "no way in hell, mister, not right now" but other than trying to practically staple himself to me he wasn't trying anything. So, fine, I rolled onto my side and was going to toss a leg over his and get a little closer, when I realized his eyes were open and he looked terribly upset.
"I have to tell you something."
"All right."
"Because it's been really bothering me and I should have told you a long time ago."
"Okay."
"Last month I ran into a woman I used to work with, and holy shit, I am really sorry."
Now my heart is pounding because he is seriously upset and I have no idea what he's about to spill. I wanted to pull away but I couldn't make myself move and he wasn't letting go.
"At the mall. And I bought her lunch."
"Lunch."
"Pizza."
"That's it? You ran into an old friend and bought her lunch?"
"No. There's more."
"You have exactly five seconds to spill it."
"She helped me pick out the cover for your iPad. I am really sorry."
Color me confused.
"So you had lunch with someone, and she helped you buy a gift for me?"
"I'm really, really sorry."
"And what's the problem?"
"I ate an entire pizza."
"Well, that's gross but what are you sorry about?"
"I didn't save you any."
No, I didn't hit him, but I kind of wanted to.
"Who'd you have lunch with?"
"Marjorie."
"Marjorie. Ian, she's like eighty years old!"
"Yeah, but she only had one slice. And she said you would hate the cover with the flowers on it and said you'd like the red one better. I'm sorry."
"Well, she was right, I think."
"It was pepperoni."
"Oh my God."
"I'm sorry."
I had to forgive him three or four times before he stopped apologizing, and now he swears he has no memory of this conversation. And neither of us knows what he was really apologizing for, eating an entire pizza or relying on someone else to help him shop.
I'm betting on the pizza because that really is just so gross.
"I have to tell you something."
"All right."
"Because it's been really bothering me and I should have told you a long time ago."
"Okay."
"Last month I ran into a woman I used to work with, and holy shit, I am really sorry."
Now my heart is pounding because he is seriously upset and I have no idea what he's about to spill. I wanted to pull away but I couldn't make myself move and he wasn't letting go.
"At the mall. And I bought her lunch."
"Lunch."
"Pizza."
"That's it? You ran into an old friend and bought her lunch?"
"No. There's more."
"You have exactly five seconds to spill it."
"She helped me pick out the cover for your iPad. I am really sorry."
Color me confused.
"So you had lunch with someone, and she helped you buy a gift for me?"
"I'm really, really sorry."
"And what's the problem?"
"I ate an entire pizza."
"Well, that's gross but what are you sorry about?"
"I didn't save you any."
No, I didn't hit him, but I kind of wanted to.
"Who'd you have lunch with?"
"Marjorie."
"Marjorie. Ian, she's like eighty years old!"
"Yeah, but she only had one slice. And she said you would hate the cover with the flowers on it and said you'd like the red one better. I'm sorry."
"Well, she was right, I think."
"It was pepperoni."
"Oh my God."
"I'm sorry."
I had to forgive him three or four times before he stopped apologizing, and now he swears he has no memory of this conversation. And neither of us knows what he was really apologizing for, eating an entire pizza or relying on someone else to help him shop.
I'm betting on the pizza because that really is just so gross.
Tick tick tick
In four days, Rachel turns 14. I've always felt like 13 was all about practicing for being a teenager, but 14 is the magic bullet. On the 25th she'll be a teenager, and it scares the hell out of me.
People keep telling me that little boys get the crap out of their systems early and girls save it up for adolescence; if that's true, then the next 5-6 years will be sheer hell. Rach was a handful when she was little; she was a tiny tornado that left us drained every night, wondering how we were ever going to get through the next day. If her teen years hold more drama, I can probably look forward to heart attack #2.
In fact, I damn near had it tonight, when she not-so-casually reminded me that we let Alex start dating at 14, and that Cheese wants to take her to a movie next Friday. She was not happy with the grilling that ensued: what movie, what time, where, who else will be there, what are you doing before and after, and how are you getting there?
You didn't ask Alex ANY of that!
No, because Alex volunteered the information, and I was the way he and Stephanie were getting there.
In fact, I told her, I will be the way she gets to and from this date. It was good enough for her brother, it's good enough for her. If you don't like it, you don't have to go.
There was a flurry of texting: he wants to take her to see The Green Hornet, at the mall, afterward he planned on going to the food court.
Anyone else going?
This is where she got pissed. He wants to know if Alex can go. Because if Alex isn't there, his mom says he can't go. She thinks we need a chaperon.
I assured her that if Alex couldn't or wouldn't, I would make sure she has a chaperon.
She had to let that sink in for a moment. Oh God no, Dad!
OK, so maybe the whole becoming a teenager thing will amuse me once in a while. But you can be damn sure that if Alex doesn't go, I will.
People keep telling me that little boys get the crap out of their systems early and girls save it up for adolescence; if that's true, then the next 5-6 years will be sheer hell. Rach was a handful when she was little; she was a tiny tornado that left us drained every night, wondering how we were ever going to get through the next day. If her teen years hold more drama, I can probably look forward to heart attack #2.
In fact, I damn near had it tonight, when she not-so-casually reminded me that we let Alex start dating at 14, and that Cheese wants to take her to a movie next Friday. She was not happy with the grilling that ensued: what movie, what time, where, who else will be there, what are you doing before and after, and how are you getting there?
You didn't ask Alex ANY of that!
No, because Alex volunteered the information, and I was the way he and Stephanie were getting there.
In fact, I told her, I will be the way she gets to and from this date. It was good enough for her brother, it's good enough for her. If you don't like it, you don't have to go.
There was a flurry of texting: he wants to take her to see The Green Hornet, at the mall, afterward he planned on going to the food court.
Anyone else going?
This is where she got pissed. He wants to know if Alex can go. Because if Alex isn't there, his mom says he can't go. She thinks we need a chaperon.
I assured her that if Alex couldn't or wouldn't, I would make sure she has a chaperon.
She had to let that sink in for a moment. Oh God no, Dad!
OK, so maybe the whole becoming a teenager thing will amuse me once in a while. But you can be damn sure that if Alex doesn't go, I will.
Monday, January 17, 2011
I'd like to run away now
I swear, every single one of the kids has a major case of PMS today, and I'm ready for bedtime, which is going to come very, very early if they don't just stop already.
No, not them, I'm going to crawl in bed right after dinner and pretend I didn't once want 10 of the little shits.
No, not them, I'm going to crawl in bed right after dinner and pretend I didn't once want 10 of the little shits.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Tracks of our tears
When Alex was three years old, I wrote an article for Martial Artists Wired, the title of which I forget but the content I do not. It revolved around an epiphany of sorts I experienced while two young boys in the dojang were sparring. They were both under ten years old; one was a couple of years younger than the other, and the younger of the two connected with the other’s nose with a solid punch. They both stopped—face contact among children has always been against our sparring rules—but it wasn’t an accidental infraction of the rules that stopped them, it was what may or may not come next.
The younger boy burst into tears; the older boy sucked it up.
Every male in the room had the same reaction: a cringe, a gritting of the teeth, and a pointed not-looking at the boy who was crying. It was a message every boy over ten years old in that room knew: don’t cry. Whatever you do, you don’t cry, even when it hurts like hell. He knew it already; he steeled himself against the pain, and forced himself to be ready to continue fighting.
The younger boy, Char pulled off the floor to console. He was upset and distraught over hurting someone else, and he was still young enough that the tears came easily.
I watched all of this happen, and was instantly both fascinated and ashamed. I left my wife to console a crying child, and I fully accepted that the older boy would not/should not cry. At his age, he had already adopted the mask of masculinity, and would not cry in front of his peers no matter what. I was ashamed because I not only understood it, I did not disagree with it.
At least, I didn’t disagree with it until the weight of it unfolded in front of me. I had a three year old son who was quite open with his feelings. He cried when he was hurt, he cried if someone else was hurt. Any time his baby sister was hurt, he cried. His tears came easily and naturally, and at the time I appreciated his sensitivity. When I realized my complicity in how those boys I was teaching were hardening themselves, I wanted to do better for my son.
Never did I want my kids to hear me say the words big boys don’t cry. At the same time, it wasn’t as easy as I supposed to let my sons know that having emotions is not a thing to be ashamed of; the few times in their lives I have cried they were either too young to have made note, or the situation—when my father died—was one in which anyone would cry. I didn’t hide it from them, but they also never really saw it beyond that one time.
In the aftermath of Char’s accident, those first hours when I really didn’t know if she would live or die, my son came straight out and reminded me it was all right to cry. I was on the edge of tears all the time, yet it took permission from a 13 year old to push me over the edge. So clearly, my kids were not learning through my example. I tend to hold as tightly as the next guy, and I did wonder from the time to time if I had failed miserably, because my oldest son had lost the easiness with his feelings over the years.
He is sensitive and caring, but he sucks it up. Like every man out there, he sucks it up.
This afternoon I took him to purchase textbooks for the upcoming semester, and on the way home an SUV passed us; the rear passenger window was open and their dog was riding happily with his head hanging out the window, tongue flapping in the breeze, and it made us both laugh.
It was a beautiful Golden Retriever, and after a moment of amusement, Alex leaned forward with his head on his knees, and started crying harder than I’ve seen him cry since he was four or five years old.
He was reminded too vividly of Stoner, and misses him desperately. He’s been gone just a little less than a year, and while Alex cried when Stoner died, it was only a few tears that he couldn’t hold back, and as soon as he could, he stopped. He gritted his teeth against the sorrow, and swallowed it whole.
We had Stoner cremated, and I assumed that when Spring rolled around, Alex would be ready to bury his ashes, but the urn has been on a shelf in Alex’s room since then. He hasn’t been ready; he still isn’t ready, and today was testament to how tightly he still holds onto that dog who was truly his best friend.
I was upset and sad when Stoner died, but I’d lived a life without him in it, and I knew that sooner or later that upset would pass and the goofy things Stoner used to do would do nothing but make me smile. I understood that in canine terms he was an old, old man and had lived long and had been happy. Alex never saw me cry when Stoner died because I just didn’t. Whether he took that as meaning he should not, I don’t know, but today he was wrecked with grief, and I had to pull the car over to give him some time.
I may not have cried for Stoner, but I can certainly cry for my son and his pain. Because, really, there is very little in life that can pull your heart apart like seeing your child in agony, no matter how tall he gets or how mature he seems.
He has to understand, real men do cry, even if it’s at the side of the road, even if it’s for no other reason than one of his reasons for living is hurting so, so much.
The younger boy burst into tears; the older boy sucked it up.
Every male in the room had the same reaction: a cringe, a gritting of the teeth, and a pointed not-looking at the boy who was crying. It was a message every boy over ten years old in that room knew: don’t cry. Whatever you do, you don’t cry, even when it hurts like hell. He knew it already; he steeled himself against the pain, and forced himself to be ready to continue fighting.
The younger boy, Char pulled off the floor to console. He was upset and distraught over hurting someone else, and he was still young enough that the tears came easily.
I watched all of this happen, and was instantly both fascinated and ashamed. I left my wife to console a crying child, and I fully accepted that the older boy would not/should not cry. At his age, he had already adopted the mask of masculinity, and would not cry in front of his peers no matter what. I was ashamed because I not only understood it, I did not disagree with it.
At least, I didn’t disagree with it until the weight of it unfolded in front of me. I had a three year old son who was quite open with his feelings. He cried when he was hurt, he cried if someone else was hurt. Any time his baby sister was hurt, he cried. His tears came easily and naturally, and at the time I appreciated his sensitivity. When I realized my complicity in how those boys I was teaching were hardening themselves, I wanted to do better for my son.
Never did I want my kids to hear me say the words big boys don’t cry. At the same time, it wasn’t as easy as I supposed to let my sons know that having emotions is not a thing to be ashamed of; the few times in their lives I have cried they were either too young to have made note, or the situation—when my father died—was one in which anyone would cry. I didn’t hide it from them, but they also never really saw it beyond that one time.
In the aftermath of Char’s accident, those first hours when I really didn’t know if she would live or die, my son came straight out and reminded me it was all right to cry. I was on the edge of tears all the time, yet it took permission from a 13 year old to push me over the edge. So clearly, my kids were not learning through my example. I tend to hold as tightly as the next guy, and I did wonder from the time to time if I had failed miserably, because my oldest son had lost the easiness with his feelings over the years.
He is sensitive and caring, but he sucks it up. Like every man out there, he sucks it up.
This afternoon I took him to purchase textbooks for the upcoming semester, and on the way home an SUV passed us; the rear passenger window was open and their dog was riding happily with his head hanging out the window, tongue flapping in the breeze, and it made us both laugh.
It was a beautiful Golden Retriever, and after a moment of amusement, Alex leaned forward with his head on his knees, and started crying harder than I’ve seen him cry since he was four or five years old.
He was reminded too vividly of Stoner, and misses him desperately. He’s been gone just a little less than a year, and while Alex cried when Stoner died, it was only a few tears that he couldn’t hold back, and as soon as he could, he stopped. He gritted his teeth against the sorrow, and swallowed it whole.
We had Stoner cremated, and I assumed that when Spring rolled around, Alex would be ready to bury his ashes, but the urn has been on a shelf in Alex’s room since then. He hasn’t been ready; he still isn’t ready, and today was testament to how tightly he still holds onto that dog who was truly his best friend.
I was upset and sad when Stoner died, but I’d lived a life without him in it, and I knew that sooner or later that upset would pass and the goofy things Stoner used to do would do nothing but make me smile. I understood that in canine terms he was an old, old man and had lived long and had been happy. Alex never saw me cry when Stoner died because I just didn’t. Whether he took that as meaning he should not, I don’t know, but today he was wrecked with grief, and I had to pull the car over to give him some time.
I may not have cried for Stoner, but I can certainly cry for my son and his pain. Because, really, there is very little in life that can pull your heart apart like seeing your child in agony, no matter how tall he gets or how mature he seems.
He has to understand, real men do cry, even if it’s at the side of the road, even if it’s for no other reason than one of his reasons for living is hurting so, so much.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Almost wish we'd gotten snowed in
Luckily for Craig, he is not a natural on skis; he is, in fact, awkward and unbalanced, which made my day all the more amusing, since I'm usually on his end of it. He got through the half-day beginner's class and one very slow, pizza-legged run down the mildest of the beginner's slopes, but then called it a day after we stopped to have lunch.
The thing is, he didn't stop because he didn't want to keep trying. He stopped because just before we were all heading back out, a woman who was in the class with him stopped to say hello, they got to talking, and the next thing I know he's waving us off and says he'll "catch up later."
An hour later we went back in to see if he was still there and he was, deep in conversation with her. Char went over to them, draped her arm around his shoulders, kissed him on the cheek, and told him she was taking one more run, and then "we'll head back to the condo." I thought he was going to wet his pants right there, but Mz. SkiBunny thought it was funny, and when we returned later, there they were, still talking.
Char noticed before I did, that the only beverages on the table were ice water and soda, and I think she made specific note of it because though neither of us said it, we were both worried that Mz. SkiBunny would order wine, and Craig isn't there yet. No one drinks around him, because he's still not sure how it will feel to him. With that, she wondered if we should invite Craig's new friend to have dinner with us, but before we could, Craig was saying his goodbyes and pulling us out of there.
It occurred to me that I could get her really drunk, stay stone cold sober, and see what could happen. So he wanted out of there, before he did something stupid. But, he did get her number.
Instead of going to dinner with us, he headed for home; he had a job interview lined up for this afternoon and didn't want to have to rush back this morning. I'd be lying if I said that was a disappointment, because it left Char and I alone in the condo. And that place has one hell of a view; that alone is worth the drive there, whether we wind up skiing or not. When we got up this morning, we had coffee while we sat there and took it in, and realized that the snow could wait. A view like that, without kids whining at us to get up and get out there already, that was worth skipping the skiing for.
I had intended on buying a new pair of skis today. I suppose I can do that next time.
The thing is, he didn't stop because he didn't want to keep trying. He stopped because just before we were all heading back out, a woman who was in the class with him stopped to say hello, they got to talking, and the next thing I know he's waving us off and says he'll "catch up later."
An hour later we went back in to see if he was still there and he was, deep in conversation with her. Char went over to them, draped her arm around his shoulders, kissed him on the cheek, and told him she was taking one more run, and then "we'll head back to the condo." I thought he was going to wet his pants right there, but Mz. SkiBunny thought it was funny, and when we returned later, there they were, still talking.
Char noticed before I did, that the only beverages on the table were ice water and soda, and I think she made specific note of it because though neither of us said it, we were both worried that Mz. SkiBunny would order wine, and Craig isn't there yet. No one drinks around him, because he's still not sure how it will feel to him. With that, she wondered if we should invite Craig's new friend to have dinner with us, but before we could, Craig was saying his goodbyes and pulling us out of there.
It occurred to me that I could get her really drunk, stay stone cold sober, and see what could happen. So he wanted out of there, before he did something stupid. But, he did get her number.
Instead of going to dinner with us, he headed for home; he had a job interview lined up for this afternoon and didn't want to have to rush back this morning. I'd be lying if I said that was a disappointment, because it left Char and I alone in the condo. And that place has one hell of a view; that alone is worth the drive there, whether we wind up skiing or not. When we got up this morning, we had coffee while we sat there and took it in, and realized that the snow could wait. A view like that, without kids whining at us to get up and get out there already, that was worth skipping the skiing for.
I had intended on buying a new pair of skis today. I suppose I can do that next time.
Monday, January 10, 2011
I go boom
While this is not me, this was me on Saturday. I think I spent as much time wiping out as I did actual skiing, and none of it was pretty to watch.
I'm only taking part of the blame, though. My part of it is in renting a pair of skis intended for someone above my level of expertise. The other part lays squarely on whomever walked off with my skis on Saturday morning. I'd set them in the rack, walked over to help Rachel sign into the snowboard class, and when I returned, my skis were gone. I doubt someone took them by mistake, because in that case they would have realized it partway down a run and returned. The consolation is that they were older skis and I was thinking about replacing them, because they've been run about as much as skis should be run. So the thief got a crappy set of skis. That still left me without, so I rented, and I let my ego try a pair I wasn't ready for.
Char could ride those skis without problem, but she's far better at the whole thing than I am. So after several runs in which I made my way down the slope either on my ass or tumbling, I took them back for a tamer pair.
I know I'm getting old because it took an hour in the hot tub and a few stiff drinks to make me feel better Saturday night.
This morning Char talked me into trying the introductory snowboarding class, because the kids are all now really getting into it; yesterday Rachel caught on well enough to brave the beginner slopes with Alex and Kevin, and it was something different to try so I agreed. And I spent the morning looking something like this:
Yes, I went back and rented skis for the afternoon because my ego can only take so much. We're bringing Craig along with us this week when we go back (sans kids) and he better not turn out to be a natural, or I might have to shove a ski pole up his ass.
Renting skis one more time, and buying a new pair once I narrow it down. I hope whomever took my skis enjoys them while they last; they were fairly cheap to begin with, so it's not like they got something worth tossing up on eBay or anything.
 |
| Not me |
I'm only taking part of the blame, though. My part of it is in renting a pair of skis intended for someone above my level of expertise. The other part lays squarely on whomever walked off with my skis on Saturday morning. I'd set them in the rack, walked over to help Rachel sign into the snowboard class, and when I returned, my skis were gone. I doubt someone took them by mistake, because in that case they would have realized it partway down a run and returned. The consolation is that they were older skis and I was thinking about replacing them, because they've been run about as much as skis should be run. So the thief got a crappy set of skis. That still left me without, so I rented, and I let my ego try a pair I wasn't ready for.
Char could ride those skis without problem, but she's far better at the whole thing than I am. So after several runs in which I made my way down the slope either on my ass or tumbling, I took them back for a tamer pair.
I know I'm getting old because it took an hour in the hot tub and a few stiff drinks to make me feel better Saturday night.
This morning Char talked me into trying the introductory snowboarding class, because the kids are all now really getting into it; yesterday Rachel caught on well enough to brave the beginner slopes with Alex and Kevin, and it was something different to try so I agreed. And I spent the morning looking something like this:
 |
| Still not me |
Renting skis one more time, and buying a new pair once I narrow it down. I hope whomever took my skis enjoys them while they last; they were fairly cheap to begin with, so it's not like they got something worth tossing up on eBay or anything.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Hard to argue with him
Alex is a saver; all the kids get an allowance and all are expected to save a certain percentage for their savings accounts (that they cannot touch), an annual charitable donation, and then savings that they can touch, but he's taken saving to a new level.
Between cash birthday and Christmas gifts, his allowance, extra chores, and working for his grandfather, he's saved enough that I regret ever having agreed to pay half of whatever car he intends to buy when he gets his license.
Last night he cornered me in my office; he covets my iPad, and thinks one will be useful for school. He does not expect me to buy it for him, but wanted to take money out of savings for it.
I'm fine with that.
But then, I'd also like to get Rachel one as an early birthday present.
That surprised me but I am not against it; I did tell him to think about it hard, because that was a huge chunk of money and she hasn't expressed an interest in one.
Well, not to you she hasn't.
He had more.
I also want to replace my cell phone. And if I get one, can Kevin have my old one?
Now, he knows we relented on giving him and Rachel cell phones before we wanted to. But he presented fairly well thought out reasoning: Kevin isn't in a private school anymore; he's in a different environment that might be less safe overall. He feels safer, but, you know, Columbine. Phones were helpful there. And he's kind of the odd man out; all of his friends have cell phones now, and he's really missing out. Not to mention, Elizabeth would like to be able to text him and he's tired of Kevin borrowing his phone to text her.
I'll pay the extra that it costs to get his phone number.
Kevin has never asked us for a phone because he knew what the answer would be; I know where Alex is coming from, though, because Kevin borrows everyone's phone to send Elizabeth random messages.
I wouldn't tell him yes or no on that because I had to talk to Char, but she agreed later, as long as Kevin doesn't use it at school, cell phones are a losing battle and it would be nice to be able to call him while he's outside rather than go looking for him.
This morning, Alex was still determined to get his sister her own iPad, so once she and Kevin had left for school we went out and got them; he got everything set up and charged by the time she was home.
She shrieked so loudly when he gave it to her that I'm a little surprised his ears didn't start bleeding.
He also handed over his old cell phone to Kevin and was rewarded with a high five and You're freaking awesome!
No, we didn't make him pay for adding Kevin to the cell phone plan. He was being extremely generous as it was, so we got him a new phone and had his old one set up for Kevin. The one thing I worried about, that Kevin would feel like he was getting yet another hand-me-down, was unfounded. He was thrilled.
It will make for a very quite drive to the condo this weekend. They can all keep themselves occupied and if he's good, I'll let Kevin play with my iPad on the drive.
Between cash birthday and Christmas gifts, his allowance, extra chores, and working for his grandfather, he's saved enough that I regret ever having agreed to pay half of whatever car he intends to buy when he gets his license.
Last night he cornered me in my office; he covets my iPad, and thinks one will be useful for school. He does not expect me to buy it for him, but wanted to take money out of savings for it.
I'm fine with that.
But then, I'd also like to get Rachel one as an early birthday present.
That surprised me but I am not against it; I did tell him to think about it hard, because that was a huge chunk of money and she hasn't expressed an interest in one.
Well, not to you she hasn't.
He had more.
I also want to replace my cell phone. And if I get one, can Kevin have my old one?
Now, he knows we relented on giving him and Rachel cell phones before we wanted to. But he presented fairly well thought out reasoning: Kevin isn't in a private school anymore; he's in a different environment that might be less safe overall. He feels safer, but, you know, Columbine. Phones were helpful there. And he's kind of the odd man out; all of his friends have cell phones now, and he's really missing out. Not to mention, Elizabeth would like to be able to text him and he's tired of Kevin borrowing his phone to text her.
I'll pay the extra that it costs to get his phone number.
Kevin has never asked us for a phone because he knew what the answer would be; I know where Alex is coming from, though, because Kevin borrows everyone's phone to send Elizabeth random messages.
I wouldn't tell him yes or no on that because I had to talk to Char, but she agreed later, as long as Kevin doesn't use it at school, cell phones are a losing battle and it would be nice to be able to call him while he's outside rather than go looking for him.
This morning, Alex was still determined to get his sister her own iPad, so once she and Kevin had left for school we went out and got them; he got everything set up and charged by the time she was home.
She shrieked so loudly when he gave it to her that I'm a little surprised his ears didn't start bleeding.
He also handed over his old cell phone to Kevin and was rewarded with a high five and You're freaking awesome!
No, we didn't make him pay for adding Kevin to the cell phone plan. He was being extremely generous as it was, so we got him a new phone and had his old one set up for Kevin. The one thing I worried about, that Kevin would feel like he was getting yet another hand-me-down, was unfounded. He was thrilled.
It will make for a very quite drive to the condo this weekend. They can all keep themselves occupied and if he's good, I'll let Kevin play with my iPad on the drive.
Friday, January 7, 2011
The subject was snow, actually
Ian, on the phone with his brother: I was hoping for a good six to eight inches.
My eleven year old son: That's what she said.
My eleven year old son: That's what she said.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Son, I am (not) disappoint
I kept most of my textbooks, and while they are now out of date, I thought that because he was on the fence about taking the class with me, Alex would benefit from flipping through my old Psychology of Sex textbook.
He handed it back to me this morning. This is really boring. I thought there would be more about figuring out how women think about the whole thing.
So no, he's not going to take the class. Which means I don't have to, either.
When he told Char his reason for not taking it, she sighed hard and asked If you want to know what a woman is thinking, just ask her.
He was smart enough to not say anything, but when she was out of earshot: Is she serious?
I think she was, son, but for future reference, if you're going to ask the question, have a ton of chocolate on hand, and be prepared to listen for a very long time.
Instead of the psych class, he's taking a computer class. Because, he says, at least computers make sense.
He handed it back to me this morning. This is really boring. I thought there would be more about figuring out how women think about the whole thing.
So no, he's not going to take the class. Which means I don't have to, either.
When he told Char his reason for not taking it, she sighed hard and asked If you want to know what a woman is thinking, just ask her.
He was smart enough to not say anything, but when she was out of earshot: Is she serious?
I think she was, son, but for future reference, if you're going to ask the question, have a ton of chocolate on hand, and be prepared to listen for a very long time.
Instead of the psych class, he's taking a computer class. Because, he says, at least computers make sense.
Act of trust?
I don't know if it was trust or foolishness, but we decided to let Craig spend the night with the kids while we went off to ski. He had a list of rules that pretty much boiled down to not leaving the house unless it's an emergency, don't even think about alcohol, and don't believe the kids if they tell you they're allowed to be on the phone or texting after 10pm. Alex is perfect capable of being in charge of Rachel and Kevin for an evening, but we wanted an adult there overnight; since he has no school right now, Alex could get his sister and brother up and out the door to the bus in time, but still. There needs to be an adult around. Craig wanted to do this, and he's done well enough lately that we agreed to it.
That's not saying we didn't have Alex texting us frequently to let us know how things were going; he understands our reluctance where Craig is concerned. For that matter, so does Craig, and he doesn't take it personally.
At 6pm Char got a text: Grandpa is here, says he just wanted to bring pizza over but I think he's spending the night.
Char called him; he was as polite as he could be, but the gist was Hell, yes, I'm spending the night. He likes my brother, but doesn't quite trust him with his grandkids' lives just yet. I should point out that Craig raised his boys and they turned out just fine, but I was just a little bit grateful that Brad was willing to butt in. It was testament to the fact that while I am proud of how far Craig has come, I'm still not 100% sure he has what it takes to hold onto sobriety. Brad was there, he later said, so that if something did go wrong there would be a witness. Kids do stupid things and break bones; addicts do stupid things and slip up; there needed to be another adult around to tell the tale if either happened so there would be no doubts about the cause.
Will we do it again? Probably. We'd like to take advantage of some kidless time on the slopes, and we have willing adults to stay with the kids. The kids don't mind as long as we're willing to turn around and take them skiing and snowboarding on the weekends.
Next week, however, Brad is staying with the kids and we're taking Craig with us. I'm hoping to get some good audio of him sliding down the hill, because I know he is going to scream like 5 year old girl being kissed by the kindergarten cootie-monger.
That's not saying we didn't have Alex texting us frequently to let us know how things were going; he understands our reluctance where Craig is concerned. For that matter, so does Craig, and he doesn't take it personally.
At 6pm Char got a text: Grandpa is here, says he just wanted to bring pizza over but I think he's spending the night.
Char called him; he was as polite as he could be, but the gist was Hell, yes, I'm spending the night. He likes my brother, but doesn't quite trust him with his grandkids' lives just yet. I should point out that Craig raised his boys and they turned out just fine, but I was just a little bit grateful that Brad was willing to butt in. It was testament to the fact that while I am proud of how far Craig has come, I'm still not 100% sure he has what it takes to hold onto sobriety. Brad was there, he later said, so that if something did go wrong there would be a witness. Kids do stupid things and break bones; addicts do stupid things and slip up; there needed to be another adult around to tell the tale if either happened so there would be no doubts about the cause.
Will we do it again? Probably. We'd like to take advantage of some kidless time on the slopes, and we have willing adults to stay with the kids. The kids don't mind as long as we're willing to turn around and take them skiing and snowboarding on the weekends.
Next week, however, Brad is staying with the kids and we're taking Craig with us. I'm hoping to get some good audio of him sliding down the hill, because I know he is going to scream like 5 year old girl being kissed by the kindergarten cootie-monger.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Well, I think it's funny
Alex tried to register online today for his next semester classes, but was thwarted by the psychology class he hoped to take. He did not, the error message said, meet the age requirement to enroll in said class. We learned this by overhearing him complain to his friend Evan; "It's a fucking psych class. I meet the pre-req. I should be able to take it if I want."
Deny his son an educational experience? Ian turned into Super Dad; he knows most of the faculty in the psych department, and interrupted their conversation to ask who the instructor is. He could make a call and find out if the requirement could be waved.
Alex mumbled his name, obviously not wanting Ian to get involved. As soon as Ian heard the name, he turned around and headed for the phone, chuckling under his breath.
I wanted to know why any course taught there would be closed to a student based on age.
"Because," Ian said before he picked up the phone, "he wants to take a class in the psychology of sex."
I wanted to stop him from making that call; there are plenty of other classes Alex can take, and I see no need for him to get into this particular one right now.
"I took it," Ian informed me. "Relax. It's not like he'll be watching porn. Well, not much, anyway."
I couldn't get to the phone to wrestle it away from him before he had dialed the number.
While he exchanged pleasantries with his former colleague, I went to do laundry and to try to think of something other than my teenaged son fixated on sex and getting a grade for it. And also, to figure out a way to convince him to not take it even if his dad could arrange it. I don't care if Alex understands the particulars of sex, that doesn't mean I want him studying it as well.
As fas as Ian is concerned, any academic endeavor is worth pursuing.
Half an hour later, Ian was off the phone, and had news for Alex. "You can take the class, but you'll have to wait for the first day and enroll as an add-in. He'll hold a slot for you."
There was a but there, and I could hear it.
Alex did, too, because he waited for it.
"You can take it if I agree to chaperone you."
"What? I have to go to class with my Dad?"
It was a class of over a hundred students, Ian explained. He would sit in the very back and they could pretend they didn't know each other. The class wades into some serious territory, and is not appropriate for the average fifteen year old. But, we would allow it under these circumstances; this was the deal, take it or leave it.
I think Ian presumed Alex would leave it. But, he looked at me, looked back at Ian, and then said, "All right. You probably should take it. You might learn something."
Now I think Ian is hoping Alex changes his mind at the last minute, but I know my son; he's going to do whatever he can to make his dad squirm.
And who knows, maybe he really will learn something :)
Deny his son an educational experience? Ian turned into Super Dad; he knows most of the faculty in the psych department, and interrupted their conversation to ask who the instructor is. He could make a call and find out if the requirement could be waved.
Alex mumbled his name, obviously not wanting Ian to get involved. As soon as Ian heard the name, he turned around and headed for the phone, chuckling under his breath.
I wanted to know why any course taught there would be closed to a student based on age.
"Because," Ian said before he picked up the phone, "he wants to take a class in the psychology of sex."
I wanted to stop him from making that call; there are plenty of other classes Alex can take, and I see no need for him to get into this particular one right now.
"I took it," Ian informed me. "Relax. It's not like he'll be watching porn. Well, not much, anyway."
I couldn't get to the phone to wrestle it away from him before he had dialed the number.
While he exchanged pleasantries with his former colleague, I went to do laundry and to try to think of something other than my teenaged son fixated on sex and getting a grade for it. And also, to figure out a way to convince him to not take it even if his dad could arrange it. I don't care if Alex understands the particulars of sex, that doesn't mean I want him studying it as well.
As fas as Ian is concerned, any academic endeavor is worth pursuing.
Half an hour later, Ian was off the phone, and had news for Alex. "You can take the class, but you'll have to wait for the first day and enroll as an add-in. He'll hold a slot for you."
There was a but there, and I could hear it.
Alex did, too, because he waited for it.
"You can take it if I agree to chaperone you."
"What? I have to go to class with my Dad?"
It was a class of over a hundred students, Ian explained. He would sit in the very back and they could pretend they didn't know each other. The class wades into some serious territory, and is not appropriate for the average fifteen year old. But, we would allow it under these circumstances; this was the deal, take it or leave it.
I think Ian presumed Alex would leave it. But, he looked at me, looked back at Ian, and then said, "All right. You probably should take it. You might learn something."
Now I think Ian is hoping Alex changes his mind at the last minute, but I know my son; he's going to do whatever he can to make his dad squirm.
And who knows, maybe he really will learn something :)
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Happy New Year
Much of New Year's Eve was spent on the back patio with Alex; sitting in a lawn chair next to his old man was probably not how he intended to spend the evening, but Stephanie was happily hanging around the kitchen with Char and Rachel. If it really bothered him he hid it well--he understands that for Stephanie an evening baking cookies with Char is a big deal. Her mother has been gone long enough that she doesn't really remember her, something to which Char can relate. I think because of that, Char makes an effort to carve out time for Stephanie; she worries about the effect that will have if Alex and Stephanie ever break up, but for now, she's willing to be that female figure in Steph's life. She remembers how it felt, perhaps even on a scale grander than Stephanie feels it, because the women in Brad's life were transient at best, and none of them were someone she could really look up to.
Alex understands that, and he's never complained when his girlfriend comes over to see him but winds up spending more time with his mother and sister. On New Year's Even, though, I don't think he was exactly happy about it.
I think it did make him feel better, however, that I would have preferred to be somewhere with his mother that didn't include ringing in the new year with our kids.
I also would have preferred to be inside where it wasn't so cold that even my toes wanted to invert, but he was sitting outside and it seemed like a good idea to join him. For some reason, if I can get Alex out there on the patio, where his brother and sister aren't in ear shot, I can get him talking. Usually when we're alone out there I can get him talking about the things going on in his life, whether it's serious or not. Last night he turned the tables on me; he asked about my ex-wife.
Because he was so angry when he first found out about her, and because he shut down somewhat at the mere hint of my having had a life before he was born, when Kathy died we vacillated so long on whether it was something to tell the kids or not that by the time we decided, it was basically a non-issue. They were never going to meet her; they knew that Char spoke to her and liked her, but that relationship was strictly online and sometimes on the phone, and it was never going to cross into let's be friends. She had her life, I had mine, and never the twain shall meet, so to speak.
However, now Uncle Craig is here a lot, and Alex has overheard some of our conversations, and some of the talk has revolved around his feelings for her. Alex was curious; how the hell could Uncle Craig fall for his own brother's wife? To tell him it was complicated would be an understatement, and it's not even a question I have a concrete answer for. I don't think Craig does, either.
But, last night Alex wanted to know about it, and with the little I told him, he latched onto the idea that Craig would have happily started something with Kathy if she's made him think there was a snowball's chance in hell of that ever happening. I couldn't give Alex most of the answers he wanted; most of his questions were clearly about things that are none of his business. I can't and won't speak for my brother, and I can't say for certain what kind of interaction he had with Kathy before she met and married Tucker. But then he asked something that gave me pause. Now that he's sober, do you think he'll try to win her over?
My gut reaction wasn't borne out of grief; I still miss the idea of Kathy being alive and happy with her family, but whatever there was between us was long gone when she died. I appreciate Tucker's consideration in letting me know when she had the stroke and when she died, but what I felt wasn't really grief so much as it was sorrow for all the lost potential. Yet at that moment, I didn't want to tell Alex the truth; it felt like a serious lie of omission. Had we told the kids when it happened, it would have been shrugged off with a Sorry. That sucks. But after all this time, I worried he would be angry.
I worry too much.
He grasped that we got the news about her death while on a ski trip to celebrate Kevin's birthday, and that overall our job was to protect our kids from something that might have detracted from that. "We didn't know her," Alex pointed out. "Yeah, so what good would it have done to tell us?"
What he wanted to know, more than the idea that Craig might have made a move if she was still alive, was about her stepkids. Are her kids all right? Do you know?
I wish I did know, at least enough to tell him they're getting along fine. But I truthfully have no idea.
When we finally headed inside, there was hot chocolate waiting for us--they thought we would need it, given how frigid it was out there--and when midnight rolled around I realized that Alex made sure he was standing right next to Stephanie, and he wasn't the least bit shy about kissing the new year in with her.
That left Kevin and Rachel to high five each other, because there was no way in hell either of them was kissing the other.
I have to admit, I enjoyed the time spent in the cold with my oldest son; the times we'll have together like that will become fewer as time speeds on. But it was, to say the least, a nice way to end 2010, and greeting 2011 with his mother, there's not much better than that.
Alex understands that, and he's never complained when his girlfriend comes over to see him but winds up spending more time with his mother and sister. On New Year's Even, though, I don't think he was exactly happy about it.
I think it did make him feel better, however, that I would have preferred to be somewhere with his mother that didn't include ringing in the new year with our kids.
I also would have preferred to be inside where it wasn't so cold that even my toes wanted to invert, but he was sitting outside and it seemed like a good idea to join him. For some reason, if I can get Alex out there on the patio, where his brother and sister aren't in ear shot, I can get him talking. Usually when we're alone out there I can get him talking about the things going on in his life, whether it's serious or not. Last night he turned the tables on me; he asked about my ex-wife.
Because he was so angry when he first found out about her, and because he shut down somewhat at the mere hint of my having had a life before he was born, when Kathy died we vacillated so long on whether it was something to tell the kids or not that by the time we decided, it was basically a non-issue. They were never going to meet her; they knew that Char spoke to her and liked her, but that relationship was strictly online and sometimes on the phone, and it was never going to cross into let's be friends. She had her life, I had mine, and never the twain shall meet, so to speak.
However, now Uncle Craig is here a lot, and Alex has overheard some of our conversations, and some of the talk has revolved around his feelings for her. Alex was curious; how the hell could Uncle Craig fall for his own brother's wife? To tell him it was complicated would be an understatement, and it's not even a question I have a concrete answer for. I don't think Craig does, either.
But, last night Alex wanted to know about it, and with the little I told him, he latched onto the idea that Craig would have happily started something with Kathy if she's made him think there was a snowball's chance in hell of that ever happening. I couldn't give Alex most of the answers he wanted; most of his questions were clearly about things that are none of his business. I can't and won't speak for my brother, and I can't say for certain what kind of interaction he had with Kathy before she met and married Tucker. But then he asked something that gave me pause. Now that he's sober, do you think he'll try to win her over?
My gut reaction wasn't borne out of grief; I still miss the idea of Kathy being alive and happy with her family, but whatever there was between us was long gone when she died. I appreciate Tucker's consideration in letting me know when she had the stroke and when she died, but what I felt wasn't really grief so much as it was sorrow for all the lost potential. Yet at that moment, I didn't want to tell Alex the truth; it felt like a serious lie of omission. Had we told the kids when it happened, it would have been shrugged off with a Sorry. That sucks. But after all this time, I worried he would be angry.
I worry too much.
He grasped that we got the news about her death while on a ski trip to celebrate Kevin's birthday, and that overall our job was to protect our kids from something that might have detracted from that. "We didn't know her," Alex pointed out. "Yeah, so what good would it have done to tell us?"
What he wanted to know, more than the idea that Craig might have made a move if she was still alive, was about her stepkids. Are her kids all right? Do you know?
I wish I did know, at least enough to tell him they're getting along fine. But I truthfully have no idea.
When we finally headed inside, there was hot chocolate waiting for us--they thought we would need it, given how frigid it was out there--and when midnight rolled around I realized that Alex made sure he was standing right next to Stephanie, and he wasn't the least bit shy about kissing the new year in with her.
That left Kevin and Rachel to high five each other, because there was no way in hell either of them was kissing the other.
I have to admit, I enjoyed the time spent in the cold with my oldest son; the times we'll have together like that will become fewer as time speeds on. But it was, to say the least, a nice way to end 2010, and greeting 2011 with his mother, there's not much better than that.
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