It's 3AM. I am sound asleep. The 'sound' in that sentence is the important part. I haven't slept soundly in days, maybe weeks.
I wake up to my husband thrashing next to me. Next, I hear swearing. Finally, he jumps out of bed and dashes from the room. Now I'm awake, and hearing the noise too. Voices, and thuds, and yelling. I decide that they aren't in the house, whomever they are, because the dog hasn't barked, and when my dog barks, you know it. The whole block knows it. Josh comes back in the room, still swearing. He peers out the window at the cemetery across the street. It is huge, and old, and built on a fairly steep hill, and easy as hell to hide in.
"There's some asshole kids in the cemetery." He says. "Throwing rocks on cars as they go by. I called the cops."
My husband is pissed. Pissed that he was woken up. Pissed that before he woke up, he dreamed that the asshole kids were in our house and yard, and that's why he went tearing from the room. Pissed that his adrenaline is flowing and he is NOT going to get back to sleep.
I decide that now is not the time to ask him to contemplate karma and his own misspent youth. I go back to sleep.
At 6.30am, my alarm goes off. I slap snooze.
At 6.33am, my phone rings. It's my mother, who above all other humans knows not to call me before.. ever. I answer, thinking it must be an emergency.
"Hi!" She says. "Are you awake?"
"I don't know." ... I'm being honest.
"I just wanted you to know that they canceled school at the middle school today." she says. I hear my stepdad in the background, laughing.
"What? Why?" I ask.
"Lightening struck the school." she says.
"Really??" I ask.
"Yes! Really! Go back to sleep! No school!" She tells me, exactly like she did when I was 7 and there was a foot of snow. I hear my Stepdad in the background, laughing.
"YEEESSSS!!!" I cry and perform a sleepy fist pump. I say goodbye, and then send a text to my BFF and to Sandy, who drives Tris to school.
"No school at DMS! Lightening strike!" I say in my text. Then I pass out again.
45 minutes later, I wake up, because the toddler hasn't yet woken me up. I contemplate how very unfair this is as I lay in bed, listening to him on the monitor. He's moving around a bit, playing, safe in his room. Why can't I go back to sleep? I doze.. and then hear:
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! MMMMMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM" in SUPREME anguish from his room.
I fly through the door, expecting carnage, intruders, hobbits, something terrible.
And find my 2.5 year old son, perfectly fine, stark naked, sitting in the now empty third drawer up of his dresser. He is yelling and crying because he has just peed himself. In the dresser drawer. Which is wood, and antique.
(Good thing he got those absorbent, washable clothes out of the drawer first! I mean, really, that would have been *SO MUCH* harder to clean up.)
I install the toddler in the shower with toys and go to clean up his room. As I pass by the door of my teenagers room, I pound on it. No response. I enter, and throw some clothes from the floor and one shoe at him until he sits up. (I can't get to his bed without spelunking, throwing things is easier.)
"WHAT?!" He growls.
"Schools canceled. Lightening strike. Go back to sleep." I say.
I'm watching his eyes, so I see it. The moment when the fact school is canceled overcomes the primal need to yell at me for waking him up. He does a fist pump and yells "YESSSS!" and passes out again.
I clean the baby, and his room, and apply clothes to child and drawers. I settle him in with breakfast in the kitchen, and run back up for my phone.
And find a text, from Sandy, who is the most reliable person I know. It says "Are you sure school is canceled? Can't find it online or on the news!"
I call my mother to double check. She doesn't answer. I look online, and can't find any info anywhere about school being canceled.
It occurs to me that I've dreamed very, very believable things before. That I have acted, on waking, about things I dreamed about. That I am, in fact, notorious for this behavior. And it occurs to me that dreaming that my mother telling me there is no school is pretty simple. I mean, I would dream that.
I think of calling the school, but I have had no coffee yet, and dealing with their phone system is beyond me on a good, caffeinated day. I call my best friend instead. I tell her what happened, and in a panicked voice, that I may well have dreamed it. I apologize if I misinformed her, and if because of my dreams, her daughter, my niece, is out without permission and can't go on the trip to DC with the rest of the 8th grade.
My best friend assures me that I didn't dream it. School is canceled. She doesn't know why it's not listed on the website, but it is true. Lightening took out the fire alarm system, so they can't have kids in the building. Ava can go on the trip. Everything is ok.
I celebrated my lack of insanity by taking my breakfast on the porch, with coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Turtles, Teens, and other oddities of Nature
File this one under: random notes at 1 am.
I love this turtle.
For the past week we've been turtle sitting for friends of ours who are on vacation. The turtles name is Corneilius Talmadge, but we call him Corny.. or, The Turtle. Last year we had him for three weeks.. this year, we've had a sparse week with my little shelled friend. I'm going to be devastated when his owners retrieve him! Each morning he greets me with swimming strokes and chomps on food sticks taken ever so delicately from my hand. By noon he is perched on his rock, head held proudly, surveying his domain. At some point in the day, I will catch him harassing his tank mate, a slow and stately catfish. And at another point, I'll bust out laughing as I walk by his tank and find him propped like an abandoned car, both right fins tucked in, listing on his rim. Corny, when you move back to Maine, remember me? And come visit again soon. I'll miss you.
********************************************************************
Teens are not for the faint of heart. They will scare you, daily. Sometimes with death defying stunts. Sometimes with decisions that are so poor you want to give them food stamps. Sometimes with logic that is terrifying because it is right. The eyes of the un-jaded see lots of things that we have immuned ourselves to.
And sometimes they will scare you because you see in them an honesty, a purity and a determination that you know you have lost. And you will look at them and say "I was like that once, and now I'm not. How did that happen? And if I'm not them? Who am I?" And that, my friends, is the abyss looking in to you.
I'm blessed with two amazing young adults in my life, and as much as they drive me crazy, they keep me sane.
************************************************************************************
Death happens.
This week has been filled with death for me. That sounds awful, right? But it's not, always, awful.
There was a little boy this week, last Saturday, who passed away from too much medicine. His mother, terrified and not in her right mind, left him under a tree, covered by a blanket in Southern Maine. I don't know how he died, or why she gave him the medicine. I don't know if she meant to kill him, or if she thought twice about the dosage, or why she didn't just call the EMTs. He died, and twice that day, I drove by him, not even knowing he was there. Drove by on my way to and from a play date with friends and a total of 6 boys of our own, aged 11 months to 13 years.
Someone I know is dying of cancer. Someone I've known a long, long time. Someone who wrote me letters when I was a scared single mother in Georgia, someone who makes me laugh, and who I can pick up a conversation with after weeks, months, years of not seeing each other. She's younger than me, barely. She doesn't have kids, which is a blessing. There's no rhyme or reason to her death, it just is. I knew it was coming weeks ago, but she didn't want to admit it so I didn't either. I thought about taking the kids to see her, but why? They barely know her, and I doubt she'd want them to see her so sick. I'll go, though. I'll bring the cards she sent me 14 years ago, and pictures from a few years before that. And I'll tell her it's ok. And that I love her, and that I'll miss her. But mostly, that it's ok.
And then tonight, two little deaths.
I talked to my niece for hours today. She is an amazing young woman, and I'm proud to be in her circle of trust. And I miss the days when the biggest decision she had to make was whether or not to ride her scooter while carrying a sword. (she did. She lived through it.) Not a little girl anymore.
On my way to drop off my niece, I stopped to pick up my son. I found him holed up in an office, above the pub I frequent. Tonight was MAGICK night, and he was playing card games until curfew. When I got there he was sitting around a table, kicked back in a chair. Everyone in the room was at least 3 years older than him. As I entered, one player looked at me suspiciously, ready to throw me out. I pointed at my son. "He's mine." I said. "Time to go."
Tris gathered his things. The defensive young man relaxed. "You're taking him home?" he asked.
"Yep." I said.
"Good." said the player. "He kicked my ass, and I want to rethink my strategy before I play him again.
And there's my little boy, hanging out with the big kids. Doing the right thing, being smart, having fun. Not a little boy anymore.
So, gone are the days when these two young people were little kids. When they ran through the grocery store head butting peoples shopping carts, flapping their arms and yelling "Look out! We're Buffalo Chickens!"
And here are the days of their first jobs, and how to spend the money. Of leaving behind friends that are bad for you and carrying through the friends that love you best, no matter how far apart you grow.
When I was the same age the kids are now, I met my friend who is dying for the first time.
A thousand dreams, a million years, several lifetimes ago, and yesterday.
I love this turtle.
For the past week we've been turtle sitting for friends of ours who are on vacation. The turtles name is Corneilius Talmadge, but we call him Corny.. or, The Turtle. Last year we had him for three weeks.. this year, we've had a sparse week with my little shelled friend. I'm going to be devastated when his owners retrieve him! Each morning he greets me with swimming strokes and chomps on food sticks taken ever so delicately from my hand. By noon he is perched on his rock, head held proudly, surveying his domain. At some point in the day, I will catch him harassing his tank mate, a slow and stately catfish. And at another point, I'll bust out laughing as I walk by his tank and find him propped like an abandoned car, both right fins tucked in, listing on his rim. Corny, when you move back to Maine, remember me? And come visit again soon. I'll miss you.
********************************************************************
Teens are not for the faint of heart. They will scare you, daily. Sometimes with death defying stunts. Sometimes with decisions that are so poor you want to give them food stamps. Sometimes with logic that is terrifying because it is right. The eyes of the un-jaded see lots of things that we have immuned ourselves to.
And sometimes they will scare you because you see in them an honesty, a purity and a determination that you know you have lost. And you will look at them and say "I was like that once, and now I'm not. How did that happen? And if I'm not them? Who am I?" And that, my friends, is the abyss looking in to you.
I'm blessed with two amazing young adults in my life, and as much as they drive me crazy, they keep me sane.
************************************************************************************
Death happens.
This week has been filled with death for me. That sounds awful, right? But it's not, always, awful.
There was a little boy this week, last Saturday, who passed away from too much medicine. His mother, terrified and not in her right mind, left him under a tree, covered by a blanket in Southern Maine. I don't know how he died, or why she gave him the medicine. I don't know if she meant to kill him, or if she thought twice about the dosage, or why she didn't just call the EMTs. He died, and twice that day, I drove by him, not even knowing he was there. Drove by on my way to and from a play date with friends and a total of 6 boys of our own, aged 11 months to 13 years.
Someone I know is dying of cancer. Someone I've known a long, long time. Someone who wrote me letters when I was a scared single mother in Georgia, someone who makes me laugh, and who I can pick up a conversation with after weeks, months, years of not seeing each other. She's younger than me, barely. She doesn't have kids, which is a blessing. There's no rhyme or reason to her death, it just is. I knew it was coming weeks ago, but she didn't want to admit it so I didn't either. I thought about taking the kids to see her, but why? They barely know her, and I doubt she'd want them to see her so sick. I'll go, though. I'll bring the cards she sent me 14 years ago, and pictures from a few years before that. And I'll tell her it's ok. And that I love her, and that I'll miss her. But mostly, that it's ok.
And then tonight, two little deaths.
I talked to my niece for hours today. She is an amazing young woman, and I'm proud to be in her circle of trust. And I miss the days when the biggest decision she had to make was whether or not to ride her scooter while carrying a sword. (she did. She lived through it.) Not a little girl anymore.
On my way to drop off my niece, I stopped to pick up my son. I found him holed up in an office, above the pub I frequent. Tonight was MAGICK night, and he was playing card games until curfew. When I got there he was sitting around a table, kicked back in a chair. Everyone in the room was at least 3 years older than him. As I entered, one player looked at me suspiciously, ready to throw me out. I pointed at my son. "He's mine." I said. "Time to go."
Tris gathered his things. The defensive young man relaxed. "You're taking him home?" he asked.
"Yep." I said.
"Good." said the player. "He kicked my ass, and I want to rethink my strategy before I play him again.
And there's my little boy, hanging out with the big kids. Doing the right thing, being smart, having fun. Not a little boy anymore.
So, gone are the days when these two young people were little kids. When they ran through the grocery store head butting peoples shopping carts, flapping their arms and yelling "Look out! We're Buffalo Chickens!"
And here are the days of their first jobs, and how to spend the money. Of leaving behind friends that are bad for you and carrying through the friends that love you best, no matter how far apart you grow.
When I was the same age the kids are now, I met my friend who is dying for the first time.
A thousand dreams, a million years, several lifetimes ago, and yesterday.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
*DUM DUMMM DUM DUUUUM!!*
(That's a drumroll.)
NOW PRESENTING:
Tristen
in:
Sea Perch: Building a Robotic Submarine
featured on
NH Chronicle
GOOOOO TRRRRIIIIISSSS! Whoooot!
(click here for video)
(That's a drumroll.)
NOW PRESENTING:
Tristen
in:
Sea Perch: Building a Robotic Submarine
featured on
NH Chronicle
GOOOOO TRRRRIIIIISSSS! Whoooot!
(click here for video)
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Laurell & Hardy Replaced by Two Stooges
It's bedtime.
Actually, it's past bedtime, because the late afternoon part of my day somehow got sucked in to a quantum whatchamaho, and I can't winkle it out with a straightened hanger.
Sawyer is half-naked, and not the cute half, on his bedroom floor. There is poop everywhere, and where there is no poop, there is diaper cream. I'm trying desperatly to affix the 'velcro' tabs on his diaper, and he is NOT COOPERATING. He has both feet propped on my leg, and is doing reverse push ups, or whatever you call it when a two year old is driving his bony little heels in to your thigh, and squirming his rear around, trying to evade a diaper.
He is also yelling:
"Mom. Moom. MOM. MOMMM. Momomomomom. Mom. HI mOM!" at the top of his lungs, in singsong.
"Sawyer." I say reasonably. "I'm RIGHT HERE. You are TOUCHING me. Your head is a foot away. You don't have to YELL MY NAME!"
"MOM! Momomomom. Mom? mom. Mom!" Said Sawyer, performing a twist that will leave a bruise on my leg tomorrow.
Tris walked by just then. He stood in the doorway and listened to our exchange, then came in. Carefully, he positioned his feet next to his brothers head, about a foot from me. Sawyer looked up at his big brother in awe, then promptly became distracted as I fastened one closure on his diaper. He redoubled his efforts to avoid the next, and his singsong began again.
"MOM!Mamama!MOM! momomom. mom. MOM!" he yelled, gleefully.
This time, big brother joined in. Without moving his feet, he leaned in, until his mouth was a foot from my face.
"Mom! MOMOMOM!" Tris cried. "Mamama! Mama! Mom! Mommy!"
Sawyer was stunned in to silence by the solidarity. I closed the diaper and applied jammy pants in record time.
"Thanks, Tris!" I said, as I sat the contemplative toddler on my lap.
"Potty training, Mom, it's a thing. Look in to it." he replied, and wandered off.
Actually, it's past bedtime, because the late afternoon part of my day somehow got sucked in to a quantum whatchamaho, and I can't winkle it out with a straightened hanger.
Sawyer is half-naked, and not the cute half, on his bedroom floor. There is poop everywhere, and where there is no poop, there is diaper cream. I'm trying desperatly to affix the 'velcro' tabs on his diaper, and he is NOT COOPERATING. He has both feet propped on my leg, and is doing reverse push ups, or whatever you call it when a two year old is driving his bony little heels in to your thigh, and squirming his rear around, trying to evade a diaper.
He is also yelling:
"Mom. Moom. MOM. MOMMM. Momomomomom. Mom. HI mOM!" at the top of his lungs, in singsong.
"Sawyer." I say reasonably. "I'm RIGHT HERE. You are TOUCHING me. Your head is a foot away. You don't have to YELL MY NAME!"
"MOM! Momomomom. Mom? mom. Mom!" Said Sawyer, performing a twist that will leave a bruise on my leg tomorrow.
Tris walked by just then. He stood in the doorway and listened to our exchange, then came in. Carefully, he positioned his feet next to his brothers head, about a foot from me. Sawyer looked up at his big brother in awe, then promptly became distracted as I fastened one closure on his diaper. He redoubled his efforts to avoid the next, and his singsong began again.
"MOM!Mamama!MOM! momomom. mom. MOM!" he yelled, gleefully.
This time, big brother joined in. Without moving his feet, he leaned in, until his mouth was a foot from my face.
"Mom! MOMOMOM!" Tris cried. "Mamama! Mama! Mom! Mommy!"
Sawyer was stunned in to silence by the solidarity. I closed the diaper and applied jammy pants in record time.
"Thanks, Tris!" I said, as I sat the contemplative toddler on my lap.
"Potty training, Mom, it's a thing. Look in to it." he replied, and wandered off.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Laurell & Hardy Quickie
Sawyer was sitting on a wooden kitchen stool eating his cereal. Oden sat beside him. With the addition of the stool, Sawyer was finally taller than Oden, and taking full advantage. He swooped his spoon under the dogs nose, hugged his neck, and in general made Oden wait as long as possible for his cereal milk.
Finally Oden got fed up and walked away. Sawyer, upset he would have no one to bug, grabbed Odens tail, yelling "No, Stay!"
Oden kept walking. Sawyer didn't let go. Oden pulled him right off the stool. Sawyer hit the floor, looking indignant. Oden went in the next room and laid on the couch.
I said to Sawyer, as he picked himself up: 'You so deserved that."
Finally Oden got fed up and walked away. Sawyer, upset he would have no one to bug, grabbed Odens tail, yelling "No, Stay!"
Oden kept walking. Sawyer didn't let go. Oden pulled him right off the stool. Sawyer hit the floor, looking indignant. Oden went in the next room and laid on the couch.
I said to Sawyer, as he picked himself up: 'You so deserved that."
Saturday, May 14, 2011
The Comeback
Yesterday was not so much fun. Yesterday was SO not much fun. Today was better.
I woke up at 6.30am to cries of "mom. Mom. MOM. MAMA!" from my toddler. I let him do that for awhile, then remembered it was Saturday, and that the landlady, who shares a wall with the toddler, might still want to sleep, so I got up. I changed his diaper, got him dressed, and then remembered the most beautiful thing: My teen is in TROUBLE! With absolutely NO guilt, I roused Tristen and installed him and his brother in the living room with cereal and cartoons and instructions to stay alive for a few hours. I fed the dog, let him out, let him in, and took care of the turtle. Then, with great glee, I went back to bed.
The next time I looked at a clock, it was 9AM. My husband was looming over the bed with a greasy paper lunch bag in his hand. He grinned at me and said: "This is for you!"
Feeling brave, I opened it. The greasy bag turned out to be full of the most wonderful popcorn, lathered in garlic and paremsean. I scarfed, figuring morning breath couldn't get any worse. The bag had come from the movie night Josh had attended the evening before, where he watched Troll Hunter with our friends. The bag was my goody bag, since I had missed the showing. At the bottom, I found a small bundle, wrapped in paper and tape. Inside was a handmade pendant on a leather cord.
"Chris made them." Josh said. "They're Troll Crosses, to protect you from troll attack."
I promptly took off my dove pendant and donned my cross. Then I passed out again, knowing I was at least safe from trolls.
The next time I opened my eyes, it was after 11am. There was a curious lack of yelling, screaming, fighting, or harranguing me to get out of bed. I milked it until my bladder protested, then snuck to the bathroom. The cat accosted me, but I escaped back to bed, and stayed there until almost noon, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember when I had last slept so late.
I think it was the smell of my own garlic - parmesean- garlic breath that got me out of bed. I got myself dressed, and started hunting down the things I would need to pack for the day ahead. I chatted with the landlady a bit, about gardens and porches and grass. I supervised the outfit picking for my teen, and convinced him that a RED shirt was much more defiant than a black one. We were going to see my high school friends, after all. They had seen me in black shirts for years.
By two we were on the road. The back roads of Berwick and Ogunquit and Wells, which have a hypnotic effect on my family. We all look out the window, and slow down at houses for sale, and contemplate what it would be like to live in the woods. Sawyer yells "Look out! Look out!" when we go around curves. I could drive with my family all day through Maine.
With only one wrong turn, we found Walker Stables, home of my friend of umpteen years, Danielle, and her family. Noelle and Sean, whom I also went to school with, and their boys were already there. So were Janice and her husband, and their son. High school reunion take 5 began.
I'm not positive, but I think I was the only one there who had seen everyone else, and met all the husbands as well. We had 6 kids between the four families. ALL BOYS. Jackson, 11 months. Sawyer, 2.5 yrs. Travis, 4 years. Luke and Alex at 6 & 8 years (?) and then Tristen, 14 years. Danielle boards horses for a living, and teaches riding. There were also: goats, chickens, ducks, cats and one very brave squirrel.
I could go in to detail, but I'll sum it up with this quip:
At one point in the afternoon, Danielle, Janice, Noelle and I were sitting in the kitchen, sipping glasses of wine. All of the boys and our husbands were outside. Through the window, we spotted the three middle boys surrounding the front paddock. Each had a large stick or two, held like bows and arrows, or possibly machine guns.
"I think the boys are hunting the ponys." I said.
Danielle and Noelle didn't bother turning around, but Janice leaned a bit to the side to see out the window. "It's ok. Travis knows if he 'kills' something he has to eat it." she said. We all nodded and sipped our wine. "So," Noelle said. "Have you heard about the recall on drop side cribs? Turns out they're dangerous."
A few minutes later, Tristen came in. He had the same hunted look as the ponies. "How's it going out there?" I asked.
"Good," he said. "One of the ducks cornered Sawyer in the barn, but we got him out." We nodded. "Then one of the ponys bit him." he added.
"Is he yelling?" I asked.
"No, It just got his shirt and he fell down. No marks." Said Tris. We nodded.
"Then," Tris added. "One of the boys, Travis? Grabbed the electric fence."
We looked at Danielle, who just smiled and said "It's off."
"So he's ok, then?" I asked.
"He's fine." Said Tris. "But now he thinks he can channel electricity through his stick. The boys all headed in to the swamp, and the dads are chasing them. I had to use the bathroom so I came in."
We nodded, and sipped.
That was the best afternoon I've had in a long, long time. I grew up with these women ( and Sean!) and in the woods, and with horses and electric fences. I chased people through swamps and fed chickens. Later in the day, Sawyer would head off by himself to play digger trucks in a pile of what I like to call "Proccessed dirt." (Horse poop.) I watched him and remembered doing the same thing myself, in the woods, alone. I didn't die from it, and I was sure he wouldn't either. And I was surrounded by women who also grew up with processed dirt, and ducks that corner you, and swamps to chase people through. And for once, I didn't have to explain myself, or my boys. My husband was there to see it, and my kids. To get a little perspective on what I was like as a kid.
We left at bedtime, with hugs and promises to do this again soon. At home I dumped Sawyer in the shower with his digger truck, and then did a serious tick check. He went to sleep easily, talking about 'the farm."
I got to pat a horse today. (A horse that is older than me!) I got to watch my boys run wild one minute, be compassionate towards 'hurt' friends the next, and then tear off down a hill after a flock of chickens. I got to spend some time with some awesome women who have honestly known me longer than anyone else I still hang out with. I got to come back to the place I was growing up, and feel like I belonged there.
Best. Day. Ever.
I woke up at 6.30am to cries of "mom. Mom. MOM. MAMA!" from my toddler. I let him do that for awhile, then remembered it was Saturday, and that the landlady, who shares a wall with the toddler, might still want to sleep, so I got up. I changed his diaper, got him dressed, and then remembered the most beautiful thing: My teen is in TROUBLE! With absolutely NO guilt, I roused Tristen and installed him and his brother in the living room with cereal and cartoons and instructions to stay alive for a few hours. I fed the dog, let him out, let him in, and took care of the turtle. Then, with great glee, I went back to bed.
The next time I looked at a clock, it was 9AM. My husband was looming over the bed with a greasy paper lunch bag in his hand. He grinned at me and said: "This is for you!"
Feeling brave, I opened it. The greasy bag turned out to be full of the most wonderful popcorn, lathered in garlic and paremsean. I scarfed, figuring morning breath couldn't get any worse. The bag had come from the movie night Josh had attended the evening before, where he watched Troll Hunter with our friends. The bag was my goody bag, since I had missed the showing. At the bottom, I found a small bundle, wrapped in paper and tape. Inside was a handmade pendant on a leather cord.
"Chris made them." Josh said. "They're Troll Crosses, to protect you from troll attack."
I promptly took off my dove pendant and donned my cross. Then I passed out again, knowing I was at least safe from trolls.
The next time I opened my eyes, it was after 11am. There was a curious lack of yelling, screaming, fighting, or harranguing me to get out of bed. I milked it until my bladder protested, then snuck to the bathroom. The cat accosted me, but I escaped back to bed, and stayed there until almost noon, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember when I had last slept so late.
I think it was the smell of my own garlic - parmesean- garlic breath that got me out of bed. I got myself dressed, and started hunting down the things I would need to pack for the day ahead. I chatted with the landlady a bit, about gardens and porches and grass. I supervised the outfit picking for my teen, and convinced him that a RED shirt was much more defiant than a black one. We were going to see my high school friends, after all. They had seen me in black shirts for years.
By two we were on the road. The back roads of Berwick and Ogunquit and Wells, which have a hypnotic effect on my family. We all look out the window, and slow down at houses for sale, and contemplate what it would be like to live in the woods. Sawyer yells "Look out! Look out!" when we go around curves. I could drive with my family all day through Maine.
With only one wrong turn, we found Walker Stables, home of my friend of umpteen years, Danielle, and her family. Noelle and Sean, whom I also went to school with, and their boys were already there. So were Janice and her husband, and their son. High school reunion take 5 began.
I'm not positive, but I think I was the only one there who had seen everyone else, and met all the husbands as well. We had 6 kids between the four families. ALL BOYS. Jackson, 11 months. Sawyer, 2.5 yrs. Travis, 4 years. Luke and Alex at 6 & 8 years (?) and then Tristen, 14 years. Danielle boards horses for a living, and teaches riding. There were also: goats, chickens, ducks, cats and one very brave squirrel.
I could go in to detail, but I'll sum it up with this quip:
At one point in the afternoon, Danielle, Janice, Noelle and I were sitting in the kitchen, sipping glasses of wine. All of the boys and our husbands were outside. Through the window, we spotted the three middle boys surrounding the front paddock. Each had a large stick or two, held like bows and arrows, or possibly machine guns.
"I think the boys are hunting the ponys." I said.
Danielle and Noelle didn't bother turning around, but Janice leaned a bit to the side to see out the window. "It's ok. Travis knows if he 'kills' something he has to eat it." she said. We all nodded and sipped our wine. "So," Noelle said. "Have you heard about the recall on drop side cribs? Turns out they're dangerous."
A few minutes later, Tristen came in. He had the same hunted look as the ponies. "How's it going out there?" I asked.
"Good," he said. "One of the ducks cornered Sawyer in the barn, but we got him out." We nodded. "Then one of the ponys bit him." he added.
"Is he yelling?" I asked.
"No, It just got his shirt and he fell down. No marks." Said Tris. We nodded.
"Then," Tris added. "One of the boys, Travis? Grabbed the electric fence."
We looked at Danielle, who just smiled and said "It's off."
"So he's ok, then?" I asked.
"He's fine." Said Tris. "But now he thinks he can channel electricity through his stick. The boys all headed in to the swamp, and the dads are chasing them. I had to use the bathroom so I came in."
We nodded, and sipped.
That was the best afternoon I've had in a long, long time. I grew up with these women ( and Sean!) and in the woods, and with horses and electric fences. I chased people through swamps and fed chickens. Later in the day, Sawyer would head off by himself to play digger trucks in a pile of what I like to call "Proccessed dirt." (Horse poop.) I watched him and remembered doing the same thing myself, in the woods, alone. I didn't die from it, and I was sure he wouldn't either. And I was surrounded by women who also grew up with processed dirt, and ducks that corner you, and swamps to chase people through. And for once, I didn't have to explain myself, or my boys. My husband was there to see it, and my kids. To get a little perspective on what I was like as a kid.
We left at bedtime, with hugs and promises to do this again soon. At home I dumped Sawyer in the shower with his digger truck, and then did a serious tick check. He went to sleep easily, talking about 'the farm."
I got to pat a horse today. (A horse that is older than me!) I got to watch my boys run wild one minute, be compassionate towards 'hurt' friends the next, and then tear off down a hill after a flock of chickens. I got to spend some time with some awesome women who have honestly known me longer than anyone else I still hang out with. I got to come back to the place I was growing up, and feel like I belonged there.
Best. Day. Ever.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Why Nothing Gets Done Around Here
Sometimes, my husband comes home from work, and the dishes are spilling out of the sink. The toddler is playing with the cheese grater, the dog is pulling the eyes off of one of his stuffed animals, and the teen is sullenly slamming cabinet doors. I'm in the middle of it all, typing an email to a client, trying to make some money. Josh gets this look on his face, and I can hear his thoughts: "Why doesn't anything get done around here?"
Today was a good example of the big WHY?
The day started off well. I got Tris off to school, then I hung out with Sawyer, who is allergic to pollen, going through a growth spurt, and cranky as all get out. We played, and read, and I got him settled in with a movie while I showered and started to clean the kitchen. I made lunch for my husband, and loaded and started the dishwasher. Did a load of laundry, and folded three more. Put the dog out on his run with a fresh marrow bone. Got to spend some time with my husband while he ate his late breakfast.
Then, about 11, he left and the day started. I went 'to work' in my library - office - art room, currently awash in the debris from my recent basement cleaning. Sawyer was down for a nap - a nap it took three books, a dose of benadryl, a bunch of hugs and a crying jag to get him down for. (His crying jag, not mine. This time.)
I walked in to the room and found that all of my previous work was spilled over and tipped on the floor. There was a riding fire engine crashed in to the stack of trays, and jewelry everywhere. Time to clean up? Half an hour.
I checked my emails, answered some, and put my desk back together. (It, too, had been struck by a 2 year old tornado.) I set up to do my job of the day: pricing. Total time: half hour.
I worked for about 20 minutes, then the phone rang. It was a friend I trade work for work with, and I had to take it. He and I have been playing phone tag for a couple weeks, due to raging illness here and tornados wiping out half his home town. We talked business for a bit, and
caught up a bit. I started coughing and sneezing while we talked, and without thinking about it, took a sudaphed. Time: half an hour.
I sat down at my desk again, ready to do pricing. Got distracted by the cut of an amethyst. Focused. Noticed how nicely my engraving pen writes when I hold it just so... Focused again. Watched the python who shares my office climb her enclosure, then fall in to her water dish. Laughed. Realized Sudaphed in the middle of the day was not a great idea. Focused again. Did some work. Total time? yeah, 30 minutes.
So, 2 hours in to nap time and total work done? About 30 minutes.
I poured myself a coffee, chugged it, poured another, and sat down with some serious determination.
15 minutes later, the phone rang. It was the number for the school, so I answered it. My son is diabetic, and I was fully expecting to hear the school nurse on the other end, telling me he was out of snacks, or needed a refill of something, or maybe that he had a high BGL. Instead I heard the voice of the Dean Of Students... who has the same voice as my High School Vice Principal. Adrenaline and anxiety cleared my head, quickly.
"Mrs. Toffic?" He asked. I didn't bother correcting him.
"Yes?" I asked.
"Tristen is fine." He said. (They tell you that first, when your kid is diabetic. I appreciate it.) "But he's in trouble. I hate to make this call, Tris is a great kid, but it's school rules."
Now. My son is going to be 14 in two weeks. He's never had a detention. .... Ok, he's never had a detention for anything other than not turning in homework. He's not a trouble maker. I asked what he did, with a certain air of resignation.
I won't try to re-create the phone call. I'll just tell you what happened.
Tristen found a lighter. He put it in his pocket, and last night, used it to heat and mold plastic for his models. This morning, he threw on his jeans and went to school. At lunch, digging for milk money, he realized it was still in his pocket. Being a brain damaged kid (all kids are brain damaged. Ask Bill Cosby.) he sat down at the lunch table, and told his best friend - and everyone else in earshot, what he had.
Which led to a conversation (Remember: 14 year old boys.) About what smells horrible when burned. Human hair is bad. Dead leaves are good. There was a debate about the olifactory properties of cat hair. It was determined that it would probably smell bad, but perhaps they should get some cat hair and try. Whiskers might smell different?
Now, this debate was between Tris and his best friend. The best friend in question is a great kid, who has bunches of animals, and for whom I personally have iguana-sat over vacations. They were not thinking of doing harm to any animal. Trust me, in both of these houses, dog and cat hair is readily available, simply by sitting on the couch.
BUT! Tris was sitting in earshot of a kid who hates him. ( I got this info later, from my niece, who is in the same grade.)
So what the Dean was told was: There's a kid in the 8th grade who has a lighter, and he's going to use it to light a cat on fire after school.
Next thing you know? I'm getting a call from the Dean. He didn't tell me about the cat thing at first, and was sincerely apologetic that I had to wake Sawyer to come get Tris. He gave Tris a 1 day suspension, the bare minimum he was allowed. He assured me that Tris was a great kid, that he was sure it was a stupid mistake. But there was something else we would have to disscuss in person.
I got to the school, and talked to the Dean. He took one look at the armband tattoo of cats I have and said "Yeah. I'm not worried about this, but I have to tell you what I heard." He told me about the killing cats bit, Then he picked up Sawyer and tickled him til he laughed and squirmed. I have a huge fondness for the school Dean. He is a most sensible man. We talked to Tris together, and I think the case for "Not a psycho." was made when Sawyer ran to Tris and hugged him, and Tris automaticly picked him up and played with him while we talked.
By now it was 2.15, and I had an hours plus work ahead of me. I got another iced coffee, and went home. I told Tris to take Sawyer in the yard to play. I got my work done. I talked to my mother briefly, changed a stinky diaper, packed the car, loaded the dog in, and settled Tris and Sawyer in with "Here comes a train!" and a bowl of popcorn. I drove to the store to drop of my work, and spent half an hour discussing the robbery. (Oh, didn't I mention? My store was robbed yesterday. Everyone is fine. They got the guy, and the goods are safe. They can't be sold, but they're safe.) I drove to the bank to cash my check, and discussed dog breeds with the teller. (She's madly in love with Oden. Oden is suspicious of anyone who looks in to our car, but swayed by the magic drawer that dispenses cookies.) I drove home.
I walked in, and the phone rang. It was my niece. "I know Tris is in trouble," she said. "Can I come over anyway?" I shrugged mentally, and thought "One more for dinner. Sure!" and said yes.
I started unloading the dishwasher, but all the dishes were dirty. Realized that it wasn't my imagination, the dishwasher has actually stopped working. AGAIN. FOURTH TIME.
My phone rang. It was #. # and I have been friends for 17 years. She HATES talking on the phone, and always texts. Always. I answered it.
"Hi. I'm at work. I just talked to * (her boyfriend) and I'm worried. He got in from a bike ride, and he is having trouble with his vision. He can't remember words, and he's slurring his speech. He thinks he might have to go to the ER. Would you please go check on him?"
And that little paragraph right there is a great example of why I love this woman so much. She's been like a sister to me for years: We don't always get along, we rarely agree, we get upset with each other. But when the shit hits the fan, we work together with a minimum of words and a lot trust.
"I'm leaving now. " I said. I yelled to Tris, explained the situation fast, and told him to keep his phone on and the door locked. I walked over to *s and rang the buzzer. He knew he needed to go to the ER, so I drove him in his car. As we pulled out the driveway, I saw my niece walking to my house. I pointed her out, and * said: "She's a great kid." She is. The timing was perfect, because with Ava and Tris BOTH in the house, I don't worry at all.
I got * to the ER with a minimum of fuss. # arrived soon after, and I returned *s car, then walked to my house. I'm leaving out a lot here, besides the names. It was scary. Being responsible for people who are having trouble with their brain is scary. Driving a different car through Dover at rush hour, trying to keep a conversation going and at the same time evaluate the other persons brain is hard. I would do it again in heart beat, but, scary and hard.
I had called my mother on the ride back, and stayed on the phone with her while pounding on windows to alert the kids inside that they needed to let me in. (They had locked the screen doors, per my instruction.) Eventually, I was allowed entry. I assured the kids that * would be fine (They are his friends, too.) and leaned against the counter to catch my breath and contemplate the broken dishwasher.
And then Amber walked in. She had no idea what was going on. Not the suspension, not the ER trip. She had heard minimum about the robbery. And she had business for me. I reset my brain AGAIN, did the business, told the stories, and was a little grateful when she shooed Ava out the door.
Which left me with Tris and Sawyer. I cut the kid population in half by putting Sawyer to bed. Texted Noelle, called # to check on *. Sent Tris outside to the porch.
In this house, with Tris at least, haircuts are punishment. Given his will, he would look like Slash all the time. Screw ups are met with scissors.
While I chopped, we talked. About actions, consequences, and being a lame 14 year old. About cigarettes and pot, about beer and booze, about what his friends are doing, what he's doing, and how not to look like a sociopath in front of your friends. His answers were good, so his hair is longer that I would like.
I sent Josh a text when it was done: "Tris suspended from school. Just got back from taking * to ER. Everyone is fine. Have fun on your night out." And I said it with not a hint of sarcasm. Josh works 60 or 70 hours a week, every week. If he wants to go watch Troll Hunter with our friends? I am all for that.
And now it's 9.30 at night. I'm tired, but I still have *'s car key, so I can't go to bed yet. Oden is 130lbs of 'hasn't been walked gonna bug you to play with me now hey the kids are asleep this is MY mom time play tug with me now please I love you". We're turtle sitting, so I have to re-read Shellys instructions and make sure Cornelius has his light off and is asleep, and then feed the fish that shares his tank. (Other wise Cornelius the turtle will eat the fish food.) Josh called on his way to the Farmhaus to watch Troll Hunter, so that's taken care of. I have emails to return, a bunch of packages to ship, and one client who hasn't received a piece meant for a wedding in five days... so I guess tomorrow AM I get to go to the post office and bug them in to tracking it for me.
I could end this post by telling you about the HELL that was Mothers day.. or about the massive amount of phone and paper work I need to do to get both the kids set up with new doctors and dentists, fast. Or about the possibly life changing plan we have re: work and hiring an assistant. Or I could bitch that my bedroom did not clean itself, that the drawer Sawyer dumped yesterday is still strewn on the hardwood. I could brag about the awesome job I did turning Sawyers room in to a scene from Ranger Rick, and how much he loves it. I could tell you about how I tried to get a friend a job re-doing my deck, and yesterday he came and looked at it and the quote he gave my landlady about killed her. I could tell you about the two friends I have called and not heard back from, and am starting to panic.. and I could tell you about the awesome, incredible book series I just finished that everyone should read. I could let you know that a good friend I've met once just sent me a book on JV Diabetes that might change my life, and Tristens for the better. Or that I have to get ready for a jewelry show at her house in a month. Plus, there's the garden. I could do a blog JUST about the garden.
But I'm a little tired.
And tomorrow, I'm having a date with my best girlfriends from high school, and their husbands, and their kids. And I have to think of a way to tell Josh that when Sean says "Hey, I knew her first!" it's a joke, and he shouldn't punch my friend.
It's all about priorities, really.
Today was a good example of the big WHY?
The day started off well. I got Tris off to school, then I hung out with Sawyer, who is allergic to pollen, going through a growth spurt, and cranky as all get out. We played, and read, and I got him settled in with a movie while I showered and started to clean the kitchen. I made lunch for my husband, and loaded and started the dishwasher. Did a load of laundry, and folded three more. Put the dog out on his run with a fresh marrow bone. Got to spend some time with my husband while he ate his late breakfast.
Then, about 11, he left and the day started. I went 'to work' in my library - office - art room, currently awash in the debris from my recent basement cleaning. Sawyer was down for a nap - a nap it took three books, a dose of benadryl, a bunch of hugs and a crying jag to get him down for. (His crying jag, not mine. This time.)
I walked in to the room and found that all of my previous work was spilled over and tipped on the floor. There was a riding fire engine crashed in to the stack of trays, and jewelry everywhere. Time to clean up? Half an hour.
I checked my emails, answered some, and put my desk back together. (It, too, had been struck by a 2 year old tornado.) I set up to do my job of the day: pricing. Total time: half hour.
I worked for about 20 minutes, then the phone rang. It was a friend I trade work for work with, and I had to take it. He and I have been playing phone tag for a couple weeks, due to raging illness here and tornados wiping out half his home town. We talked business for a bit, and
caught up a bit. I started coughing and sneezing while we talked, and without thinking about it, took a sudaphed. Time: half an hour.
I sat down at my desk again, ready to do pricing. Got distracted by the cut of an amethyst. Focused. Noticed how nicely my engraving pen writes when I hold it just so... Focused again. Watched the python who shares my office climb her enclosure, then fall in to her water dish. Laughed. Realized Sudaphed in the middle of the day was not a great idea. Focused again. Did some work. Total time? yeah, 30 minutes.
So, 2 hours in to nap time and total work done? About 30 minutes.
I poured myself a coffee, chugged it, poured another, and sat down with some serious determination.
15 minutes later, the phone rang. It was the number for the school, so I answered it. My son is diabetic, and I was fully expecting to hear the school nurse on the other end, telling me he was out of snacks, or needed a refill of something, or maybe that he had a high BGL. Instead I heard the voice of the Dean Of Students... who has the same voice as my High School Vice Principal. Adrenaline and anxiety cleared my head, quickly.
"Mrs. Toffic?" He asked. I didn't bother correcting him.
"Yes?" I asked.
"Tristen is fine." He said. (They tell you that first, when your kid is diabetic. I appreciate it.) "But he's in trouble. I hate to make this call, Tris is a great kid, but it's school rules."
Now. My son is going to be 14 in two weeks. He's never had a detention. .... Ok, he's never had a detention for anything other than not turning in homework. He's not a trouble maker. I asked what he did, with a certain air of resignation.
I won't try to re-create the phone call. I'll just tell you what happened.
Tristen found a lighter. He put it in his pocket, and last night, used it to heat and mold plastic for his models. This morning, he threw on his jeans and went to school. At lunch, digging for milk money, he realized it was still in his pocket. Being a brain damaged kid (all kids are brain damaged. Ask Bill Cosby.) he sat down at the lunch table, and told his best friend - and everyone else in earshot, what he had.
Which led to a conversation (Remember: 14 year old boys.) About what smells horrible when burned. Human hair is bad. Dead leaves are good. There was a debate about the olifactory properties of cat hair. It was determined that it would probably smell bad, but perhaps they should get some cat hair and try. Whiskers might smell different?
Now, this debate was between Tris and his best friend. The best friend in question is a great kid, who has bunches of animals, and for whom I personally have iguana-sat over vacations. They were not thinking of doing harm to any animal. Trust me, in both of these houses, dog and cat hair is readily available, simply by sitting on the couch.
BUT! Tris was sitting in earshot of a kid who hates him. ( I got this info later, from my niece, who is in the same grade.)
So what the Dean was told was: There's a kid in the 8th grade who has a lighter, and he's going to use it to light a cat on fire after school.
Next thing you know? I'm getting a call from the Dean. He didn't tell me about the cat thing at first, and was sincerely apologetic that I had to wake Sawyer to come get Tris. He gave Tris a 1 day suspension, the bare minimum he was allowed. He assured me that Tris was a great kid, that he was sure it was a stupid mistake. But there was something else we would have to disscuss in person.
I got to the school, and talked to the Dean. He took one look at the armband tattoo of cats I have and said "Yeah. I'm not worried about this, but I have to tell you what I heard." He told me about the killing cats bit, Then he picked up Sawyer and tickled him til he laughed and squirmed. I have a huge fondness for the school Dean. He is a most sensible man. We talked to Tris together, and I think the case for "Not a psycho." was made when Sawyer ran to Tris and hugged him, and Tris automaticly picked him up and played with him while we talked.
By now it was 2.15, and I had an hours plus work ahead of me. I got another iced coffee, and went home. I told Tris to take Sawyer in the yard to play. I got my work done. I talked to my mother briefly, changed a stinky diaper, packed the car, loaded the dog in, and settled Tris and Sawyer in with "Here comes a train!" and a bowl of popcorn. I drove to the store to drop of my work, and spent half an hour discussing the robbery. (Oh, didn't I mention? My store was robbed yesterday. Everyone is fine. They got the guy, and the goods are safe. They can't be sold, but they're safe.) I drove to the bank to cash my check, and discussed dog breeds with the teller. (She's madly in love with Oden. Oden is suspicious of anyone who looks in to our car, but swayed by the magic drawer that dispenses cookies.) I drove home.
I walked in, and the phone rang. It was my niece. "I know Tris is in trouble," she said. "Can I come over anyway?" I shrugged mentally, and thought "One more for dinner. Sure!" and said yes.
I started unloading the dishwasher, but all the dishes were dirty. Realized that it wasn't my imagination, the dishwasher has actually stopped working. AGAIN. FOURTH TIME.
My phone rang. It was #. # and I have been friends for 17 years. She HATES talking on the phone, and always texts. Always. I answered it.
"Hi. I'm at work. I just talked to * (her boyfriend) and I'm worried. He got in from a bike ride, and he is having trouble with his vision. He can't remember words, and he's slurring his speech. He thinks he might have to go to the ER. Would you please go check on him?"
And that little paragraph right there is a great example of why I love this woman so much. She's been like a sister to me for years: We don't always get along, we rarely agree, we get upset with each other. But when the shit hits the fan, we work together with a minimum of words and a lot trust.
"I'm leaving now. " I said. I yelled to Tris, explained the situation fast, and told him to keep his phone on and the door locked. I walked over to *s and rang the buzzer. He knew he needed to go to the ER, so I drove him in his car. As we pulled out the driveway, I saw my niece walking to my house. I pointed her out, and * said: "She's a great kid." She is. The timing was perfect, because with Ava and Tris BOTH in the house, I don't worry at all.
I got * to the ER with a minimum of fuss. # arrived soon after, and I returned *s car, then walked to my house. I'm leaving out a lot here, besides the names. It was scary. Being responsible for people who are having trouble with their brain is scary. Driving a different car through Dover at rush hour, trying to keep a conversation going and at the same time evaluate the other persons brain is hard. I would do it again in heart beat, but, scary and hard.
I had called my mother on the ride back, and stayed on the phone with her while pounding on windows to alert the kids inside that they needed to let me in. (They had locked the screen doors, per my instruction.) Eventually, I was allowed entry. I assured the kids that * would be fine (They are his friends, too.) and leaned against the counter to catch my breath and contemplate the broken dishwasher.
And then Amber walked in. She had no idea what was going on. Not the suspension, not the ER trip. She had heard minimum about the robbery. And she had business for me. I reset my brain AGAIN, did the business, told the stories, and was a little grateful when she shooed Ava out the door.
Which left me with Tris and Sawyer. I cut the kid population in half by putting Sawyer to bed. Texted Noelle, called # to check on *. Sent Tris outside to the porch.
In this house, with Tris at least, haircuts are punishment. Given his will, he would look like Slash all the time. Screw ups are met with scissors.
While I chopped, we talked. About actions, consequences, and being a lame 14 year old. About cigarettes and pot, about beer and booze, about what his friends are doing, what he's doing, and how not to look like a sociopath in front of your friends. His answers were good, so his hair is longer that I would like.
I sent Josh a text when it was done: "Tris suspended from school. Just got back from taking * to ER. Everyone is fine. Have fun on your night out." And I said it with not a hint of sarcasm. Josh works 60 or 70 hours a week, every week. If he wants to go watch Troll Hunter with our friends? I am all for that.
And now it's 9.30 at night. I'm tired, but I still have *'s car key, so I can't go to bed yet. Oden is 130lbs of 'hasn't been walked gonna bug you to play with me now hey the kids are asleep this is MY mom time play tug with me now please I love you". We're turtle sitting, so I have to re-read Shellys instructions and make sure Cornelius has his light off and is asleep, and then feed the fish that shares his tank. (Other wise Cornelius the turtle will eat the fish food.) Josh called on his way to the Farmhaus to watch Troll Hunter, so that's taken care of. I have emails to return, a bunch of packages to ship, and one client who hasn't received a piece meant for a wedding in five days... so I guess tomorrow AM I get to go to the post office and bug them in to tracking it for me.
I could end this post by telling you about the HELL that was Mothers day.. or about the massive amount of phone and paper work I need to do to get both the kids set up with new doctors and dentists, fast. Or about the possibly life changing plan we have re: work and hiring an assistant. Or I could bitch that my bedroom did not clean itself, that the drawer Sawyer dumped yesterday is still strewn on the hardwood. I could brag about the awesome job I did turning Sawyers room in to a scene from Ranger Rick, and how much he loves it. I could tell you about how I tried to get a friend a job re-doing my deck, and yesterday he came and looked at it and the quote he gave my landlady about killed her. I could tell you about the two friends I have called and not heard back from, and am starting to panic.. and I could tell you about the awesome, incredible book series I just finished that everyone should read. I could let you know that a good friend I've met once just sent me a book on JV Diabetes that might change my life, and Tristens for the better. Or that I have to get ready for a jewelry show at her house in a month. Plus, there's the garden. I could do a blog JUST about the garden.
But I'm a little tired.
And tomorrow, I'm having a date with my best girlfriends from high school, and their husbands, and their kids. And I have to think of a way to tell Josh that when Sean says "Hey, I knew her first!" it's a joke, and he shouldn't punch my friend.
It's all about priorities, really.
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