Bully for you, Son!

We got a few notes from the teacher this week. Our son seems to keep getting himself into little spats with other kids his age. But in Atticus's defense, the problem seems to be with his coping skills as he has to deal with other little assholes (wink — it's never my son who is wrong!) Here are some examples, though, so that you can judge for yourself:

1. Yesterday in the library he was telling a friend about a story he read in "Ripley's Believe it or Not". The friend must have decided he didn't want to hear the story, so he (logically) began to hiss at Atticus. This upset Atticus, who got angry and possibly even started crying. Both boys had to get a "mark" on their sheets and apologize.

2. In music the other day, Atticus was sniffling and ended up wiping his nose on his shirt's sleeve. Typical elementary-school behavior when there are no tissues handy. But the kid next to him embarrassed him by announcing that action to the whole class in order to get Atticus to stop doing it. Atticus got upset and told the kid to leave him alone. Both kids had to apologize to each other and have a time-out.

3. The kids were in line to go to another classroom — one that was right across the hall. Atticus was supposed to be at the head of the line, but wasn't, and the girl behind him was telling him where he needed to be. They were only walking 10 feet, so he tried to tell her to leave him alone and just let the class get across the hall. The teacher defended the girl, saying "she was just trying to be helpful and Atticus got very upset." Me, I wonder why the teacher didn't tell the girl to mind her own business and stop parenting (teachering?) her classmates.

When I was in school, I was usually a "teacher's pet". But in looking back at those days, I'm starting to realize just WHY I was a "pet". I was always very shy — terrified to speak, in fact — smart, but quiet. Toed the line and only spoke when spoken to. I am envious of Atticus. His place in his world. He is the star of The Atticus Show! I love that he sings aloud, that he speaks up, that he defends himself against bullies, that he is a talkative, silly, obnoxious-at-times boy! LOVE it!

But the teachers don't ever reward that kind of behavior. This is one of the reasons that I don't go to parent-child conferences anymore (I send my husband): I can't sit there and hear the negatives. He's not "teacher's pet" material. They want to see how they can get him to stop doing all of those things. And they want my help. But as his Mom — who always sees him as charming and delightful and clever. I hope he is always the kind of kid who will speak up and call attention to himself and take over the room. The kind of person who is kind and gentle, but won't take crap from his peers.

I don't think I want to help them break my son like a wild pony. So run, Atticus, run!!

Neighborhood cleanup (a.k.a. Trash In, Cats Out)

It is a beautiful day in Colorado, and as we go through our morning routine of getting our son off to school, checking email and commenting on Facebook, one thing we look forward to is the ritual of looking out onto the back deck to see what the cats have brought for us.

Today it was a heavy rubber gardening glove. One that my husbands says is nice enough to be missed by someone! But we're not worried — if it was that important to someone, they wouldn't have left it out to be discovered by the rubber-sniffing cats. No escaped convict wearing anything made of rubber would be able to hide from these cats. What is it with the smell of rubber? We do get the occasional mouse and once in a while the sadness of a bird. But they have brought dozens of deflated balloons to our door; some reading "Happy Birthday!" or "It's a Boy!" We get latex gloves, dishwashing gloves...and yes, even a few dreaded, dragged and deflated condoms.

Getting rid of those is Joe's job.

Millhauser

You can't just read a Stephen Millhauser book in your favorite chair or in bed before you go to sleep. You have to put a hammock in an unused corner of your yard, take the book on a trip, or at least — at the very least — turn your reading chair around to face another wall. Millhauser will always take you on a journey of imagination, playing tricks on you, making you believe in things that aren't so or look at a common object diagonally. He is a conqueror of that moment in space between wakefulness and dreams, shuffling and confusing the two. When you've finished a story you need a moment to "return" and it's too special a moment to be wasted on your blank TV set or your bureau — you need to be able to look up and sigh and be able to focus on something unexpected there in front of you. Ah, Stephen, Stephen...

I hooked up with an old friend on Facebook about a year ago. Someone I knew in high school and for a couple of years after that. Then, as friends do, we drifted apart. And if Facebook hadn't come along, who knows if we ever would have gotten back together.

Now, I'm not talking about an old flame — though in the day, the "group" dating thing was where it was at. So we were all True Loves in some way or another. No, this friend of mine was just sort of always there. Beloved and funny and smart and such a good friend. And getting to know him again through Facebook has been enlightening. I never realized how much of "me" was formed during that friendship. I wonder if he can read some of my posts and "Likes" and notes and see some of himself in there. I know that I can look at his bio and say "he likes that because of me. He may not realize it, or remember it, but I know I introduced that to him or discovered that with him." It's amazing how much this person will always be a huge part of the intricately crafted soul of me.

So thank you my friend, for reminding me who I am and why I am and how I got here. ♥

Pregnant Morning Gripe from 2001

I found this old note that I wrote in my 4th or 5th month of pregnancy and it gave me a chuckle, so I thought I'd pass it along. Ah, memories...
I’ve been having a hard time getting to sleep at night — merely adjusting for a comfortable position has been, literally, a pain. Then I read for a while, then I finally turn off the light and try to sleep when I realize I have to pee “like a racehorse” (never did understand that one). So I totally wake myself up to do that. Now I’m feeling dehydrated, so, against my better judgment, I have a glass of water. Then I try to go to bed which means I stare at the clock for an hour. Then I fall asleep only to have Sassy jump up into my face, purring. Well, who can resist that? So I have to pet her for a little while. Finally I fall asleep. Three hours later hubby’s alarm goes off and startles me into full-wakefulness. I don’t think that’s a word. But THEN he hits the snooze button. Not once. Not twice. But SIX FREAKING TIMES. So now I am awake-awake. That’s a word, believe me. Finally, he gets up and I try to go back to sleep, but once he leaves for work I realize that not only is the “sleep” thing not gonna happen, but now I have to pee again pretty badly and my stomach is rumbling because god forbid I don’t stuff something into my mouth every half hour to keep this baby happy. So I get up and have breakfast. But I think, “Good — I’ve gotten an early jump on my day.” So I start making all sorts of plans for things to do with my whole big day and then at around ten o’clock I hit the wall and crash-land into a full snore on the couch. But, of course, since my at-home-office hours begin at ten, that’s when the phone starts ringing. Odd, though, it’s never a customer that early — which would be worthwhile. But guilt at ignoring the ringing phone drags me up again from a fitful nap. Knowing full well that I haven’t had a full six hours of sleep, much less a needed eight or nine, I see my day dwindling into a few tired hours before another afternoon nap elbows its way into my life.

I have come to the conclusion that sleep has way too much control on our lives.

That’s today’s gripe. Tune in next time for “Sneezing While Pregnant and other fun ways to wet your pants as a grown-up.”

Sharing Those Family Recipes

I was asked recently what my best go-to dishes were for Potlucks. Well, I'm never the one to answer that. Though I can cook, I'm not the most confident cooker, so my dishes are simple: sweet gherkins wrapped in very thin salami and stuck on a toothpick; pasta salad — stuff I don't have to cook. Then I heard one person answer "I have a great dish, but the recipe is a family secret!"

Really? A family secret? That always brings back memories of a few years ago at a neighbor's party. They had invited some of their coworkers and friends from outside of the neighborhood, so there were lots of new faces there. One of her coworkers had brought a carrot cake and everyone who knew her oohed and ahhed over it, saying "Lisa brought her carrot cake! Oh, you have to try it! I love it when she brings that famous carrot cake of hers!" Now I had never made a carrot cake from scratch, and have always wanted to since it is my favorite kind of cake. Hers was yummy and I thought to myself "what a great way to learn to make one, and I might get a new friend out of it!"

So I found a piece of paper and a pen in the kitchen, then sought out Lisa. We'd only just met that evening, but had joined in various conversations together and so we already had a connection.

"Lisa, can I get your email address so that I can get your carrot cake recipe?"

She smiled and said "oh, it's my grandmother's recipe and so it's an old family secret! I just can't give it out."

"Oh... no problem!" And that was where we left it. She never did give me her email because that would have been awkward, so that was that. No new friendship was forged. I have to wonder: what did she gain from that?

I guess I can understand it if you plan to make yourself rich with the recipe, but usually the Keepers Of The Secret do not have those kinds of plans. Even if they do, think of Mrs. Fields and the infamous cookie recipe — giving that out did NOT put Mrs. Fields out of business! On top of it all, I ended up feeling spitefully bad about that woman. I fantasized about finding out where she lived and sneaking in one day just to take a quick picture of the recipe she was protecting so fiercely (insert evil laugh here)!

It's just so silly. Share your damn recipes, people! (Now if only Universal Studios will give up their secrets about "Butterbeer"!)