My House is Your House, Your Activities and My Activities

We're doing too much.

Well, actually, the boys are doing too much.

Which means I am doing too much.

The boys are doing DI this year, again. The past couple of years I've managed DI but when I started working I realized I simply didn't have enough time for weekly meetings. Each team is required to have at least one appraiser and one volunteer, and out of sheer guilt I signed up to appraise - this is usually a hard role to fill.

The appraiser is a hard role to fill because the appraiser cannot appraise at the same meet their own child is competing at. Well, you can, but then you don't get to see your kids compete. So they give you an alternate assignment - another meet to appraise at. All day. From 7am to whenever it ends, frequently after 5pm.

The other meet date - aside from the one my boys are at - is the same weekend as the play Nick and Nate are doing. I also have the boys that weekend. While I haven't heard back from Steve, I am reasonably sure he will be able to watch the boys and get them to their performances. I can make three of the four. Still, I'll be spending a whole day doing something because of an activity they are a part of.

Today I spent the day training for this day of not-my-activity activity. This isn't even taking into account the day I'll spend at the meet my boys are actually attending.

Oh... and that play. The boys are having a great time and are doing such great jobs. But they parents were asked to volunteer both behind the scenes and ahead of time. I was hoping to lend my hand during the production, but now that I'm not there for Saturday's I can't. This doesn't mean I'm not stressing about being so awkward at finding props (my other assignment) or selling ad space.

It's tough, that play. Because the rehearsals are constantly conflicting with rescheduled basketball games and practices. Those were originally scheduled for Friday and Saturday, but keep getting rescheduled for Sunday and Tuesday due to kindergarten registration and snowstorms.

This week is going to be exceptionally difficult because the band concert that was snowed out is smooshed up against the previously scheduled violin concert, and now we have activities every afternoon this week.

I don't want to do all this. But I guess I didn't quite realize that, at this point at least, if the boys are doing something, I need to do it also. Only I need to know all of the details while the boys only think about it during the moments they are IN the activity.

We'll sign back up for karate in March.

sigh...

In the wee small hours of the morning

It is 4:14 am and I am awake in my bed.

I woke up around 2:30 in that usual, middle-of-the-night grogginess, and suddenly I remembered I forgot to submit Bios for Nick and Nate, and those were due the 31st. (They are doing a play. Post to follow.)

I submitted the bios and then sent an email out to family members because tickets are on sale. I posted the link on Facebook. And then I realized there was a deadline for placing good luck messages in the program, so I went through all the emails ever and found the one pertaining to ads in the program. When I saw the deadline was February 12th I got so sad because I was picturing Nick and Nate looking for a good luck message from me or their dad, and finding nothing...

... then I realized it wasn't February 12th yet and I still had almost 2 weeks. My sense of time / date is totally skewed.

I printed that out. I swore to buy a HUGE ad for both boys.

While I was at it I looked up the rehearsal schedule going forward. I cancelled karate for everyone for February.

I was going to go back to sleep, but my brain is just not cooperating. Which is Why I'm here...

Bury The Lead

So, Steve is seeing someone.

People I've told have asked me how I feel about it. I'm not sure what exactly I'm supposed to feel, but the way they ask always makes me think they're fishing to see if I'm jealous. I am not at all jealous, and that is the truth. I'm actually happy for Steve and glad he's found someone to spend times with, and as far as he goes I couldn't care less about the person he ends up with. Where I do have concerns is where my children come into contact with her.

See, I'm not a great snooper, but I did kind of get online and snoop around some photos on Facebook until I managed to find what I'm pretty sure is her profile. I know. I know I'm terrible. And she seems like a pretty normal, non-mean, nice person, and knowing that makes me feel justified in my little spy mission.

It's a big step, introducing a significant other to your kids. I know some people don't think twice about it and proceed as usual, letting their kids meet dates willy nilly, but our kids are young and they get attached to people. Both Steve and I wanted to be sure anyone we introduced them to would be around for awhile.

But it's getting harder and harder. Because introducing them to the person I'm seeing would make it much easier to see him. And I guess this is my way of formally announcing that I'm seeing someone. His name is Jason, and I like him a lot. I'm trying not to be too impulsive, but I like him a lot. He's been incredibly sweet, thoughtful, and helpful. We just need to hang on to the next step... and we're not quite there yet. It's hard to keep a poker face when all you want to do is grin and shout from the rooftops.

One Last Night

This is it. Christmas break is officially over.

It was hardly a break for me. I was working most days. But even so, I didn't have to pack lunches in the mornings, I had a very light commute, and for the most part the boys were with Steve, so I had evenings to relax in (or do laundry in, but still...)

Tonight after dinner I asked the boys to shut off their screens and get ready for bed, and the realization hit. Tears were shed, complaints were made, and we reached a verdict: School Sucks.

It just does. Sorry. You have to sit there and pay attention to stuff you don't care about, do work you hate, and no one is paying you for it. Maybe people pick on you in the halls. Maybe you hate the horrible cafeteria food. Then you go home and it's still not done because you have to do the HOMEwork they give you, and study for tests on the stuff you don't care about. And it's hard and uncomfortable and so exasperating.

Today I marked up the schedule with the events of the month. I posted the boys' individual schedules - the days they have gym or library, so sneakers will be worn and books returned. I posted the rotating instrument schedule so the flute and the violin have a better chance of being there on the days they are needed. I posted individual index cards with events so unusual they'd be forgotten... Student Council meeting 8am Wednesday. Basketball 10:30 Saturday.

It wasn't a vacation for me. I was working. But these are things I didn't have to do or deal with for a couple of weeks, and now  will be dealing with them again.

Tomorrow morning, wake to alarm (6:30 of sleep if I fall asleep right now.) Work out. Get the boys awake. Feed them. Clean up after them. Pack snacks / lunches. Shower while supervising boys getting dressed (which means getting walked-in on three or four times in the shower.) Get the boys on the bus. With backpacks. And snacks. And library books and / or gym sneakers and / or instruments. And sheet music. And school folders. Rush for car the moment children are gone and spend 30 minutes doing a 10 minute drive.

I can do this.

It Came Without Ribbons... It Came Without Tags... But was it any good?

One of the reasons I brought back this blog is because I didn't make it through Christmas without it.

This was a tough Christmas for many reasons. It's actually the second Christmas since Steve and I split up, so although that's still hard emotionally and scheduling-wise, we did have last year to fall back on. But this was my first holiday as a working mother, and that, THAT, made things very difficult.

It's not like my workplace didn't recognize the season. It did, actually, far before I was ready for it. There were a number of organized gift buying efforts for needy families and needy children. There were gift swaps and holiday parties and everyone gave everyone else small token gifts...

But I wasn't buying it.

I wasn't feeling it.

I was struggling to find time to buy a tree, put up the tree, decorate the tree. I ordered holiday cards and accidentally ordered only one. I didn't know what to get anyone. Including my own children.

And I wasn't blogging.

When people asked me what the kids wanted I threw together an email and forwarded that email to a number of people. Over the years I'd developed a system over this blog where I could add to the list and delete anything I knew was purchased. That helped keep duplicates at bay...

People told me what they were getting the boys, but I was either confirming that the boys had asked for those gifts, or not hearing anything at all because all I could think about was the fact that I had decided to make 30billion cookies as gifts for everyone in the world this year...

And some people told me what they had already gotten the boys. And sometimes I already knew those were duplicates. But I wasn't entirely sure what to do about that. Do I tell the gift giver that those gifts need to be returned and something new purchased for my precious baby boys? Do I go back out myself and buy new things, even though I could barely scrape up enough time to go shopping the first time? Neither seemed like good choices, and so I let it go, reasoning that some of these items were useful to have plenty of. That the boys have two homes now so they could keep toys in two places. That we could keep things quiet and not hurt any feelings.

I also didn't have a lot of time to spend at home. One day was all I had, between work and the boys' play rehearsal. Some people thought I was crazy for attempting to make the drive home for one day, but I felt like I was failing at so many other things that I didn't want to give it up. I was trying to do everything, to see everyone...

Well, I tried not to let anyone feel slighted. I tried to keep things casual and light and non-stressful because I already had stress thickly bleeding out of my ears, but not everyone can take these things with a grain of salt. So not only did I fail in the holiday card department, the decorating department, the time-spent department, and the gift giving department, I seemed to have failed in the joy-of-the-season department and I humbly apologize to those people (everyone)  I inconvenienced and / or hurt with my lack of communication. It was a rehearsal. I'll do better next year, for the real performance.

It's just that I wasn't feeling Christmas this year. Even now, after all the gifts have been opened and the dry pine needles are raining off the branches of our tree, I feel as though I skipped it. I missed it. I never caught that Holiday Spark.

Maybe for a few moments. At church. During the Christmas Eve service when we were all singing carols in the dark, candles lit, and the director stopped playing the organ... it was just our voices in the vast old space, warm with bodies close to bodies, and a certain kind of hope and belief in new things.

Next year, things will be different.

Old Friends

So... I let this blog go by the wayside.

I didn't mean to. It wasn't an intentional thing... at first. It's just that it was getting harder and harder to write things down. I was stretching more and more to find interesting things to say. The blog... this blog... it knew everything about me already, and I'd run out of interesting things to say.

I've had a number of close friends in my life, and most of them, many of them from my 20's, I imagines I would have as close friends for the rest of my life. I imagined living in the same town, raising our children together. If one of us needed time off for a date night, or shopping, we'd simply pick up the phone. In an emergency, we could drive each other's children to and from school. Our kids would play together in our backyards. We would spend long, lazy summer nights chatting while the kids splashed in the sprinkler. I know, it sounds insane, but I honestly believed this would happen.

It's not that I ever changed my mind about that. I still love these people. I haven't hung out with many of them recently, but I like to think that, if I did, I would still love them. We would still laugh together and be kind to one another. 

One day, we just spoke to each other a little less. One day we spent a little less time thinking about each other. We started turning down invitations so that we could do other things... and then one day we forgot to invite the other person at all... Or maybe one of us got very busy and simply filled her life with other things...

You think about calling, maybe, but as the days go by it just gets more and more awkward until finally you realize that, if you did call, you probably wouldn't have anything to talk about. You need a reason to pick up the phone. And unfortunately, you don't have one.

And then suddenly you find out one of your friends has had another child and you hadn't realized it. Or you go to send holiday cards and you realize you don't know your friend's address... Maybe you try to think back to the last time you spoke and you realize it's been years. Years. 

Can you still call someone a good friend if you haven't spoken to them in years? 

I sort of have feelings like that about this blog. I used to write every day. Every single day. For years.

And then... well.. I stopped writing. I stopped knowing what to say. 

That's when I actually made the choice to stop writing.

I'm taking it back.

I'm not done writing. I miss it. I have things I would like to say.

I like to think this says something about me. I like to think it means I won't stop thinking of my old friends as good friends, and that, eventually, I can be better and call them up and spend some real time with them. It takes a little time and a little effort and, if you're me, it may take a little planning, but it's worth it.

Like Cooking, but with Kids!

There are a ridiculous number of people in the world who believe that children should help in with the cooking.

Seriously, I remember being a kid and making Christmas cookies with my mom. I remember it well because there was this really odd shape of cookie cutter and I had no idea what it was, kind of a lumpy thing, and I liked using it to cut shapes out of the dough, and then I would eat the dough. My mother flipped out a bit, then chased us all from the kitchen so she could actually put some cookies in the oven, and so we would die from eating raw eggs. (by the way, the cookie cutter was a camel. I never understood what a camel had to do with Christmas, but that's because I was a heathen and camels didn't pull the sleigh.)

I've tried to get my kids interested in cooking. The books say you can... the many many cookbooks for children, most with large sections that say "GET MOMMY TO HELP YOU CUT THE CARROTS!" Made for children who are dumb enough to eat radishes just because they are peeled and placed on a plate in the shape of someone's hair. My kids are too smart for that, people. Put fruit on a pancake and guess what? It's still fruit. Only now it's ruined the pancake.

Anyway, I have my moments where I try to let the kids help. "You can get a four year old to tear the lettuce!" it says, larger-than-life smile implied in the tone of the font.

So a couple of years ago, in some strange moment of weakness, I purchased a monster cook book. It has things like mummy meatloaf and potato skins disguised as yeti claws. But it also has a few gross desserts. I let the boys each pick an item to make. Andy chose something called "Trifle With Death."

Before pouring in the lime jello, the vanilla pudding, or the marshmallows, the first step is to tear up a sponge cake. I figured if I four year old could tear lettuce, my three kids could tear up a sponge cake.

"Is this piece big enough?" Nick asked, holding up a crumb the size of a raisin.
"It says one inch pieces," I said.
blank looks.
"A little bigger, like this," I said, holding up a piece about the size of a large grape.
"Is this big enough?" Nick asked, holding up a crumb the size of a raisin.
"No," I said.
"Like this? Like this? IS this good?" as all three boys needed me to approve every single pinched morsel of squashed sponge cake that went into the dish.

It was slightly insane.

The boys ate half the marshmallows. They were really impressed with the jello. And the pudding, which was stirred for about three seconds before the boys gave up.

The concoction is now in the fridge until tomorrow, when we get to sprinkle the top with crushed oreos and gummy worms. And gummy eyeballs, if we can find them before then. I'm afraid, and already feeling slightly ill.

How To See Your Doctor

The other day I had an issue come up. A medical issue. A "lady" issue. Something of a sensitive nature. And without going into details, I decided that I should probably make an appointment to see my OB/GYN.

So Friday morning I picked up the phone and called. This wasn't an easy decision to make because I'm not 100% sure where I stand on health insurance, and also any time I take off from work I don't get paid for. Also, I'm trying to do a great job at work so they will hire me, and that doesn't happen when you're in a doctor's waiting room.

When I was a kid, my mom would pick up the phone and dial for the doctor's office, and the doctor would get on the phone. "Hi Fred!" she'd say. "It's Jean. Another one of the kids is complaining of a sore throat." Then our doctor would say, "Probably caught the strep. I'll call in a prescription for that one, and may as well do the other two, also. They'll probably get it sooner or later."

I got the scheduling lady who listened to my brief description and made me an appointment. "With Dr. B. at ten fifty in Derry," she said. "I'm sorry," I said. "Did you say ten fifty? As in ten five zero? In Derry?" And she said,"Yes, ten five zero, ten fifty, in Derry."

And ten I left for work, happy that my issue would be taken care of.

At ten thirty I left work and drove tot he office. I walked in and gave my name. "Oh, Kathleen," a pretty blonde nurse said. "You're actually scheduled to see Dr. B. at 10:50 in the Bedford office."

Now I've been here before. I can't remember if I blogged about it, but this spring I actually went to the Derry office to see my General Practitioner and it turned out I was supposed to be in a different office. But since then I've been careful. Very careful.

"No," I said. "The lady said Derry. I know she said Derry."

I don't know what I expected. Maybe some sort of acknowledgement that I was not the one at fault, and since they messed up, to just let me have a 10:50 appointment?

"Would you like me to see what the rest of the day looks like in Bedford?" the pretty blonde nurse asked.

"I can't go to Bedford," I said. "I have to get back to work."

"You can wait here and see if we can fit you in later?" she said.

I stood there looking at her. I was actually struggling not to cry, because I was embarrassed, mostly because all the office people and the other people in the waiting room were obviously so embarrassed for me.

"Do you know how long?" I asked.

"We don't," she said.

I opened my eyes wider. "Time frame?" I asked. "Twenty minutes? An hour? Three hours?"

I waited for an hour and then walked out, heading back to work. Before I left I let the pretty blonde nurse know I was leaving and would try again on Monday, three days later. "She really did say Derry," I said as I walked out, holding back tears. Because I could hear them talking about me as I sat in the waiting room, feeling sorry for me, or laughing, or rolling their eyes because I was one of THOSE people who couldn't keep office locations straight.

When I got home there was a message on my home machine from the scheduling lady, apparently left five minutes after I hung up the phone and dashed off to work. "Your appointment will be with Dr. B in Bedford, so she'll see you at 10:50 in Bedford," she said by way of correction. Too bad I work until five.

This morning I got an email from the office.

The last time I'd been in for a regular visit, I had signed up for some online system the office had adopted. But I'd never used it. This one was telling me I had a message.

I was curious to see if it would be something personal. Maybe someone saying they were sorry for the confusion.

I was at karate, on my phone, but I didn't have anything else to do, so I clicked the link in the email to try and sign myself in.

I did a quick search of my email and found the one from the same service that provided me with my user ID.

Then I tried clicking the link. The link opened up a webpage asking me how I wanted to sign in. Google? Yahoo? Facebook? (why would anyone use Facebook for medical records?)

I tried Google. Because I have a google account.

But Google did not want to let me in, because Google had no idea who I was, even though I used the correct password.

I got an email. It was from Google. "We think your account was being hacked! Someone tried to log in! If it wasn't you, please change your password!"

Only it was me, and the email didn't say what to do if it WAS me and they still wouldn't let me in.

I gave up and waited until I got home.

At home I was finally able to find a way in without google.

I found that I had an unpaid bill. I found an email saying congratulations for signing up. I found that they'd downloaded all of my visits onto this system. And I found that they said I had two cancelled appointments from Friday. As though I'd simply just cancelled them. One from 11:10 in the office I had been sitting in, until 11:30.

I still have my medical issue, by the way. And I have to go back on Monday. I hate them.

Now is the time...

This has happened to me several times over the past few weeks.

I makes plans to meet someone. Could be anyone. An old friend, a friend from church, a date, just a person. Usually a person.

As the meeting time approaches I might get a wee bit... not excited, exactly. Lifted? What you feel when you're looking forward to something, but it's not Christmas. What is that word? Anticipation? Buoyant? You get the idea. The point is I don't get out much, and these meetings are a welcome break.

And then, the day before, or the morning of, or an hour or two before, the other person will cancel.

The other person isn't being mean or malicious. Something else has come up, something that makes meeting with me inconvenient, or uncomfortable, or downright impossible. "I'm so sorry!" the person will say. "When can we reschedule? When's the next time I can see you?"

And this is why they are selling calendars for 2015 already. For people like me.

"What are you doing six weeks from now?" I ask.

I know, I'm booking so far ahead. I must have such a social life.

Wait.

Wait, no.

No, I don't.

The truth is my free time is so, so limited and rare that it runs out quickly. I mean, I have a weekend free every 2 weeks. That's 2 nights every 2 weeks that I am able to spend as I wish. Yes, I get a floating night during the week, and that night is usually Wednesdays. But Wednesdays is choir night, and nobody dares take that away from me.

So 2 nights every 2 weeks.

"Why don't you get a sitter?" some people might ask.

Well, in some cases I have, and I've shelled out the $40 it takes to go right from work to dinner and then drive home. But seriously, sitters are expensive. And my kids need pants.

The sad part is, I find myself home alone on these nights more often than not, and during vast portions of the day. I end up feeling lonely and depressed. "I should have made plans," I tell myself. And then I remember - I did!

The stupid part is, I spend a lot of time feeling guilty for being so difficult to make plans with. "I'm so sorry!" I say. "I know, I'm so difficult!" But hell, I'm not going to Yoga all week long. I'm not hard to meet with because I'm going to the gym, or getting my nails done. I've got my kids, for crying out loud! I shouldn't be feeling guilty! I'm not the one changing plans last minute!

The thing is, a lot of the time I don't try to make plans with people because I feel like I've already got them. And then the person cancels and I'm alone eating cereal out of the box and watching reruns of The Mindy Project.

What I should be doing is making tons and tons of plans. I should make plans with everybody! And then, an hour or two beforehand, I won't care if someone cancels. "I was going to have to back out, anyway," I can say. "I have all these other things planned." And  then I'll take a look at all the remaining possibilities and make my choice, and cancel on everyone else.

Startup Disk Full

Have you ever gotten this message on your computer?

It's terrifying.

You're going along, doing your thing, whatever it is you do on your computer... and the message pops up. Your computer is full. You need to get rid of stuff.

I have no issues getting rid of physical items. I can dig through a closet and harden my heart (sometimes) and fling out underused items of clothing, toys, books, games, etc. It's hard, but my biggest worry is the waste.

With a computer, there is no real waste. I mean, if I delete a file, that file isn't going to end up in a landfill in India for generations of barefoot children to cut their feet on, is it? I delete a file and it's gone. Poof. Magic. One moment it's a movie or a song or a game, and the next moment it's not there. negative space.

So.

So I got this message on my computer.

I deleted some stuff, and I went on with my life.

I tried synching my ipad. My ipad wanted a software update. I said OK.

Then the update couldn't be completed.

Because there wasn't enough room on my computer. My startup disk was almost full.

The last time I got this message on my computer, I went to Steve. Steve said he would fix it, and he did, and it worked for a little while. Then I got a new computer.

The trouble is, every year computers and ipads and iphones come with more and more memory. Apps take up more and more space and they do more and more things. Where 20 games would fit, now only 5 will. The games are bigger and better and clearer. The pictures are better. They just take up more room.

So I woke up in the middle of the night. I do that more often than I care to admit. And after some while of trying to get back to sleep, I caved and googled what to do when your Startup Disk Is Full.

I deleted cashe files. I emptied the trash. I combed through my downloads - and there were quite a few. You want a huge chunk of space taken up in pdf files? Get a divorce.

I went through my itunes folder. I deleted a number of games that I'd had for years that I probably would never play again. They didn't even all fit on my ipad. But I had backups for them, just in case... Oh well. I guess I can live without playing the Alabama Vampire Detective Hidden Object / puzzle game a second time. Purge. That's what this is. It's a purge.

Yes, I paid for the game. Yes, maybe sometime in the future I might have the time and the inclination to actually play that game again.

Will it be the worst thing in the world not to have it?

No. In fact, I might not even remember that it was ever there.

So. Purge.

Throw things out (electronically). Get rid of this old stuff so that I can have new experiences.

The message will come back, I' sure. But at least I have some idea of what to do and what to get rid of when it does.

Papers

So... the divorce papers came in last week.

Or maybe the week before. I'm not sure. I've lost track of time.

Whichever it is, they are here, and we are divorced.

Except for signing some certificate online. Which I can't seem to find. It's funny. I'm not a stupid person. But I follow the instructions, go to the place it says to go, and then it says "Fill Out NH DIv. FInal Certif. Form." And there is no such form on said page. I've looked.

And this is me. I'm not exactly unfamiliar with computers and the internet. What if I were a not-so-smart computer illiterate? If these little problems drive me insane, I imagine a lot of people must find this process a million times worse.

But yeah... I guess I can now officially consider myself divorced?

Weird.

I'd Like To Thank My Health Insurance...

Way back in October, the school recommended that Nicholas see an outside therapist.

Take a step back - not time-wise, people. I mean back from the blog content for a second. I've been wondering how to phrase this issue. I've been wondering if I should even speak about this issue. Nick isn't a baby. He is a now 10-year-old boy with his own thoughts and his own life and above all his own right to privacy. I can't be a good parent and be explicit or detailed with his issues here. 

Dealing with these issues, however, is a different matter. And that is where the focus of this post is.

What the heck is she talking about, you wonder?

Well... way back in October, the school recommended that Nicholas see an outside therapist. There were issues, and the teacher, the guidance counselor, and the principal all seemed to think this was a good idea.

After some calling around, some filling out of forms, many voicemails.... do you know how difficult this was? It's the golden triangle of Therapists. 1 - Willing to work with children, 2 - Will take my insurance, 3 - Had appointment times NOT during school hours.

We found someone. Nick started to see her.

She recommended something called neuropsychological testing be done. This is a test to find out how the brain is working. Look it up if you have questions, because I can't explain it now. This began phone calls to the insurance company to see if they'd cover the testing, and to another center who does the actual testing.

Meanwhile, issues at school got a little worse. There were more meetings. More issues. We assured them we were trying.

An appointment was made, weeks in advance. Not for a test, but for an intake. A week before the date I got a phone call saying the therapist had to cancel because she wasn't taking new patients. I explained we didn't want to be a long time patient, just needed this one test done. At which point I was told the therapist just didn't take our insurance. Something I feel should have been noticed when I MADE THE APPOINTMENT.

So I scheduled again. For a month later.

I brought Nick with me to the intake, which apparently is never done. But the nice Therapist #2 seemed OK with it, and recommended that we schedule testing - we scheduled 6 hours of it, over 2 days. Both scheduled weeks ahead.

Only THEN Therapist #2 called us and told us our insurance company wouldn't cover the testing. To pay out of pocket would mean a rate of $200/hr, for a possible 13 total hours. THANK YOU, INSURANCE COMPANY! 

Instead, our insurance company wanted him to have something called a "Comprehensive Diagnostic Evaluation."

When I called to make the appointment for this, the nice lady scheduling the appointment called it the "Medication Evaluation." I know there are those of you out there who think pills solve a lot of problems, but I honestly feel the damn test should be called something else. I don't want him on meds IF HE HASN'T BEEN TESTED FOR EVERYTHING ELSE!

Anyway, Steve and I sat down for yet ANOTHER intake - the get-to-know-your-kid appointment which is an hour of history, which you have to do with each new person they make you see. Therapist #3 seems really nice, is prepared to to this evaluation, and based on her assessment we'll know if we can have / should have the neuropsychological testing.

My feelings? Well, this is the first therapist who asked for a form to be filled out by his teacher. Of course, this meeting took place the FIRST MONDAY OF SUMMER VACATION.

I mean, the TIME it takes. And this is time sensitive, because this crap started back in October. I know no one wants to be rushed, but this is ALL of the third grade, here, that we've been trying to get something actually done, but we've been jumping through hoops. 

A task made more difficult because, oh yeah, we're in the middle of getting divorced and I am working for the first time in a billion years.

Also, I'm a little apprehensive because Therapist #3 - a lovely lady - seems a bit over-ready to slap an ADHD label onto my son. And while I know it's not off the table, I've MET kids with ADHD  - Nick isn't like them. I've also met kids with Asperger's, and Nick isn't like that. While everyone is different, I feel like Nick deserves to be looked at before diagnosed, and I'm not sure that's actually happening with this new round of testing.

I hate it. I hate it. I feel like it's made this difficult because they actually want you to drop out of the race and leave them alone. Then, of anything goes wrong, they can blame you for being a bad parent and not following through. But if you DO try to follow through, they just recommend you see a different therapist, and you have to start all over again, add another month or two to your sentence, fill out another round of paperwork.

Nick starts school in two months. We'll se how much has changed before then.

The Longest Day

You know that feeling when you're in a rush to get somewhere, but traffic is inching along? And you're not even on the highway?

That's the traffic I was in after work this evening when my cell phone rang.

It was the babysitter. I immediately began apologizing for running late and saying I was on my way home. She asked if I had left yet, and I said yes.

And then she told me that the phone rang, and Nick tried to give her the phone, but she hadn't answered it and just put it down, and then her almost-year-old baby had somehow gotten hold of the phone, and you'll never guess who he called...

Did you know that when you dial 9112, it's the same as dialing 911? And that when you dial it and hang up, they will actually call you back? And once you call them, they are legally required to stop by your home to make sure you're OK? I did. Apparently our babysitter didn't.

So when I got home, there was a bit of craziness. She didn't want to leave until the police came by. Her baby was cranky with a tummy ache (I told him they were coming to take him away to baby jail!) and when the cops finally DID come by, she was busy changing his diaper. I was clearing out the boys' backpacks.

When I opened the door for the very cute and attractive police officer, I had my arms full of school folders, a thermos in one hand, and a pair of maracas in the other. I was holding a barking Gunther inside the house with one foot against his cone-of-shame. I asked if he wanted to come in (I thought he might want to yell at us and lecture us about faking 911 calls.) But he backed away pretty quickly and said he was just checking to make sure everyone was all right. One look at me, and he got the picture.

After that I started making dinner. I was interrupted by 2 girls - one with heavy eye make-up and a nose ring in her nostril - from the EPA to get me to sign a petition. I tried to get them to hurry the speech along so I could finish cooking dinner, but they were horrified by Gunther barking, and kept stopping to ask he he was all right. I finally got them to leave, but not before the guy who mows the lawn stopped by to talk about the job he did that weekend. Before I could chat with him, the phone rang - an automated message from the school letting us know about Step-Up Day, the day the kids visit classrooms of the next grade, just in case we didn't find out about it from the flyers, the emails, and the clearly noted "STEP UP DAY" on the calendar.

Dinner made, table cleared, dishes.... in the sink (I can't do everything!) I practiced piano with the boys (lesson tomorrow!) and finished reading the last chapter of House Of Hades.

Then I took a phone survey from some guy who asked a lot of questions about TV shows I watched (cable? Which channels? Where do I get my news?) and political candidates (On a scale of 1 - 100, how many points would I give the following candidates.)

Now I have to pay my bills, register my boys for summer programs, and re-do my budget so I'm not actually in the red (it's got to be possible, for crying out loud.)

It's Monday, folks. Gonna be a long week.

Wakeful Nights

Even when I was a small child I sometimes had trouble sleeping.

Maybe everybody does. Maybe this makes me not special at all. I could just be like everybody else.

When I was a kid I would turn on the light and read until light began creeping in my window. I would do  my best not to look outside into the dark, because without leaves the trees shaped themselves into a creature with eyes that never failed to find my in the dark. Also, because I read Salem's Lot when I was really young and I was afraid I'd see a vampire floating out there who would charm me with its eyes and get me to let it in my home.

OK, sometimes I'd run and climb into bed with one of my sisters, but they didn't appreciate that.

This past year, my wakeful nights have become more frequent.

I used to think they were random, or caused by caffeine, sometimes a wine overdose. And I don't think I'd rule those two out as factors 100% of the time.

But these days there's a lot floating through my mind. Paperwork, finances, parental dilemmas, existential crises, all of these pinprick my brain at times it should be resting and sorting through the day's bucket of information. 

Also, there's Gunther. Gunther is my dog, and he has recently been returned to the Cone Of Shame, due to the fact that his leg hurts him. Well, his leg hurts him, so he licks it, and then he keeps licking it, and then it becomes a large bloody infected sore. So the vet made us put the cone back on. Gunther has lost most of his hearing, and now he's mostly blind, because of the cone. He's also still in pain, despite the pain meds I try to fool him into swallowing twice a day. This makes him extremely annoying to live with. 

I've also lost most of my compassion for Gunther as he has begun to spend his nights doing the crying-whining thing. He gets up, he turns in circles, he pant-cries a bit. He sits back down. He makes odd lapping-licking-slurping noises inside the cone. It's all very loud and unsettling at 1am. I'm never sure what the problem is - does he need to be? Should I let him out? I don't want to do that because if he doesn't have to go sometimes he just walks around out there, wandering and taking his time. He's deaf and mostly blind and it's dark. He can't see, he can't hear, I can't find him in the dark, and I'm tired and would rather be sleeping. Maybe he's just thirsty? Should I go downstairs and make sure he has water? What else can I do? What else is there?

Eventually I try to shut him out of the room, but Gunther then barks to be let back in, undaunted by the fact that it's the middle of the night and the house contains sleeping children.

I'm tired. I'm cranky. I'm sleep deprived. I blame the dog. It's like having an infant that won't sleep. I remember holding Nick and trying to find a way I could get some sleep, setting my eyes on the closet and thinking "You know, if I put him in there and shut the door, I might not even HEAR him cry, so I could sleep then!"

Sleep affects the thinking part of our brains. (I'd like to state here than I never put Nick in the closet. Even sleep deprived, I realized this was not actually a valid option.)

And I would be lying if I tried to pass this all off on the dog. There are nights I simply wake at 2am and can't get back to sleep. I read books. Sometimes I even write a little. Sometimes I just squeeze my eyes shut tight and try to not be awake until dawn creeps through my window and the clock says it's an acceptable time to get up and start working out.

Why Nick Is In High School

So... our town has these schools...

When we first moved to town, there were three schools. The Lower Elementary School for 1st and 2nd grades, the Upper Elementary School for 3rd, 4th, and 5th grades, and the Middle School for 6th, 7th, and 8th grades.

That was it. 3 schools. All High School students were bussed over to the next town for High School, and Kindergarten was private or nothing.

And then the town we sent our High School students to told us we had to find a different solution. We had too many kids and we were straining their resources. So the citizens of the ton fought and argued and bickered and we ended up building a High School.

Just around the time we built the High School, a law was passed that made public kindergarten a requirement. I fully support this. Our town, however, did not. Why should we do that when most kids went to private kindergarten anyway? But the law is the law, and after pushing it off and extending the deadline as long as we could, the town purchased a number of portable trailers to temporarily house the kindergarteners.

Let me say that part again.

The town purchased a number of portable trailers to temporarily house the kindergarteners.

This is where Nick went to Kindergarten. It's also where his Transition year was spent. It's also where Nate went to Kindergarten, and where he spend 1st grade.

Because somewhere along the line, it became apparent that we had to do something more permanent. So the town fought and argued and bickered and finally built a Kindergarten Extension to the Lower Elementary School. Not large enough to house all kindergarteners, but large enough to house the kindergarten only if the Half Day Schedule (less than 3 hours a day) was continued.

And it's a good thing it was built when it was, because about that time it was discovered that the Upper Elementary School was TOO CROWDED. So the town argued and bickered and instead of building anything, they came up with a temporary solution. Four 3rd grade classes would be moved from the Upper Elementary School to the Lower Elementary School.  The Kindergarten would move to the newly constructed Kindergarten wing, overlooking the playground the 2.5 hour day did not give them time to use, and many 1st grade classrooms would be moved out to the 'temporary' portable, previously occupied by the kindergarteners.

Which is how Nate spent his 1st grade year there.

That brings us to this year. This year, we had no one in the portables, All 3 boys were in the same school, something that wouldn't happen again until High School.

AND THEN!... And then And Then And Theeeeeennnnnn....... They found mold.

In the portables. Remember the portables they got as a temporary solution? The ones I've had kids living hours and hours of their lives in? Yes. Mold.

As soon as they discovered this, all 8 1st grades classed were crammed back into the main building in ever available space. Kindergarten classes doubled up so 1st graders could have a room. Music rooms,  art rooms, the library - all became 1st grade classrooms, 2 classes to a room.

What would they do? The school couldn't function like that!

Well, we recently received an email informing us of the solution.

The 4 3rd grade classes at the Lower Elementary School will now be held... AT THE HIGH SCHOOL!

But don't worry. They won't have to take busses with High School Students. They will take their regular busses to the Lower Elementary school, then get on another bus to take them to the High School (which we pass on the way to the Lower Elementary School). At the end of the day, they will take special busses back to the Lower Elementary, and then their regular busses back home.

This is Nick.

As thrilled as I am by the prospect of Nick spending an additional 30 minutes on a bus, I'm kind of horrified.

The school claims they will still have their Unified Arts - Music, Art, Library... but how? Where will the books be? Will they only have the 3rd grade books? And who will teach them music? Because the music teacher at the Upper Elementary didn't travel to the Lower Elementary, so will the High School music teacher be taking over? How about art? What about violin? Where will that  happen - at the High School? At the Lower Elementary? What if he misses the bus? Do they realize just how many additional places they've created for Nick to forget things? And what if he gets lost? What about the bathrooms? Won't that be a little awkward for both High Schoolers and 3rd graders?

Seriously, this is Bizzaro World, people.

And I got really prickly when the teacher sent out a peppy email about change and our approach to it. Life is change, people! Your attitude when it comes to changes will affect how your child blah blah blah and all I could think was "God Dammit! HE's had ENOUGH CHANGE already!"

 The thing of it is, Nick couldn't really care less about it. I'm the one freaking out. New Schedule starts in March. I'll let you know how it goes.

What's In Your Future?

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about this blog.


"Really?" you say. "Because you don't seem to spend an awful lot of time writing it any more!"

And you are right. I don't. I got distracted, and busy. I've started working - at a grown up job at a grown-up place. I can't write during the day, and when I come home I try to fit everything else in the world into the 2.5 hours I have with my kids - get them home from karate, feed them, make sure they do homework, practice piano or violin, bathe them, read to them, get them into bed.

After that I'm exhausted, but still I have a to-do list of issues I need to research, emails I need to return, things I need to do... It's backlogged because I make myself stop once it gets to be too close to 11pm so that I can sleep.

Only, depending on what I was just doing, sleep doesn't always come easily.

Time constraints aside, I'm not sure what to write about anymore. I don't want to write too much about work, because employers don't tend to like that sort of thing. I can't write about this divorce that I am consumed with because it involves another person who might not appreciate it and might take legal action. I'm speaking about my lawyer, although Steve might not like it either.

But I haven't given up. I'm still going to write. I'm still going to post when I can think of it, and when I have something to say. For the time being. Until the people viewing this blog trickles down to such a tiny little trickle and I don't feel like it any more.

So there.

That's my plan.

I Forgot Everything

Well, Hello there, Internet!

It's been awhile. Sorry. I've been kind of busy getting used to this new lifestyle.

Things are different these days. And I mean really, really different. For example, last year, when I had no job, I would fritter away the hours doing things like cleaning the house, doing the laundry, going food shopping, and cooking for my family.

Wait. No. That was all work. Not the kind of work people usually call "work," but hey, do YOU have fun doing laundry? Or any of those other things? If you say yes, I say you're a liar. Or else I say you should come over Right Now and do that thing you say you like to do. Because I no longer have the time to do them as I used to.

These days I need to fit all of the above into the weekend. That would be Saturday and Sunday. And those days include things such as karate. And church. And basketball. And even if those are every other week due to time spent with their dad, it's a lot to do in two days. I mean, I don't do the cooking, that would be silly. But today I went food shopping, cleaned the house, and did six loads of laundry. Not to mention run to Target because Nick needs dress clothes for his violin recital this week and Andy has been appointed the "bringer of the healthy snack" on Monday.

Doing errands on the weekend is strange. I used to do all my errands on weekend, but for the past ten years I've orchestrated my life around avoiding that very thing. I would go any day of the week, but not the weekend. Why? Well, it's crowded, for one. Because there are apparently a lot of people who work during the week and can ONLY shop on weekends. Many of these people do this as a family. This confuses me. Not the single parents with the kids, but the ones with two parents. Why do they do it that way? I mean, it's nice that they share the chore, but I wonder why they don't take turns. I would volunteer to stay at home with the kids.

Also, some places are not open during the weekend. Did you now the post office closes at noon on Saturdays? I learned this at about ten past noon this morning, when I tried to mail a package. I'm going to have to leave work early and rush to the post office if  want to mail anything, or else wait for next week. SERIOUS cramp in my lifestyle.

But I got a lot done. Hooray! I'm just about at the point where I can sit down with a cup of tea and a notebook and do a little writing, something I haven't done it awhile.

Of course, tomorrow I will have to fold all six loads of laundry, but I'll get to it.

Around Here

Here's what you've missed:

I forgot to inspect my car last month. When I finally remembered and took it in, I was told I could not have a sticker until I replaced three tires. Apparently it's not good when you can see the fabric underneath the rubber. They are run-flats, and cost over $200. Each.

The glass on the inside of my oven door shattered during a self-clean cycle. When I opened the door, half of the glass had already fallen into the oven, while the other half waited until I had cleaned up most of the mess to fall. The glass nuggets fell in between the oven and the door, onto the top of the oven door below, and then into the lower oven when I opened that one. I'm still finding glass bits everywhere. The oven is new from when we did the kitchen last year... just a little over a year ago. Guess how long the warranty is? Yeah.

Andrew is six.

I thought I was safe taking the cone off Gunther. I removed it long enough to clean it before noticing that one of his legs were already bloody from over-attention. So frustrating.

I got a (long term temp)  job. This is a good thing. Only it is a bad thing. I am glad I got the job. I would have been devastated to not get the job. Only it's not that great a job. And I'm mourning the loss of the time I get to spend with my kids. I'm suitably terrified about childcare.

My house is a mess. I'm way behind on laundry. I'm yo-yoing between feeling on top of the world and all powerful and feeling taken advantage of and out of control. I'm sure cleaning my house while blasting music will help.

The Third Child And The World

When Andrew was still very small, one of my politically charged FaceBook friends (I have a few) posted a status, or an article, about how couples deciding to have a third child would do better to consider the effect that choice would have on the planet and the destruction of our environment.

I wish I could explain exactly how I felt when I read that. I was... angry. I remember that I wanted to type something, I wanted to say something, to type something, and I couldn't really do it because my hands were shaking and I could remember to keep breathing. It was a very emotional reaction. But I wanted to say something, something not really mean, but something that would show this person, the author of the article, and all of the people who thought this way, how amazingly hurt I was.

Hurt. I was hurt, and I was emotional, and I was angry. Because in my eyes, they were telling me the world was a better place without my child. MY child. My baby. A small human being I devoted my life to, and who I had hopes and dreams and expectations for. And to clarify, none of those hopes and dreams had anything to do with harming the planet.

Yesterday, this friend posted a link to the Thought Catalog's letter to Women Who Choose Not To Have Kids. I didn't bother to read it, honestly,but today he posted that he might do a show (he's a monologist) about population, the environment, and every person's choices about how many children they are going to have.

Again, my hackles went up, but I've had some years to sort through all of the emotions and all of my reactions, so I could better identify what it was, exactly, that I was feeling.

The truth is, even when I read the original article years ago, I knew it had its merits. He was right, he had a point, and the article...  It was referring to the simply math of the situation. We have a planet with limited resources. Each person, simply by existing, uses up a number of these resources. More that two children increases the population, and uses up more of the resources, which have no time (or way) to replenish.

More than that, humans have become reckless about their belongings and their waste. We want everything to be disposable, and as soon as something is thrown out, it's out of mind. Given how the average American person disposes of items for convenience or status, the individual's footprint is growing larger and larger. As generations go on, each baby has more babies, and the population increases exponentially. Resources disappear even faster.

I realized this when Andy was an infant. My awareness of my impact on the environment was growing, and I had an infant in disposable diapers. Plastic sip-cups covered my home, and we had buckets full of plastic and electronic toys that were already broken and of no use to anyone. I made some personal choices and changes to my life to reduce our impact to the planet, choices about how often we used our car, how some of our purchases were packaged, how often we ate meat. I stopped buying things I didn't need, a decision that to this day causes people to think I'm stingy and cheap. These choices were sound choices, I believe, and responsible choices.

But none of that would make up for the fact that I brought into the world this extra person. My parents explained to us, when we were young, that each person born replaced an older person. I was born to 'replace' my mother, and my brother was born to 'replace' my father. Well then, we asked, what about our other three siblings? My parents simply pointed to my mother's unmarried sister and told us they made up for adults who had no children. Now, I knew this didn't add up or the population wouldn't be growing, but I still ticked people off when my kids were born. One for me, two for my husband, and three for... well, none of my four siblings had kids, so I should have been covered. I still felt a measure of guilt. Because, in my mind, what my parents had said was hooey, and the theory that more children meant more strain on the environment was sound.

But it isn't that simple, is it? Because we aren't talking about science, we're talking about people.

Yes, there are many women out there who do not have children. Many of these women actually make this choice not to have children, and I applaud them. There is no reason to have a child if you don't want a child. Please! It's too hard a job to go into reluctantly. And for the record, I feel I should step up here and say something about it always being WOMEN who are the odd ones for not wanting children. I know some men out there who also choose not to have children, but no one calls THEM strange. (Actually, that's no always true. Once I told my brother he was weird for not wanting kids, but I take it back now. Never say I don't admit it when I'm wrong.)

Um... where was I? Yes. Women (people) not wanting to have children. That is an OK choice. Just because I chose something different doesn't mean it's the only way. I can breastfeed and still approve of those who use formula. I can be an atheist and still tolerate those who pray. Just as long as they don't expect me to fess up to making a mistake or admit the error of my ways.

Having a child is a very charged issue. Many couples choose not to have children, but many other couples try very, very hard to have children of their own. They see doctors and have treatments and procedures and spend thousands of dollars on the off chance that they might have their own biological derivative. As baffling as this is to me, they do it, and they do it for a reason. Maybe this is the only way they can have a child. Maybe they can't adopt. Maybe they think they won't love a child if it isn't genetically related. Whatever the reason, it's theirs to have. I'm sure that anyone who has leapt through hoops and put forth such emotional investment would resent their child being described as a burden on the planet.

As would anyone who has lost a child.

We aren't logical with our children. We're emotional. We're primal.

What does this mean?

Well, it isn't just our kids. I mean, when you look at it, we're all burdens on our planet. Some more than others, depending on habits, environment, and how often we buy a new iphone. If we're going to survive, we're going to have to take a look at all of our habits, from how often we use disposable plates, to how often we upgrade our phones, to the reasons we want to have children.

Now, I know a number of families with multiple children. (Hello, I live in suburbia!). I know families with multiple children that would like to have more, some of them having more (the people down the street have 9. Nine. I go slightly crazy thinking about it.) The thing is, these families are wonderful families. The children are wonderful and brilliant and a joy. I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of every person, and that includes each member of the family with nineteen children whose parents just keep on reproducing because that's apparently what God wants. (Maybe God does want that. Maybe God wants the Earth overpopulated? I wouldn't know, I'm not a believer.) Hey, hooray for them. I disagree, but I don't think we could morally put a limit on the number of children a family could have.

But in general, the middle of the sane, reproducing-age population should take a hard look at why they're doing what they're doing. I'm not saying not to go for it. Hey, I did. I had two boys. I wanted a girl. We didn't make a decision to try, we just... stopped trying not to. Now I have three boys. Part of me wanted to keep going. Part of me wanted to try for that girl, and honestly, I can't say that, under different circumstances, I wouldn't have tried a last time.

Because I love babies. I love kids. I've loved kids ever since I was a kid. I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I couldn't tell you what my house looked like or what my husband and I would do on the weekends, but I could tell you that I was going to be A MOTHER. I knew it when I was five. I knew it when I was seventeen and about to go off to college, and spent an hour at a diner staring at a baby wondering why I had to do all this other stuff when all I wanted was that squirmy thing over there. (As a side note, I was really not ready to have a baby at seventeen, and I'm very glad I went to college and went through my 20's first. I would have missed out on a lot of life, and I wouldn't be as good a parent as I am now.)

My point is, I could have more kids. I mean, in my heart, I feel as though I could parent a couple more kids. Not at the moment. At the moment I'm having a hard time remembering what day it is and getting myself in and out of bed. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm just saying that, at some point in the future, I might possibly decide I could be a parent again. But knowing what I know, I would have to give serious thought to how that child came to be mine.

There are so many options out there, people. There are children out there aching for homes. There are children out there who need temporary homes. If you're trying to fill a gap, there are other options. Especially for that second or third child.

So... this post is very long and convoluted, and I feel I must apologize for that, to some extent. I could sum up: People have many emotions when it comes to babies. It is every person's right to decide if he or she wants to become a parent, and both choices are OK. It is every couples's choice as to how many children they would like to have. It is also our responsibility as humans living and caring for this planet to take into account how our actions and indeed how our very presence affect it. Part of this is re-thinking how we perceive having children and what it means to be a parent.

In the meantime, I refuse to feel guilty about what we have already. I will not regret my children, not for any reason. Asking me to do that would be unfair and evoke all the kinds of emotions that would prevent meaningful discussion. So I will cherish each one of them and teach them what I know. And part of that is to be willing to think about difficult things.

New Shoes

You know that song New Shoes?

Want to know what Nate's shoes look like after 6 weeks?

No?

Too bad. I'm gonna show you anyway.

Take a good look at that toe area. Yes, that's right. The sole is completely coming apart from the rest of the shoe.

I have admit, my reaction when I found this shoe was not to be filed under "parenting award nominee." After all, these shoes were not the school shoes I'd gotten for the boys in September. No, these were a replacement for those shoes, which had holes in the toes and were so bad that I finally told Nate we were going to throw them away after he wore them as part of his Zombie costume at Halloween.

Recently I found them crammed under his bed. Which turned out to be OK, because he had to wear them while I replaced these grey and orange things.

"What do you do to your shoes?" I shouted, shaking the shoe in the air like it was an etch-a-sketch and the hole would erase itself if I only shook it hard and fast enough.

Nate shrugged. "I just ride my bike, is all." And by 'ride my bike' he means 'drag my feet to stop the bike.'

So I had to buy Nate a new pair of shoes.

I never know if I should buy him an expensive pair of shoes, or a cheap pair. When I buy a cheap pair, I do it knowing ahead of time they are going to fall apart, so I feel like I'm not even giving Nate a chance. I can only blame myself for the holes and the rips and tears. But when I shell out three times as much for a pair of sneakers only to have the same type of thing happen, I despair. Then I blame myself for paying out so much because of COURSE this was going to happen, it ALWAYS DOES!

Actually I went and bought him two new (medium priced) pairs of shoes. Just in case. He also has a hand-me-down pair that is slightly too big, and also still shiny enough to pass as a dress shoe, so I won't let him wear them, you know, EVER.