"Don't you get it yet? I'm giving the land of milk and honey to YOU, not to your descendants!"

Really. My son comes up with the best stuff.
If you don't get it, that's what God ought to say to his people in the old testament.

Yes. I'm still alive.
My birth son found me on Facebook when he turned 20. He came to visit this last summer. We talk on the phone a lot. I haven't mailed his 21st b-day present yet.
My jewelry business is moderately successful in SL. I'm happy with almost everything I sell, so in that - it's fantastically successful!

Home!

L did great with his morning and afternoon physical therapy. No, it wasn't fun at all, and he did it. Dr. Anderson came in the afternoon and talked with L about how he was feeling. He removed the dressings, checked the incision site, checked the drain site, discussed PT and declared L fit to go home.
The ride home was a little rough, but he gritted his teeth and got through it. At home, he met his new mattress, new sheets and 5 new pillows. The hubby man got him settled while I went off to Walgreens to get L's home drugs. His narcotic pain pills were $10. ($23 without the insurance discount) His muscle relaxant was $40 for 1/3rd the pills. ($113 without insurance) I'll never understand drug pricing.

Anyway, it's wonderful to be home. Especially since last night was hell night. L's been building up gas since the surgery. When you get too bloated, it hurts like hell while moving through you. Add that to an active day with 2 PT sessions and a lot of getting up and down and you've got hell. There's no drug that alleviates gas pain. They can knock you out so that you don't feel it. But that slows down your bowels and creates more gas. Better to suffer through it.

So he did. And I stayed near him and kept him company. (and helped him shift around and listened to his moans and visited the 24 hour cafeteria to buy him food to nibble on or reject. I was able to acquire a Krispy Kreme doughnut fresh off the delivery rack at around 4:30 am. This pleased him. A lot.

Recovery Watch, Day 5

So much has happened! It's hard to believe it's Friday already. His second night in PICU he developed a fever. That's pretty expected for all those hours of anesthesia, all the work they did on him, and all that laying around. So he got a chest x-ray. No pneumonia. The lower part of his lungs weren't being mini balloons, they were compressed. So he had some breathing therapy. Which pushed more air into his stomach than into his lungs. They decided that he was doing good enough using the inspirometer instead. For the next two days, someone would come and listen to his bowels and press on his belly and ask if there was any pain. Then they'd comment on the gas or noise down there and say that his bowels were moving and that was good.
He had a flat stomach when he went in. Yesterday he had a beer belly, except it was all bloating from gas. Last night, he was starting to deflate and look more like himself.
In PACU (recovery): The anesthesia made him forgetful. He kept checking to see what was attached to him. I found out why the morphene is kept in a locked box. It's because in the past, hospitals have had a problem with staff siphoning off some of the strong drugs for their own use. Locking it makes sure the patient gets all of it. It's sad, and it happens. I can't criticize people I don't know for self medicating to cope with a high stress job or whatever. And I'm glad my son got what he needed and didn't hurt.
In PICU:
Every hour or two they would shift him. He says his pain levels were between 1 and 3 (on a scale of 1-10) when he was resting. When they "log rolled" him to one side or the other, it would go up to 6 or so. Log rolling isn't as bad as I thought it would be. They have a pad under him. Two nurses would grab the pad at his shoulder and hip and gently lift and push while guiding his back and legs. They'd get him about 30 degrees sideways then stuff pillows under and gently roll him onto the pillows. And hour later, they'd pull the pillows out. And hour after that, they'd log roll him on the other side and bepillow that side. So he cycled through left, flat, right, flat, etc. On day two, the rolling to add pillows was accompanied with a little IV painkiller before they moved him. On day 3, they removed his arterial line. Then somebody came round a few hours later to draw some blood.
The whole point of the art line was to 1) rigorously monitor his pulse and blood oxygen and 2) so they wouldn't need to stick him with a needle. He has a strong needle phobia. Actually, needles don't scare him. knowing the needle is going into his flesh is what makes him panic. He can now actually LOOK at the needles the nurses use, and watch them remove the needle and plug the syringe into his IV.

He's being great about his pain. If he hurts, he hits the nurse call. When they ask his pain level during a check up, he tells them. He's not being tough and sucking it up; and he's maintaining a tolerable level of discomfort.
Now for the fun parts!
Dr. Anderson came to change his dressings yesterday afternoon. Everything looked great. He's got 50 million steri strips holding his back closed. They're so much more comfortable than stitches, although he's got stitches underneath that will dissolve over time. There's only one incision. Dr. Anderson didn't cut him a second time to chisel bone scraps off his hip for the fusion graft; he just cut a longer stripe down the back. L doesn't have any discomfort at all where they took a piece of his hip. His blood count is low, but not low enough to need transfusion. He'll be taking a multivitamin with iron for a good long while because his body is making lots and lots of half grown red blood cells to replace what he lost. Once his body decides he's got enough blood, it'll go back to growing big blood cells. Anyway... Dr. Anderson changed the dressing, decided everything looked wonderful, and removed the drain and epidural. Drain removal was neat and didn't hurt at all. It was cool watching them press around the hole and seeing fluid spurt, then dribble out. The last few presses, his drain site made a noise like a whoopie cushion. Taking out the epidural wasn't so fun. They used a stretchy tape to hold that tiny catheter tube in place, stuck right over the incision. Dr. Anderson had to pull off about 6 inches of tape before he could free the epidural cath. L was not happy about that. But! With the epidural out, they could remove the foley catheter too. No more pee tube! Which had been taped to a nice hairy part of his thigh. Sheesh, don't they LOOK where they're putting tape? The nurses took it off as fast and gently as they could.

Freed from all those tubes and tapes, L progressed rapidly. In the last 24 hours he's gone from bedridden in PICU with all kinds of monitoring devices to walking (walking!!! On his own!!!) to the bathroom, sitting up, reaching for and holding his own drinks and pudding cups, and swallowing pills instead of getting a drip. He's on percoset instead of morphene now.

Today, He's getting his first solid food since Sunday evening. And he's going down to physical therapy for an hour. He will learn to log roll and get out of bed without assistance, and show that he can go up and down at least one step. Some time today, they're taking out the active IV. They'll leave the inactive IV just in case they need it. Removing the IV is the last link in the chain. Unless he backslides, he's coming home tomorrow. 6 days of hospital, 6 weeks of recovery, 6 months of no heavy lifting. And then my MIL wants to take him on a trip somewhere. I wonder if he'll pick Japan?

All Is Well
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We got to the hospital around 5:15 am. The next 2 hours were spent waiting, getting a room, waiting, meeting the very kind anesthesiologist, meeting someone with paperwork, meeting the surgeon, meeting the pain management team, meeting the spinal cord specialist who's sole job was to spend today monitoring for damage or paralysis, and meeting somebody else, who I forgot.
It was a long day.

The anesthesiologist made a deal with L. She said, "I'll stick you twice. Once with a shot that will feel like a pinch that numbs the area, and once to put in you IV. I won't stick you again while you're awake." L's rejoinder was "I can do that. If I can have an ice pack to cover my eyes with."
An ice pack was procured and the shot and IV were given. She covered the IV with a gauze bandage so he wouldn't have to look at it, and covered the whole thing with a cloth until she was done. After we met doctor after doctor and were reassured that they were all competent and ready for the day, she injected some happy drugs into the IV and they took him away and sent us off to the Surgery Waiting Room with a thingie that rings and flashes when they have an update for us. Just like a restaurant coaster pager, without the coaster. It flashed and chimed at 8:30 and we were told surgery had begun. It flashed and chimed at 9:30 and we were told everything was going well. From there on, every hour it flashed and chimed and we were updated that everything was going well. Except it didn't go off at 12:30. We got a little nervous, but figured the surgery team was busy. Around 1 o'clock, we stopped by the desk and said we were heading off to eat lunch, and got another update. Everything was going well. After lunch, we were told that the rods were being put in. Good. The most dangerous part was over. About an hour later, our pager flashed and chimed and we found out they were closing him up and Dr. Anderson would be out to talk with us soon.
And he was!
The surgery went very very smoothly. He did not need a blood transfusion during surgery. They were able to recover 500ml of L's blood and give it back to him. They were able to straighten his spine more than they had hoped, although we won't know the degrees until they get an x-ray. They did not need to wake him during surgery to check for damage or paralysis. All was good.
When L was in recovery, he could have one person with him. He asked for me. Win for Mom! so I got to see him with his face all puffy and his eyes gummed shut, and asking a million questions and doing things he shouldn't have been able to do
Like lifting his head and turning his neck to look at his IV's. He kept asking what was on him, then forgetting what it was. And there was a lot of stuff on him. He's got 3 separate IV's. Two vein IV's and one that's pretty much the same thing, except it's in an artery. He's also got an epidural in his spine and a blood pressure cuff, and squeezy things on his legs, and a heart monitor, and a monitor attached to a finger.
He's responsive and self aware and doing wonderfully. I think the 4 kinds of pain meds they're giving him help with that.
And... His morphene drip is in a clear box with two kinds of locks on it. But it has a handy carry strap.
More news after I've had some sleep.

In Lieu of Flowers, Please Send POCKY
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Today is L's last day of mobility for quite a while. Early tomorrow morning we'll be yawning at the hospital, then he's off to have his spine fused. Seriously, they want us there at 5:30 am.
I'm overwhelmed by the number of people who are keeping him (and the whole family) in their thoughts. I'm also overwhelmed by some of the ways people try to be helpful. Like offering a cane or pair of crutches.
...
He's, um, having his spine fused. He won't be able to use a cane or crutches.Both use your back muscles... The helpful suggestions of a wheelchair or home hospital bed, Those are good suggestions. IF he wants them. Right now he connects wheelchair or motorized bed with being disabled. Since he doesn't see himself as disabled, and his goal is to be enabled as soon as possible; he doesn't want either.
He does have one request.
In lieu of flowers, please send POCKY.
You've got time :D He'll be in ICU for at least the first day, maybe longer.

Today's pain relief methods are amazing. They're going to use an epidural for the first day and a half or so, then switch him over to vicoden. He'll come home with percoset. That's the plan, at least. He knows (cuz I told him so) that the effectiveness of pain meds depends on your genes. If the vicoden works, great! If it doesn't work, ask for something different. Part of "being brave" is speaking up and letting your caregivers know if you're hurting, if you need help going to the bathroom, if you are uncomfortable being bathed by a certain nurse, etc etc etc.
Good feedback doesn't make you a whiner. Caregivers want to give you the best care possible. Feedback enables them to give you the best care possible.
I'll be asking "What's that?" for every single thing the nurses bring in. And I'll ask in my usual cutely curious, I love to learn, way. Because I love to learn. And because sometimes medications and IV things go to someone they weren't intended for. Which is why nurses check and double check your wristband. Asking what it is never hurts.

The closer we get to surgery, the less happy we are. And it is what it is. Post-op, our time will be divided between the hospital and completely sterilizing the house. Thank heavens for hard wood floors! Oh, and he's getting a new mattress set, too.

Now then. I know I can't make the house completely sterile. And by the time they release him, his wounds will be closed over and healing pretty well. And he doesn't *need* a new mattress because he had back surgery.
He needs a new mattress because the one he's got is like, 20 years old. (ewwww)
And scrubbing the house will give me something to do. Besides, we're converting the living room into his space for the next several months. Lots of room, a straight shot from the living room to the bathroom, and a wheelchair will fit down the hall. If all goes according to plan, he won't need a wheelchair, but he can have one if he wants it.

I'm rambling. Anyay, surgery is early tomorrow morning at St. John's Mercy Medical. Prayers, thoughts, and Pocky are gratefully accepted.

It Had To Happen Sooner Or Later
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I've spent years wondering if maybe I'm overprotective of my son. If maybe I do too much for him, and let him stand on his own too little. Today I found out what kind of man my 16 yr old has grown into.

He went two blocks away to the local 7-11 to buy some soda. On his way back, he encountered 6 teenagers. One asked for a soda. My son said, "No" and kept walking. Another said "Just give us the soda". My son turned to say "no" again, as he kept walking.
And was punched in the mouth 3 times.
At some point, he dropped the bag of sodas. The kids grabbed the drinks and ran off.
Next thing he knew, there were hands helping him up and people expressing outrage and a willingness to identify the attacker and his friends.
L realized he was bleeding a lot and tried to cover his mouth with his hand. Then he calmly walked back to 7-11, blood running out of his mouth and covering his hand, and asked to use the phone. Then he wished the kids wre still there, so he could flick his bloody hand at them and stain their clothes. He also wished he'd thought of it sooner.

Someone offered him their cell phone. L thinks that was an amazing gesture, considering that he'd probably get blood on the phone. He says he was very careful to hold the phone up to the non bloody side of his face.
Several people went and put ice in napkins for him.
And a lady in the store bought him more sodas.
L was overwhelmed by their kindness. He still had money in his pocket, he'd planned on buying his own soda again. And he got that everyone there wanted to do something to make it right. They all thought 6 teenagers ganging up on one was unfair, and hitting him over a few bottles of soda was very wrong.
So he let them help and thanked them all.

When I arrived in the truck, shaking and furious, I asked him 4 questions. Are you alright? Do you want to call the police? Do you want to go find them? (my personal preference, there) and Do you want to go home?
He rolled his eyes toward me, and I knew he wanted to go home. Not to be safe, but to be in a quiet place where he could review what had happened.

Taking him home was a real struggle for me. I wanted to hunt those bastards down and hurt them. I wanted to make them feel as powerless as I had felt when I got that phone call. That moment of knowing that he'd been robbed and was bleeding, but not knowing anything else... I felt powerless. Then I wanted revenge. Not for L. For myself. For that moment of helplessness.
I had to fight that urge down. And I remembered my mom, walking me around the neighborhood when I was 7 or 8, looking for the kid who'd beaten me up and broken my new glasses. I remembered how I just wanted to go home and deal with what had happened. Instead, we walked until we found him and mom started screaming at him. The kid ran into his house, which was exactly what my mom wanted. Now she knew where he lived. She screamed at his parents too, waving my bent and broken glasses at them.
As we left, I heard that kid crying, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't beat me!"
And I felt awful.

I remembered those glasses, my first pair that I got to wear for maybe a month. And I drove my son home.

Afterward, we sat on the sofa and watched recordings of Ninja Warrior and I listened as he talked out what had happened. He knew they didn't target him for any specific reason. He was alone, and it was something to do. That was it. Then he said something that made us both laugh. He said,
"Taking my Pepsi was adding insult to injury."

I couldn't help myself and burst out giggling. There is no more apt quote in the English language for what happened.

As upset as I am over my son being injured and insulted, I'm also very proud of him. He didn't break down and cry. He didn't go chasing after them. He did exactly what he should have done. He calmly went to the nearest phone and asked me to pick him up.

He kept his head.
And not once was he afraid.

So I know now. Thank God, I finally know. That no matter what life throws at him, my son will be ok.

Speechless
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My dearest son left me speechless today. The drama club needed someone to play a bit part in the Fall Play, which is a comedy. It's only a handful of lines, so L decided he would give it a try.

Today, the director had the actors run through the play to work on blocking. L entered on cue and delivered his first line. I heard a few laughs. By his sixth line, "So am I." The room was filled with laughter. Even the director was laughing.

Not because my son was goofing off or making a fool of himself. He was genuinely funny. He delivered his lines with perfect timing, tone, and gesture. He was not L playing the role of Donny. He *was* Donny, friend of Brian; and the history of friendship between "Donny" and "Brian" was apparant on stage. Even though L and the other actor had only interacted once before.

After practice, the director asked L what other plays he'd been in. L responded, "None... Unless you count when I announced 'act 2' in the third grade Christmas play."

The director told him that he was naturally funny, and really talented. At the time, I was speechless. The director had a gleam in her eye that I haven't seen since I left Visual & Performing Arts High. When a good teacher finds a student with a knack for the subject being taught, and realizes they might play a small part in cultivating that knack; the gleam appears.

On the way home, I advised him to not let her pidgeonhole him into comedy. When he takes drama classes with her next semester, he should try out a variety of genres.
I've watched how the drama teacher/director interacts with her students, and I don't believe she will try to keep L in a comedy box. I think she'll encourage him to try out as many genres as she can!

Ways To Startle Your Teenager
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Flip channels until you come across the GameShow Network airing an old episode of "Let's Make A Deal". Get said teenager engrossed in the show, what with the people in funny costumes and the weird prizes and all. At the finale of the show, when they begin to reveal that the final prize is a car; point at the TV and scream, "That's a Satellite!" "That's my first car!"

If you wish to truly embarrass your teen, pause the DVR and describe in detail every aspect of said car.

I bought mine in 1987 for $800. On the 4th of July, 1989, it was cruelly murdered by a drunk driver.

The Common Cold
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L has a cold. He went to school yesterday, coughing and sneezing. Today he stayed home. Now here's the cool thing: L had a test today on Romeo and Juliette. He e-mailed his teacher to schedule a retest, and found out the test is available through the class servers! So he can (and did) take the test at home, surrounded by drifts of white kleenex and empty Pepsi bottles.

He doesn't want me to get sick too, so he asked me to let him take care of his own mess. Wow! Because usually, I make an extra effort to remove the empty bottles and keep several trash cans available for his tissues. I know how miserable a little cold can be, and how nice it is to have help. But this time he wants to take care of it himself.

My boy has grown up a lot this year. :)

Silly News Media
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There are news reporters all over the CBC campus today. CBC is considering implementing a mandatory, random, drug testing policy. It would be a hair test, not a urine test.

The school asked us parents about it. They sent home a letter and invited us to a meeting. They really want to know how we feel about it. Here's how we feel:
The hubby-man and I are both in favor of this policy. I discussed it with L, and he's in favor of it too. He's not worried about drugs. He knows he can "just say no". If CBC implements testing, he can say; "Nope. Can't. My school drug tests." He thinks that's fabulous.

The Last Year of Grade School Is A Very Hard Year

It really is. This year L gets to adopt a kindergartener, attend special 8th grader events practically every month, do 30 hours of service work, and pick a High School.

It's that last one I want to write about; although any of them would make for an interesting story.
L wants to attend CBC with all his heart. He has to pick a back up school, just in case he doesn't get in to CBC. That's the stressful part for me. How do I find another school which so perfectly fits his needs? (More like how do I find a school we can afford which fits his needs?) There are a few that are simply out of our budget. Even with me working a 9-5 job, we don't have an extra $13,000 plus clothes, gas, lunch money and the trappings of teenhood. The money just isn't there. Some of the schools are too far away. I'm not willing to get L out of bed at 5:00 am to get him to school by 8:00 am. When would he sleep? Some of the schools are strongly oriented towards athletics. L is not an athletic person. He's the son of a Geek and an Artist.
I can't choose his school for him, he must decide for himself.

There's something else I won't make him do. I won't make him get Confirmed. For the non-Catholics out there, Confirmation is a sacrament where a person chooses to commit him/her self to God and the Catholic faith. Most Catholic parents have their children baptized into Catholicism at a very young age; far too young for the child to choose the religion themselves. So Confirmation is literally a confirming of your parent's choice. It's you saying, "Yes, I want to be Catholic, that's my calling."
Well, we're not Catholic. L was baptized Catholic, and he's spent 8 years attending a Catholic school. He's gone to church and received the sacraments of First Penance and First Communion. He had no trouble with those. He wanted to fit in with his class, so he did it along with all of them. But he's not sure if he wants to receive Confirmation. He knows he doesn't want to be Catholic, so taking the sacrament of Confirmation would be lying to the Church and himself. L is an honest child. It doesn't seem right for him to lie. (To which I agree wholeheartedly, BTW) And, if he gets confirmed, he's almost certain to get into CBC. His academics are good. His test scores are through the roof. His teachers like him. Several influential people have said they would write to the principal of CBC and tell him how wonderful L is; and what a valuable addition to the school L would be. He fits the bill for their desired diversity. And, please Gods-Goddesses-Universe Itself, CBC is right for my son.
CBC chooses students who are Catholic first, students who attended Catholic schools but are not Catholic second, and students who are not Christian at all third. If there's any room left. Last year there were 100 students on their waiting list.
So we pick a back up and pray that L chooses to be confirmed; because he wants it, not because he lied.

Taking My Lumps

I tried the photoserver that Chasmyn and Persephone use, and couldn't figure out how to format it correctly. Bah. So now I'm going to try the other one Persephone suggested.

On to the actual post...

Bad things tend to hit me in lumps, whereas good things tend to be spread pretty evenly. That's a good thing, of course. That way life is never all bad. So here's what's going on...
We went to Dragonfest, which was great; but now we have -$15 in our bank account. We're behind on the gas bill, and the phone bill. We have bits and scraps of food in the house and another week until Hubby-Man gets paid. I just want to cry.
The Universe always provides, however; Sarah (co-owner of Home Krafts) bought outright all the shea butter products that I had left her on consignment. Woo! The check is in the mail. (I hope)
School has begun, which is great. L was offered the opportunity to take a semester of German at the high school. He is one of only 4 or 5 kids being given the opportunity. His first class is today. A semester of a foreign language is going to look great on his application for CBC. It costs $120, which we don't have, but we can make payments -and we will.

L had a growth spurt over the Summer, so the shoes I bought last April don't fit anymore. He had to wear them anyway on the first day of school; and again, I just wanted to cry. New shoes went on -you guessed it- the credit card. I remember having to wear too-small shoes, and I swore my son would never have to. Buck makes almost $45,000 a year, and we can't buy shoes because we went on vacation for the first time in four years??? Christ! (To be fair, it's our own damn fault. I should have gone to the grocery store when we got home from vacation, and instead I bought fast food or ordered pizza every night. My bad, and now I'm paying for it)
We had some extra school supplies, so I only had to buy another $23 worth of pens, pencils, etc. Went on the credit card.
I cashed in the change jar so L could have lunch, and Ramens were on sale (9 for a dollar) so we won't starve or anything. Hubby-Man is taking his lunch until payday, so that helps too. We have some bags of aluminum cans, but I was hoping to save those for Christmas money.

I know we're far better off than a lot of people. Heck, I only need to look at my own childhood to know that. Money is tight and we have a bank account, we have a change jar, we have aluminum cans; and beyond that, we have many things that we could sell if we really need to. I have an assortment of gemstones, gold, silver, and jewelers tools. It would hurt to part with them, but really... it's only stuff. (Oh, but it's MY stuff. The dragon in me doesn't want to let go)

And then there's the big money option. We could put L in aftercare and I could get a 9-5 job. I don't have any office skills, but I could assemble boxes or something. I love being a stay-home-mom. I really love it. Thinking of selling my jewelers tools hurts, but thinking of not being there to pick L up from school is a whole different kind of pain.
Hubby-Man doesn't want me to have to work. L doesn't want me to get a job, either. They love the luxury of having me all to themselves. And I have to say, I love it too.

Well. That's enough of me and my pity-pot. I think I just needed to get it all off my chest. Thanks for listening.

P.S. I have a new animal sighting to add to the list of critters in my neighborhood. Today I saw a weasel! It looks remarkably like a ferret,(which is a weasel, I know) only it's solid brown. Neat huh? So now I've seen kites, falcons, hawks, eagles, owls, bats, skunks, foxes, a turkey, a deer, a groundhog and sundry birds. I love living in the city.

Vacation Shopping
Every year, my son goes on vacation with his grandparents. He usually flies to Savannah and spends a week swimming, fishing, and playing in the waves at Tybee Island. We're very fortunate that his grandparents can afford to fly him there and back. Sometimes they need a vacation too, so they take L to Florida and visit Seaworld or some such.

This year they're going to Disney World. I want to be there with him, and we just can't afford it. I want to see that Disney magic touch him.
Well, I'll see him when he gets back. :) (sigh)

L has one pair of shorts that I have to pry from his clutches in order to wash. It's gotten to the point where he only owns 2 pair of shorts, because he will only wear the one pair, or the backup shorts when I'm washing his favorites. I mean, why waste money on clothes he won't wear, right? However; he can't wear just one pair of shorts on vacation. I also forbade him to take nothing but his 2 favorite shirts. He needs changes of clothes, dammit. So, we went to Wal-Mart. I didn't want to go there, but he's old enough to decide where he wants his clothes from; so off to Wal-Mart we went.

There was a fabulous Midwestern storm building as we headed out. We enjoyed the giant bolts of lightning flashing a few miles away, while not a drop of rain touched us. By the time we reached the store it had begun to sprinkle, then pour down in sheets. We held hands and dashed through the rain, jumping in puddles and laughing like crazy. Then we froze solid because Wal-Mart is air conditioned. hee hee.
We browsed the boy's clothing section, and let me tell you; Walmart has zero selection this late in the season. Everything was sports wear. Does anyone sell shorts above the knee anymore? All we could find were basketball shorts that covered his knees. So we bought long-assed "shorts" in silky breathable fabrics, and a bunch of shirts to match. Then we went to the electronics department to get a new gameboy game for the trip. (yeah, I spoil him)

Meanwhile, the storm was getting worse outside. The store had been steadily clearing out while we shopped. Walmart is a pleasant place when it's not crowded. We could hear thunder crashing outside almost constantly. While we were waiting for someone to get the game out of it's locked case; thunder shook the store, and the lights went out.

Now how's this for priorities... the reserve power kept the registers running. It provided light for the main aisles. And the video games were still playing. I kid you not. We could have stayed and sampled video games with the power out!
A voice came over the intercom and asked us remaining shoppers to finish their shopping quickly because the back up batteries would only run for a few hours. So we got our game and checked out. I guess the phone lines still worked, because my credit card went through fine. Or maybe they stored all the transactions and sent them through later. Who knows?

At the exit were a huddled mass of people, holding their purchases and looking fearfully at the rain. I asked L if he wanted me to go get the truck and pull up to the entrance, or did he want to get wet with me. He was going to get soaked in the first 30 seconds anyway, so he elected to run for the truck with me...

I tell you, the storm gods love my son. We stepped out the door, and the rain slowed down. There were still cold, fat drops of rain falling everywhere, but we barely got wet. We ran for the truck, expecting the downpour to start up again any second, and it didn't. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I glanced back at the crowd at the door. Not one of them had followed us.
Fools.

Not A Bush Rant

Searching L's room for gym clothes to wash, I came across the most expensive of the 3 X-Men compilation comics that we own. Perhaps I should say I came across the cover of this $25 book.
Look, I'm a dragon at heart. I don't hoard gold or princesses. I hoard books. It's my treasure. I read and re-read them until they're worn out; and then I put them on a shelf and buy a replacement copy, which I read until it is worn out. I've got books that I've re-glued because the bindings were falling apart, books with half the cover torn off, books that fell into the bathtub and books in pristine condition, waiting to be cracked open for the first time. (because I haven't quite worn out the original)
Books get ruined. It's a fact of life. A well loved book should be frayed at the edges, it's pages yellowed with time, creased at the bindings, and heavy with memories. Can you pull a book off the shelf and remember the first time you read it? I can. That's why it's treasure.
Anyway, I bought the X-Men books for L and introduced him to the wonderful world of superheroes that are fallible. The books, all 3 of them, live on his bed like stuffed animals might live on another child's bed. Clearly, he loves the stories.
But something had to be said about that empty cover.
So I said stuff.
The funny thing was, I wasn't mad. I should have been mad, or at least sad. But 'mommy mode' kicked in before my temper took control. I called his attention to the empty cover in my hand and said, "These books mean something to me. Don't they mean something to you?"
Now I was handling the situation, I really was. There was no need for the Hubby Man to step in, but he didn't know that. He heard my aggrieved tone, and did not see the grief etched on our son's face. He did not see that I was in the process of giving my son a lesson he should have learned a long time ago, but somehow missed out on. He didn't see that I wasn't really upset, but that I had to pretend to be in order to drive the lesson home. And he didn't see that I was succeeding. So, from his spot on the sofa he declares, "No more books in bed."

Oh, the horror! Not reading in bed?!? Without reading in bed, what else is there in life?
I carefully said, "You mean no sleeping with books, right? Not that he can't read in bed, but that he has to put them up when he goes to sleep? Right? Because you wouldn't tell your son that he can't read before bedtime..."
This was accompanied by much wiggling of eyebrows and expressions of surprise; with me praying he'd get the hint. L was so slow to take to reading; please don't take it away from him. hint hint hint.
My hubby is a good man, and he got it right away.
"Right. No more sleeping with books. You can clear a place on your dresser for them." He said.

They're here!

The boys are playing Army Men. The younger girl is playing The Sims Unleashed on L's computer, and the eldest is playing Baldur's Gate 2 on the PS2 in the basement. Yes, every room that isn't already a mess will be by 6:00 tonight.
We will be eating carmelized garlic chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, and broccoli with cheese sauce.
Would anyone like to help me clear of the dining table?
Please?


I'll pay you... (charming smile)?

Ok, now for the fun part. We arrived at the school early, surprising the heck out of the eldest; who thought she would have to walk the twins home, and meet me there. Ha! I hung out with eldest and her friend, whilst L hid from them. I made the mistake of saying, "He just doesn't want to be told how cute he is... at 13, it's gotten a little old." So, of course, eldest's friend had to go look him in the face. L wrinkled up his nose, bared his teeth and made saliva foam. (sigh) He just doesn't know how to deal with them yet. That will come with time and hormones. Better to let him enjoy what childhood he has left.

When the twins got out of school, we all crammed in the new truck and I drove to QT to buy drinks. Drinks which were promptly opened. First Born Twin starts burping. "Braaaap. Excuse me, I'm sorry."
"That's ok." I reply, trying not to laugh.
FBT:"Braaap. Pardon me, I'm sorry."
Me:(internal laughter) "Burps happen."
FBT: "Braap-aap. Excuse me!"
Me: (suddenly realizing what soda could do to a brand new truck interior) "You guys aren't going to spill any soda in my brand new truck, right?"
All of them, almost in unison: "No way! We are being very careful, and keeping our sodas very tightly capped!"
.
.
.
"Braaap. Excuse me."


What great kids!

You Call This A Break?!?

In case you weren't paying attention, L attends a Catholic school. This is all well and good until spring break time rolls around. You see, public schools have their spring break at the same time every year. Someone works out the number of school days in a semester, and plants spring break in the mathematical center of the second half of the school year.

Catholics take the easier route. They just give the kids a block of free time on both sides of Easter. This really sucks for my son, because all his friends attend public school. To make matters worse, half his friends go to school in the county, and half attend school in the city. One of those two had a teacher's strike, and started school late; so their spring break was late as a result. Thus my son missed out on vacationing with his county friends, and missed out a second time with his city friends. Now he's on Easter break and has no one to play with, and I have a 9-5 job. From 9 in the morning 'til 5 at night, I get to entertain a bored and frustrated 13 year old. (Don't get me wrong, I love my job... it's just that I'm not his ideal playmate)
He wants to run around outside and roll down the hill. He wants to play every video game ever created -except the ones he owns, of course. But there's no one to roll with, and no one to borrow games from. They're all busting their butts trying to get decent grades in the last quarter, so their parents won't ground them for the whole summer.

You know how it goes. Parents dangle rewards before their children's eyes. Rewards the kids will only get if their grades improve. The promise of a swimming pool, or a season's pass to Six Flags can make for some pretty hard working children. Suddenly, studying has merit.

Tomorrow is the last day of L's (incarceration) vacation, and it's definitely ending on a bright note. Persephone's kids are coming over to play! Woot!
I wonder if I'll need to help them with their homework.

Useless Gun Locks?

Most of my links are to liberals. I get all queasy when I read a string of pro-Bush blogs; so I don't usually link them, even when the writing is very, very good. One exception is The Smallest Minority. I love his standing offer to provide guns, ammunition, and the cost of using a range to anyone who has never fired a gun before. I avidly read news of the gun world on his blog. I enjoy every minute of it; especially the points I disagree on. But this is beyond ridiculous.

Ages ago, I bought a rifle. Shortly thereafter, I bought a gun lock. I wore the key on a cord around my neck. I carried the spare on my keyring. When my hubby bought his rifle, (a beautiful Enfield .303 bolt action sniper rifle) we immediately locked it. Perhaps, if we never had a child in the house -even as a guest- we might consider doing away with the locks. But really... If you have the time to get to your gun, switch off the safety, make sure there's a round in the chamber, and aim; then you can spare a few seconds to remove the lock. Otherwise, you may as well use it as a club.
I have a rifle for just in case. Just in case I need to hunt for food. Just in case the country falls apart. Just in case a crowd of rioters breaks into my home. In any of these instances, I'll have plenty of time to get that lock off my gun. If someone breaks into my home in the middle of the night, and I actually wake up; I'm more likely to hit the 911 button on the security monitor.

It would be foolish to have a child and a gun in the house, without the extra precaution of a gun lock. I'm proud to say that my son has never played with either of the two rifles in the house. He's never played with the collection of swords and knives. We taught him well. He understands the purpose of weapons, and he understands that they are not "cool".
Perhaps we taught him too well. He's 13, and he's still afraid to fire my rifle. I would like him to get comfortable with it. I would like him to practice. I would like for him to feel that rush of power, then put that feeling aside; so that he understands all the aspects of weapon ownership. And I let him proceed at his own pace. I will not force him to handle a weapon; but when he does, I want to be right there -teaching the difference between Hollywood and reality.

Baking Bread

Last night: The city is covered in ice, but that's ok! I have food on hand. The men folks want sloppy joes for dinner. We are out of bread, but that's ok! I have yeast on hand. The recipes in The Joy of Cooking all call for scalded milk. I don't want to scald any milk. But that's ok! John can give me his bread recipe!

So last night I baked 2 loaves of bread. I have a problem with bread. It seems all I can make is sourdough Italian bread. It's quite tasty, and I'm always disappointed because I'm not trying to make sourdough Italian bread. So last night, I tried to make sourdough Italian bread to support some sloppy joes. I followed John's recipe, and somehow made a giant Hawaiian bread biscuit. It was really good and very dense. We ate the whole loaf. I had enough dough left to make another loaf, so I cut into it and drizzled honey in the middle and baked it up. L and I just tried eating it. It is the nastiest thing I've ever baked. It smells like papier mache. It probably tastes like papier mache, too. I've never eaten papier mache, so I wouldn't know. It's floury and thick. It weighs a ton. I'm afraid to feed it to the birds, it's so bad.

My bread was so bad...
How bad was it?
It was so bad, my son said, "You should throw the bread away, and burn the pan it was baked in, and salt the oven in which it was baked."

Thank you, thank you. That loaf of bread is, to date, the worst failure of my life. :)

So my question is, how did one batch of dough yeild such a disparity in loaves?
Like I said before, I have a problem with bread. :)

Giftling

One of L's Christmas gifties was a dart board and metal tipped darts. It is the toy he plays with most often. He would rather play darts than play with his gamecube. Woot! I picked a good 'un.