Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
I'm Not Crazy but My Psychiatrist Is
So I go into see my psychiatrist today for a "med check." It's my third visit with him since he diagnosed me with ADD on August 20th. Each visit goes a little smoother and I'm able to keep the appointment to 30 minutes as I'm not only feeling better but I'm able to express the symptoms that do linger much more succinctly.
I think this man is a genius. Cocky, yes, but totally astute when it comes to understanding the delicacy of the interactions between the mind and body affecting one's mental and physical health. What sold me on his theory and approach was the way that instead of dismissing my distressing symptoms over the last five years (low-grade depression, extreme fatigue, serious brain fog) as being "all in my head" as I often read other psychiatrists do, he helped fill in the blanks by attributing these unresolved yet treated symptoms as residual effects of undiagnosed and untreated ADD.
The Background
In a nutshell, his theory is that my brain's blueprint at birth included some faulty wiring but it (my brain) was strong enough to compensate with the neurotransmitter detour for 31 years pretty well. Increasingly, year after year, my brain and body had to work harder to compensate for undiagnosed and untreated ADD, but it worked away until it couldn't work that way anymore. Year 2003 came along when my mom died in March and Johnny was born in July. Those two major life events happening within 5 months of one another were basically my bird brain's last straws. That's when the symptoms started.
According to my shrink, the physical and psychological stress that a birth and a death caused me, flipped my natural disease-fighting system (immune system) into fight or flight mode. I fought. My brain couldn't get its neurotransmitters the same way it had for 31 years the detoured way, but it was fighting, so it started looking to other systems in my body, namely my endocrine system. My adrenals became taxed; my estrogen and progesterone became unbalanced; and my thyroid started attacking itself. My body and brain were under attack (undiagnosed ADD, psychological pain of losing my mom, physical stress of having a baby) but couldn't detect a foreign invader (like a virus, bacteria, etc.) to fight. What did it do? It started fighting itself, hence my autoimmune thyroid disease.
Ok, so repeated lab tests have shown that I have an under-functioning thyroid, burned-out, barely functioning (alas, not even detectable) adrenal glands, and whacked out levels of progesterone and estrogen. And I've been treated for the three-legged endocrine monster for over four years. Treated, but ineffectively. Why haven't these treatments worked? Because my ADD hasn't been treated.
At my first visit with my shrink, he validated and indeed connected all of my symptoms over the
last four years to my ADD that he thinks I've had for life. He put me on a treatment regimen for all of the above that I've been following carefully since Aug. He said that if left untreated, the effects ADD on my brain and body would eventually catch up to me and create in me a state of being that no matter how much fight and determination I have, it wouldn't do me any good and I would likely become bed-ridden. This is what he told me. I believed him and I've been doing exactly what he says to do. (And I've been feeling better).
The Funny Part
Today at the end of my appointment, my doc is sitting at his desk with my chart open, reviewing my scripts. He asks me how the Ambien is working. Confused, I tell him I have never taken Ambien. Actually, let me tell you the story this way:
Dr. X: How is the Ambien working for you?
Me: Ambien? I haven't been taking Ambien. Did you prescribe it to me on the first visit?
Dr. X: (Looking at my chart) Yes I did. Did you lose the prescription? I'll write you another one.
Me: (Getting the Prescription) I guess I did lose it. I seriously don't remember you prescribing me Ambien because I haven't really had any trouble sleeping lately. Oh, but "Vitamin Z?" Yeah, that worked really well and I'd like to keep taking that if it's ok.
Dr. X: Vitamin Z? I didn't write a prescription for that, did I?
Me: Yeah, you did. You wrote it on Oct. 23 and I got it filled on Nov. 10. See? It says it right here on the bottle.
Dr. X: I must have called that one in to the pharmacy because I don't have a prescription here.
Me: (confused and feeling a little crazy) Yeah, I definitely remember you giving me a prescription for Vitamin Z because I just got it filled a week ago. It says here on the bottle I have 5 refills left.
Dr. X: (seemingly a tad confused). Hmm. Ok. So in addition to the Ambien, I'm writing you a new prescription for Adderall. The insurance companies are crazy and they don't like to approve medications taken 3x a day but I want you to start taking it 3x a day. I'm going to write it that you should take 1-2 in the morning and 1 in the afternoon, ok?
Me: Ok. So, is it going to be the same overall dosage I've been taking now spread out 3 times a day, or is the 3rd dose actually going to be an additional dose?
Dr. X: It's going to be an additional dose, 5, 5, and 5.
Me: (a little confused as I look at my bottle that's currently filled that says 15 mg taken twice a day). Ok, but I've currently been taking 15 mg twice a day for a total of 30 mg a day.
Dr. X: (very confused, looking at my chart and the scripts he's written over the last several appointments). You have a very strange pharmacy.
Me: Huh? I go to CVS...one in Chapel Hill and one in Morrisville.
Dr. X: Well, apparently, they can't read prescriptions very well. Clearly I've written your scripts for 5 mg at a time, and they've filled it at 15 mg.
Me: Oh, My God! Am I over-dosing on Adderall? And here you were going to up my dosage?? Do you think the people at CVS maybe mis-labeled my prescription and I'm really taking 5 mg per dose even though the bottle says 15 mg? What did you prescribe me earlier at my first visit?
Dr. X: (still looking at my chart): No, CVS didn't label it wrong, they read it wrong.
Both of us at this point clearly confused. What the Hell have I been taking? And is he still going to increase my dosage (which I hope he does) even though he thinks he's only been giving me 10 mg a day and I've been taking 30 mg???
Dr. X: I do have one question though. Is your last name *Littlejon or Cooley?
Me: Littlejon? My last name is Cooley. My maiden name is Lightfoot...(me then looking over his shoulder at "my" chart. And my first name isn't *Susan! It's Sarah!!!
Dr. X: (pauses, then chuckles) That explains it then. I grabbed the wrong chart.
Me: Here's the prescription for Ambien back. I thought for a minute I was going crazy. I was right, you never prescribed Ambien to me.
Dr. X: (fumbling with my correct chart) You're right. I think maybe your doctor needs a little dose of that ADD medication you're taking.
Me: I was thinking the exact same thing. You said it though. (we both laugh). I'm glad I was paying attention. So, for me, 45 mg of Adderall per day is ok?
Dr. X: Yes. We can even go up to 60 mg if we have to. (Sheepishly) Thanks for straightening me out.
Me: No problem. I'll mail you your bill.
Dr. X: Mail me some of your leftover ADD meds while you're at it!
The End.
Moral of this true story: Be an advocate!! Double-check everything! Apply a healthy dose of skepticism to even those you trust the most!!
**And don't call me Susan Littlejon!! (name changed to protect the innocent)
I think this man is a genius. Cocky, yes, but totally astute when it comes to understanding the delicacy of the interactions between the mind and body affecting one's mental and physical health. What sold me on his theory and approach was the way that instead of dismissing my distressing symptoms over the last five years (low-grade depression, extreme fatigue, serious brain fog) as being "all in my head" as I often read other psychiatrists do, he helped fill in the blanks by attributing these unresolved yet treated symptoms as residual effects of undiagnosed and untreated ADD.
The Background
In a nutshell, his theory is that my brain's blueprint at birth included some faulty wiring but it (my brain) was strong enough to compensate with the neurotransmitter detour for 31 years pretty well. Increasingly, year after year, my brain and body had to work harder to compensate for undiagnosed and untreated ADD, but it worked away until it couldn't work that way anymore. Year 2003 came along when my mom died in March and Johnny was born in July. Those two major life events happening within 5 months of one another were basically my bird brain's last straws. That's when the symptoms started.
According to my shrink, the physical and psychological stress that a birth and a death caused me, flipped my natural disease-fighting system (immune system) into fight or flight mode. I fought. My brain couldn't get its neurotransmitters the same way it had for 31 years the detoured way, but it was fighting, so it started looking to other systems in my body, namely my endocrine system. My adrenals became taxed; my estrogen and progesterone became unbalanced; and my thyroid started attacking itself. My body and brain were under attack (undiagnosed ADD, psychological pain of losing my mom, physical stress of having a baby) but couldn't detect a foreign invader (like a virus, bacteria, etc.) to fight. What did it do? It started fighting itself, hence my autoimmune thyroid disease.
Ok, so repeated lab tests have shown that I have an under-functioning thyroid, burned-out, barely functioning (alas, not even detectable) adrenal glands, and whacked out levels of progesterone and estrogen. And I've been treated for the three-legged endocrine monster for over four years. Treated, but ineffectively. Why haven't these treatments worked? Because my ADD hasn't been treated.
At my first visit with my shrink, he validated and indeed connected all of my symptoms over the
last four years to my ADD that he thinks I've had for life. He put me on a treatment regimen for all of the above that I've been following carefully since Aug. He said that if left untreated, the effects ADD on my brain and body would eventually catch up to me and create in me a state of being that no matter how much fight and determination I have, it wouldn't do me any good and I would likely become bed-ridden. This is what he told me. I believed him and I've been doing exactly what he says to do. (And I've been feeling better).
The Funny Part
Today at the end of my appointment, my doc is sitting at his desk with my chart open, reviewing my scripts. He asks me how the Ambien is working. Confused, I tell him I have never taken Ambien. Actually, let me tell you the story this way:
Dr. X: How is the Ambien working for you?
Me: Ambien? I haven't been taking Ambien. Did you prescribe it to me on the first visit?
Dr. X: (Looking at my chart) Yes I did. Did you lose the prescription? I'll write you another one.
Me: (Getting the Prescription) I guess I did lose it. I seriously don't remember you prescribing me Ambien because I haven't really had any trouble sleeping lately. Oh, but "Vitamin Z?" Yeah, that worked really well and I'd like to keep taking that if it's ok.
Dr. X: Vitamin Z? I didn't write a prescription for that, did I?
Me: Yeah, you did. You wrote it on Oct. 23 and I got it filled on Nov. 10. See? It says it right here on the bottle.
Dr. X: I must have called that one in to the pharmacy because I don't have a prescription here.
Me: (confused and feeling a little crazy) Yeah, I definitely remember you giving me a prescription for Vitamin Z because I just got it filled a week ago. It says here on the bottle I have 5 refills left.
Dr. X: (seemingly a tad confused). Hmm. Ok. So in addition to the Ambien, I'm writing you a new prescription for Adderall. The insurance companies are crazy and they don't like to approve medications taken 3x a day but I want you to start taking it 3x a day. I'm going to write it that you should take 1-2 in the morning and 1 in the afternoon, ok?
Me: Ok. So, is it going to be the same overall dosage I've been taking now spread out 3 times a day, or is the 3rd dose actually going to be an additional dose?
Dr. X: It's going to be an additional dose, 5, 5, and 5.
Me: (a little confused as I look at my bottle that's currently filled that says 15 mg taken twice a day). Ok, but I've currently been taking 15 mg twice a day for a total of 30 mg a day.
Dr. X: (very confused, looking at my chart and the scripts he's written over the last several appointments). You have a very strange pharmacy.
Me: Huh? I go to CVS...one in Chapel Hill and one in Morrisville.
Dr. X: Well, apparently, they can't read prescriptions very well. Clearly I've written your scripts for 5 mg at a time, and they've filled it at 15 mg.
Me: Oh, My God! Am I over-dosing on Adderall? And here you were going to up my dosage?? Do you think the people at CVS maybe mis-labeled my prescription and I'm really taking 5 mg per dose even though the bottle says 15 mg? What did you prescribe me earlier at my first visit?
Dr. X: (still looking at my chart): No, CVS didn't label it wrong, they read it wrong.
Both of us at this point clearly confused. What the Hell have I been taking? And is he still going to increase my dosage (which I hope he does) even though he thinks he's only been giving me 10 mg a day and I've been taking 30 mg???
Dr. X: I do have one question though. Is your last name *Littlejon or Cooley?
Me: Littlejon? My last name is Cooley. My maiden name is Lightfoot...(me then looking over his shoulder at "my" chart. And my first name isn't *Susan! It's Sarah!!!
Dr. X: (pauses, then chuckles) That explains it then. I grabbed the wrong chart.
Me: Here's the prescription for Ambien back. I thought for a minute I was going crazy. I was right, you never prescribed Ambien to me.
Dr. X: (fumbling with my correct chart) You're right. I think maybe your doctor needs a little dose of that ADD medication you're taking.
Me: I was thinking the exact same thing. You said it though. (we both laugh). I'm glad I was paying attention. So, for me, 45 mg of Adderall per day is ok?
Dr. X: Yes. We can even go up to 60 mg if we have to. (Sheepishly) Thanks for straightening me out.
Me: No problem. I'll mail you your bill.
Dr. X: Mail me some of your leftover ADD meds while you're at it!
The End.
Moral of this true story: Be an advocate!! Double-check everything! Apply a healthy dose of skepticism to even those you trust the most!!
**And don't call me Susan Littlejon!! (name changed to protect the innocent)
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
It's all about the toys...
Last night David didn't get home until about 9:30 PM. I was in charge of getting the kids bathed and put to sleep. I told them both that we would have an "Elections Results" party and eat popcorn and drink juice in the living room and that they could stay up as long as they wanted.
Grace rebelled at this notion and just wanted to go to sleep already. So? I let her. She was fast asleep before 8:00 PM so that left Johnny and me to party. I admit, I was manic-acting all last night from about 8:00 PM until I went to bed around 12:30 AM. A friend on Facebook had commented on Monday that it felt kind of like the day before Christmas, and on Monday I agreed. The difference is, that we didn't wake up on Tuesday with immediate "gifts." We had to wait until the gool ole' polls in California closed to seal the deal.
Anyway, even though I let Johnny camp out in the living room with me eating popcorn, and drinking juice and told him he could stay up as late as he wanted watching the election returns with me, his Kindergarten body crashed a little after 8:30 PM. At this point, we still didn't know who our president was going to be. (We did, but we didn't). So then:
Me: Go ahead and go to sleep. It's kind of like Christmas Eve. When you wake up, you'll have a new president.
Johnny: Yeah, but I wish I would get a toy.
Sarah: I bet there are Obama action figures out there somewhere and even if I can't get one in your grubby little hands tomorrow, I'll see if I can find one.
Johnny: Ok, but I want one of John McCain too.
Grace rebelled at this notion and just wanted to go to sleep already. So? I let her. She was fast asleep before 8:00 PM so that left Johnny and me to party. I admit, I was manic-acting all last night from about 8:00 PM until I went to bed around 12:30 AM. A friend on Facebook had commented on Monday that it felt kind of like the day before Christmas, and on Monday I agreed. The difference is, that we didn't wake up on Tuesday with immediate "gifts." We had to wait until the gool ole' polls in California closed to seal the deal.
Anyway, even though I let Johnny camp out in the living room with me eating popcorn, and drinking juice and told him he could stay up as late as he wanted watching the election returns with me, his Kindergarten body crashed a little after 8:30 PM. At this point, we still didn't know who our president was going to be. (We did, but we didn't). So then:
Me: Go ahead and go to sleep. It's kind of like Christmas Eve. When you wake up, you'll have a new president.
Johnny: Yeah, but I wish I would get a toy.
Sarah: I bet there are Obama action figures out there somewhere and even if I can't get one in your grubby little hands tomorrow, I'll see if I can find one.
Johnny: Ok, but I want one of John McCain too.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Quotes
You know those blank books with fancy covers? I guess they're supposed to be journals? Well I have tons of them around my house and each one is only partially filled. I found one that I got on my birthday in 1992 and all that's written in it are 8 quotes that I wanted to record around that time. I'm posting them here so I can do something else with this "blank book."
July 21, 1992:
"It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night is another thing." ~ Ernest Hemingway, "The Sun Also Rises" (This is my favorite book of all time, btw)
July 23, 1992:
"You're not going to die of a broken heart," Gemini said, "You're too smart for that."
"I don't think it has anything to do with being smart," Michelle said.
~Judy Blume, "Smart Women"
September 12, 1993:
"How may a man in smart
Find matter to rejoice?
How may a woeful heart
Set forth a pleasant voice?"
~Sir Thomas Wyatt, Marvel No More (a poem)
October 12, 1993
"Change is our friend." ~ Bill Clinton, UNC's Bicentennial Day
October 27, 1993
"Death is the mother of beauty." ~ Wallace Stevens
November 2, 1993
"All are but parts of one stupendous whole,
whose body nature is, and God the soul;"
~ Alexander Pope, "An Essay on Man"
November 7, 1993
"A better understanding of our differences permits a better understanding of our commonalities." ~Deborah L. Rhode, "Theoretical Perspectives on Sexual Differences"
November 17, 1993
"Before I know myself seek not to know me." ~ William Shakespeare, line 525, "Venus and Adonis"
July 21, 1992:
"It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night is another thing." ~ Ernest Hemingway, "The Sun Also Rises" (This is my favorite book of all time, btw)
July 23, 1992:
"You're not going to die of a broken heart," Gemini said, "You're too smart for that."
"I don't think it has anything to do with being smart," Michelle said.
~Judy Blume, "Smart Women"
September 12, 1993:
"How may a man in smart
Find matter to rejoice?
How may a woeful heart
Set forth a pleasant voice?"
~Sir Thomas Wyatt, Marvel No More (a poem)
October 12, 1993
"Change is our friend." ~ Bill Clinton, UNC's Bicentennial Day
October 27, 1993
"Death is the mother of beauty." ~ Wallace Stevens
November 2, 1993
"All are but parts of one stupendous whole,
whose body nature is, and God the soul;"
~ Alexander Pope, "An Essay on Man"
November 7, 1993
"A better understanding of our differences permits a better understanding of our commonalities." ~Deborah L. Rhode, "Theoretical Perspectives on Sexual Differences"
November 17, 1993
"Before I know myself seek not to know me." ~ William Shakespeare, line 525, "Venus and Adonis"
Friday, October 31, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Good Times, Good Times
From right to left: Jim Peacock, PhD., me, Tift Merritt, Tift's dad.
The 2008 Raleigh Medal of Arts was a wonderful event and it was worth it even if it means I get a crappy grade on the paper that was due that week.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Before or After?
For those of you who are not participating in this poll on Facebook, I invite you to play here.
Which do you prefer, before or after? (David did the haircut himself). Oh, and if you're not on Facebook, get on it immediately and friend me. FRIEND ME!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Lurking Variables
I miss, you, blog. There are so many lurking and confounding variables (see that, research prof? These terms are finally sinking in) that have affected my blogging these days but I will get back to it when I can. The run down:
1. My hero died last Saturday. Knowing her changed my life and also my ability to deal with her death.
2. I DO seem to have ADD; stimulants DO seem to help; I HAVE lost weight (about 10 lbs); 2 of 3 symptoms are better (the brain fog and the fatigue) but the depression and/or anxiety remain.
Also, in exchange for a healthier mind, my body is compromised. I haven't been to yoga in about 3-4 weeks and when I try poses at home, my once strong, now feeble, legs shake. I'm often jittery, very unstable walking down steps, and the ringing in my left ear has gotten worse. When I lie down at night I can actually hear my heartbeat in my left ear. It's strange but other people have it too. Google it. I did.
3. I love my internship and classes in general. I was born to do this kind of work, and I'm enjoying learning how to do it better.
4. Johnny loves learning too and he tells me that every day. I've been volunteering with his class and will help out at their school's Fall Carnival on Friday. Grace is reading at grade level and is having more sophisticated conversations these days.
5. The other day at a "Women of Western Wake" luncheon, one of the recipients gave some advice to working mothers with young children. She suggested finding ways to blend the different roles we occupy as best we can. I'm trying to figure out how to do that, because I believe that's a good idea. I don't think it's meant just literally, like by taking your kids to work, to classes, etc. To me, it means, having a common denominator in all I'm doing and trying to accomplish. My current paying job helps keep food on the table and allows flexibility for me to go on field trips; My classes get me closer to my degree where I can hopefully gainfully earn and have more time with my kids during the week; they're also teaching me how to become effective in practice; my internship is based on helping children and families become healthier overall; this all affects my mothering and my mothering affects all of it. A lot of my current life seems to be compartmentalized...but I'm trying to find ways to make it less so.
I'm trying to keep my eye on the prize for me, my family, and for those I touch. That prize has become clear: balance, a sense of peace, and wellness of body, mind, and spirit.
1. My hero died last Saturday. Knowing her changed my life and also my ability to deal with her death.
2. I DO seem to have ADD; stimulants DO seem to help; I HAVE lost weight (about 10 lbs); 2 of 3 symptoms are better (the brain fog and the fatigue) but the depression and/or anxiety remain.
Also, in exchange for a healthier mind, my body is compromised. I haven't been to yoga in about 3-4 weeks and when I try poses at home, my once strong, now feeble, legs shake. I'm often jittery, very unstable walking down steps, and the ringing in my left ear has gotten worse. When I lie down at night I can actually hear my heartbeat in my left ear. It's strange but other people have it too. Google it. I did.
3. I love my internship and classes in general. I was born to do this kind of work, and I'm enjoying learning how to do it better.
4. Johnny loves learning too and he tells me that every day. I've been volunteering with his class and will help out at their school's Fall Carnival on Friday. Grace is reading at grade level and is having more sophisticated conversations these days.
5. The other day at a "Women of Western Wake" luncheon, one of the recipients gave some advice to working mothers with young children. She suggested finding ways to blend the different roles we occupy as best we can. I'm trying to figure out how to do that, because I believe that's a good idea. I don't think it's meant just literally, like by taking your kids to work, to classes, etc. To me, it means, having a common denominator in all I'm doing and trying to accomplish. My current paying job helps keep food on the table and allows flexibility for me to go on field trips; My classes get me closer to my degree where I can hopefully gainfully earn and have more time with my kids during the week; they're also teaching me how to become effective in practice; my internship is based on helping children and families become healthier overall; this all affects my mothering and my mothering affects all of it. A lot of my current life seems to be compartmentalized...but I'm trying to find ways to make it less so.
I'm trying to keep my eye on the prize for me, my family, and for those I touch. That prize has become clear: balance, a sense of peace, and wellness of body, mind, and spirit.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Concert to Benefit the Place Where I'm Interning
Hi, all.
I'm doing my first-year social work internship at a dynamic, growing organization called Carolina Outreach, which provides local children and families with a variety of mental health services. The Carolina Outreach Foundation supports the work of CO. This Friday is the 3rd Annual Carolina Outreach Foundation Benefit Concert. I will be "working" at the event while earning field hours doing something I like to do anyway and that is hear new, live music. So, check out the deets below and please come out if you've nothing better to do this Friday.
3rd Annual Benefit for the
Friday, Oct 17th
$10 at the door
Dinner available throughout the evening, with Broad Street Café’s expanded menu: wood-fired pizza, excellent burgers and salads, 15 beers on tap and full bar.
Performers begin at
Magician Josh Lozoff throughout
Door Prize Raffle before and between musical sets!!!
==================Carolina Outreach Foundation====================
The Carolina Outreach Foundation is a non-profit organization based in Durham, NC whose mission is to work with children with behavioral, emotional, and mental health disabilities to provide them opportunities for recreation, vocational internships, and academic support.
Monday, October 06, 2008
I really should be studying...
I'm gonna have to post in short clips. Sorry.
I took the kids to the first-ever Jordan Lake Music Festival on Saturday, an event to raise money to "clean up Jordan Lake." It was a blast at first. We saw a woman singing and playing guitar atop an old-fashioned fire engine and the woman was a gal I went to undergrad with. We'd bumped into each other at a Whole Foods in Raleigh about 9 months ago and did the whole, "Oh my gosh, it's been so long since I've seen you, you haven't changed much, what have you been doing for the last 14 years, we should get together sometime." Sometime was Saturday, and she nodded in recognition as my kids and I waved and clapped.
The festival was great fun and well worth the money, until I lost a bunch of what I had left to spend. It must've fallen out of my pocket while Johnny and I went on this
crazy bike ride that was quite tricky until we landed in the open helicopter field.
Yes, I was bummed about losing about $35 dollars, but I was more disturbed by how an employee of the Chatham County Sheriff's Office lectured me repeatedly about how I should carry money in public places like this, ya know, for the future. I should, according to this guy, walk around at things like this with a fanny pack with my belongings securely zipped in, or even a pouch you wear around your neck that you can wear under your shirt instead of in sight. Gee I wonder how I made it this many years without those very helpful tips from this bored Sheriff's Office employee (who knew good and well the only reason I engaged him in conversation was because he had a uniform on and I'd just lost something).
Speaking of Sheriffs, I spent a couple of hours tooling around in downtown Raleigh today hand-delivering tickets for special seating for tomorrow night's Raleigh Medal of Arts Ceremony, hosted by Tift Merritt!!! Lucy Daniels, for whom I work, is one of this year's recipients, and it's going to be an evening full of celebration, arts, and I actually get to attend and don't think there will be much work involved. So anyway I delivered my second to last ticket and was walking back to my car that was parked by a meter that was pre-paid (yay!) on some street I'm not even familiar with. Next thing I know, there is this sea of black and gray pant suits walking my way, led by a short man with a reddish face, flanked by two women he was holding hands with. My mind raced, "Is this some sort of political statement? Some type of protest?" About 4 journalists were taking pictures of the hand-in-hand lollipop gang that were followed by taller, and grayer men in dark suits. I motioned a young photographer over and said, "What's going on?" She said, "It's the Brunswick County Sheriff. He just got sentenced for embezzlement and stuff like that. He's holding hands with his wife and mother."
Never a dull moment.
I took the kids to the first-ever Jordan Lake Music Festival on Saturday, an event to raise money to "clean up Jordan Lake." It was a blast at first. We saw a woman singing and playing guitar atop an old-fashioned fire engine and the woman was a gal I went to undergrad with. We'd bumped into each other at a Whole Foods in Raleigh about 9 months ago and did the whole, "Oh my gosh, it's been so long since I've seen you, you haven't changed much, what have you been doing for the last 14 years, we should get together sometime." Sometime was Saturday, and she nodded in recognition as my kids and I waved and clapped.
The festival was great fun and well worth the money, until I lost a bunch of what I had left to spend. It must've fallen out of my pocket while Johnny and I went on this
crazy bike ride that was quite tricky until we landed in the open helicopter field.
Yes, I was bummed about losing about $35 dollars, but I was more disturbed by how an employee of the Chatham County Sheriff's Office lectured me repeatedly about how I should carry money in public places like this, ya know, for the future. I should, according to this guy, walk around at things like this with a fanny pack with my belongings securely zipped in, or even a pouch you wear around your neck that you can wear under your shirt instead of in sight. Gee I wonder how I made it this many years without those very helpful tips from this bored Sheriff's Office employee (who knew good and well the only reason I engaged him in conversation was because he had a uniform on and I'd just lost something).Speaking of Sheriffs, I spent a couple of hours tooling around in downtown Raleigh today hand-delivering tickets for special seating for tomorrow night's Raleigh Medal of Arts Ceremony, hosted by Tift Merritt!!! Lucy Daniels, for whom I work, is one of this year's recipients, and it's going to be an evening full of celebration, arts, and I actually get to attend and don't think there will be much work involved. So anyway I delivered my second to last ticket and was walking back to my car that was parked by a meter that was pre-paid (yay!) on some street I'm not even familiar with. Next thing I know, there is this sea of black and gray pant suits walking my way, led by a short man with a reddish face, flanked by two women he was holding hands with. My mind raced, "Is this some sort of political statement? Some type of protest?" About 4 journalists were taking pictures of the hand-in-hand lollipop gang that were followed by taller, and grayer men in dark suits. I motioned a young photographer over and said, "What's going on?" She said, "It's the Brunswick County Sheriff. He just got sentenced for embezzlement and stuff like that. He's holding hands with his wife and mother."
Never a dull moment.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Updates
Hello blog readers. I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. For anyone that is still tuning in, here's a quick rundown:
Grace: Loves 1st grade even though her class is "officially" overcrowded. She's rockin with reading and has no problem learning her sight words week to week. Writing and fine motor planning and execution cause her the most trouble. When she can't write or button her pants or pull on a shirt, for example, she reacts and takes it out on others. In the form of pulling Johnny's hair, pinching me, and telling David he makes her want to vomit. Every Friday when the class gets assessed on how well they can read and write that week's "high-frequency" words, Grace's resource teachers (aka special ed teachers) bring a laptop into the classroom and let Grace type out her words. It's been working great.
Johnny: Loves Kindergarten. It helps that his teacher looks a lot like me. Or I look a lot like her. I think she's a couple of years older. He loves learning and we love the kinds of things he's doing at school. He brought home a picture he did in Art class that showed bodies moving and it was an exercise done to introduce the kids to Keith Haring's work. Isn't that great? Johnny beamed when I went to our bookcase and pulled out a book on Keith Haring. It was like, "Wow, my parents are cool."
He's still my cuddly baby, though, who still hasn't gotten his "r's" yet (meaning, he still says, "My favorite centoe at school is the sand centoe.") And he still has dimples on his hands. My baby.
David: Hanging in, kicking ass at work, and really working through some tough things.
Me: I think I'm getting my second life. What I'm about to say deserves an entire blog post so you can understand the reasoning, the science, and the reality behind the fact that I've recently been diagnosed with ADD. In a nutshell, ADD came first. I was born with it and compensated for it for 31 years. In 2003, my body and mind couldn't compensate any more with the physical, emotional, and psychological stress that came with losing my mom and giving birth within a five month period. My adrenal, thyroid, and other systems were forced to take action and now they're depleted. It's all so very fascinating. I have a superb psychiatrist who is providing medication maintenance and I wanted to kiss his feet when he said to me last Thursday that what I've been experiencing is damn real, and that if I don't support my brain and physical systems, I could end up bed-ridden where no amount of my self-determination would do me a bit of good. I'm sticking with this guy.
Work, school, internship, being a mom, a wife, a friend, a sister, a daugther, I'm doing it all. And things are finally looking up.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
A Literary Hero Fallen
I was shocked and sad to read that David Foster Wallace hanged himself on Sept. 12 in his home in California. My feelings, though, don't come from what DFW means to me, but what he means to David. One of the few positive things David's dad passed on to him as a child was a love of books, and from the day I met him, he's always had his nose in one (or two or three). DFW is David's favorite writer, his literary hero, and now not another word will be written by this dazzling talent.
I've never read anything by DFW, and I'm not sure that I ever will, but David was hooked the first time he read some of Wallace's (and Donald Antrim's) work in a fiction edition of the New Yorker several years ago. He laughed out loud for days, and told lots of people about this complex, postmodern, original, and don't forget, funny, writer. David gobbled up Infinite Jest , all with its 1000 plus pages and 100 pages of footnotes, and from then, it seemed, made it a mission to read everything DFW had ever written.
I read about the publishing of DFW's latest collection, Oblivion, even before David did and was thrilled to buy it and give it to him on Christmas Day a few years ago and to see David's genuine surprise and satisfaction with a gift I knew he'd love.
I've read that Wallace's characters are multi-multi-multi-dimensional, zany, incomprehensible, nonsensical and just plain weird. They also lead dark lives full of addiction, suicide, and madness, and one can't help but assume that many of DFW's personal demons came to life for his readers on the page.
Sounds like Wallace was brilliant and that his mind served both as his liberator and captor. Who knows what made him kill himself, but it's scary to digest when it happens to someone who you identify with, whose complex characters you identify with, who you consider a genius with words and thoughts, and who you assumed had it together enough to keep this type of tragedy at bay.
I'm the one who broke the news to David, just hours ago as I read it online. In that first moment of shock and awe, trying to make sense of losing someone who's meant so much to you, David said something that I interpreted as, gosh if that can happen to someone as talented and smart as he was, what's to keep the rest of us with similar personal demons from sharing the same fate? To make us both feel better, I said, "David, don't worry, you're not that smart."
I'm so sorry for your loss, David, I really am.
Ouch!
Half of us obviously enjoyed this ride down the slide. The other half didn't.
PS: Click on the image to enlarge it so you can appreciate all four facial expressions.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Mothers and Mothering
Admittedly, this is a rather "lame" blog post b/c it's just a comment that I wrote on someone else's blog, but if you read the post here, what comes below will make more sense.
Fourteen years ago this December my mother wept quietly in the back of the van as my family drove home to NC from KY after attending my mom's mother's funeral. My grandmother lived a long, rich life into her 80's, and I always suspected that the main reason my mom was crying on that long drive was because she (my mom) had recently been diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma, and her own mother had died without knowing this or being able to help with this.
My mom lost her battle to cancer 5 1/2 years ago, the day before my 31st birthday, while I was 5 months pregnant with my second child. I think about and miss my mom every day, especially when I'm sad and sick (in other words, a lot lately), and my son always says, "Your mom is right here with you, Mommy. She's right here. You don't need to be sad." It's such a beautiful sentiment and I do believe it.
You're right about going through life with different mothers. I've been going to yoga classes regularly for about 2 years now, and it's there, in yoga class, with a male instructor, no less, when I feel the most "mothered" these days.
There's something about girls losing their mothers (at any age) that warms me, haunts me, confuses me, makes me feel guilty about all I said (and didn't say) to my own mother, and at the same time comforts me in a way that is hard to explain but feels something like being part of a special club to which members are either daughters or mothers to daughters, or both.
I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but what I gain through reading your posts, I feel that in a way, you're mothering me.
Fourteen years ago this December my mother wept quietly in the back of the van as my family drove home to NC from KY after attending my mom's mother's funeral. My grandmother lived a long, rich life into her 80's, and I always suspected that the main reason my mom was crying on that long drive was because she (my mom) had recently been diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma, and her own mother had died without knowing this or being able to help with this.
My mom lost her battle to cancer 5 1/2 years ago, the day before my 31st birthday, while I was 5 months pregnant with my second child. I think about and miss my mom every day, especially when I'm sad and sick (in other words, a lot lately), and my son always says, "Your mom is right here with you, Mommy. She's right here. You don't need to be sad." It's such a beautiful sentiment and I do believe it.
You're right about going through life with different mothers. I've been going to yoga classes regularly for about 2 years now, and it's there, in yoga class, with a male instructor, no less, when I feel the most "mothered" these days.
There's something about girls losing their mothers (at any age) that warms me, haunts me, confuses me, makes me feel guilty about all I said (and didn't say) to my own mother, and at the same time comforts me in a way that is hard to explain but feels something like being part of a special club to which members are either daughters or mothers to daughters, or both.
I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but what I gain through reading your posts, I feel that in a way, you're mothering me.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Overkill?
The kids and I ate dinner this past Sunday at a Ruby Tuesday. When our debit card slip came back and needed a signature, Johnny really wanted to sign his name. On the back as well as the front. Do you think he got his point across?
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Invasion of My Privacy and My Fridge
So I was just enjoying a leisurely 10-minute shower as the first step in getting ready to go join my family for A's b-day celebration when I thought I heard knocking at the door. Couldn't be, must have been my ears playing tricks on me. A few seconds later, knocking. And more knocking. And banging and then some more knocking. I didn't cut my shower short because I was in the middle of a leg shave, but when I did hop out, I yelled out (at this point knowing it was probably the neighborhood tween boys that stop by periodically to 1.) play with Grace's and Johnny's toys and 2.) nab our stash of sugary drinks), "HANG ON! I'M IN THE SHOWER!" I've started buying these 8-pack citrus punch drinks at ALDI every week for (I kid you not) $1.69 per pack. Yes, that's 8 8-oz servings of punch that I buy every week just for $1.69 and just for these tweens. Grace and Johnny don't even drink the punch (I guess they agree with me--too much sugar!) and when they see them in the fridge they routinely ask me when the boys are coming over for their drinks.
Well they came over tonight and in my Carolina-blue bath robe and toweled-up hair, I stood at the door and doled out 3 bottles each, like it was Halloween or something. They told me I could save the last two for Johnny and Grace but I told them they don't drink them and that the last two would be waiting for them the next time they came knocking. I also added that I only go to ALDI once a week and if they slurped up the weekly supply before Monday, then, well, they'd have to just settle for water. Kids.
Well they came over tonight and in my Carolina-blue bath robe and toweled-up hair, I stood at the door and doled out 3 bottles each, like it was Halloween or something. They told me I could save the last two for Johnny and Grace but I told them they don't drink them and that the last two would be waiting for them the next time they came knocking. I also added that I only go to ALDI once a week and if they slurped up the weekly supply before Monday, then, well, they'd have to just settle for water. Kids.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Let's Chill
If last year's party stuck out because of the people I recognized from the year before, then this year will stick out for the caliber of music I heard. I'm talking about ChillFest VI, the annual pickin' party tucked away in the hills of Appalachia that I've been going to in August for the last three years. That's right, different name but same great taste. The annual shindig has evolved, somewhat organically, into a happening that is more than the sum of its parts, not unlike our entire weekend spent in and around Boone a couple of weeks ago.
For the last two years I have driven with a friend specifically to attend what was then called SwillFest, but this year ChillFest was but one of our "must-do" activities in a weekend full of what I consider the High Country's best. When a friend mentioned his interest in visiting Boone and asked when a good time might be to go, I could think of none other than the weekend of ChillFest VI. What used to be a kid-free overnight getaway for a girlfriend and me turned into a two-night, balanced blend of hanging out with my kids and extended family and adult-only (David, me and another couple) time in a gorgeous cabin while the kids slept at Aunt Kate's.
I purposely reserved a cabin that was only a few miles down the road from ChillFest, and every time we passed Ben and Cherie's driveway, I felt like I was sharing a special secret with myself as I was the only one in the car who knew what lay ahead on Saturday in their backyard.
We arrived at ChillFest after 8:00 PM, but before dark, and I had just enough time to greet the hosts, set up our chairs, and scan the surroundings for a sense of who was there and what the mood was like. Like last year, there were kids, dogs and tents sprinkled liberally up the grassy bank, through the wooded path, and in front of the expanded deck-turned-stage. None of the listeners perched their chairs or blankets right up front, though, intimating less of a concert performance atmosphere and more of a laid-back talk-amongst-yourselves environment.
Even so, I was more engaged with and tuned into the music this year than I seem to have been the last two. Upright & Breathin' sounded hotter, tighter, more versatile, more confident and definitely more polished than last year. The foursome's synergy was palpable, (especially during the give-it-all-ya-got fast-paced finger picking), and I just felt like these guys have come into their own. Apparently the local bluegrass community thinks so too or you wouldn't see their names on music festival bills with the likes of Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas. I have to admit that my bluegrass ear is not sophisticated enough yet to discern whether the instrumentals played were originals or covers, but when lyrics were sung, I found myself filling in more gaps and making more connections than I'd done in the past. Like for instance, when they played one of my favorite traditional tunes-- Shady Grove--I wondered if the lyrics in their version "going back to Harlan" referred to Harlan, KY, the region I studied last fall as I researched the life and work of Katherine Pettit, a social worker who practiced settlement work in the mountains of eastern KY in the early 1900's.
If imitation is the best form of flattery, I was impressed by the ways Upright & Breathin' and Co. chose to flatter some of my favorite musicians. Their up-tempo version of Gillian Welch's "Tear My Stillhouse Down," unique delivery of the Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil," and unsuspected rendition of The White Stripes' "Now, Mary" all succeeded in venerating these originals while at the same time putting something new into the world through their individual and collective musicianships. I was further pleased when I heard Ben's nephew singing an Amos Lee tune and sounding pert near as good as Mr. Lee himself!
This year I noticed more people in the crowd vying to get on stage at any cost. When Ben came to speak to me during a set break, I overheard him talking with a tatooed, mohawked, listening fan. This guy wanted a chance to get on stage and show the crowd what he could do. With the extraordinary interpersonal skills of, say, an insurance agent, I heard Ben explain with kind firmness (or firm kindness) that the evening's musical performance line-up was already off schedule and there was no way he'd be able to fit another act on stage. The tatted guy persisted. He said he played the harmonica and would be so happy as to just get on stage and play back up with U & B. Ben added--with great panache--that his band is what it is and communicated that what it isn't is a band whose sound would easily accommodate a back up harmonica!
That's right, Ben. Once again, ChillFest was what it's always been: a great party full of southern hospitality, Appalachian mountain glory, kickin bluegrass music, and laid-back chilling for the young and old. I was proud to share this experience with my friends from the Triangle area and definitely think that it's earned a rightful spot on the top-ten list of fun things to do in Boone on a weekend in mid-August. Oh, and one more thing: My mom used to always say you didn't have to be drunk to have a good time at a party. You know what? She was right!
For the last two years I have driven with a friend specifically to attend what was then called SwillFest, but this year ChillFest was but one of our "must-do" activities in a weekend full of what I consider the High Country's best. When a friend mentioned his interest in visiting Boone and asked when a good time might be to go, I could think of none other than the weekend of ChillFest VI. What used to be a kid-free overnight getaway for a girlfriend and me turned into a two-night, balanced blend of hanging out with my kids and extended family and adult-only (David, me and another couple) time in a gorgeous cabin while the kids slept at Aunt Kate's.
I purposely reserved a cabin that was only a few miles down the road from ChillFest, and every time we passed Ben and Cherie's driveway, I felt like I was sharing a special secret with myself as I was the only one in the car who knew what lay ahead on Saturday in their backyard.
We arrived at ChillFest after 8:00 PM, but before dark, and I had just enough time to greet the hosts, set up our chairs, and scan the surroundings for a sense of who was there and what the mood was like. Like last year, there were kids, dogs and tents sprinkled liberally up the grassy bank, through the wooded path, and in front of the expanded deck-turned-stage. None of the listeners perched their chairs or blankets right up front, though, intimating less of a concert performance atmosphere and more of a laid-back talk-amongst-yourselves environment.
Even so, I was more engaged with and tuned into the music this year than I seem to have been the last two. Upright & Breathin' sounded hotter, tighter, more versatile, more confident and definitely more polished than last year. The foursome's synergy was palpable, (especially during the give-it-all-ya-got fast-paced finger picking), and I just felt like these guys have come into their own. Apparently the local bluegrass community thinks so too or you wouldn't see their names on music festival bills with the likes of Sam Bush and Jerry Douglas. I have to admit that my bluegrass ear is not sophisticated enough yet to discern whether the instrumentals played were originals or covers, but when lyrics were sung, I found myself filling in more gaps and making more connections than I'd done in the past. Like for instance, when they played one of my favorite traditional tunes-- Shady Grove--I wondered if the lyrics in their version "going back to Harlan" referred to Harlan, KY, the region I studied last fall as I researched the life and work of Katherine Pettit, a social worker who practiced settlement work in the mountains of eastern KY in the early 1900's.
If imitation is the best form of flattery, I was impressed by the ways Upright & Breathin' and Co. chose to flatter some of my favorite musicians. Their up-tempo version of Gillian Welch's "Tear My Stillhouse Down," unique delivery of the Stones' "Sympathy for the Devil," and unsuspected rendition of The White Stripes' "Now, Mary" all succeeded in venerating these originals while at the same time putting something new into the world through their individual and collective musicianships. I was further pleased when I heard Ben's nephew singing an Amos Lee tune and sounding pert near as good as Mr. Lee himself!
This year I noticed more people in the crowd vying to get on stage at any cost. When Ben came to speak to me during a set break, I overheard him talking with a tatooed, mohawked, listening fan. This guy wanted a chance to get on stage and show the crowd what he could do. With the extraordinary interpersonal skills of, say, an insurance agent, I heard Ben explain with kind firmness (or firm kindness) that the evening's musical performance line-up was already off schedule and there was no way he'd be able to fit another act on stage. The tatted guy persisted. He said he played the harmonica and would be so happy as to just get on stage and play back up with U & B. Ben added--with great panache--that his band is what it is and communicated that what it isn't is a band whose sound would easily accommodate a back up harmonica!
That's right, Ben. Once again, ChillFest was what it's always been: a great party full of southern hospitality, Appalachian mountain glory, kickin bluegrass music, and laid-back chilling for the young and old. I was proud to share this experience with my friends from the Triangle area and definitely think that it's earned a rightful spot on the top-ten list of fun things to do in Boone on a weekend in mid-August. Oh, and one more thing: My mom used to always say you didn't have to be drunk to have a good time at a party. You know what? She was right!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Cracking the Code
The most exciting thing going on in our house these days is that Grace is learning to read. Scratch that...last year she was learning to read. Grace is reading! I cannot even find the words to express how major this is. If I could find them, I'd write them down. And then you could read them. Once she is reading fluidly, worlds will open to her of which she currently is not a part. If she can read, she can learn to cook. If she can read, she'll never be lonely, even if she doesn't have many friends. If she can read, it will bring her endless joy, knowledge, and wisdom. This really is huge. It's huge for any child, but it's extra huge for Grace.
She can't ride a bike, but she can read. She can't tie her shoes, but she can read. She can't write her first and last name, but she can read. She can't button a button, but she can read. She can't catch a ball, but she can read. She's socially awkward and gets on her peers' nerves, but she can read. She's not wired like many of us are and faces great difficulties just making it through each day, but she can read.
Grace is an example of how integrating three techniques of learning how to read really work: memorizing high-frequency sight words, sounding out words based on the sounds that the letters make (phonics) and using context clues to figure out a word that might be baffling apart from a particular sentence.
Grace reads everything she sees these days and the louder I sing praises, the madder Johnny gets. He'll come around, because he'll be reading before you know it. Grace has a long way to go to become fluid and a really good reader (she exhibits signs of Lysdexia fairly often)---but what's she's already learned will never be taken away from her and away she'll go from here.
She can't ride a bike, but she can read. She can't tie her shoes, but she can read. She can't write her first and last name, but she can read. She can't button a button, but she can read. She can't catch a ball, but she can read. She's socially awkward and gets on her peers' nerves, but she can read. She's not wired like many of us are and faces great difficulties just making it through each day, but she can read.
Grace is an example of how integrating three techniques of learning how to read really work: memorizing high-frequency sight words, sounding out words based on the sounds that the letters make (phonics) and using context clues to figure out a word that might be baffling apart from a particular sentence.
Grace reads everything she sees these days and the louder I sing praises, the madder Johnny gets. He'll come around, because he'll be reading before you know it. Grace has a long way to go to become fluid and a really good reader (she exhibits signs of Lysdexia fairly often)---but what's she's already learned will never be taken away from her and away she'll go from here.
Monday, August 11, 2008
A Tip Towards Childhood
I just got back from Target where I bought Johnny and Grace new backpacks. Grace has used her Dora backpack for four years, and it was time to get a new one. It has a hole in the bottom of it, and I had visions of her walking down the hall with important papers trailing behind. I'm sure you know my kids well enough to know there's no way I'd get off without getting Johnny a new backpack also. Especially since it's his big year entering Kindergarten. David gave me a stern talking-to last night when I told him where I was going today. He made me promise I wouldn't come back with gaudy character-splashed backpacks with the likes of Diego, Hannah Montana, Disney Princesses or super heroes of any kind. He wanted the kids to enter this school year a little more grown up, a little more refined, with personal styles a little more sophisticated.
I was all for it until I started thinking about it on the way there. Just after I told them that they could only pick a "plain" backpack, one with no characters on it, I realized how silly that must sound to a five and almost seven year old. That would be like David having to go into one of his favorite stores, like JCrew, and only being able to pick out a shirt that had baby dinosaurs on it. Ridiculous. I then said, "You know what? You can pick a backpack with characters on it. You can pick any backpack you want (as long as it's under twenty dollars)."
They both went pretty wild when they saw the selection: Hannah Montana, High School Musical, Batman, Superman, Hello Kitty, My Little Pony, Dora, Diego, stuff like that. Johnny picked up a black "plain" pack that was pretty cool--even had a separate zipper for the cell phone he doesn't own. It had cool bungee zippers and compartments and I thought for sure David would approve. I asked him if was sure he wanted that one and he was certain. Certainty lasted only until he spied the Spiderman backpack with wheels. A backpack with wheels is what he really wanted, so I let him get it. I couldn't interest Grace in anything except the oversized My Little Pony backpack with a special brush to use to brush the sparkly pink pony hair attached to the back. In my mind it was a little juvenile for her, but she had eyes for nothing else. I did think about the other kids in her first-grade class that might snicker that she carries a My Little Pony backpack, the idea being that Little Ponies are for babies and kids under three. That's just my thinking, I guess, because both Johnny and Grace assured me they weren't just for babies.
I came away just glad my kids are still the ages where things as simple as backpacks with pictures on them make them happy inside.
I was all for it until I started thinking about it on the way there. Just after I told them that they could only pick a "plain" backpack, one with no characters on it, I realized how silly that must sound to a five and almost seven year old. That would be like David having to go into one of his favorite stores, like JCrew, and only being able to pick out a shirt that had baby dinosaurs on it. Ridiculous. I then said, "You know what? You can pick a backpack with characters on it. You can pick any backpack you want (as long as it's under twenty dollars)."
They both went pretty wild when they saw the selection: Hannah Montana, High School Musical, Batman, Superman, Hello Kitty, My Little Pony, Dora, Diego, stuff like that. Johnny picked up a black "plain" pack that was pretty cool--even had a separate zipper for the cell phone he doesn't own. It had cool bungee zippers and compartments and I thought for sure David would approve. I asked him if was sure he wanted that one and he was certain. Certainty lasted only until he spied the Spiderman backpack with wheels. A backpack with wheels is what he really wanted, so I let him get it. I couldn't interest Grace in anything except the oversized My Little Pony backpack with a special brush to use to brush the sparkly pink pony hair attached to the back. In my mind it was a little juvenile for her, but she had eyes for nothing else. I did think about the other kids in her first-grade class that might snicker that she carries a My Little Pony backpack, the idea being that Little Ponies are for babies and kids under three. That's just my thinking, I guess, because both Johnny and Grace assured me they weren't just for babies.
I came away just glad my kids are still the ages where things as simple as backpacks with pictures on them make them happy inside.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Good News and Bad News
Doctor: The good news is that your kidney/adrenal gland ultrasound report came back and no lesions or tumors were detected.
Me: And the bad news?
Doctor: Your adrenal glands weren't detected.
Me: You're telling me that I don't have adrenal gland lesions because they CAN'T FIND MY ADRENAL GLANDS??
Me: And the bad news?
Doctor: Your adrenal glands weren't detected.
Me: You're telling me that I don't have adrenal gland lesions because they CAN'T FIND MY ADRENAL GLANDS??
Friday, August 01, 2008
Weirdos, High-Tops, Secret Obsessions
Johnny: Why did God make Grace into such a weirdo??
Grace: I'm a weirdo!!!
Uncle Daniel is about to become Johnny's favorite as I just got word that Daniel's b-day gift to Johnny is a pair of these.
Remember the game Tetris? Johnny's way behind on the video game curve with many of his friends because we don't have a Wii, we don't have a Nintendo DS, and I won't even splurge on a portable Leapster for the little guy. I did, however, buy him a hand-held Tetris game that he hasn't quite figured out. He's not going to get much of a chance to figure it out either, because I've re-discovered it. My college grades would have been way better if I hadn't played so much Tetris in the early 90's.
Grace: I'm a weirdo!!!
Uncle Daniel is about to become Johnny's favorite as I just got word that Daniel's b-day gift to Johnny is a pair of these.
Remember the game Tetris? Johnny's way behind on the video game curve with many of his friends because we don't have a Wii, we don't have a Nintendo DS, and I won't even splurge on a portable Leapster for the little guy. I did, however, buy him a hand-held Tetris game that he hasn't quite figured out. He's not going to get much of a chance to figure it out either, because I've re-discovered it. My college grades would have been way better if I hadn't played so much Tetris in the early 90's.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Happy Birthday Johnny 2008
Dear Johnny,
Despite my begs and desperate pleas, despite my constant threats of wanting to put a brick on your head to keep you from growing, you defied me, you plowed ahead, you did what you were going to do against my wishes: you up and turned 5 today. 5 years old!!! As Daddy said this morning, "You've waited your whole life to turn 5," and you did it, Johnny, you did it!!
It's a grand day indeed, a milestone birthday in your life and in the life of our family. We no longer have babies around, your preschool days are seriously numbered and your official childhood (aka the school-age years) is just beginning. When we joined the pool earlier this summer and I saw you and Grace interacting with the other kids you knew from school, church, the neighborhood and even kids you'd just met, I had this thought that childhood for you two had officially begun. That might sound weird, like what's been going on for your five years of living and Grace's almost seven, a dress rehearsal for childhood? Not exactly. But seeing all ages of kids at the pool doing what kids do best--swimming, playing basketball and ping pong with their friends, standing in line at the snack bar ordering hot dogs and ice cream, skateboarding and riding scooters in the parking lot--and I guess the growing independence above all signified we've transitioned into a new phase in life, one that will continue for the next 13 years as you and Grace move through school.
You've developed an irrepressible spirit of wanting to do, play, and learn, and kids seem as drawn to you as you are to them. It's hard for me to say this, but you don't need me around as much anymore. You sometimes think you do, but you don't. Yesterday at the pool as you splashed with your best friend Christopher, you hardly noticed me sitting on the side talking with Grace. That's how it should be, me on the sidelines, watching and guiding with a little more distance. Even so, sometimes you're not ready for that yet. You've definitely got the physical strength, coordination and ability to hit, catch, and run in an organized baseball league, but you weren't quite ready to leave me on the sidelines this summer. Although you seemed to enjoy putting on your Rockies hat and t-shirt and grabbing your baseball glove, every Saturday you said you were "scared" and begged us not to make you play but instead allow you to sit with us in the dug out the whole time. We're learning too, Johnny. It's our first time having a boy on a sports team and not knowing whether the right thing to do is to make you get out there and play because your team is counting on you and you signed up for this, or stepping back and realizing you're only 4 after all, it's supposed to be fun, and you shouldn't be pushed into activities that you don't really want to do.
In about one more month, you'll be starting Kindergarten, and rightly or wrongly, Daddy and I have been pinning a lot to this important start date. "We'll pour your juice this time, but when you're in Kindergarten, you really need to start doing that yourself." "Kindergarteners need to keep up with their own toys." "No, I don't know where your shoes are. You need to look for them yourself. You're almost in Kindergarten, you know." And the biggest, most difficult one of all, "Ok, you can fall asleep in our bed today, but when you're in Kindergarten, you'll need to sleep by yourself in your room in your bed, like a big boy."
A couple of nights ago I'd finally had it. Five years of you either falling asleep with Grace and then coming in our bed, or insisting that you sleep with us from the get-go came to a sudden halt. And the truth is, if I had really wanted those sleeping arrangements to end, I would have worked on it long ago. Daddy and Mommy did things by the book the first time around, with Grace. By the time she was four months old, we let her cry it out in her crib and she was completely Ferberized in a matter of days. I was prematurely smug at our sleep training success and secretly looked down on my friends who regularly allowed their kids in bed with them past a certain age. They weren't trying hard enough, they weren't strong enough and disciplined enough, they were letting the kids make the decisions. Then you came along.
You came along on this day five years ago, only five months after your Grandmama died. I was dealing with those emotional wounds as well as the difficulties of caring for you and Grace while the incision on my belly healed. It did heal and we were managing as a family of four. Exhausted and desperate for sleep, after I nursed you in the middle of the nights, Daddy often took you out and slept with you where he could, on the floor beside you, sometimes with you even crawling on his back and sleeping for hours. He was trying to help me get the rest I needed. You were a different baby than Grace and we did what we had to do to get by.
We tried to Ferber you but maybe we didn't try hard enough. You definitely cried much harder and much longer than Grace ever did. The biggest difference though, is that you had to be nestled beside Daddy and me when you slept; you had to be cuddled, you had to be touching us. You loved that feeling and the truth is, we did too. I haven't outgrown that feeling five years later. It's still one of the greatest pleasures in life to wake up beside you with your increasingly longer arms and legs wrapped around mine in a tender embrace.
Just like you said you were scared going out on the baseball field alone, you said you were scared to sleep in your room alone. We talked about it for awhile and I asked you what exactly you were scared about. You then said you weren't exactly scared as much as you were lonely. I know, honey, but the time has come that you need to summon all of your newfound skills, independence, and courage and apply them to your sleep habits. Trust me, you'll be happier in the long run. We all will be.
And all along the way, I'll be on the sideline cheering you on, helping you figure out how to master this new big scary thing the best way I can. It's a wonderful thing being your mom and helping you figure out the world. And you know what? You're helping me figure things out too.
Love,
Mommy
Despite my begs and desperate pleas, despite my constant threats of wanting to put a brick on your head to keep you from growing, you defied me, you plowed ahead, you did what you were going to do against my wishes: you up and turned 5 today. 5 years old!!! As Daddy said this morning, "You've waited your whole life to turn 5," and you did it, Johnny, you did it!!
It's a grand day indeed, a milestone birthday in your life and in the life of our family. We no longer have babies around, your preschool days are seriously numbered and your official childhood (aka the school-age years) is just beginning. When we joined the pool earlier this summer and I saw you and Grace interacting with the other kids you knew from school, church, the neighborhood and even kids you'd just met, I had this thought that childhood for you two had officially begun. That might sound weird, like what's been going on for your five years of living and Grace's almost seven, a dress rehearsal for childhood? Not exactly. But seeing all ages of kids at the pool doing what kids do best--swimming, playing basketball and ping pong with their friends, standing in line at the snack bar ordering hot dogs and ice cream, skateboarding and riding scooters in the parking lot--and I guess the growing independence above all signified we've transitioned into a new phase in life, one that will continue for the next 13 years as you and Grace move through school.
You've developed an irrepressible spirit of wanting to do, play, and learn, and kids seem as drawn to you as you are to them. It's hard for me to say this, but you don't need me around as much anymore. You sometimes think you do, but you don't. Yesterday at the pool as you splashed with your best friend Christopher, you hardly noticed me sitting on the side talking with Grace. That's how it should be, me on the sidelines, watching and guiding with a little more distance. Even so, sometimes you're not ready for that yet. You've definitely got the physical strength, coordination and ability to hit, catch, and run in an organized baseball league, but you weren't quite ready to leave me on the sidelines this summer. Although you seemed to enjoy putting on your Rockies hat and t-shirt and grabbing your baseball glove, every Saturday you said you were "scared" and begged us not to make you play but instead allow you to sit with us in the dug out the whole time. We're learning too, Johnny. It's our first time having a boy on a sports team and not knowing whether the right thing to do is to make you get out there and play because your team is counting on you and you signed up for this, or stepping back and realizing you're only 4 after all, it's supposed to be fun, and you shouldn't be pushed into activities that you don't really want to do.
In about one more month, you'll be starting Kindergarten, and rightly or wrongly, Daddy and I have been pinning a lot to this important start date. "We'll pour your juice this time, but when you're in Kindergarten, you really need to start doing that yourself." "Kindergarteners need to keep up with their own toys." "No, I don't know where your shoes are. You need to look for them yourself. You're almost in Kindergarten, you know." And the biggest, most difficult one of all, "Ok, you can fall asleep in our bed today, but when you're in Kindergarten, you'll need to sleep by yourself in your room in your bed, like a big boy."
A couple of nights ago I'd finally had it. Five years of you either falling asleep with Grace and then coming in our bed, or insisting that you sleep with us from the get-go came to a sudden halt. And the truth is, if I had really wanted those sleeping arrangements to end, I would have worked on it long ago. Daddy and Mommy did things by the book the first time around, with Grace. By the time she was four months old, we let her cry it out in her crib and she was completely Ferberized in a matter of days. I was prematurely smug at our sleep training success and secretly looked down on my friends who regularly allowed their kids in bed with them past a certain age. They weren't trying hard enough, they weren't strong enough and disciplined enough, they were letting the kids make the decisions. Then you came along.
You came along on this day five years ago, only five months after your Grandmama died. I was dealing with those emotional wounds as well as the difficulties of caring for you and Grace while the incision on my belly healed. It did heal and we were managing as a family of four. Exhausted and desperate for sleep, after I nursed you in the middle of the nights, Daddy often took you out and slept with you where he could, on the floor beside you, sometimes with you even crawling on his back and sleeping for hours. He was trying to help me get the rest I needed. You were a different baby than Grace and we did what we had to do to get by.
We tried to Ferber you but maybe we didn't try hard enough. You definitely cried much harder and much longer than Grace ever did. The biggest difference though, is that you had to be nestled beside Daddy and me when you slept; you had to be cuddled, you had to be touching us. You loved that feeling and the truth is, we did too. I haven't outgrown that feeling five years later. It's still one of the greatest pleasures in life to wake up beside you with your increasingly longer arms and legs wrapped around mine in a tender embrace.
Just like you said you were scared going out on the baseball field alone, you said you were scared to sleep in your room alone. We talked about it for awhile and I asked you what exactly you were scared about. You then said you weren't exactly scared as much as you were lonely. I know, honey, but the time has come that you need to summon all of your newfound skills, independence, and courage and apply them to your sleep habits. Trust me, you'll be happier in the long run. We all will be.
And all along the way, I'll be on the sideline cheering you on, helping you figure out how to master this new big scary thing the best way I can. It's a wonderful thing being your mom and helping you figure out the world. And you know what? You're helping me figure things out too.
Love,
Mommy
Monday, July 28, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Saturday Stuff
I love this shot of my family that I took today. Johnny looking tough, David looking handsome, and Grace doing her own thing. I've gotten over my traumatic summer school experience and am really enjoying the rest of my summer. Saturdays are spent going to birthday parties and the pool and I've found that I'm cooking more lately. I made chocolate chip cookies with the kids today, and I just finished cooking "the hell out" of a portion of ham that we'll eat tomorrow with homemade potato salad and squash casserole. I know my ham won't taste like my Aunt Sadie's, but her way of cooking all the water out of it (discovered accidentally) is the only way I'll eat ham anymore.I do have adrenal fatigue and 10 mg of hydrocortisone daily hasn't seemed to boost my energy yet but I keep trying. Our schedules are going to change radically in the fall with Grace and Johnny both in school, me in class on Fridays plus a 12-hour internship plus still working, plus David's schedule. I recently worked out a 24-hour per week work schedule starting in Sept. that will be spread over 4 days (plus the internship, plus the classes). There really won't be much room in our lives not to be on a consistent, regular, schedule. David working late on Mondays while I hang with the kids. Yoga on Tuesdays. Family dinners and no other activities on Wed. Wild card Thursdays with the combination of kids' choir, Weaver Street after hours, me going to yoga and sometimes a work meeting. When school starts I'll check out and print out reading materials on the weekends and read for a couple of hours every evening. I'm committed to not staying up past 11:00 PM, because I need my eight hours of sleep each night. I'm also committed to being home during the bedtime routine as many nights as possible during the week and if I have engagements with friends, I either need to be home by 7:30 PM or go out (on Fridays and Saturdays) after 9:00 PM.
The next two years will be busier than ever with me finishing up my Master's requirements. I may not ever go back to working full-time or even more than 24 hours a week while the kids are in school because it's important for me to be involved with them and their after-school activities as we enter the school years full on. Certain aspects of family life are really important to me like eating together as a family as many nights a week as possible, no tv after a certain hour and adhering (even if very minutely at first) to a responsibility chart. We've started this somewhat complicated "good-chip" weekly chart whereby the kids have 35 "good-chips" at the start of the week and each time they do something wrong in one of 5 areas, they lose that chip for that day. At the end of the week, we count up how many good chips they have left and based on that number they get to pick a prize. 30-35 chips allows you to pick from the best prize box, 20-29, the next best, and 0-19 the least desirable. Kind of like a Chuck-E-Cheeses system. I always feel sorry for my kids who after getting what they think is a respectable 45 tickets at the end of a party only qualify for one lousy tootsie roll. We're two weeks into the system and it's somewhat working. David even gets prizes based on how well he adheres to the system.
Speaking of David, he really knows how to push my buttons. I had a load of professional clothes that needed to be dry-cleaned (2 pant suits, one dress suit, another dress, 3 pairs of slacks) and they ended up in the back of his car last weekend. We never got around to dropping them off at the cleaner's so all week he's been driving around with hundreds of dollars worth of my business clothes in his car. Finally, yesterday he reported to me that I'd be happy that he finally got around to taking my clothes in the back of his car to the Thrift Shop. He had me for a minute. Just like he had me a few weeks ago when I was waiting on him and the kids to meet me at the beach. What is supposed to be about a three-hour drive was taking more like 4, 5, almost 6 hours ,and about an hour after I figured they should have been there I texted him to ask him where they were. When he replied "50 miles away at a Denny's waiting on a coke," I was disappointed and surprised, but not as surprised as I was when he called 10 minutes later from the hotel parking lot asking me what room I was in.
David's ability to find ways to make me laugh at every-day situations that I find stressful actually make for a less stressful life.
Friday, July 25, 2008
July 25
Today is my mom's birthday, and we used to go camping to celebrate her birthday. I've been really wanting to go camping (or at least to the mountains) lately, so today I'm going to reminisce about the good ol' camping trip days.
I grew up going camping with my family, even before we moved to NC. We had one of those big, army-green, industrial-strength canvas tents that all five of us slept in. That was a long time ago, when Kate was just a baby, when my mom would string up the hammock and place Baby Kate on her chest and rock away the day. When we moved to Boone we took at least one family camping trip to Huntington Beach, SC (with Western Otto and co.), but the trips I'm most fond of are the ones that occurred in my twenties...where Kate, David and I would escape the oppressive Chapel Hill heat and drive west, sometimes to Price Park between Boone and Blowing Rock, sometimes to Stone Mountain or Daughton Park near Sparta, NC, a couple of times up to the breahtaking Grayson Highlands in Virginia.
My mom would always get there first and scope out and claim the best camp sites. Otto would often pitch his tent next, and sometimes the two of them would enjoy a full 24-hours of quiet camping time before us young folk arrived. These were weekend, car-camping trips...no backpacking, no-heavy duty hiking miles in the woods before you found your site, always a bathroom with running water, sometimes a hot shower, sometimes not. It got to be where planning and looking forward to the weekend trip was a major part of the fun of it. Over the years my mom acquired big Rubbermaid storage bins and began organizing the camp gear according to her lists that included the essentials: pots, pans, stove, propane, plates, bowls, forks, spoons, paper towels, toilet paper, flashlight, tablecloth, trashbags, firewood, matches, poncho, camp chairs, food, rain tarp, beer, etc. Despite the well-intentioned lists and supposedly improved organization system each time we went, without fail, my mom always forgot something. Sometimes it was negligent, like the salt and pepper shakers, but sometimes it was a bigger deal. Like the time she forgot to pack her tent on our group camping trip in Colorado. Otto came to the rescue with his covered pick-up truck with a twin mattress in the back. Now that's roughing it.
I always loved arriving to the camp sites after my mom and Otto had already set up shop. It was like stepping into nature's living room with so many comforts and things to do and things to eat and drink, I often didn't know where to start. Did I want a cold beer or a glass of lemonade? Did I want to sit and read the Spectator or eat a cookie? Did I want to go on a hike or lie in the hammock? If we showed up at lunchtime, we had pimento cheese sandwiches, fruit, chips, cookies, etc. We'd pop up our dome tents (David and me in one, Kate and my mom in one, Otto in one) as fast as we could so the relaxing could begin. Many times it was just the five of us, but sometimes there would be others. We were careful and discerning about who we invited as we had a good vibe going and didn't want any incompatible personalities tipping the mood south. We almost always went on a hike or some type of walk in the afternoon and made it back in the early evening to snack and begin thinking about supper.
A good deal of time and energy was spent on what we were going to eat, preparing what we were going to eat, and then eating what we were going to eat. The food was so good. If it was a two-night trip, Friday night's supper was my mom's black bean chili chowder over brown rice with cheddar cheese and sour cream. Saturday's supper was something I looked forward to all year long, Otto's delectable pine nut pesto pasta. I wish I had some right now. The propane-powered double-burner camp stove allowed us to boil water for the rice and pasta in the evenings and to brew coffee and fry turkey sausage in the mornings. We cooked on the stove, but we gathered by the fire. Waiting for sundown, getting the fire going, sitting around the fire with a tasty drink and a satisfied belly was my favorite part. It's when the stories and the music started. The air was cool and we put on our jeans, flannel shirts, hooded sweatshirts and hiking boots. There were no cell phones to talk on or text on. No one had computers and this was before email, the internet, Blogger, MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter. This was also before we had kids. There was no where else we had to be or would rather be. There was nothing else we had to do other than sit, relax, and talk. My mom and Otto told stories of the past, funny stories, strange stories, sad stories. Stories that maybe we'd heard a hundred times and could hear a hundred more. When we got tired of talking and laughing, Otto played his guitar and sang some songs. It was wonderful. We could stay up late or turn in early. Whatever was our pleasure. We usually all went to bed early, after the beer and whiskey were gone, after the last fire log was stoked. But early to bed meant early to rise.
Whomever peeped first rekindled the fire and got the coffee water started. There's just nothing in the world like waking up (hopefully from a restful sleep), putting your layers back on and stepping out into the crisp mountain morning air. There's one particular trip that I'll never forget. It was the five of us plus Walter and his son. One evening we listened to a family play some music together at the common area and then went to a grassy field to stargaze. Later that night (after A got pretty badly burned...turned out ok, but not a good thing at the time) as we were all settled into our respective tents it began to rain. And it rained hard. (Not as hard as the last time we all tried to camp together...but that's a different story). It rained and rained and rained and then rained some more. Rain can truly ruin a camping trip, but not this time. Our tents were up and dry, we were cozy inside, and there was nothing to do except to listen, think, and drift off to sleep. It's one of my favorite memories of all time.
As I sit in my kitchen looking around at everything I need to clean, straighten, and put away, I long for a date with the simple life. Nature's living room full of trees and leaves instead of pictures that need to be dusted and floors that need to be swept. Maybe the allure, though, is that a weekend away from the trappings of plugged-in life is sweeter because it IS different and calm and special and relaxing and not the norm. Whatever it is, I wish I were there now.
I grew up going camping with my family, even before we moved to NC. We had one of those big, army-green, industrial-strength canvas tents that all five of us slept in. That was a long time ago, when Kate was just a baby, when my mom would string up the hammock and place Baby Kate on her chest and rock away the day. When we moved to Boone we took at least one family camping trip to Huntington Beach, SC (with Western Otto and co.), but the trips I'm most fond of are the ones that occurred in my twenties...where Kate, David and I would escape the oppressive Chapel Hill heat and drive west, sometimes to Price Park between Boone and Blowing Rock, sometimes to Stone Mountain or Daughton Park near Sparta, NC, a couple of times up to the breahtaking Grayson Highlands in Virginia.
My mom would always get there first and scope out and claim the best camp sites. Otto would often pitch his tent next, and sometimes the two of them would enjoy a full 24-hours of quiet camping time before us young folk arrived. These were weekend, car-camping trips...no backpacking, no-heavy duty hiking miles in the woods before you found your site, always a bathroom with running water, sometimes a hot shower, sometimes not. It got to be where planning and looking forward to the weekend trip was a major part of the fun of it. Over the years my mom acquired big Rubbermaid storage bins and began organizing the camp gear according to her lists that included the essentials: pots, pans, stove, propane, plates, bowls, forks, spoons, paper towels, toilet paper, flashlight, tablecloth, trashbags, firewood, matches, poncho, camp chairs, food, rain tarp, beer, etc. Despite the well-intentioned lists and supposedly improved organization system each time we went, without fail, my mom always forgot something. Sometimes it was negligent, like the salt and pepper shakers, but sometimes it was a bigger deal. Like the time she forgot to pack her tent on our group camping trip in Colorado. Otto came to the rescue with his covered pick-up truck with a twin mattress in the back. Now that's roughing it.
I always loved arriving to the camp sites after my mom and Otto had already set up shop. It was like stepping into nature's living room with so many comforts and things to do and things to eat and drink, I often didn't know where to start. Did I want a cold beer or a glass of lemonade? Did I want to sit and read the Spectator or eat a cookie? Did I want to go on a hike or lie in the hammock? If we showed up at lunchtime, we had pimento cheese sandwiches, fruit, chips, cookies, etc. We'd pop up our dome tents (David and me in one, Kate and my mom in one, Otto in one) as fast as we could so the relaxing could begin. Many times it was just the five of us, but sometimes there would be others. We were careful and discerning about who we invited as we had a good vibe going and didn't want any incompatible personalities tipping the mood south. We almost always went on a hike or some type of walk in the afternoon and made it back in the early evening to snack and begin thinking about supper.
A good deal of time and energy was spent on what we were going to eat, preparing what we were going to eat, and then eating what we were going to eat. The food was so good. If it was a two-night trip, Friday night's supper was my mom's black bean chili chowder over brown rice with cheddar cheese and sour cream. Saturday's supper was something I looked forward to all year long, Otto's delectable pine nut pesto pasta. I wish I had some right now. The propane-powered double-burner camp stove allowed us to boil water for the rice and pasta in the evenings and to brew coffee and fry turkey sausage in the mornings. We cooked on the stove, but we gathered by the fire. Waiting for sundown, getting the fire going, sitting around the fire with a tasty drink and a satisfied belly was my favorite part. It's when the stories and the music started. The air was cool and we put on our jeans, flannel shirts, hooded sweatshirts and hiking boots. There were no cell phones to talk on or text on. No one had computers and this was before email, the internet, Blogger, MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter. This was also before we had kids. There was no where else we had to be or would rather be. There was nothing else we had to do other than sit, relax, and talk. My mom and Otto told stories of the past, funny stories, strange stories, sad stories. Stories that maybe we'd heard a hundred times and could hear a hundred more. When we got tired of talking and laughing, Otto played his guitar and sang some songs. It was wonderful. We could stay up late or turn in early. Whatever was our pleasure. We usually all went to bed early, after the beer and whiskey were gone, after the last fire log was stoked. But early to bed meant early to rise.
Whomever peeped first rekindled the fire and got the coffee water started. There's just nothing in the world like waking up (hopefully from a restful sleep), putting your layers back on and stepping out into the crisp mountain morning air. There's one particular trip that I'll never forget. It was the five of us plus Walter and his son. One evening we listened to a family play some music together at the common area and then went to a grassy field to stargaze. Later that night (after A got pretty badly burned...turned out ok, but not a good thing at the time) as we were all settled into our respective tents it began to rain. And it rained hard. (Not as hard as the last time we all tried to camp together...but that's a different story). It rained and rained and rained and then rained some more. Rain can truly ruin a camping trip, but not this time. Our tents were up and dry, we were cozy inside, and there was nothing to do except to listen, think, and drift off to sleep. It's one of my favorite memories of all time.
As I sit in my kitchen looking around at everything I need to clean, straighten, and put away, I long for a date with the simple life. Nature's living room full of trees and leaves instead of pictures that need to be dusted and floors that need to be swept. Maybe the allure, though, is that a weekend away from the trappings of plugged-in life is sweeter because it IS different and calm and special and relaxing and not the norm. Whatever it is, I wish I were there now.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Meaningful Music
Last Thursday when Kate called and asked me what I was doing I told her that I was going to hear Grunt's daughter's fiance play the early show at the Cave. Kate relayed that to my dad, who was standing nearby, but he instead heard that Beyonce was playing at the Cave. He later told me that he thought about it for a second, kind of scratched his head and thought, wow, the Cave is really going downhill if they're booking acts like Beyonce. (It didn't seem to cross his mind that maybe it was Beyonce's fall from grace to accept gigs at the Cave). Ah, to live the muddled life of an aging drummer who refuses to wear hearing aids. It must be a strange and confusing existence.
Andy Brasher (Grunt's daughter's fiance) is who I heard and I can honestly say it in no way resembled a show that Beyonce would likely put on. After learning about the show via e-mail from Western Otto out in CO, I forwarded a loose invite to about 15 people, hoping to drum up a respectable local listening audience for our friends from Kentucky. Actually, I had never met Brasher and the last (fuzzy) memory I have of Grunt's daughter Ginny involves some presents, some cake and a girl turning ten. She's in her thirties now. Two of my friends slightly rearranged their dinner plans across the street to make it for about half of Brasher's set. That meant a lot to me, and it must have meant a lot to Andy and Ginny because they made up 2/3 of the respectable local listening audience. So he sang for the three of us (plus Ginny who's along for the tour) big deal. He sang with as much heart, soul, intensity and integrity as he would have had he been singing to a sold-out arena, a large audience that is more common for performers such as, say, Beyonce. Thank goodness it wasn't a sold-out arena, though., If it had been, I wouldn't have had the chance to talk with Ginny, a delightful, open, down-to-earth, lovely young woman with many exciting ventures awaiting her. Our fathers are long-time friends, and through that bond and those ties alone, we understood each other on an unspoken level before we even said hello.
My dad has a circle of friends (they're my mom's friends too) either living in KY, or stemming from KY, that strangely I'm keeping up with. Used to be, these were just grown ups who my parents were friends with, people we saw a lot during holidays and sometimes went on beach camping trips with, but we were kids and they were grown ups. They didn't want us urchins to be hanging around their heels when they were playing cards, and we didn't really want them paying too much attention to us while we were paying attention to the opposite sex. Now things are different. I consider Ginny's dad a real friend...someone who knows where I came from and what I've dealt with but has encouraging words to say to me about the present and even the future.
My mom was very close to Western Otto. When she died, W.O. didn't have a reliable way to drive all the way from CO to Owensboro, KY for her Memorial Service. His buddy in CO (who had met my mom but wasn't a long-time friend) knew how close W.O. and my mom were and said that he would drive him to the service because she was his best friend. Otto knew my mom had a lot of friends (and a lot of male friends in addition to female friends) and figured for sure he probably wasn't my mom's best friend. But when he thought about it, he couldn't think of anyone that was a better friend than my mom, so, yeah, that would make her his best friend. I'll never forget that he made the effort and was there for her Memorial Service.
For the last 5 years, W.O. and I have been communicating over the internet with the lone phone conversation and rained out camping trip sprinkled in. He sends me books, CDs and suggests movies I should watch. He unobtrusively suggests ways I could improve my writing and without fail reminds me to take care of myself and make Bird "numero uno." One time David asked me if I was "Toot" (my mom's nickname) to Otto; in other words am I her replacement to him now that she's gone? I don't think so at all. We have a friendship in our own right that continues to grow and never fails to surprise, amuse and nourish me. I think a lot about the phenomenon of being friends--real friends--with my parents' friends. Does it say more about the kind of people they are or the kind of person I am, or is that even relevant? I try to think who of my friends might Grace and Johnny be e-mailing 30 years from now...perhaps even after I'm gone? I can't even imagine. But I hope it happens.
It's cool to have these deep KY familial and friend connections that change and deepen the older I get and that exist despite how far and scattered we become. I immediately felt close to home listening to Andy Brasher sing with his raw, acoustic, southern-style talent. He has his sights set on Nashville, and I think he'll get there. Maybe he'll even fill arenas and out-sell Beyonce. Until then, the Cave is always open, if Otto suggests I go, I'll be there, and you and your family have a friend in Chapel Hill.
Andy Brasher (Grunt's daughter's fiance) is who I heard and I can honestly say it in no way resembled a show that Beyonce would likely put on. After learning about the show via e-mail from Western Otto out in CO, I forwarded a loose invite to about 15 people, hoping to drum up a respectable local listening audience for our friends from Kentucky. Actually, I had never met Brasher and the last (fuzzy) memory I have of Grunt's daughter Ginny involves some presents, some cake and a girl turning ten. She's in her thirties now. Two of my friends slightly rearranged their dinner plans across the street to make it for about half of Brasher's set. That meant a lot to me, and it must have meant a lot to Andy and Ginny because they made up 2/3 of the respectable local listening audience. So he sang for the three of us (plus Ginny who's along for the tour) big deal. He sang with as much heart, soul, intensity and integrity as he would have had he been singing to a sold-out arena, a large audience that is more common for performers such as, say, Beyonce. Thank goodness it wasn't a sold-out arena, though., If it had been, I wouldn't have had the chance to talk with Ginny, a delightful, open, down-to-earth, lovely young woman with many exciting ventures awaiting her. Our fathers are long-time friends, and through that bond and those ties alone, we understood each other on an unspoken level before we even said hello.
My dad has a circle of friends (they're my mom's friends too) either living in KY, or stemming from KY, that strangely I'm keeping up with. Used to be, these were just grown ups who my parents were friends with, people we saw a lot during holidays and sometimes went on beach camping trips with, but we were kids and they were grown ups. They didn't want us urchins to be hanging around their heels when they were playing cards, and we didn't really want them paying too much attention to us while we were paying attention to the opposite sex. Now things are different. I consider Ginny's dad a real friend...someone who knows where I came from and what I've dealt with but has encouraging words to say to me about the present and even the future.
My mom was very close to Western Otto. When she died, W.O. didn't have a reliable way to drive all the way from CO to Owensboro, KY for her Memorial Service. His buddy in CO (who had met my mom but wasn't a long-time friend) knew how close W.O. and my mom were and said that he would drive him to the service because she was his best friend. Otto knew my mom had a lot of friends (and a lot of male friends in addition to female friends) and figured for sure he probably wasn't my mom's best friend. But when he thought about it, he couldn't think of anyone that was a better friend than my mom, so, yeah, that would make her his best friend. I'll never forget that he made the effort and was there for her Memorial Service.
For the last 5 years, W.O. and I have been communicating over the internet with the lone phone conversation and rained out camping trip sprinkled in. He sends me books, CDs and suggests movies I should watch. He unobtrusively suggests ways I could improve my writing and without fail reminds me to take care of myself and make Bird "numero uno." One time David asked me if I was "Toot" (my mom's nickname) to Otto; in other words am I her replacement to him now that she's gone? I don't think so at all. We have a friendship in our own right that continues to grow and never fails to surprise, amuse and nourish me. I think a lot about the phenomenon of being friends--real friends--with my parents' friends. Does it say more about the kind of people they are or the kind of person I am, or is that even relevant? I try to think who of my friends might Grace and Johnny be e-mailing 30 years from now...perhaps even after I'm gone? I can't even imagine. But I hope it happens.
It's cool to have these deep KY familial and friend connections that change and deepen the older I get and that exist despite how far and scattered we become. I immediately felt close to home listening to Andy Brasher sing with his raw, acoustic, southern-style talent. He has his sights set on Nashville, and I think he'll get there. Maybe he'll even fill arenas and out-sell Beyonce. Until then, the Cave is always open, if Otto suggests I go, I'll be there, and you and your family have a friend in Chapel Hill.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Dancing Fools
This videopost is a day late and a dollar short (it was taken over a year ago), but I still think it's worth sharing.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Unexpected Day
When I left for yoga today at 11:30 AM in my long black pants, red tank top and un-made-up face, I had no idea I'd be out all day, not to return until around 9:00 PM. It's good to live life unstructured enough to be able to accept social offers on a whim even though they weren't in the day's plans, especially in the summer.
We slept in and decided not to go to church. It was nice to be able to lie around in bed and be with the kids as they flowed in and out of my room asking me or showing me something. I got to physically stay in bed until I was ready to get out. As we were thinking of the day ahead, it was such a nice and rare feeling to not have anything we had to do today. Church would have been nice, but there's always next week. My kids were happy to be able to skip. David and I often start the weekend off or a weekend day off making sure we understand what the other one really wants to get done so we arrange our individual and family schedules accordingly. Of highest import to me was going to a yoga class and to David was getting some late afternoon work done. When I got the call from my friend GT suggesting we catch a noon yoga class followed by homemade granola, topped with fresh blueberries and peaches, and delicious, bold, French-pressed coffee, the day ahead began to take shape. I'd go to yoga while David hung out with the kids, we'd meet up mid-day for "whole-family" time, then I'd be with the kids while David did his work. That's pretty much what happened with a few unexpected twists and turns that lazy Sundays are all about.
The yoga class was great, taught by one of my favorite instructors, also a friend of GT's. He invited her over for post-class granola too so the three of us (plus his roommate) leisurely hung out while peaches were sliced, coffee was prepared and heaping bowls of granola were assembled. I have a standing telephone date with my dad every Sunday at 2:00 PM, and at 1:50 PM it was clear I'd still be enjoying my coffee with my friends for at least ten more minutes. I quickly called my dad and told him I'd call him at 2:30 PM. Even though I'd been there for over an hour, I still felt like I was eating and running when I hopped up at 2:30 PM to tell my unmarried, and childless friends I had to scoot. For all I know, they sat for another hour knowing too that they had nowhere that they had to go and nothing else today that they had to do.
I phoned my dad and began driving home. I went a back way and ended up in our friend's neighborhood where David and the kids and some other friends had gathered poolside for some swimming, sunning, and snacking. I just figured I wouldn't get in the water because I didn't have a bathing suit with me, but a couple of minutes in the hot sun watching my kids splash around, looking so refreshed, made me think it would be worth it to drive home to get my suit. Everyone talked me out of it and the next thing I knew, my friend who were were visiting (whose wife and kids are away for two weeks) had pieced together a swim top and unmatching exercise shorts that I borrowed. I knew I'd look about as glamorous as a tennis shoe beside a stiletto next to our size 0, olive-skinned Venezuelan friends, but I didn't care. Who was I trying to impress? When you're that hot and all you want to do is jump in the water and play with your kids, does it really matter what you look like? We swam, we nibbled, we drank, and it wasn't until around 4:30 PM that we realized our friend was expecting dinner guests at about 6:00 PM.
He didn't want us to go, and we didn't want to impose. David made it clear that he wouldn't be staying for dinner but the rest of us tried to tease out what to do: break the party up and each go our own ways, or pump the party up by cooking up enough pasta for all? You've heard the saying, "Mi casa es su casa." Well that's always how the Venezuelans treat us, so I was glad the overall mood was to survey what we had on hand, cook up what we could, and run out for anything we needed more of. I'm proud to say that before the dinner guests arrived, we all pitched in by either chopping the salad, sauteing the veggies, heating up meatballs, mixing up sauce, boiling the pasta, keeping the kids out of trouble, pouring the wine, and instead of one family man at home alone serving dinner to a senior couple on a summer Sunday evening, it turned into one family man, four very generous and capable-in-the-kitchen Venezuelan women, my two kids and me (all still looking like wet rats straight from the pool), working together to create a pleasant dining experience for the guests as well as ourselves.
All of a sudden we all became part of the family, at home in our friend's home, trying to put on a successful dinner with an older couple most of us didn't know at all. Some of us were better at making small talk with people we've never met. Others were happy to be assigned the role of watching over my kids, even if it meant eating their meals outside on the front step with their plate on their lap, as they supervised Johnny riding bikes and Grace asking lots of questions. We tried to do things right and sighed with relief when it was just the "family" again, able to talk and joke around not confined by the formalities of having company. It ended up being a wonderful meal and lovely day, and as I sit here and type this at 11:00 PM, I'm still in my yoga clothes, the outfit I left in almost twelve hours ago. I didn't know my day was going to unfold as it did, but I'm grateful that I didn't have a school assignment or essential errands that needed running, and that I could make the decision to hang out and yes eat formerly forbidden foods (like doritos and dessert...and even pasta!) with my family and friends that are so dear they feel more like family every day. I'm often sad and disappointed that David and I don't have family in town to hang out with and share Sunday meals with. It was nice to find out today that we, in fact, do.
We slept in and decided not to go to church. It was nice to be able to lie around in bed and be with the kids as they flowed in and out of my room asking me or showing me something. I got to physically stay in bed until I was ready to get out. As we were thinking of the day ahead, it was such a nice and rare feeling to not have anything we had to do today. Church would have been nice, but there's always next week. My kids were happy to be able to skip. David and I often start the weekend off or a weekend day off making sure we understand what the other one really wants to get done so we arrange our individual and family schedules accordingly. Of highest import to me was going to a yoga class and to David was getting some late afternoon work done. When I got the call from my friend GT suggesting we catch a noon yoga class followed by homemade granola, topped with fresh blueberries and peaches, and delicious, bold, French-pressed coffee, the day ahead began to take shape. I'd go to yoga while David hung out with the kids, we'd meet up mid-day for "whole-family" time, then I'd be with the kids while David did his work. That's pretty much what happened with a few unexpected twists and turns that lazy Sundays are all about.
The yoga class was great, taught by one of my favorite instructors, also a friend of GT's. He invited her over for post-class granola too so the three of us (plus his roommate) leisurely hung out while peaches were sliced, coffee was prepared and heaping bowls of granola were assembled. I have a standing telephone date with my dad every Sunday at 2:00 PM, and at 1:50 PM it was clear I'd still be enjoying my coffee with my friends for at least ten more minutes. I quickly called my dad and told him I'd call him at 2:30 PM. Even though I'd been there for over an hour, I still felt like I was eating and running when I hopped up at 2:30 PM to tell my unmarried, and childless friends I had to scoot. For all I know, they sat for another hour knowing too that they had nowhere that they had to go and nothing else today that they had to do.
I phoned my dad and began driving home. I went a back way and ended up in our friend's neighborhood where David and the kids and some other friends had gathered poolside for some swimming, sunning, and snacking. I just figured I wouldn't get in the water because I didn't have a bathing suit with me, but a couple of minutes in the hot sun watching my kids splash around, looking so refreshed, made me think it would be worth it to drive home to get my suit. Everyone talked me out of it and the next thing I knew, my friend who were were visiting (whose wife and kids are away for two weeks) had pieced together a swim top and unmatching exercise shorts that I borrowed. I knew I'd look about as glamorous as a tennis shoe beside a stiletto next to our size 0, olive-skinned Venezuelan friends, but I didn't care. Who was I trying to impress? When you're that hot and all you want to do is jump in the water and play with your kids, does it really matter what you look like? We swam, we nibbled, we drank, and it wasn't until around 4:30 PM that we realized our friend was expecting dinner guests at about 6:00 PM.
He didn't want us to go, and we didn't want to impose. David made it clear that he wouldn't be staying for dinner but the rest of us tried to tease out what to do: break the party up and each go our own ways, or pump the party up by cooking up enough pasta for all? You've heard the saying, "Mi casa es su casa." Well that's always how the Venezuelans treat us, so I was glad the overall mood was to survey what we had on hand, cook up what we could, and run out for anything we needed more of. I'm proud to say that before the dinner guests arrived, we all pitched in by either chopping the salad, sauteing the veggies, heating up meatballs, mixing up sauce, boiling the pasta, keeping the kids out of trouble, pouring the wine, and instead of one family man at home alone serving dinner to a senior couple on a summer Sunday evening, it turned into one family man, four very generous and capable-in-the-kitchen Venezuelan women, my two kids and me (all still looking like wet rats straight from the pool), working together to create a pleasant dining experience for the guests as well as ourselves.
All of a sudden we all became part of the family, at home in our friend's home, trying to put on a successful dinner with an older couple most of us didn't know at all. Some of us were better at making small talk with people we've never met. Others were happy to be assigned the role of watching over my kids, even if it meant eating their meals outside on the front step with their plate on their lap, as they supervised Johnny riding bikes and Grace asking lots of questions. We tried to do things right and sighed with relief when it was just the "family" again, able to talk and joke around not confined by the formalities of having company. It ended up being a wonderful meal and lovely day, and as I sit here and type this at 11:00 PM, I'm still in my yoga clothes, the outfit I left in almost twelve hours ago. I didn't know my day was going to unfold as it did, but I'm grateful that I didn't have a school assignment or essential errands that needed running, and that I could make the decision to hang out and yes eat formerly forbidden foods (like doritos and dessert...and even pasta!) with my family and friends that are so dear they feel more like family every day. I'm often sad and disappointed that David and I don't have family in town to hang out with and share Sunday meals with. It was nice to find out today that we, in fact, do.
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