Holpineville

Not Jolly Yet

I keep trying to think of nice happy things to tell you, but I’m just not in a good mood lately.  I’ve never been medicated for depression or anxiety or anything else, but there have been times it might have been a good idea, and it’s possible this is one of them.  I’m neglecting my sweet husband; the kids alternate between the extremes of marginal parenting (Clearly Raised by Wolves, or, Hopelessly Overindulged by Helicopter Mom); I don’t exercise, eat right, or sleep enough; I am completely unprepared for Christmas or the end of the fiscal year; the house is a mess even by local standards; no knitting or reading or anything else is happening; and I’m not really getting my all-consuming PTO work done, either.  In short, I’m not coping well in any of my life’s roles and my hair is falling out (seriously, it is, big time, and I don’t know why.  To think, I was worried about Rod’s scalp showing through…)

Things are going on, however, despite my mood.  Rod is busy at work because he'll be off while the kids are on vacation (yippee!) and he is completely obsessed with his 3-D prototyper machine when he’s not.   A friend of mine refers to her husband’s hobby as “that goddamn guitar,” and I am beginning to relate to the sentiment, if not use the same tone of voice.  Rod’s even got Carl interested now:  he taught Carl how to use Google Sketch Up, and then they made some of Carl’s designs.  Carl had to do a special project for school about Hawaii, and they came very close to making a 3-D poly-lactic acid model of the whole archipelago. 

When he’s not doing that, Rod is still busy.  He humors me, mostly, during this phase of depressive angst of mine.  He rescued a friend from a plumbing disaster and is fixing the oven that had the nerve to break on me last weekend.  He deals with these kids who live here.  He took them both shoe shopping last weekend.  What they came home with was not what I would have bought in terms of size, style, quality, type or price, but I was spared the trip and the stress and arguing that always ensues when I do it.  He is doing a fine job as Girl Scout troop leader:  he organized a super-fun pottery-making meeting, he recruited some new members, he went to a long training class, and he’s taking a pack of girls camping this weekend (yeah, right before Christmas, what’s your point?). 

As for Ruby, she’s been very busy.  She’s had a lot of sleepovers with one particular friend, which is nice, but she’s having a hard time expanding her list of buddies beyond that.  She has been making things:  remaking t-shirts by chopping parts off and adding embellishments, and sewing very basic patternless clothes—a tunic for Carl, and a polar fleece holiday dress for herself. 

Ruby was a spur-of-the-moment shepherd in the Christmas pageant at a friend’s church.  It was great; the show was outdoors, with a real camel and a choir and everything.  Ruby did fine, but she was disappointed that the live goat she was supposed to tend got rowdy at the last minute and was removed from her care. 

Under the influence of an animal-crazy friend, Ruby decided that she wanted to get a class pet for school.  In Montessori, class pets are encouraged as a way to teach children responsibility, respect for living things, biology, etc.  But in practice, some teachers just don’t like having them and don’t do it after an initial try or two.  Ruby’s class didn’t have one, and I suspected that was per the teacher’s choice.  But the teacher said it would okay to have fish, so that’s what Ruby got.  It’s a little female betta named Pearl, with an enormous and over-decorated tank that Ruby and Carl and I had a big cranky fight about buying, and the poor tortured fish has been back and forth to school three times in two weeks already. 

Carl is growing again.  His hair is longer and his clothes are too small.  He had one of his best new buddies sleepover last weekend, which was really fun.  His teacher says he’s doing a little better at getting his work done at school, and she’s having a hard time keeping ahead of him in math, because he’s moving through the curriculum so quickly.  He’s had the second grade homework the last couple of weeks, which does seem to challenge him a little.  He got in trouble at school yesterday for something, but I’m not supposed to know about it; the principal only said she made a deal with him that he could be the one to tell me about it.  And so naturally he hasn’t said a word, and therefore I don’t know what happened.  Frustrating little twerp he is, sometimes.

What else?  We got a Christmas tree, and it only took two weeks of boxes strewn all over the house to get the decorations unpacked and up.  We went to some parties last weekend.  I have done no shopping at all yet, and I thought I had time, but suddenly everyone is telling me it’s the very last minute and ack! Ack! Ack!  There won’t be much shopping this weekend, though, because Rod and Ruby will be Girl Scout camping and Carl has only a limited tolerance for that sort of thing.    Out of town relatives:  look for a nice Memorial Day gift, okay?

As for me, well, last week there was a teacher appreciation luncheon and a PTO Mom’s Night Out, and the school book fair, and a bunch of other lesser meetings.  This week, I have a newsletter to write, two PTO meetings to host this week, two “winter performances” to attend at school, a budget issue to resolve, and so on.  Tomorrow morning is the groundbreaking for a huge park/renovation project at school, for which we need only raise to another $100K or so, preferably in the next three weeks.  I used to do a lot of event planning for work, and I am going completely crazy from the lack of planning that’s gone into this groundbreaking.  Apparently we’re just all going to show up, and someone will have fancy shovels, and we’ll play it by ear.  I will have anxiety hives by then—there’s no timeline!  No script!  No props!  What if it rains?! Of course, everyone else involved thinks I’m a little kooky for worrying about that stuff.

I have to get some presents for the teachers and staff by tomorrow, and I have to acquire food for the kids to take to their class parties, and I have to go to a big deal committee meeting this afternoon, and I have to help Ruby pack for camping, and, and, and.  

All I really want is vacation…time on the sofa with a book or a movie or some knitting, a little holiday spirit to creep in.   Which it will, but I had hoped to be there by now.  It’s taken me three weeks to write this for you, and I see that it’s not very good.  I promise to come up with better material, once I make it through Friday.  

 

I Just Can't Wait

There’s a special kind of magic in the air…because somehow, the stars have aligned and the energy is flowing and there is (almost) NOTHING on the official family dance card this weekend.  It’ll change, of course.  Ruby has a project to work on, and Carl wants to have at least two capital-B-full-of-beans-BOYS over for a sleepover, and Rod will be anxious to spend quality time with his 3-D prototype thingy, but just the concept of glorious free time gets me happy.   

And then next week, once I make it through the school Turkey Parade and Thanksgiving Feast, there’s a long weekend, too!  No one invited us anywhere for Thanksgiving, and I have been so partied out lately that I made it clear to Rod we were not hosting anything, and I was leaning toward pizza and a video for the big day.  But then some friends asked us over, and I gleefully accepted and now I need to figure out appetizers and kid food and a really awesome veggie.  Yay.    

You’ll be happy to know that Ruby’s wart has been pronounced gone, with luck for good.  I also took both kids to the dentist, and by some miracle, there were no cavities.  Carl has mysteriously broken off a big chunk of one baby tooth, but as long as he’s not in pain, we’ll just wait for it to age out of his head.  As for Ruby, the visit-to-the-orthodontist countdown clock is ticking away at 18 months to two years.  The dentist said some orthodontists might start right away in her case.  However, she says the situation isn’t dire, and starting sooner would probably just turn a two year project into a four year project, so we’ll wait for the last eight baby teeth to fall out.  Good news, although I did have a little mini-freak out about paying for that, and her occupational therapy, and the sorry state of her college fund, which God willing, she will need in a mere eight years.  I really wanted to order some new yarn this week (yes, for my extensive collection of unknitted yarn), but I resisted and I guess I need to keep on resisting. 

What more?  The TMJ is mysteriously 90% better, which might explain my happy zippy mood.   I had a bunch of meetings this week, so many I had to miss a couple others due to scheduling conflicts.  Rod is working really hard at work.    

 

Seven

That’s how many loads of laundry are sitting around the living room, waiting for someone (well, it’s nearly always me) to fold them. 

Today I am tired, though not as tired as I was earlier in the week, and I have a bonus cold, and a TMJ flare-up, which means my face hurts and I can’t close my teeth together properly. 

I must also say that I have misplaced Carl.  I believe he went home with a friend, because I had talked with Friend’s Mom about a play date this afternoon, but we never really firmed it up, in my view.  Friend’s Mom is one of two or three people on the continent without a cell phone, and they’re not home, so I can’t be 100% sure.  

To start to recap some of the things I wrote about last time:

Rod and I had a conference with Ruby’s teacher.  She is very nice, but oddly reserved and hard to chat with.  I think she may have Asperger syndrome or something.  Anyway, it seems that Ruby is turning in work appropriate to her grade level and despite what Ruby says, she seems to be keeping up pretty well.  She asked to be moved up a few notches on the reading comprehension work, and was, with apparent success so far.  The teacher thinks Ruby understands the math well, but is terribly unconfident, and that, combined with a slightly lower than desirable score on the first benchmarking test for the big state standardized test, got Ruby into the math tutorial group.   We will just keep on plugging away at those multiplication and division facts and trying to make her see that she really does know how to do it.  The teacher also noted the same thing I have, that Ruby has a terrible time finding and correcting her own mistakes, but she had no brilliant solutions for this. 

We asked about some accommodations that had been promised earlier in the year, but not yet provided – typing and handwriting instruction, for example—and the teacher is supposed to follow up, but I am not holding my breath.  I got Ruby’s spelling tests back; at best she scored 4 out of 20, and usually only about 2 out of 20.  The teacher explained that she corrects the tests, but doesn’t use them in calculating Ruby’s grades, as per our agreement with the school.  Again, we said we’d just keep trying.

We talked about some social problems in the class; two kids’ moms have told me about distinct episodes of bullying, and Ruby has made some comments about the class and certain older boys in it, as well.  Plus, she just generally doesn’t feel like she has friends in class yet, which concerns me and makes Ruby less interested in going to school.  The teacher says that it’s hard to police the bullying because kids do stuff behind her back, and they’ve had a lot of class meetings and discussions about behavior and how to treat each other.  The perpetrators have been dealt with, apologies have been made,  parents involved, etc., etc.  She says they’re now on a zero-tolerance plan in terms of handing down discipline.  I am only partially happy with that answer.  I think they need to work on team-building and group unity, at a minimum.  The teacher is going to try to encourage Ruby to buddy up with one of the other girls in class more, so maybe they’ll get to be closer friends. 

I asked about curriculum: what they were doing for science, writing, social studies, etc.  Ruby likes to read, but the school reading assignments  are all “SRA’s” and “RFUs” which are basically fragments or essays about which you later answer questions.  Don’t they ever read books?  I asked—like a novel, and then discuss it, or even write a book report?  No, was the answer, which depresses me greatly, even though I hated book reports, myself.   Sorry, kids: no art, no music, no literature for you.

So Rod and I walked out not much better informed than when we walked in, and not feeling  better, really.  I can see why Ruby’s depressed about school sometimes:  a big list of not-terribly exciting tasks to complete, in an environment without a close friend but with some potentially-mean boys, and always  with this extra burden of trying to convert phonemes to graphemes or ideas into words when the circuitry to do that isn’t necessarily there in her head. 

At occupational therapy two weeks ago, the therapist offered some constructive criticism of a paragraph Ruby had written, and Ruby didn’t take it well, which I think surprised the therapist.  Ruby is usually so sweet, after all.  Last week, Ruby brought in her spelling list and they worked on it a little bit.  Apparently Ruby threw a bit of a fit, just a little taste of what we get at home, and the therapist remarked that she gets it now, about the homework tantrums. 

On a happier note, Ruby’s musical performance went well.  Carl got to be in the show and play the xylophone, and two of Ruby’s pals did, too.  She’s working on a Christmas composition now.  And, she loves her drumming class.

I will update you on Carl, and the Festival!  And the Bake Sale!  And the Reunion!  Later, after I find Carl and face the eternal dilemma of What the Heck are We Having For Dinner.  

 

Pass the Celery

Poor Carl.  I took him in for his annual checkup and after waiting about two hours (must be a lot of viruses going around) we were told that he’s fine, but he grew too much.  He’s at the 95-97^th percentile on height, and the 95^th on weight.  I think he had a big breakfast that day, and he did need to pee when they weighed him, but still…he gained 11 pounds since last year.  And while he’s very dense and muscular, he got ‘only’ 5 inches taller, putting him at the 90^th percentile for BMI. 

Thus, Carl got the same your-BMI-is-kinda-too-high talk that everyone in the family has been treated to this year.  The doctor would like him to not gain weight while he gets taller—same thing she told Ruby, although the situation with Ruby is a little more serious.  Carl’s very upset that the doctor suggested he should curtail his screen time and cut way down on sugar and “white” foods.  I tried to stop the wailing by explaining to him that really, what he needs is more exercise, and maybe we should find him a sport?  He’s not really interested, however, so I guess I will just have to drag him to the park more or find some family activity we can all tolerate. I thought if he saw how much his friends liked their sports teams, he would want to play, but he steadfastly says no to soccer, baseball, hockey, swim team, gymnastics… His overall diet isn’t so bad, and I can tweak it further without him noticing too much, but he eats a lot, which is harder to control, and perfectly balanced is kind of impossible with most kids.

I hate this whole topic…as if dealing with my own weight issues weren’t enough.  I can accept that there is a certain genetic component, and obviously some bad habits involved; I certainly haven’t been spreading the exercise gospel.  But I also see a societal problem here.  My kids don’t roam the neighborhood outside the way I did at their age, and they can’t walk to school.  Eating out is more common and restaurant food comes in bigger and less healthy portions.  They don’t get as much recess and PE time at school as I did, and school work in general involves more sitting—i.e., you’re on the computer doing research rather than pulling books off the stacks at the library.  Every organized kid activity seems to involve a snack, even if it’s close to a mealtime, and junk food is much more available and much more child-marketed than it seems like it used to be.  And there are more fat kids, so while it’s less socially isolating to be fat, it also seems less horrible of a problem than when I was the fattest kid for miles and miles around. 

Otherwise, Carl is fine: vision excellent, hearing fine (which eliminates one possible reason he’s so darn loud).  He got his flu vaccine, a refresher course on the Heimlich maneuver, and a reminder to wear his seat belt/bike helmet/sunscreen/sunglasses; no lollipop this time, however.

Rod is back and a little tired from the trip, but basically fine.  Ruby has been moaning about feeling sick for days, but she never seems to get actually sick, so I think it’s just a way to vent stress and worry and tiredness.  She is a very busy kid these days.

I have been PTO busy: Carl and I sold lemonade at one fundraiser, and there was a festival meeting, and a moms’ night out.  Today, we concluded another big fundraiser sale, and this week we have the school-wide camping trip.  The weather had better cool off, because it’s been 95 humid and breezeless degrees lately and that might kill me if I have to endure it in the wild.  I finished my back physical therapy sessions (final outcome: underwhelming) and I paid my annual call on my ob/gyn, who thinks we should have another baby; unfortunately, Rod disagrees.  I got my first set of progressive lenses (you know, fancy bifocals), because I was consistently taking my glasses off to read my phone or eat dinner, and I couldn’t knit and watch TV at the same time.  But the adjustment period is pretty rough. It’s like being drunk, or up all night tired; the blurry thing is really bothering me.  I hope my eyes figure it out soon.  

Tomorrow the kids are out of school for Rosh Hashanah (well, officially, it’s the “fall holiday”) and somehow it turns out that I am babysitting four of their pals because their parents Big Important Jobs and Things to Do.  I don’t really mind, because as long as the fighting isn’t too intense, I can probably get some stuff done. 

 

Just Don’t Ask How the School Directory is Coming Along

There was an article in the paper today about misophonia, a disorder where hearing some normal, everyday sound triggers an outsized, involuntary reaction.   I think Ruby has it.  (Go ahead, read this article.  Enjoy the parts about how it starts at age 8 or 9, and how there’s no effective treatment).  Just this summer she’s started serious complaining about the sound of silverware on dishes when we eat.  She’s consistent and very cranky and vocal about it.  Rod gave her some industrial earmuffs to wear, sort of as a joke, but she likes them.  Oh, please, please, please, let it be a phase, or maybe part of her various sensory quirks, like the car sickness and the reading in the dark.

Ruby is running about 50% on having daily homework associated tantrums.  Some days feature yelling and tears and irrational enraged speeches about the stupidity and injustice of it all, and some days are all smiles and butterflies.  I have noted, though Ruby disagrees, that daily addition practice does seem to be improving her addition skills. Shock, to be sure. 

For most kids, this level of homework would be a drag; an inconvenience, maybe.  Something to rush through before bedtime or even at breakfast, but not a major part of one’s day.  It’s 25 math problems each day.  Ruby is on the easiest level (not that, the teacher stressed, it means she’s slow, it’s just the standard book for her grade and it’s a good fit for kids who aren’t “confident” about math yet) and so far the problems have been stuff she’s done since at least second, if not first grade.  But for Ruby, it’s not ten minutes of math, it’s more like an hour.  If you ask her what is so hard about it, she’ll tell you she’s not good at math, or she hates math, or homework is stupid and unfair, or she’ll babble something that makes no sense at all, and usually she picks a fight with Carl or me as a bonus.  I think the tantrums are mostly about the dysgraphia and the fact that she feels bad about not being better at math.   To be sure, she understands how to do math, she just hasn’t memorized all the “math facts,” so she’s really, really slow. 

Rod and I went to Ruby’s “504 meeting” last week.  This is where we and the school decide what “accommodations” Ruby should get for her dysgraphia this year.  Let us pause a moment to be thankful for the federal law that requires this procedure and the accommodations.  Because were it not for federal law, and the school’s need to help Ruby do as well as possible on the state-mandated standardized testing (for the school’s sake, not Ruby’s), whatever special treatment Ruby got would be very random, and she would be hating school and herself more and more.

Yes, it’s a warm, fuzzy, Montessori school, where teachers believe in customizing lessons to fit the child, but without an official reason to do it, I doubt they would have agreed so readily to the plan.  As it was, we all had a nice chat about Ruby’s obvious intelligence and charming personality (I can tell that they cannot believe me about the tantrums), her generally superlative test scores, and yet quirky learning problems.  We made a list of everything we thought might help Ruby get through the year and talked about the practical aspects of providing it. 

I still feel a little apologetic about my kid needing special treatment, especially the parts where we modify assignments to make them shorter or to give her extra time.  It’s like I’m asking for a big favor, or it’s my fault.  But the school has been good about it, and I really do know that 1) she’s a smart person who just needs to learn things differently than most kids, 2) she’s entitled by law to the help she’s getting, and 3) without it, school would be torture for her. 

So Ruby gets to use an Alphasmart and a slant board.  She can’t be graded on neatness or spelling in her written work (unless it’s something typed where she has an opportunity to spell-check).  She has 10 words on her spelling list each week, not the standard 20.  She gets extra time for written assignments and her worksheets get copied onto special blue paper.  We can help her with math by writing out the problems for her if need be, and we reserved the option to switch to doing just every other math homework problem, if the load gets to be too much.  

I think fourth grade is going okay for Ruby.  She doesn’t have close friends in her class yet, but she doesn’t seem upset about it , or at least not much.  Her teacher says she’s been meeting her deadlines, which was a relief to hear.  Ruby likes the research she’s doing on the pre-Cambrian era, and the fact that the books to read for fun in the classroom are all new to her.   She says especially liked some abbreviated versions of Frankenstein, the Red Badge of Courage, and Pride and Prejudice that she read last week, which amused me.  She has PE twice a week this month, and the PE teacher is challenging the kids to run three laps, which Ruby isn’t crazy about, but I think it’s good for waking her up before she gets down to work in the mornings.  She has also been doing a routine the occupational therapist gave her to get her brain ready to work each day, which might be helping.

Carl is a first grade academic rock star, which makes Ruby jealous, resentful and cranky.  He’s in class with one of his best pals, but apparently he’s handling it well and they aren’t disruptive.  Carl seems to be having a growth period in math, because whenever I ask him what he did at school, the answer is always about the math work.  He’s even asked me at home for some problems to do while Ruby’s doing her homework, or once just because he was having fun figuring out sums with some spare change.  Dorky, to be sure, but gratifying to see.  He’s reading pretty well, too, although he could use more practice.  I’m thinking of bribing him with screen time to get him to read a book for fun. 

The Labor Day weekend was pretty uneventful.  Ruby cat-sat for a friend, which meant driving her and helping, of course.    The weather finally changed; still no rain, but much cooler, which is great.  Carl spent a lot of the weekend doing Legos and playing video games.  Rod did various kinds of work (office, house, landlord, etc.).  Ruby spent a lot of time working on projects for the craft booth she wants to have at the school festival in early November; mostly beading and some recycled t-shirt scarves and headbands and such.  I helped her some, played Legos some, did PTO work, and babysat my friend’s kid.  We went swimming and had a cookout at the pool.  

I had my spine shot full of steroids again last week, and this time, I think it helped some, although it's not perfect.  I am going a little crazy with PTO work again.  It seems to go in waves, as does my ability to cope.  I’m in the trough right now, and need the next crest of enthusiastic productivity to come along soon.  Despite having knitted nothing since May or June, I’m hosting my knitting group tomorrow, so I have some frantic house cleaning and food acquisition and preparation to do today, before another school-related meeting tonight. 

Carl’s birthday falls, yet again, at a supremely inconvenient time.  The best option we could figure out was to have his party this weekend, nearly a week before, so I’ve got to pull that together in the next couple of days.  We’re having a big Tex-Mex dinner and homemade -Grams’ recipe cinnamon rolls (instead of cake), and a pack of about ten boys and their pesky sisters over to do something vague involving the Legos.  Carl is happy enough about the party, but what he really wants are presents (like video games) or cash (so that he can go buy video games).  So, I’m trying not to feel bad about doing the party as a rush job; he’ll be happy as long as there are chips, queso, and cinnamon rolls and the promise of some new loot. 

If This is the End, I Probably Should Have Shopped More

Does it feel like the end of the world to anyone else?  I was already worried about the drowning polar bears, the bed bug and drywood termite invasions, and so many other climate-change losses.  And let’s not forget my traditional summer hurricane season freak out; can’t skip that.  But this year, we’re also having an epic drought (We’ve had six inches of rain total since the end of January.  The usual is about two feet more).  And it’s been over 100 degrees every day except one in the past six weeks.  Sure, the water use restrictions are alarming, the lakes are all basically unuseable, the grass is long dead, and no one’s garden is producing anything, but it’s the poor dying trees that make you cry.  That, and the giant flying roaches that invade my house late at night, looking for a drink. 

Then, there are a couple of people I’m worrying about in a specific way, the horrible famine and drought in Somalia, making ours look like a garden paradise, the dysfunctional government/federal deficit business, the stock market and our savings doing its crazy psycho thing, and another nutcase governor from Texas running for president.  I warned you about the last one and I’m warning you about this one, don’t do it.  Please.  For the sake of the children, don’t vote for anyone that dim or that rigid. 

Thankfully, I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had time to get really depressed, or to plan my end-of-the-world party.  I like to hope the change of seasons will perk me up, but it doesn’t seem to be happening yet, and it’s an election year, to boot.  So I’m clinging to busy for now. 

Mostly I’m PTO busy, which is not so exciting to recount: I write a weekly newsletter and the PTO corner of the school newsletter.  I beg for volunteers, I confer with the treasurer, I find people to translate materials.  I collect and disburse supply fees.  I plan fundraisers. I nag the person who updates the website and the bulletin board.  I’m trying to figure out what to do about the school directory problem.  I field questions ranging from sensible to silly from teachers and parents.  I try to converse intelligently with the parent who develops the PTO website (and he dumbs down the truth so I can grasp it.)  I go to many, many meetings about many, many things.  I send e-mail, after e-mail, after e-mail.  I post stuff on the PTO Facebook page.  I corner the principal to get answers for my questions.  I made my first Powerpoint presentation at the PTO’s first big general meeting.  I had some notable and unusual success in getting volunteers for a couple of projects last week, and now I’m worried it will all be downhill from here.

Otherwise, I don’t have much cooking.  There's been no knitting and no reading and no other big projects.  The doctor who did my pain shot last month was sorry to hear it didn’t work, and is going to take another stab at it on Thursday, since I’ve met my deductible and all.  I’ve also been going to physical therapy.  I hate it, because it’s just like going to the gym, except I also have to chat with this weird therapist the whole time.  She has me doing some laughably easy exercises, but since I’m out of shape, they still make my muscles ache, and it’s hard for me to keep the right nerve-pain-avoiding alignment, so it's just slightly possible they’re helping a little bit with my most irritated nerve.  Useful, too, was the suggestion that I should modify movements and avoid things that hurt.  That may sound logical, but I wasn’t sure I should until she said so.  Before, I didn’t know if the fact that it hurt had any additional consequence (i.e., if it wasn’t causing cumulative damage, so what if it hurt?)  or if preserving my range of motion was worth enduring some pinched nerve pain.  So I’m trying to stay off it and we’ll see.  But I’ll still be happy when the six sessions are over.

This morning, my goal is to finish writing this (between PTO e-mails). I am also making my third attempt at cooking homemade refried beans.  You see, my kids eat a lot of refried beans.  But Rod and I decided several months ago to cut their BPA exposure.  Not because there’s overwhelming evidence about the dangers of BPA (or any other chemicals in plastic or can linings) but there’s Ruby, obviously going through puberty at age eight, and then there were a couple of studies that made us go, hmmm…..And we thought, if we can avoid the risk, why not?  So we switched to glass and metal containers for leftovers and lunchboxes, and unlined stainless steel water bottles.  We’ve cut way back on canned food, not that we ate much of it to begin with, mostly just tomato products and beans.  It hasn't been a hard adjustment at all.   And as a bonus, I can make the equivalent of four cans of refried beans for about 69 cents.  They store fine in the freezer.

Refried beans (which generally aren’t fried, you know-- ‘refrito’ meaning something more like double-cooked); how hard could it be to make them?  I couldn’t believe it was just pureed beans.  There had to be some seasoning involved, right?  So I first used a Mark Bittman recipe involving a fair amount of sautéed onion that was interesting tasting, and Carl would eat them, but it wasn’t anything like refried beans I’ve had anywhere else. Bittman is clearly a northerner.  Then I tried again, with a lot less onion and a different spice mix.  Ruby said they tasted burned and begged me to buy canned again.  So this time, I am just going to salt and puree them, even if it kills me to step away from the spice rack, and see if the kids eat them.  I will get this figured out, no matter how many 69 cent bags of beans it takes me.

Then, later I am going to the mall to buy Carl some underwear, which is all Rod’s fault.  You see, Carl still refuses to wear underwear.  I think it’s a little odd and gross, but I understand there are adults who don’t either, and I figure at some point other kids will shame him into it, or one day he’ll have some pants emergency and get embarrassed by having nothing underneath, and then he’ll start.  It’s just not a battle I’ve been wanting to fight with Mr. Strong Willed. 

But last weekend over dinner, the mom of one of Carl’s friends and classmate told us that she’s telling her son he has to wear underwear because it’s a new school rule.  Otherwise, her kid wants to go without because Carl goes without.  Sensing an opportunity, and not wanting to ruin her method for getting her kid to wear briefs, I told Carl last night that it was a new rule at school this year, and he’d have to wear underwear. 

Carl protested, but I told him his friends were all having to wear them, too, and it would just be for school.  I figured it was worth a shot, but I also guessed he’s see right through that “new rule” story and I didn’t dare hope he’d really do it.  And I was right; this morning, no underwear.

Enter Rod.  Oh, Rod.  Rod, who gets so torqued about kids “lying” to him (you know, that thing where they tell you what you want to hear instead of what really happened, to make you happy and keep the peace, even though they know that you know otherwise?).  Oh, the irony.  Well, he was swearing to Carl on a stack of Bibles that this was some sacred new school rule and told him to put some on underpants or lose his precious screen time.  Predictably, when faced with that kind of threat, Carl threw a fit, which we didn’t really have time for before school, and Rod was stomping around using his grumpy voice, making things worse. 

So Carl, sobbing and running late, finally tried to put on some underwear….and they were all too small.  Yes, the ones I bought him when they were two sizes too big and he never wore them?  He must have grown.   Even the boxers were tight.  Then Rod got all cranky about why didn’t we know this until now, and tomorrow, by golly, Carl's going to have to do it, so I guess I better go buy new underpants.  I think I’m going for the expensive super soft briefs and the super loose boxers, and I bet Carl won’t ever wear them, either.

 Both kids have lost teeth recently.  I have to tell you that the tooth fairy no-showed  three times.  Once, we were able to explain it was a technicality, because Carl lost his tooth during the night and shoved it under his pillow without telling anyone.  But poor Ruby has been stood up for the last two teeth.  She probably knows The Truth, but she still plays the game and she was hurt.  The first time, we told her the cat must have scared off the tooth fairy, and the tooth fairy dutifully came the second night.  The next time, the cat was outside, so that story wasn't going to work.  We were vague; “Gee, I dunno, honey.  Maybe it was just a busy night.”  And then I told her about the secret notices that show up in the paper when there’s a tooth fairy service interruption (you know, written in code in the legal notices, classifieds or obituaries) and we checked, but I didn’t see one I could readily translate.  Luckily, the tooth fairy made it the second night that time, too. 

We’re through the first week of school and things seem to be going okay.  Both kids’ classes are overfull (gee, thanks, state legislature!).  Ruby has the biggest adjustment.  She has a new class with a different teacher.  None of her good pals are in her class, and she’s back to being one of the youngest.  She does like the teacher, and hasn’t complained too much about the work yet.  Homework starts this week, however, and judging from what I was told at the open house, there’s a lot more writing in general, so I’m sure the meltdown about it is coming.  I think the work Ruby has been doing in occupational therapy will help, but it’s no magic cure, either.  She is going to struggle mightily with some of the fourth grade work.

Carl also has a new class and a new teacher—in fact, it’s her first year teaching.  She’s a mom of four boys, some of whom are even more challenging than Carl, and we know her from school and the neighborhood.  She was a teaching assistant last year, and everyone in that class loved her.  So I’m hopeful that she’ll be a good fit for Carl, and that the first year adjustment won’t be too hard for her.  She has been very complimentary about Carl so far.  She says he’s doing a good job of following the rules and getting work done and ignoring his crazy pals in class when he needs to.  She says he’s clearly ahead of most of the other first graders (which was a surprise to me), so she’s trying to get him going on some work at his level.  I am sure he will argue about homework just because Ruby does, but so far, he seems to really like first grade.

Ruby has mostly settled into her new room, and Carl is getting used to sleeping without her.  For a while, it was like they were both two years old and had never slept in this house before.  They couldn’t settle down, begged me to stay in the room with them, got up 96 times a night…. It was ridiculous.  Finally, it’s getting a little better. They’ve both moved toys from the living room into their rooms, and the living room looks strangely empty…except for the drift of stuffed animals and dress up clothes in the corner, I mean. 

Ruby wants to make some money; maybe just to make money, and maybe so that she can give it to charity, I’m not sure which.  So she’s been working on plans for a fish-sitting business.  I don’t think it’ll fly, but who am I to stomp on her dream?  Also, she wants to have a table at the school fall festival and sell crafts, and she’s been busily beading jewelry and cutting up t-shirts.  This seems a slightly more practical idea, so I’m trying to support it a little bit.  We’ll see if it actually happens.  I do want to find a beading class for us to take together, though, because I’m unable to help her figure out how to attach the various clasps and findings and that would go a long way toward improving her art. 

Rod has been very patient with all my PTO nonsense and general stress level.  He’s working hard at the office on some top-secret project.  He recently finished another round of electroshock therapy for his Achilles tendon, which he says doesn’t exactly hurt but isn’t really feeling quite right either (the tendon, not the therapy), and he thinks the zapping is helping.  He’s been doing a lot of work building some stuff for the kids’ school and making himself a more fabulous kegerator for his home brew.  The poor guy has a business trip to Paris looming, too.  

I promise I will try to write more often this fall, but if I don't, it's not because I don't want to.  It'll be because either the world has ended, or there's a PTO project.  

 

More Colorful than Ever

Our exchange student (finally) moved out.  It was a tiny bit sad, but she's still in town, so we'll be in touch, and I think was time for her to live a little more independently , and for us to get the space back.  Ruby has been planning and scheming for months about what she was going to do when she got “her” room back.  There are certain things that are on her I-must-have-this-really-or-I-might- (cry? Die? Be really disappointed?) list.  At the top was a new paint job.  Pink, to be specific, which surprised me, because I thought we were done with the Pink Phase.  But try as I might, using all my subtle and powerful techniques, she would not be dissuaded. Rod was worried about the visual impact of an all-pink room, and suggested putting in some chair-rail type moldings to break it up.

Yesterday, we cleaned out the space, took the nails and screws out of the walls, and Rod and Ruby put up the moldings.  So far, so good.  Today, Rod and Ruby bought the paint.  Rod swears he did his best to moderate Ruby’s choices, but the colors are a little more intense than I would have expected: pink!  Pink-ish red!  Purple!  But the total effect, on the wall, is not as horrific as I would have guessed…or maybe I’m just resigning myself to it. 

Once the paint is finished, it’ll be off to Ikea for this bed Ruby is eyeing.  I think it’s kinda godawful, but she’s pretty attached to it, and it’s cheap, so when she comes to her senses and wants to replace it, I won’t feel so bad.  Then she has her eye on a purple shag rug, and then there are some wall decals and a kitten poster she got for her birthday to put up, and then we’ll probably need fresh curtains.

Besides that, Rod and I got to go out one evening all by ourselves with no children; lovely, but brief.  And we hosted the PTO board one night.  It was my meeting, of course, but I made the kids grocery shop and tidy up in preparation, and poor Rod got to serve food and drinks and supervise a pack of kids and also take questions from the board of an engineering nature.   There were a couple of other meetings this week, and Ruby went to her OT sessions, and to music lessons. 

That all makes it sound so calm, though, and it wasn’t.  The kids drove me and each other crazy and I yelled to little or no avail.  Today, I took the kids to an ice-skating birthday party; Ruby was shaky, but I got her around a rink a couple of times.  Carl was doing a lot more falling, but he was much more daring than Ruby was, so I think he’d soon outdo her, given some practice time.  He wants to go again tomorrow, too.

Since I’m going to have so many meetings of various kinds this fall, and finding childcare for that sort of thing last year was such a hassle, I’m trolling for new babysitters.  I can’t believe how hard this is.  Where are all the teenagers and college kids looking to earn a little cash?  Isn’t there some bored grandma down the street? But no, I don’t know anyone who can be available a few afternoons a month and a weekend evening once in a while.  This is probably one reason people go to church, right?  A handy crop of sort-of-vetted teenagers and retired ladies?

Well, in addition to complaining about this to all my friends and the Internet at large, I’ve taken a radical step.  I put an ad on an online childcare matching service!  I missed the whole Internet dating thing, being long married when that all started up, but this is kind of like that, and I’m beginning to see why it can make you crazy.  I’m getting piles of responses—mostly from people who seem to be looking for the kind of job I’m not offering, at an hourly rate I can’t pay.  I’m trying hard to resist automatically rejecting the ones who can’t punctuate and have grammar issues, or who over-explain why they don’t have full time jobs right now, or who assume I share their religious preferences.  The people who sound good aren’t available when I need them, or they live in the farthest suburb.  It eats up a lot of time, corresponding with these people.  Plus, I am starting to get nervous about semi-blind dating with my kids involved.   I mean, the background check only gets you so far.  And I also haven’t found a secret babysitting line item in my budget, so where the funds are coming from for this, I don’t know.  Carl’s college fund?  He’s the one who really hates sitting through meetings with me.  Ruby will usually either read a book or be content to eavesdrop on the grownups. 

This week is all about children driving me crazy, the PTO preparing for back to school events, and fixing up Ruby’s room.  I think the tenants in our rental property might be getting ready to move, which would add another not-fun factor, although it wouldn’t be unexpected. 

 

Nine

My baby girl is nine.  I was telling her about those first days after we brought her home, when everything was all hard and scary and thinking “well, legally it’s only an 18 year commitment, and I guess I’ll just have to do the best I can…” 

And then she turned one and I was shocked, just shocked, at how fast that year had zoomed by.  And now already, Ruby’s half of 18 and I think I need to dial back the clock a little. 

The birthday party was great.  25 people or so worth of informal festivity.  With the drill-sergeant-like guidance of one of the teacher-moms, the kids went along with Ruby’s various activities, including the very challenging constellation-identification challenge.  Ruby and I made paper stars and spray painted rocks to make fallen stars.  Rod outdid himself on decorations.   The birthday girl loved her presents, and no one cried.  

The next day, Saturday, Ruby’s actual birthday, was low-key.  By the time I got out of bed, Ruby was up and trying out the new doll stuff she’d received: clothes, pets (yes, for the doll), and a super-cool hairstyling kit.  Later we played a couple of rounds of Clue (also a birthday present) with Carl, who was much more into it that I would have predicted.  Then Ruby spent a few hours harassing the cats with the experiments and tools in her “Fun with Your Cat” kit, and then some of her friends came over for a doll fashion show.  Later we did one of her craft kits, and finally toward evening we watched an American Girl movie.  Then I lice combed her hair (still clear for now!)  and sent her to bed in anticipation of camp the next day.

Rod and Carl spent most of Sunday on their project, making a fancy ramp for Carl’s toy skateboards.  Ruby and I packed her stuff for camp, and in the evening, we dropped her off.  Camp is about an hour away, and I don’t really know how to describe except as being very Montessori, even though it’s not officially Montessori.  They take about 24 kids from ages 8 to 15, and the setting is basically a farm.  There’s a big organic garden, some chickens, a river/creek, trails for biking and hiking, a big telescope, musical instruments, etc.  A couple of Ruby friends were going for the first time, too, and while they all seemed a little nervous, no one cried or was clingy when we left.  I have no idea how Ruby is or what she’s been doing, save one line in her one letter home—she was going fishing.  That alone amuses me, because when we were talking about camp activities and whether she’d be forced to do all of them, fishing was our example of something she really didn’t think she’d want to do.  I had been telling her that while no one would force her to do anything, I hoped she’d keep an open mind and try as many things as she could.  I’m anxiously waiting to see her tomorrow, when we return for a night of family camping. 

For his part, Carl has been going to day camp this week, playing a lot of Wii, and having some play dates with one of his friends.  Their relationship has been a little rocky lately, so I’m glad they’ve been getting along this week. 

I had my back MRI yesterday, which took forever.  I was so tired I think I napped through part of it.  Now that we’re in the digital era, I got the horrific images immediately on a CD.  I find them sort of scientifically interesting, and I could paste one info for you here, to show you where the pinched nerves and non-aligning vertebrae are, but the last time I put up an x-ray it freaked some people out.  Also, apart from the obvious bones and nerves and kidneys, I don’t really know what I’m seeing on there and would probably give the world an inadvertent view of an enormous fart-in-the-making or something else gross.  My pain killing shot that was the reason for the MRI has been postponed by several weeks because of some insurance/scheduling snafu.  So my plan to get it done before vacation has been foiled, and I am cranky about that.

What more?  I got refresher-trained for the neighborhood patrol. (If the building is burning, don’t go in, dial 911; don't confront people who are armed; don't call yourself a police officer if you're not, and other useful tidbits like that.) I talked to Ruby’s prospective occupational therapist again today.  It really is wildly expensive, but I think we’ll sign her up for a few months and see if we can’t find some things that help her.   It’s funny how I keep hoping or expecting people to tell me that really, Ruby’s fine, or there might be a minor issue, but not to worry…and then after the evaluation, I’m surprised to hear the concern-raising results.  On this round of tests, Ruby scored in the 97^th percentile on things like visual discrimination—matching complicated shapes and patterns.  But when it came to actually drawing things, doing exercises where she had to stay within certain lines, and the like, she didn’t do nearly as well.  On one, she was on the 21^st percentile; on another, she scored on a six-year old level, and another she was at the 60^th percentile, but she had to do a lot of creative maneuvers to get the job done even that well.  And I haven’t even told you about the gross motor and vestibular system issues, or the fact that her little speech quirk is officially called a “lisp.”  Most importantly, though, Ruby seems to like the idea of OT and if it turns out to help, then I guess we’ll have to figure out a way to pay for it. 

Last night, Rod and I had a “date.”  There’s a big reason why I normally have to plan the dates:  they would never happen if I didn’t.  And then there’s also a minor reason:  Rod doesn’t magically pick what I would just love to do.  Last night, for example, I was dithering about the plan, so he worked hard to figure out something new we could do.  The idea?  One of those movie theaters that serve dinner.  This is a charming concept, but in practice, it means warmish beer and an expensive mediocre turkey burger consumed in the dark.  And, why is summer the season when there are no movies I care to see? A theater full of choices, and none of them spoke to me.  So I endured one Rod wanted to see: X-Men or X-Files or X-something.  I’ve seen worse, and yet it’s just not my thing.  But Rod plied me with some sweet talk and a glass of wine afterward, and at least we got out of the house and conversed with each other for a while. 

Tonight, though, is going to be awesome.  I’m taking Carl to a laser tag birthday party.  Rod is also going, because he has to defend his title as King of the neighborhood Laser Tag Dads (and moms, and kids).  I’ve never done it before, but I fully intend to take him down.    He’s a big enough target, and I know all his moves.  Wish me luck.

 

Rain, Finally

It’s raining today for the first time since approximately February.  It seems strange, but very welcome, at least until the streets start flooding.

I had this idea of summer being a slower time, when I could play with the kids, tackle some projects, and fool around with my husband or something.  But it’s not working out that way.  I'm really tired and feeling way too busy, my to-do list keeps growing, and I don't see any real end in sight.  I guess I really need that vacation next month. 

Last weekend, I visited my sisters for Sister Carla’s surprise 40th birthday party. The poor dear thought I was taking her away for a spa weekend somewhere, and instead she got an invasion of her party animal friends from out of town.  In her shoes, I would have been a little disappointed, but if she was, she covered it well and I, for one, had a really good time. The return to reality was difficult.  

It was also Father’s Day weekend, of course.  The kids made crafts for the grandpas and spent an hour at Target choosing just the right cards (I completely do not get greeting cards.  It must be a gene I am missing.  If I don't send you one, that's why; it's not personal.) Ruby carefully wrapped and hid Rod’s presents—a pocket knife he chose for himself, a gift certificate to the brewing supply store, and a book of dad-daughter activities.  They made Rod breakfast on Sunday and after I returned Sunday afternoon, we went to the pool with a bunch of the other dads. 

The PTO is taking up big chunks of my time, despite my best efforts to ignore it—but only three long meetings and a bunch of e-mails this week!  My thought that it would be a good idea to go get a cortisone shot in my spine before my vacation has resulted in a whole new round of appointments, phone calls, and bills:  There was the phone tag with the spine doctor’s staff.  Then there was the initial appointment with the pain medicine doctor.  Next, he wants a fresh MRI done, and for me to pay a call on this physical therapist he swears works miracles, then there’s the actual nerve-root injection appointment, and then there will be follow up appointments with both the pain doctor and the spine doctor.  Each of these events has a scheduling phone call, an insurance-and-co-pay-verification phone call, and a nurse phone call, plus I think there will be separate contacts with the anesthesiologist and the surgical facility.  I also need to arrange babysitting for each, plus rides to the ones where I’m getting drugged.  I can see why going to the doctor is a full time job for sick people, and I now remember why I’ve been putting this off.

Incredibly, there's another lice epidemic in the neighborhood.  Ruby and Carl don’t have it yet, but a big percentage of their friends do, so I’ve added some time-consuming hair combing to our schedule.  Carl is in half-day camp this week, but Ruby is not, because she’s slated to attend a different camp next week and therefore would have missed half of the two-week session of the camp Carl’s in. 

Therefore, Ruby has been hanging around me this week, playing with some of her lice-ridden pals (ty-dyeing!  Bowling!  Video games! Swimming! Generalized mayhem!), getting ready for sleep away camp next week, and stressing about her birthday party on Friday night.  I feel a little bad for not making a grander, more definite plan for this party, but we are where we are, and Ruby seems happy with everything we’ve discussed.  We do have a lot of shopping/cleaning/cooking/decorating to get done, tomorrow, though!

What will the party be like?  Well.  It has an astronomy theme, you know.  We’re having an elaborate pasta dinner for a medium-sized crowd, with star-shaped cheesecake or plain ol’ regular cake for dessert.  There will be constellation-like decorations in the backyard and on the windows.  We’ll make a star garland and a star centerpiece.  Activities will include making star charts and constellations-in-a-can, and hunting for fallen stars.  Ruby will likely get stressed out and cry or yell at people.  Her friends will play Legos until it’s time to start bashing each other with the toy swords.

On Monday, I took Ruby for an occupational therapy evaluation.  It was interesting, and Ruby cooperated very well.  The official results are pending, but I was told Ruby’s pencil grip is good and it sounded like her fine motor skills are solid. The therapist agrees there is “something going on” with her visual processing (even if her vision is fine), because in the drawing tests, Ruby tended to pick up her pencil more than people typically do, breaking the shapes into segments, and also she kept trying to rotate the paper in unusual ways. The therapist also noted that while she’s not really out of range, Ruby’s muscle tone, coordination, and balance were low, and she has very flexible joints, which doesn’t help with things like working posture and stamina. She also noted that for some people, there’s a connection between the visual processing thing and the muscle tone thing.  We talked about babies, who (like Ruby), especially hated tummy time having a great incidence of visual processing issues later in life because they didn’t spend as much time in that posture.  Or maybe it’s that babies who don’t see as well hate tummy time more?

The therapist is also a big believer in exercises that help the brain and body function better together, and thinks Ruby could benefit from some.  She specifically mentioned Integrated Listening Systems and Brain Gym as two programs that might help. 

So, I don’t have her full report and recommendations yet, but it was useful.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t really add any clarity to our decision-making.  Ruby liked the therapist and the exercises and I think she’d happily sign up.  I agree that Ruby could use some more exercise, period, and she generally cooperates better on this type of thing with someone other than me.  If these are activities that would help her academically, I’m willing to try it.  But it would be wildly expensive and very time consuming.  Would it really be that much better than signing Ruby up for yoga or gymnastics or a weight training class, and doing some specific exercises to work on the visual integration issues? And what about tutoring in some of her trouble areas, like math or spelling? What’s the fastest, cheapest, most effective way to get a confident, happy child who can deal with writing more than a sentence a day, get the expected amount of work done at school, remember her math facts, and spell a tiny bit better? 

Crabby Females

It’s  Day Three of Summer Daycamp No. 1.  The kids are having fun, I think, although Ruby assures me that last year’s teachers were better and although some of her friends are in her group, they aren’t playing with her, just each other. 

But you can take that with a grain of salt, because she told me so after I made her mad Monday, by suggesting we devote a few minutes to a page in a workbook of summer activities.  In past summers, she’s liked the idea of these workbooks, a page day is pretty do-able, and it’s sort of like playing school.  This time, however, Ruby had another of her famous raving psycho homework fits.  Think Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest, only with a pencil and workbook, not hangers.  It was ugly and long.  And it wasn’t even hard work, on that workbook page.  I tried to talk to her about alternative things we could do to keep her from forgetting everything she learned in third grade, and to help with this paralyzing fear she has of fourth grade math, if she didn’t like the workbook.  But she was beyond reason at that point.  It was horrible, I tell you.

Hence, I am now working on finding her a math tutor, because she could use some support, she won’t do the work on her own, and she just gets mad at me when I try to help.  But so far, I’m having a hard time finding a qualified brave soul to attempt it. I am also trying to get her the occupational therapy evaluation that some of Ruby’s testers have suggested would be appropriate.  I really don’t think it’s going to turn up anything illuminating, and while I’m willing to try some therapy, I don’t think it’s going to help much.  I’m pretty sure Ruby’s version is “dyslexic dysgraphia”(good description here) which is more of a processing issue than anything to do with fine motor skills or visual perception, which are more addressable in therapy.  But I'll sure give it a shot, if it will help Ruby's misery, or mine. 

Ruby’s been a little hard to take lately, in general,  I have to confess.  Her current refrain is that I just don't love her enough, and I let Carl get away with murder.  She’s so sure that Carl never gets in trouble, no matter what he does, and he’s annoying and horrible and gets all the attention, and she tells me all about how inequitably I treat them.  She also rolls her eyes, stamps her feet, yells, delivers ultimatums, shakes her finger at me, and slams doors.  She hits Carl, and yells at him, too (to be fair, he deserves it nearly every time and does more than his share of hitting/kicking/etc., too.)  It would almost be funny, except on some level Ruby believes what she’s spewing at me.  When she’s not yelling, she’s tedious and needy, and I have to work hard to pay attention to whichever plan or issue she’s trying to debate with me.  ("Sweetie, I really think either of those outfits you designed would be fine for your band.  And even if I didn’t, you clearly are attached to Option A and that’s great.  I understand all about “rock and roll” and “pop! of color” and “sparkly, but not too crazy.”  It’s been a half an hour.  Can we please quit talking about it now?") And then she wants me to take her out for special outings and do things with her.  Somehow, I’m not looking forward to it as much as I might.  I love her to pieces, but she's not always easy. 

Carl wasn’t so excited about doing five minutes of work either, but once he did, it became clear that the K-1^st grade transition workbooks I have are way too easy for him.  I’ll have to dredge up something with a little more challenge.  I am pleased that he’s so darn smart, but it’s starting to be hard for Ruby, watching her twerpy, annoying, little brother having an easy time with school work, especially the things that are hard for her.  He’s not far off her level, at least in terms of doing basic addition, subtraction and spelling. 

I am in a crabby ol’ mood this week.  Why?  Well, it’s that I hate summer and have summer malaise.  In fact, if you look back at this entry from a year ago, it all still applies.  But more specifically today:

First, I realized yesterday that we need to stop spending money for a while, which is never easy, and gets more difficult as the bills keep growing faster than the paycheck—property taxes, utilities, various kinds of insurance, gas, food, day camp…. it’s not like we spend ridiculous amounts on anything cool or fun.  (Aside: My goodness, I sound like a grumpy old person, don’t I? Get off my lawn!)

Second, my new general-purpose doctor used to work in the breast cancer field, and so offered to review my past mammograms and breast biopsy reports and help me with my game plan in that area.  Maybe we could come up with a screening plan that I can believe is reasonable and doesn’t lead to a biopsy every other mammogram.  I got the records today, and was hit by a huge wave of anxiety reading all those descriptions of my irregular “areas” and suspicious “masses” and so forth, even if the reports all ended with “probably benign.”  I had thought I was more detached, calm, and objective about medical matters, but I guess I’m as frightened of ever having cancer as anyone.  I am also working on scheduling another shot in the spine, so that I’ll be able to better enjoy my summer vacation, assuming it works, that is.  It’s very expensive and time-consuming, involves anesthesia and being in my underpants in front of strangers, is only a temporary improvement in the pain situation, requires arranging childcare and getting rides from people, and I just hate it. And I hate my twisted up spine, too. 

Finally, we are in an epic drought.  The part of me that’s terrified of hurricanes and driving in flooded streets is pleased, but even I have to admit, things are getting depressing for the trees, grass, and plants.  Climate change sure sucks, huh?  Unfortunately, no rain doesn’t mean any change in the relative humidity, and it’s also been well over 100 degrees every day this week, with no relief in sight. I am glad to not be a construction worker, though. 

So. Summer underway.  Children being children, mommy being crabby, daddy mostly at work.  July has some vacation in it that I’m really looking forward to, even if I can’t afford it as well as I’d like.