Magic: Boy Wizard Brings Awareness to Neurological Disorder Dyspraxia

With all the Harry Potter mania going on right now, I thought it seemed like a perfect time to share this article from last summer. It talks about the fact that Daniel Radcliffe suffers from dyspraxia, the same neurological/sensory processing disorder/learning disability as Brendan.

Unfortunately, this article focuses far too much on the fact that one of the common effects of the condition is clumsiness. Sadly, it's not the only – and not by far the worst – problem children and adults who suffer from dyspraxia face.

So few people know about the condition and it along with the other SPDs often gets overlooked or ignored because there are no glaring, outward signs. Unfortunately, many children who suffer from dyspraxia are labeled lazy or stupid or as behavior problems or unmotivated when, in fact, they are often very bright and eager to learn, yet their inability to process information the way you or I do stands in their way.

I worry night and day over the challenges that face Brendan. I kept waiting for the day when things would get easy with him and for him. Now I fear that day will never come.

I know with the proper therapy he'll improve, but it will always be work for him and for us.

Yet, I do think his dyspraxia, like Daniel Radcliffe's is on the milder side, so who knows? Maybe one day my darling boy will find his voice and a dream and work some magic just like Harry Potter.

And in the meantime, the rise of organizations like Dyspraxia USA which intends to raise awareness of this condition and funding for research into its causes and new treatments gives me hope and a connection to others going through the same thing.

Yesterday

Yesterday was a bad day. I don't know why.

It just was.

We were getting a new roof put on because ours had suffered hail damage back in April. It was really noisy. The roofers showed up at 6:25 a.m waking me and the whole household up. And probably the neighbors, too.

That was actually fine. I was expecting them to arrive early. I just thought I'd be up and about before they got there.

What I didn't expect was how terrified our dog Cooper would be. He's afraid of thunder, but I didn't expect him to be so terrified of 10 or so strange men banging hammers and buzzing saws 12 feet over his head. But he was.

Trembling. Whining. Pressing his 65-lb. hot, furry, panting dog-body against me at every turn.

Every time I went to the bathroom he would either follow me in or scratch at the door until I let him in and then squeeze himself between the toilet and the wall.

When I was writing, he would crawl under the desk and lay on top of my feet.

It was stressing me out. So finally, I loaded boys and dog into the car and we headed to the church playground at our church, where I will be damned if there wasn't a house backing up to the playground that was having a roof put on it.

We left there after a few minutes, hit a drive-thru, and then headed to another park where there was absolutely no shade.

It was our first visit. I went on the recommendation of a friend who told me it had a very nice dog park as well as a cool playground with a merry-go-round.

Fun!

Not!

The only shade was in the picnic pavilion where we scarfed down our Chick-fil-A in between me yelling at Beckett because he was whining and refusing to eat because there were flies buzzing about and yelling at Brendan for repeatedly taking off his shoe and then asking me to put it back on. I realized after eating that I had low blood sugar which always makes me angry and no one likes me when I'm angry.

So, after eating we played on the playground until Beckett and I couldn't take the heat any longer then we marched a 1/4 mile to the dog park.

Cooper wandered around off leash and we played freeze tag. It was fun, but miserably hot. After about 20 minutes of that, we had to go home and I swear I thought I would never get them all back to the car.

Finally we did and we got home to the comfort of air conditioning only to have Cooper start freaking out again. Thankfully, my dear friend Laura rescued us by inviting us and Cooper to her house for a playdate. Cooper played with her dog Sonny and fun was had by all until 5 p.m. when it was decided that daddies would be home soon and dinners must be made and we had to come home again.

I ended up popping some corn for me and the boys after putting Cooper in the basement where he couldn't hear the noise as well and all was going great.

I was just running a shower for Brendan when suddenly I heard it! Crash! The sound of glass splintering on the kitchen tiles. I ran into the kitchen and immediately looked toward the counter where I had just poured myself a glass of wine. Brendan was saying, "Beckett did it! I told him not to!" when I looked down and saw that I was standing, barefoot, amid shards of broken glass and popcorn.

And then I realized that my favorite bowl was broken.

I know. It's silly. A bowl.

But it was bowl I had had since before I knew Scott. A bowl I loved. A yellow mixing bowl, medium sized, with a wide opening. The bowl I made French toast in. The bowl I used for popcorn.

I know most moms with common sense would use a plastic bowl, but I hate plastic. Hate the way it looks and feels and smells.

This bowl was gorgeous. The color of sunshine. And I was so angry that it was no broken into countless pieces on my kitchen floor.

Mad at my two-year old who doesn't really know he shouldn't take it off the kitchen table and carry it to the living room although I tell him many times every day that he can't have food in the living room.

It was the exclamation mark on a really shitty day. And I had to lecture myself that people are more important than things. But I have to wonder, why is it always my shit that gets broken. My favorite pitcher that was a wedding gift. My favorite bowl. My antique table that gets a chip out of it when a baby throws his bottle.

Why?

I think beautiful things add to our quality of life and there's nothing wrong with having them and that if more people had them and the ability to afford them they'd be happier. I'm not saying we should covet things or put them above human beings, but damn it! It makes me happy to look at pretty things and that bowl made me smile every single time I used it. That's why I picked it out yesterday to put popcorn in.

I ended up banishing Beckett to time out until I got all the glass cleaned up and by then I was calmer. Initially, my blood was boiling I was so angry. I was slam doors and throw things and yell at everyone around me angry. But I did none of those things. I tried to call my best friend who wasn't home. I tried calling Scott but he doesn't understand my anger so I didn't follow through on that.

I just gritted my teeth and swept and cried silently and debated myself over the non-monetary value of things.

I'm not angry now. Just sad that I no longer have my favorite bowl. And I feel stupid for letting the kids near anything I treasure. I can't tell you how many necklaces Brendan has broken while I was wearing them.

I guess I've learned a lesson. I'm not sure what it is. But today was a new day. And I'm moving on.

Let's Be Friends

I had the fun and rare opportunity to meet one of my favorite fellow bloggers last week.

Lisa from That's Why, formerly of Politits, invited my husband Scott to perform at a conference she was organizing for her company. I was so excited that she thought of him and asked him to play.

Last Thursday night we drove up to Hiawassee, which is, by the way, just gorgeous. I want to go back. But, I digress... We drove up there to The Ridges Resort where Lisa's conference was being held and Scott played in the Lakeside Pavilion overlooking Lake Chatuge during dinner and drinks. It was a lot of fun. And apparently, the attendees and other organizers were pleased. I thought he played a very relaxed and intimate set. Very nice.

We really had a great time. We met a real interesting fellow named Mike Purcell who turned out to be a session player, among several other things. He and Scott played together for a bit when Scott was finished performing.

Like I said, it was a fun night. The best part, aside from hearing my honey-boy play was meeting Lisa in person. She's as beautiful and charming and funny in person as she is in writing. I originally found her blog a couple of years ago, or so, after reading her insightful and bellylaugh-inducing comments and observations on another blog that we both read. I soon added her to my blogroll and the rest, as they say, is herstory.

If you visit her blog, you can see a video Lisa shot of Scott performing that night. Check it out.

Ain't That the Way: Why You Should Never Let Someone Else Undermine Your Own Beliefs and Instincts

So much for my joy over Brendan making progress.

I'm back in panic mode.

We've been reading every day. Working on handwriting. Drawing. Coloring. Trying to keep up with some OT exercises now that our sessions have run out for the year. Brendan has been going to tutoring twice weekly since school got out.

I thought he was making tremendous progress over where he was. And, realistically he has made tremendous progress.

According to his tutor, however, he's still not quite where he ought to be. She recommended again yesterday holding him back in Kindergarten.

I have to keep telling myself we are doing the right thing and that he will continue to progress and that Kindergarten retention is a very, very bad thing that has nothing to do with the reality of how children develop.

How I wish I were a motivated activist who knew how to fight the Man and get this unrealistic expectations of what a 5 or 6-year old is capable and should be doing replaced with realistic notions of what Kindergarten is meant to be.

Are we creating a generation or future society of doers who are incapable of real thought or creativity?

Happiness Runs: Our Circular Search for Meaning and Joy

Do you know the children's story, If You Give a Pig a Pancake (If You Give...)?




I had a minor epiphany about that story tonight.

I actually thought of it yesterday and in a very circular fashion came back to it tonight. And by the way, this circular theme is, well...a theme.

So, we are getting a new roof tomorrow because of hail damage our roof suffered from two hail storms back in April. Almost every house on our street and in a 4 or 5 block radius has either gotten a new roof or is about to. No joke.

Anyway, I was thinking that once we have a new roof, we're going to want to paint. And just like that pig who needs syrup to go with her pancakes, once we paint, we're going to want new doors. And once we have new doors, we're going to want to replace our front steps, and once those new steps are in, we'll need new outdoor lighting, and once we have new lighting, we're going to want to re-landscape...

And, well... you get the idea.

So, tonight I realized that Pig and its sister books are really just metaphors for Life and Its (Our) never-ending search for happiness.


In each of those books, the main character – Pig, Moose, Mouse, Etc. – asks for something he or she believes will make them happy. But once they have that thing, the darling creature decides it really needs something else in addition to or instead of the original item until they work themselves in a (aha!) circular fashion, back to the item they began with.

And so it is with the rest of us that we live when we live unconsciously.

We're always looking for the next great thing that is going to change our lives and make us happy. It doesn't matter what it is...
house, boat, car, wife, husband, dog, cat, boyfriend, girlfriend, job, hat, hairdo, plastic surgery, baby, baby boy, baby girl, one more baby... Whether it's something that we have that we've craved and longed for and put all our hope in or just something that caught our attention and our whim, we barely acknowledge the moment or show any gratitude for what we have before the magic and thrill fade and we're left looking for our happiness fix.

And ultimately we end up back where we started. Back wanting another pancake, another muffin, another house, another car.... Defeated by our inability to live in the moment, to be content with what we have, to be grateful for what we have when we have so much.

Slow Turning: Winning over Dyspraxia

After worrying so much this past year about Big B's academic progress, we've begun to see some big breakthroughs.

There's absolutely no doubt about his intelligence. He's a very bright kid. It's simply a matter of working around his dyspraxia and its effects on his ability to perceive and recreate phonemic sequences. It's all just a little harder for him to do.

Just like everything in life has been, is, and will continue to be just a little more difficult for him because of the way his brain processes information. It takes just a few seconds longer for information to hit its mark while traveling from brain to body and those seconds make all the difference in being able to read 35 words in a minute versus 75. And those 40 words make all the difference in how a teacher perceives a child.

He is still reading slowly. Painfully slow sometimes. But he's reading. And I am thrilled by this.

Last night we sat and he read to me the first three pages of The Cat in the Hat and the only two words he asked me to help him with were nothing and could.

I'm very proud of how far he has come in terms of his attitude and his belief in himself. I'm beginning to see that he is proud of his efforts and realizes that he is accomplishing something in learning to read.

I also have to keep reminding myself that these standards of expecting children to read in Kindergarten are really abnormal standards and that technically he's actually almost right on track.

Shine: God's Love is Brighter than Hate

My friend Sarah is an Episcopal priest at a parish in Chicago. I link to her blog the caffeinated priest in my sidebar.

Last weekend she and many of her parishoners marched in Chicago's Pride parade along with congregants and ministers from 22 other churches. Sadly, I'm going to guess there weren't many Roman Catholic parishes participating.

Here's an excerpt from her post, but I urge you to stop by her blog and check out the full post:

For me, it was a powerful experience. I missed the step off (and took the picture above) but jumped in the parade a bit later. What amazed me most, standing on the sidelines and watching, was the sheer increase in volume that happened when the church groups walked by. The joyful and exuberant crowd took their jubilee to a whole new level. Cheering, yelling thank you. In the midst of floats with barely dressed men, drag queens and beer adverts (there were a lot of beer floats), the church groups stand out. And I think it's a visible witness that God's love is there for all, not only for the few.

I think she provides an insightful and moving account of her experience and what a testament to God's love each of us can be.

All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth: Searching for Meaning in Life's Milestones

If my life were a movie, in it, I would be standing there, holding my newborn baby. I would blink and then a sweeping, spinning rotation of the camera would highlight images of Brendan as a baby, then a toddler, then an older boy. It would all be beautifully shot, with sunlight glinting and glaring through a canopy of spring and autumn leaves. In an instant, I'd open my eyes and see standing before me my college-aged son, handsome and smiling. It would all take place in the blink of an eye.

That's what my life feels like today.

To me, it seems like yesterday that I stood inside our church, holding him as the priest poured holy water over his tiny little head and anointed him with chrism. Sunlight streamed through a skylight at the very moment the priest anointed him and shone on his peaceful, sleeping face.

I remember holding Brendan in those first few weeks of his life, overcome with emotion and feeling unworthy of this gift I had been given by God and thinking that he was not just a gift from God, but was of God, an extension of the Creator, embodying everything that is good and holy.

That moment that stands out so vividly against a blur of 2:00 a.m. feedings, diaper changes, and hormones feels like yesterday or last week, not six years ago.

Yet, here we are. Summer 2009. And my baby has his first loose tooth.

When he discovered it last night, I was really excited for him and a little panicky because I'm not sure what the going rate is for the tooth fairy and I knew I had no cash. I was hoping it wouldn't come out for a day or two more.

After that initial reaction, it only took a few moments for sentiment to overtake me and bring me here, to this place where it feels like it's all going so fast. Too fast. Where I feel like such an ungrateful heel for the times I've complained about lack of sleep or lack of place and space and lost identity. Where I wish I had never lost a moment of joy to depression or fear or sorrow.

So what to do? Let it go. That's all I can do. Any time spent on regret for the mistakes of my past would just be more wasted time. All I can do is embrace the here and now. Be here. Be present. Be positive. Roll with the punches and do the best I can. Love my boys. Love their dad. Love myself. Just keep livin'.

And figure out how this whole tooth fairy thing works.

Ave Maria

My husband may be embarrassed by what he would term an act of superstition. Not that he doesn't have faith. He does. He just doesn't give a lot of credit to intercessory prayer, an act of faith in which I am a tremendous believer, but don't practice as much as I'd like because I don't really practice any act of faith and spirituality as much as I would like these days.

But, I credit my mother-in-law's recovery from a kidney infection and sepsis as much to the Blessed Virgin Mary as I do to the doctors and nurses who tended her in the hospital.

The first 48 hours she was in ICU, I prayed this prayer almost non-stop. It is a beautiful prayer that I love and have used before in times of crisis. I first learned it when I was going through post-partum depression and was scared of and for myself. When I would have an anxiety attack and feel like I was literally crumbling apart, I would say this prayer, asking Mother Mary to intercede and save me. Always, within a few minutes, calm would return to me.

Mother Theresa called it her Miracle Prayer and believed that it worked miracles. So do I. As I mentioned before, sepsis has a 60% mortality rate and my mother-in-law was in relatively poor health to start with. My mother died of sepsis, so to me, a miracle was the only hope. And I believe, fervently, that because of the intercession of the Holy Virgin Mary, we got one.

Thank you, Blessed Virgin, for offering your prayers on behalf of my mother-in-law and helping to bring her back to a semblance of health. Amen.

Whiter Shade of Pale

Need proof that all of us white folk look the same?

I'm posting from the waiting room of the Children's Hospital where Brendan is getting OT.

One of the therapists just walked back into the waiting room. She's Indian, tall and gorgeous with sparkling brown eyes.

She's looking for the mom whose driver's license and insurance card she holds in her hand. She looks down at the license and walks up to me and says, "Holly? Holly Whosit?"

Nope. Not me.

So, she then kind of yells the name out. The mom who responds to the name and comes over to her is no less than three inches shorter than me, has white blond hair and a darker complexion, and looks absolutely nothing like me.

The only explanation I have is that all white people look the same if you're not white. I recently saw an article that said babies can easily tell the difference between lots of different kinds of faces, but it's a skill that is lost over time.

I tried to find it to link to it, but the site was down.

Anyway, it kind of tickled me because I had just read a The Wordy Shipmates and in it Sarah Vowell tells a story about how one of the Algonquin tribes that has a relationship with the English basically tells Roger Williams (I think) that they can't tell one white guy from the next. This is after a Dutch trader has killed an Indian and the Indians kill an Englishman, thinking he's the Dutch guy. It was an amusing anecdote and I was just reminded of it today.

Trouble

I've spent the last 24 hours or so trying hard not to worry about my mother-in-law.

She's in ICU with sepsis, the result of a kidney infection left untreated. She's diabetic, and although no one has said this, I think her diabetes combined with recurring kidney stones ultimately led to this infection which has now spread to her bloodstream.

We got a call yesterday morning form my sister-in-law to let us know and have been in wait, pray, and see mode ever since.

I'm terrified. She's like a mother to me. I love her. I can't imagine what it would do to Scott to lose his mom, to my sons to lose the grandmother they adore. Beckett walks around the house asking for her; gets out my cell phone and pretends he's calling her or asks me to call her so he can talk to her.

72 hours. That's how long the doctor said it could take for the antibiotic to work. And I can't help but wonder if a small city doctor has the resources and the knowledge a doctor at a major medical facility in a large city would. Is that weird?

My mother died of sepsis in a small town hospital. I didn't even know what it was when they told me she had it. Today, I have a general idea of exactly what the doctor should be doing thanks to Google. Of course, I'm not there to ask all the questions and I think I pissed my brother-in-law off or he just thinks I'm a freak because I sent him a link to the Surviving Sepsis Campaign's guidelines for treating sepsis and asked him to discuss it with the doctor. I guess my attitude is that I may piss off the doctor, but what if I piss her off and she reconsiders her course of action and my loved one lives as a result. It would be worth it.

I'm rambling. Thankfully, I've had lots of distractions today with the boys.

I think I'll turn in now, say a few prayers, and believe that when I awake tomorrow she'll be better.

Feather Your Nest

For most of my life, I have battled my inability to get and stay organized. I would move things around, maybe, if desperate, get rid of a few things. I would get things together, for a bit, and inevitably, I'd fail to maintain whatever sense of semi-order I had managed to create, and things would once again spiral into chaos.

I finally admitted that I just don't think like an organized person. Some of us are born messies and some are organizational wunderkinds, born to keep the world in order.

So, I broke down and decided to work with a home organizer. Her name is Laura Ray and she used to work with my husband. Initially, after talking with her on the phone, I decided there was no way I could afford it. The kind of help I needed, would literally cost thousands of dollars. During our initial consultation I mentioned to Laura that I was a writer and worked in marketing. She must have retained that piece of information. She called me back a few weeks later and suggested that we trade our services. So, in turn for her helping me get organized, I agreed to write a brochure and her web site copy.

For six, four-hour sessions, Laura and I worked on my basement. We set up a home office area, a play area, organized my closets in the basement, and created a gift-wrap station under the bar in the basement. We also turned one of the closets behind the bar into a place for Scott to keep his stuff so he has his own space for his things.

I'm so very pleased with the results. I'm embarrassed to show you a before picture, but the after photos are above.

One of the most important things I learned is that this is a process and you have to create systems that will work for you. There were times when my naturally messy, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants tendencies resisted some of her suggestions, but in the end, I had to admit she was right about everything.

I'm so inspired that now I'm about to start tackling the kitchen. I also learned that it isn't a race. It's okay to make changes by degrees and create a system that actually works as opposed to rushing it and not making any real substantial changes.

Wish me luck in keeping it going and spreading the change throughout the rest of my home and life!

Concrete Angel

I just read this story on cnn.com. It really disturbed me on several levels.

The detail about the boy's tiny black, lime, and grey Skechers upset me because that's a perfect description of my own son's sneakers.

But that's not the thing that upset me the most. What bothered me was wondering where this so-called community that has poured out its heart and emptied its collective pocketbook in an effort to bury the child and buy new lighting for their park was while he was being murdered and probably abused beforehand.

Maybe if they had offered that same sense of reaching out and providing support to his family before he was murdered, he would still be alive.

How many kids today would have avoided being murdered if a neighbor, cousin, friend, teacher, or colleague or government agency gave an over-stressed parent an outlet for venting his or her anger or offered a parenting class, or took the baby for an afternoon so the mother could sleep?

I am not excusing or dismissing the fact that anyone who murders a child is acting in a monstrous manner.

I just fail to see the purpose in expressing outrage and collecting donations after a baby boy has been senselessly murdered. It seems that energy and those resources would have been put to better use trying to figure out some way to ensure that something like that never happens.

Vacation

So, technically, this isn't our vacation...

But for me, it's a break from the day to day activities of my life. That includes crying children. If a baby or child fusses or cries, it's not my problem (beyond the grand principle that ultimately we are all responsible for one another, but hey, I'm not preaching that philosophy right now). I can choose to walk away knowing other responsible adults are going to take care of it.

And thank the Lord, for that fact!

I was just at the hotel pool, lounging in the sun (I know. Cancer!) and reading a magazine. For fun. Not so I could figure out what to cook for supper.

And just as I was getting drowsy and thinking of closing my eyes for a few minutes...Whaaaaa! Mom! Whaaaa-whaaaa-whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! And then, chaos, as half-a-dozen siblings surround the screamer and mom runs over to see what's wrong.

That's the point at which I gathered up my DC, bottle of water, towel, and Time magazine and came inside.

Not my screamer, not my problem.

Behind the Wall of Sleep

I have slept more soundly in the last 48 hours than I have in months. Even last weekend in NY I couldn't sleep because I was worried about being late for things and it was loud and the hotel room was tiny which kind of stressed me out.

Here, in the capacious and stylishly adorned Chapel HIll hotel, I can spread out, relax, and sleep like a log. And I have.

Still, on Friday morning, I was awake at 5 a.m., worried that Brendan would be late for the Student of the Month breakfast at his school. He's been anxious about it all week and I absorbed his anxiety. After going back to sleep for an hour and a half, I awoke at 7:30 and unable to stop myself I called home to make sure they were out the door.

My darling mother-in-law told me they were at school at 7:19 a.m. She had both boys up and dressed and out the door, lunch packed, even remembering to take the whole watermelon she had cut up on Thursday morning before we left. The watermelon was our contribution to the end of year luau which also took place yesterday.

All is well at home. MeMe and the boys are having fun.

I guess I'll just go back to sleep for a while.

On the Road Again

After a whirlwind trip to New York last weekend, now we're in Durham, North Carolina. Scott's playing a show tomorrow night at Broad Street Cafe.

If you happen to be in the area, come on out at 8 p.m. and take a listen. I promise you'll have a great time!

Like a Virgin

Well, after several months of not blogging, not writing very much of anything that wasn't a marketing brochure or magazine article, I'm back.

Not sure if anyone gives a damn. But I'm back. I want to write for me, about things I care about and I've decided to commit to it.

I've been thinking about it for a while now, missing this part of who I am. This past weekend Scott (my husband, if you're just joining us.) and I were in NYC for a friend's wedding and I had the chance to see several dear friends that I rarely see or talk with anymore. Two of them asked about my blog, and one, Chris, had some really great feedback for me on my writing. I chose to take those interactions as signs that I need to be writing this blog and that I need to focus on the issues of parenting and married life and my passions that are truly near and dear to my heart.

So, now, it's off to a meeting for Kindergarten parents about the Cub Scouts.

See you tomorrow. I promise.

Changes

I am so sad to look at my followers and see that the number has fallen from eight to four since the last time I posted.

I loved...love this blog. It was so much a part of me and my life and I feel like a neglectful parent to have let it fall into sorrowful disrepair and desuetude.

I fell into the trap of knowing that certain persons were reading my blog and that things I said were occasionally hurtful to them. If I'm too negative, I feel like I'm not being thankful enough for all I've been given. If I'm too happy, I felt I wasn't being sensitive enough to their feelings. I couldn't fucking win. I want to be able just to be me. Happy. Sad. Mad. Whatever. Just Dawn without having to make excuses for how I feel or what I say.

I have to decide if I can rebuild this blog and make it meaningful and relevant again. Even if it's just meaningful and relevant to myself.

I miss blogging. I miss the friends I made through blogging.

It only just occurs to me that I've been trying to hide out, not reveal too much. Maybe I just need to get back to the basics of why I started this blog. I wanted to become a resource for other moms who were experiencing the challenges of motherhood. I especially wanted to connect with moms who may not have had the best mothering role models, but were finding ways to be good mothers and also to find mothers who were good mothers and who had good mothers and were willing to share their maternal wisdom with the rest of us.

The last few years have changed me. I do not like who I have become...someone cut off, cold, who wants to avoid emotions at every cost. I've heard myself say more than once that I wish I were a robot. And I do wish life weren't so hard for me at times. But then, I know it's no harder for me than it is for anyone else. I just never learned the right ways of coping. I let things bother me that I should dismiss. I lack patience and the ability to look positively into the future.

I want to change.

So...why can't I?

Muppet Movie - The Rainbow Connection

If you grew up in the '70s and '80s as did I, you probably have a soft spot in your heart for all things Henson. Jim Henson, that is. Whether you learned to count with Count von Count, or couldn't wait for The Muppet Show each week, or you thought the Fraggles had it right in their sheer enthusiasm for living in the moment, or Yoda's wisdom in Star Wars inspired you to seek a path of love and light in your own life, you were touched by Jim Henson and his remarkable creations. And, in some way, you're probably a better person for it. We're all better for having been influenced by his multiple cultural phenomena as children.

For one more week, you can catch a glimpse of Henson's brilliance, peeking behind the scenes at his early work and how it all evolved into the famous and beloved characters we think of as Henson's best. The Atlanta History Center has been hosting a traveling exhibit called Jim Henson's Fantastic World.

If you're at all curious about how the Muppets evolved or if you love learning details like the fact that the characters of Bert and Ernie were actually based on Henson and his long-time collaborator Frank Oz, you will love this exhibit!

We went yesterday for the second time since December to see the exhibit. Scott and I, naturally, got more out of the exhibit than the boys did, but they loved seeing favorite characters like Rolf and Kermit and Bert and Ernie. I got teary-eyed watching video that included Henson's speech when he was inducted into the Television Hall of Fame. It makes me sad to think that his beautiful imagination was silenced when there was so much more joy he could have brought into this world.

Think how much darker and more somber our collective childhood lived out in the shadows of nuclear annihilation, a global oil crisis, and Reaganomics would have been without the vivid and joyful expression of life that existed in shows like The Muppets, Fraggle Rock, and Sesame Street.

I wish there was someone today who was as committed to creating quality entertainment for kids that inspired them to act creatively.

Christmas in Dixie*

One of the things I most look forward to at Christmas is taking drives to view, gawk at, rave on, and rat out all the beautiful, creative, original – and sometimes just plain tacky – Christmas decorations folks put up.

I have often looked especially forward to seeing the decorations in the neighborhood where Scott's mother lives. Her neighborhood is one with a yard-of-the-month award and awards for best Christmas decorations. At Christmas, they award first, second, and third prizes as well as an award for the most creative and most original theme and at least one Honorable Mention.

I remember the first time I went home with Scott for Christmas in 1996, I was awed by the house down the street from his mom's with a Twelve Days of Christmas theme. From a single partridge in a pear tree to twelve drummers drumming, every gift in the song is represented by hand-carved and painted plywood figures. It's one of the most complex and elaborate holiday displays I've ever seen. Twelves years later, though, and it's as stale now as it was clever the first time I laid eyes on it.

There haven't been any new and exciting displays of holiday sentiment in my mother-in-law's neighborhood in the last five or six years. One year, there was a rash of folks putting wooden crosses in their yards at Christmas, but I think it only lasted that one year until folks realized the purpose of Christmas is to celebrate Christ's coming into the world rather than to anticipate his departure. Other than that, Scott's mom has been the only one to exhibit any creativity. That was the year she had 7 ft. tall gilded angels blowing trumpets on either side of her walkway. She crafted them out of chicken-wire and spray painted them gold. They were really gorgeous. Everything else was white lights and gold and burgundy ribbon. Very elegant.

Sadly, there have been few holiday displays the last few years that I found worthy of comment or critique.... Until this year, when the glorious elements of Southern pride, Christmas joy, and football fanaticism united in the stroke of genius and gumption that lead to this awesome display:








What else can I say, except, Roll Tide!

*Props to Scott for giving me this title and taking the pictures out in the rain of this testament to all things Alabama for me.

And the Winner Is....

Utah Savage. She's a new reader and from what I can tell after reading a handful of posts, a passionate and intense writer.

Read her post on the act of kindness given to her here.

She will be receiving a delicious (if you like chocolate and hazelnuts, which I do, very much!) Ferrero Rocher Christmas gift set.

By the way, for the sake of acknowledging how I did this (since I've never done a contest before, I used one of the randomizers at random.org.

Thanks to those of you who participated. I enjoyed reading each of your stories. It always inspires me to see the goodness that is the root of all our humanity.

Giving It Back to You

I'm extending my deadline. Get me those stories, folks! I need a winner! See my previous post if you don't know what I'm talking about.

Give A Little Bit More

Hopefully this holiday season has all of us thinking about how we can help others. You don't have to make a gratitude box or go to great lengths. Here's a quick, easy, and painless way to do something good for our world.

Ferrero Chocolate has teamed with Share Our Strength, a leading hunger relief organization that helps provide food for 12.6 million American children, to raise money to help provide needy families with food this winter. You can help by visiting Share Something Sweet and sending a free e-card to someone you love. For each card sent, Ferrero will donate $1 to Share Our Strength.

What could be easier?

And to reward you for your good deeds, I am going to be giving away a Ferrero Christmas Tree gift box of chocolates.


Everybody say yum! And now, here's how the contest will work:

1. First, write a post on your blog by Thursday, 12/18 at noon, telling about a good deed someone did for you. Tell us how it made you feel and why you'll never forget that particular act of kindness or generosity.

2. In your post, include a link back to this post and a link to the Share Something Sweet site.

3. Leave a comment on this post letting us know that you've written something.

On Thursday afternoon, I will choose a winner at random from those who leave comments here. I can't guarantee that you will receive your candy before Christmas, but it should get in the mail before the holiday.

I can't wait to read your stories!

Give a Little Bit

And yet again, I slink out of the depths of my chaotic life to greet the world anew. Hello, World!

I've been so excited about something that happened in my life last week and I've been meaning to write about it, but until now, hadn't found the time.

I know I've mentioned my Bunco group before.



We're quite the collection of ladies. Some work outside the home. Some work in the home. Liberal. Conservative. Christian. Jewish. Agnostic. Atheist. Silly. Serious. All mothers and to the one, kind, loving, and supportive.

Every December, we have a holiday party that includes a wine tasting. This year, we decided to add a gift-exchange component. We tossed around the white elephant idea, giving each other items of the as-seen on TV variety, and then darling, brilliant Lucy came up with the idea of gratitude boxes. (Lucy, by the way, is a talented graphic designer. Need a new look for your blog? Notecards? A brochure or logo design? Lucy's your girl and I can put you in touch.)

She saw the idea first on Oprah! If you're looking for an inexpensive gift idea for someone you love, you can't beat this one. The way we did it, each woman brought her own box. Some decorated boxes while others of us simply brought wooden, silver, or other beautiful boxes we already had on hand. Then, over the course of the night, we wrote on cards that Lucy printed for us, one thing we loved about one another. Each compliment was awarded anonymously.

There are 16 (or so) women in our group, so the idea (for us) was that at the end of the night, each of us would have 15 compliments in our gratitude box.

It was so nice to come home and sit down and read the notes and see what my friends like about me. I was surprised, but pleased to learn that someone thinks I make parenting look easy. (She obviously doesn't read this blog!) A few people complimented my smile, a feature I'm frequently self-conscious about, while someone else delighted me with her appreciation of my writing.

Such a lovely, perfect gift, a gift of love and gratitude and nurturing. It's so easy to pass someone by and never tell them what we enjoy about them. This is such an easy way to give that gift and really, who can't use it? It's one gift that definitely won't be exchanged or thrown in a closet and forgotten. Although, it's quite likely it might result in re-gifting.

Wha'Cha Say?

What price are you willing to pay for your sanity?

We clearly see that I will go to some lengths for mine... Pouring the intimate details of my life out onto a platter for anyone who wants to pick them apart; taking anti-depressants and, again, pouring that juicy detail out like some rich morsel I feel compelled to share with friends and strangers alike.

Am I willing, however, to continue spending more money at the grocery store? Sadly, I think I might be.

I am addicted to Publix. I love shopping there. I love the crisp clean, moderny goodness of their package design; the brightly lit and clean expanse of store with wide aisles that all go in the same direction with the center aisles flanked by the produce section in one rear corner and meats in the other. I love how the same employees have worked in the store for years and years and know my name and ask how my boys are doing if they're not with me. I love that Publix employees are always smiling and friendly and helpful...to a one, from the store manager to the stock clerks. I love that they double coupons and always offer to have someone help you to your car with your groceries. It is hands down my favorite grocery store for everyday, run of the mill shopping.

Several of my friends have encouraged me to shop at Kroger, telling me how much cheaper it is.

I just have one tiny problem. Kroger makes me crazy.

Every single time I shop in a Kroger store, I am enraged to the point of muttering and tears by the time I leave. No joke.

The stores are dirty, dark, and always crowded. They never have enough check out lanes open. The produce is by the door as soon as you walk in and isn't laid out in any sensible way. Produce is often not labeled with a price and they never have the little plastic bags for produce out near the produce. They have the bags in one central location so you have to either remember to go get your bags (and know how many you need) or walk across the department when you need a bag.

There is never anyone at the deli counter when you need help and if you ask anyone where something is, they point. I guess that's really all under the umbrella of employees who don't give a damn whether you shop in their store or not. And that's really my biggest problem. Poor staffing with employees who seem like they all hate their jobs.

Then there's the issue of bad design which is reflected in numerous ways throughout the store. The store does not flow well and always seems crowded. The aisles are not wide enough or long enough and they have foods and other products grouped in weird ways. Diapers and Candy. Cokes and Pet Supplies. I just hate it. And don't get me started on their package design which looks like something from 1985. Yuck. Purple and blue and red? Really? Blech!

I almost forgot! Kroger is also the only store I've ever seen with aisles running in two different directions. Vertically and horizontally! I hate that. It's not only illogical, it's inconvenient to the shoppers using giant shopping carts with wheels that don't easily turn.

I understand that for most people shopping isn't about an aesthetic experience. I know there must be something wrong with me that it matters so much to me. This is also why I prefer Target to Wal-Mart. I have so much garbage in my head that I don't need it when I'm trying to get things done.

I need a clean and easy experience with few distractions when I'm shopping. Also, since going to the grocery might be my big outing for the week, I'd like to keep it a pleasant experience.

Sadly, though, I'd really like to spend less money on groceries. I have a conundrum.

For the moment though, I think my sanity might win. I'll just have to do my best to reduce my grocery expenditures in the clean happy land of Publix.

What say you? What lengths will you go to in order to promote calm and peace in your life?

Pink Pajamas

'Tis the season of giving and Kelli over at Cafe Kel is getting a head start on the fun! Read about how she fell in love with pajamas and find out how you can win a gift certificate to PajamaGram thanks to Miss Kel.

Think For Yourself

Both of my boys have been sick multiple times the last few weeks. Colds. Croup. Stomach bugs. Sore throats. Coughs. You name it, I think they've had it. So, I decided it might be in my best interest, and theirs, to give them Airborne children's lozenges to try and boost their immunity and ward off a few of these things. Doing so, led to a surprising, but apparently much needed lesson in motivating my children and understanding sibling dynamics.

As anyone who has read my blog for any time knows, I am an only child. Managing the sibling relationship is really an interesting experience for me and sometimes my methods are heavy-handed or clumsy, I think, despite always being well-intentioned.

Beckett, being the younger brother, wants to emulate everything his big brother does. It's easy to motivate him or encourage him to do almost anything I want by suggesting to him that his brother is doing it, eating something I need or want Beckett to eat, or that his brother will be where I want him to go. I forget sometimes that it will not work in the reverse fashion. Telling Brendan to do something because his baby brother is doing it works great if Brendan perceives the opportunity to be in his advantage or if it involves eating something he likes already. It's not as effective if he can't see the value of performing said task, i.e. doing what I want him to do doesn't result in getting a treat or surprise of some sort or failure to perform result in being punished.

I have trouble with this. In my mind, if your sibling is doing it, why wouldn't you want to do it? Don't you feel left out? It's the never-ceasing sense of loss only children experience, I think. Unaccustomed to sharing and frequently alone if not lonely, the only child has difficulty imagining not wanting to be included.

So, when I offered Brendan his Airborne after his brother had taken his and he refused it, my natural response was, Well, your brother took his and he liked it.

Now, I admit, I'm not fond of the Why-can't-you-be-more-like-your-brother implications of such a statement. But seriously? Why can't you be more like your brother and just politely take your damned medicine without a fight?

Brendan's response to me was one that I absolutely could not argue with. And let me tell you, it's no fun being out logicked by a five-year old. Yet, I am proud of him for his thoughtfulness in responding.

He said, Mom, it's not like we have the same brain! We don't always like the same things.

Well, duh.

Thanks for the reminder, you wee independent cuss. I respect your sense of self.

Always and Forever

Holy cow! I can't believe it's been a month since I posted.

Anyway.... I wanted to share something with you that I think is a very worthwhile cause but that also gives you something really beautiful by way of your help.

A local author and illustrator created a beautiful new children's book called Always and Everywhere as a means of helping her friend with metastatic breast cancer explain to her kids what was happening. I'm not sure I've ever seen a more beautifully illustrated book.

All the proceeds from the sale will go to help the family move from their multi-level townhome into a ranch style home since the mom can no longer climb stairs.

If you know anyone suffering from cancer who has younger kids, this might be a beautiful thing to share with them to let them know you care.

Temporary Love

Scott played a couple of shows up in Athens a few weeks ago. For those of y'all who don't know, Athens is the Mecca of indie music in the Southeast. He played two shows that week, one at Flicker, the other at Terrapin Beer Co. Both shows were fantastic. He was backed by Athens band The Cleaners. The amazing guitarist is Mark Wenthe. His brother Mike was in Scott's old band, The Snake Oil Salesmen.

This is video is of his newest song, Temporary Love. Hope you enjoy it.

Hope

As I've mentioned before, Brendan has an uncanny way of mis-hearing or misstating things that cuts closer to the depth and essence of something than the actual word he intended or the word that is actually used.

One word he used to use and that I allowed to some extent because I loved it was rainbrella.

Several times recently, a new one has cropped up. And it's actually so accurate in its heartbreaking truth that I get teary-eyed every time he says it.

Our neighborhood is situated so that there are several different ways to access the various Interstate highways that intersect nearby. And each of those exits, we are seeing an increase in the homeless as they are pushed out of Downtown Atlanta. Brendan has recently begun to notice them and ask questions. So, Scott and I have both had opportunities to talk to him about homelessness and what that means.

What he has heard instead of home-less is Hope-less.

Mommy, he will ask, how did they get hopeless?

And I am left to explain the heartbreak and tragedies of this world while trying to hold out hope as a shiny, never-fading reality to my own child.

When he asks if we will ever be hopeless, I tell him no because we have a wide and extended family and friends who love us and who would help us if something bad ever happened to us. I tell him that this is why family is important and that he and Beckett will always have one another and they should always help and honor and support one another. I tell him nothing is more important than his family.

I tell him, and I pray that it is true, that when you have family and you love one another and treat each other with respect that you will always have a home. And you will always have hope.

The Real Slim Shady

For a lot of folks, I'm sure going to a high school reunion is a chance to relive past glories, an opportunity to be hailed as the football hero or gorgeous and popular homecoming queen. When I attended my 20-year reunion a few weeks ago, I saw the possibility of resolution. For me, it was a chance to lay to rest old insecurities and see myself as an equal to the many people whom I thought of as superior to me because of the distinctions of class and clique that plagued my school. I wasn't some miserable slob that everyone mocked or anything. But I never felt as good as everyone else. I never felt like I belonged. I knew I'd never be on the homecoming court or go to cotillion or do any of the things the rich and popular girls did, but I was a smart kid which gave me some good standing. Everyone knew me and although back then I thought everyone hated me or thought they were better than me, most everyone (with a few notable exceptions) was at the very least polite. Still, I really didn't know what to expect at the reunion. I imagined that everyone would fall back into their same little cliques and that I'd hang out with my closest friends the whole night.

Thank God for Facebook. My friend Daryl created a FB group for alumni of our high school and over the course of several weeks before the reunion, several folks from my class found each other. By virtue of space, time, and goodness of the Internet gods, we were able to connect and soon I found myself interacting with people whom I never imagined I had any common ground.

At the reunion I found myself flattered and surprised by how many people remembered me and talked to me. In fact, I was only a little disappointed that people recognized me. I think I've changed dramatically enough that more people should have been surprised, but that's okay.

I didn't exactly get the resolution I was seeking. I got something both better and slightly more disturbing.

I found out that people liked me and I only wish I'd realized it then instead of wasting my time, energy, and emotions thinking no one did. I've also been surprised by the ways in which people remember me and disappointed in myself for not living up to the expectations I had for myself and for not retaining more of the girl I used to be.

My old friend Tim commented after the reunion that he was glad to see I still had "the same zest for life," that I had back then. It was only when I read those words and thought about how – even though I may have thought I was an outcast and felt unloved, unattractive, and unfinished – I still found a way to live my life with joy and verve. I used to be a totally different person.

When did she go away? Is she dead? I think not, but I think I repressed her. I think at some point after college I realized that it was not cool to be happy and to enjoy your life. All the cool kids were darkly cynical and judgmental of those who just wanted to be and to be happy. It seems like everyone I knew had to overanalyze and critique everything and everyone and sadly I let myself fall into that trap. And I got stuck there. And then I got bogged down in the workplace and got married and lost babies and had babies and somewhere along the way forgot all about the real me.

I feel so angry all the time and I rarely express it. But back when I was happy, I let myself be angry if I needed to be. There was balance.

I am so thankful I went to that reunion (I almost didn't.). I felt really proud of my classmates and genuinely happy to see how well they have all turned out. There were at least three moms with 4 kids who homeschool and I am in awe of them. There was an Air Force Lt. Col. with a beautiful wife and two young kids. Lots of teachers and lots of moms just like me. It was really great to see everyone looking so happy and beautiful. And I am grateful to have gotten to see myself in the slightest way as others have seen me, to know that I was liked despite what I thought back then.

I hope I haven't hidden that old me away too long or too deeply. I want to bring her back. I don't know what that will mean to my husband. I don't know if he ever knew me in that way or remembers me that way. I just know I have to find a way to make myself happy again. I can't resign myself to a life of feeling hurt, angry, sad, and inauthentic.

Try a Little Tenderness

Naturally, just as I sit down to write, Beckett bursts into hurt, angry, outraged tears. Brendan denies all knowledge of why.

I want to write. I miss writing. Yet, I have been uninspired. In a funk I can't seem to escape and consumed with Brendan's school issues, work in a field that is really not happening right now, and my self-absorbed-all-consuming thoughts about how to be a better ___________________ (wife/mother/friend/human being/writer/sex kitten/blogger/marketing manager/cook/cleaning lady/chauffeur/music lover/music manager/you name it).

I can't get my head out of .... well, my own fucking head, long enough to write. I have been uninspired and a slave to time despite having lots of interesting things to write about.

In summary, I had my 20-year class reunion, Beckett is speaking a lot!; Brendan may or may not have dyspraxia, and I pretty much continue to hate myself, although I am loving my life more.

If only I were more physically fit, smarter, more courageous, a better writer, more committed to my art, and had a full-time staff to do all the things I have to do (instead of writing), I might be able to stop being so negative. Being more positive is a major, major, major goal of mine and I have been consumed with working it all out before writing again.

Not quite there yet, but on the way.

Okay. I relent. I still hate myself today, but I don't hate anything else. Except the new Kindergarten report cards.

Help

I don't have to look far to figure out where my son is getting his self-esteem issues.

I don't say anything in front of him. Ever. But he says things like "I hate myself." Or, "You don't like me." Or, "I'm stupid."

None of which are true, of course.

Today, though, I look at the pictures my friend Patrick took of my last night and I see my giant, oval-shaped nostrils, stringy hair, fat face, horrible skin, wrinkles. I hate everything about the way I look.

And then, I open Brendan's report card which came home yesterday and the goddamn thing is so fucking complicated that I can' understand it. And I feel stupid as hell. It's called the Georgia Kindergarten Inventory of Developing Skills (GKIDS – I hate fucking cutesy acronyms.) A, B, C, D, F, U, and S make sense and are easy for parents to comprehend as a gauge of where their students are on the scale. This fucking "map" of the "curriculum and student's performance levels for the standard in the areas of English Language Arts, Math and Approaches to Learning." The report card is a grid that includes a description (Georgia Performance Standards Assessed) followed by a number that is the "number of elements included in the standad." This is then followed by another number: "the number of elements of the standard that have been assessed during the year." Then, the grades assigned to each element are: NA (Not Assessed), ND (Not Yet Demonstrated), EM (Emerging), PR (Progressing), MS (Meets Standards), EX (Exceeds Standards), AC (Area of Concern), DE (Developing), CD (Consistently Demonstrating).

Actually writing it out like this helps me understand it a little better, but I still think it's unnecessarily convoluted and pointless and good god, they're measuring these tiny little Kindergarten kids on 22 different areas. Just fucking tell me how he's doing in Math, Language Arts, Social Studies, Science, and PE like the good old days.

I never thought I was closed-minded, but this system sucks. It's designed to make parents feel like teachers know it all and they're idiots so they might as well cede control of their offspring to the public school system.

I seriously hate everything today.

The Weight

Sometimes the only way to get moving is simply to pick up one foot and put it in front of another. So...here goes.

The last few weeks have been so full. I feel like I've been jammed into my existence with barely enough room to breathe. Instead of writing, when I've had a free moment I've been trying to find something – prayer, meditation, hypnosis – that can take away the anxiety and stress that keeps me rigid and fearful and blind to the joy of this life.

I miss writing in this way.

I've been writing for work. And I've given a lot of thought to some creative writing that I want to do, although I haven't actually put pen to paper in that regard.

I miss writing in this intimate and meaningful way. I miss sharing the things that are challenging me and shaping me and hurting me and encouraging me.

Like the fact that I am incredibly worried about Brendan and my heart is breaking as I try to figure out how to mother him. He's so challenging right now. Defiant and frustrated and frustrating. He's not loving school. He tries hard and does really well in class. But getting him to do his homework is killing me. Like pulling teeth. For both of us.

His first parent-teacher conference left us shocked and terrified as the teacher suggested he has a fine motor skills delay. She told us how sweet and intelligent he his, but suggested he is falling behind because he lacks the fine motor skills to write and draw as well as the other kids. She suggested that he be evaluated by the school's occupational therapist, but then told me on Friday that the paperwork required is too extensive and that we should have him looked at sooner rather than later. I had already called our pediatrician and scheduled something at the Children's Hospital anyway.

I can't help but worry. I am terrified over what it might mean. Combined with his resistance to doing homework, his lack of interest in reading, and his stubbornness, I am so worried about his ability to live up to his potential, to become or achieve success and happiness in life.

How do you get a kid to enjoy homework? How do you make someone love reading if they don't? What do you do when those behaviors are so foreign to your own beliefs and way of thinking and living that you can't understand it and find a way to motivate your child?

I never imagined myself in this situation. Although it sure seems I've found myself saying that a lot these last few years.

I want the best for my son. If only I knew how to help him achieve it.

Once More with Feeling (Reprise)

I don't know where Jeremy found this quote, but it's too brilliant not to share with as many people as possible.

Check it out...

Let's Get It Started

Well, hey, y'all.

Wait. Are those crickets I hear? Am I all alone here after abandoning my post lo these many days, nay weeks?

I just haven't been able to get it together to write. I feel mentally fatigued. Lost. Wondering why I write and if I actually have anything of value to say. I was thinking about just walking away.

However, A. has a post on her blog that hit very close to home for me. I feel like I've been treading water in a sea of stress and dismay related to behavior problems (Brendan's and my own) and my inability to balance my part-time job, my duties as a wife and mother, and my desire to have a life that isn't solely consumed by cooking, cleaning, and child rearing. At least this blog gives me an outlet and keeps me connected with like minds – shoot, better minds! – and allows me space to figure out my purpose in this world.

Anyway, despite wondering how I can balance my need and desire to write and remain relatively honest with myself and you all with an apparently growing need not to offend or upset anyone else, I've decided to give this another go. I've thought about taking the blog private so that you'd have to register to read it, but that just seems too depressing. I might then find that no one actually gives a damn. I don't really want to do either of those things... Force readers to register or find out what a pathetic loser I am.

Or I could suck it up and be me, whoever that is.

So, I thought I'd start with a layout change. Unfortunately, I screwed up saving some of my links. If I've left you off my blogroll, please forgive me. I added the blogs whose urls I knew off the top of my head. If yours isn't there, it's because I'm going to need to find the url and add you. It's not that I don't love you to pieces!

Alright. Here we go. Again.

'Night, Y'all.

Michelle

I'm going to geek out on you a little now.

I cried a little last night hearing Michelle Obama speak. She was great.

I admire Hillary Clinton. But, sadly, she isn't what this country wants. This country is still looking for warmth and compassion in its leaders and their spouses. Bill's got that warmth. Hillary has never had it. Whipsmart she may be, however, she does not come across as warm, loving, and someone who could lift this country up in a time of crisis or need (she could be calm, cool, and stable, but that's not always what we want or look for in female leadership). From Eleanor Roosevelt to Jacqueline Kennedy and now Ms. Obama, I think what we're all hoping to find is a National Mommy. Someone who will help pick us up when we fall, remaining calm and strong in a crisis, but showing us her warmth, compassion, and humanity all the while.

I saw all of that, along with a blazing intelligence and passion for doing the right thing, in Michelle Obama last night.

I would be proud to have her as First Lady and to have her husband in office.

I pray that the Hillary delegates will put any bitterness aside for the sake of our country, that we can all unite as Democrats and come together to win the election and make real, substantive change happen in this country and in this world.

I'm excited. For the first time in a long time.

I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve yesterday waiting for the Convention to get under way last night. I was disappointed that we only got an hour of it on TV and had to listen to Katie Couric blathering away over Michelle Obama's brother.

I also have to say, I'm tired of the Kennedy's. They really don't matter any more and I wish they'd quit hauling them out all the time. Ted will be the last Kennedy to make a difference in political life in this country.

Of course, I don't want to get too excited. The last two elections have made me wary of getting my hopes up.

I guess it's just a waiting (and hoping) game at this point.

Hurt

And so, I rise from the dead.

I've been working. Getting Brendan settled in school. Dealing with hurt feelings. My own hurt feelings. I'm trying to figure out why some people are the way they are.

I found out through my brother-in-law that Scott's dad and stepmom had a "Grandson's Week" where they invited three of their five grandsons to spend the week with them. As you've figured out by now, our sons weren't included. I can understand not including the baby. But why not Brendan?

I sent an e-mail inviting them to attend Grandparent's Day at Brendan's school and when they declined because that's the day they're having some repairs done to their roof and Stepmom has a doctor's appointment, I told them how hurt I was that they didn't include Brendan and that they treat him like they don't love him. They've really broken my heart in a way that I have trouble expressing. The idea that grandparents who are supposed to adore their grandkids and love them absolutely unconditionally aren't able to do so, that they favor certain kids over my sweet, sensitive, bright, funny little boy because he's shy and not a rambunctious, eager child who craves their attention because they ply him with sweets really hurts, angers, and confuses me.

How dare they!

I've tried to have a relationship with them. But of course, they blame us.

Their response was that they haven't gotten to know Brendan because he's so shy and he doesn't try to talk to them when they try to interact with him.

They said the other daughters-in-law and sons just pop in whenever they're passing through. Here's the kicker. Both of Scott's brothers went to college in the town where my in-laws live. They go over for every football game in the fall. One of the brothers lives 30 minutes away. They told me that his wife leaves their kids with them while she goes to get her hair done and that's how they've gotten to know them.

I am really outraged when I think about it.

We live 2 hours away. If we're passing through it's because we're on our way somewhere and don't have time. How is it fair to compare me to my sister-in-law who goes to a salon a mile from their house because her nephew works there and she gets her hair done at a discount? And has free babysitting to boot. AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHH!

I tried to visit them this summer and they gave me four days out of the month of July that they'd be available. On two of those days, we had out of town guests that we'd been anticipating all summer. Some of Brendan's favorite people in fact.

I tried to go the other two days, but had car trouble and couldn't get there because my car was in the shop. Of course, when I invited them to come here, they said they prefer to see the kids at their own home because kids react differently when they're at their homes and with their parents.

And they had the audacity to tell me that I misinterpreted what they meant when they asked me to leave with Brendan when they threw us out of their house.

I just don't know what to do. How do I get through to these people?

It hurts so much. I don't really care if they hate me, but how could they not love their own grandchild?

So, now you know part of why I haven't been around. I've been licking my wounds and trying to control my rage; not wanting to say anything too wrong. To fuck up by writing something I'd regret. But finding a way to express what I'm feeling. Sadly, writing about it makes me feel it even more strongly.

Sunny Day

This is our last Thursday before school begins and I've managed to fill it to the brim. I've scheduled a double playdate for both Brendan and Beckett today with my friend L. and her two little boys. Her oldest is a year younger than Brendan, but loves him and always wants to play with him at our house. Her baby and Beckett are just a couple of months apart and play very nicely alongside one another. This is the first time all summer we've been able to coordinate our schedules to make getting all six of us together at once possible.

Rising to the occasion (in multiple ways), I awoke at 5:30 so I could bake some Amish Friendship bread and make a fruit salad for snacks. I still need to vacuum and clean our guest bathroom and shower.

This afternoon, I've scheduled a swimming playdate for Brendan with his friend Mark at the neighborhood pool. He has talked about going to Mark's pool constantly since we went there in June.

Yesterday, we went and registered Brendan for Kindergarten. Scott and I were both very, very happy to learn that Brendan ended up in the class with the teacher who is widely regarded as being the best Kindergarten teacher in the school. Yay! I could dance a jig. She seems so smart and kind and organized. I volunteered to be a room mom even though she already had two other volunteers. I will offer my assistance on a "part-time' basis on the two mornings Beckett is at PMO. I am just so thankful he ended up in her class. A bit confused as to why there are so many boys in her class and so few in the other Mrs. S.'s class (each class had like a 3/4 to 1/4 divide between boys and girls), but that's okay. He has a lot of kids in his class that he knew from last year so hopefully that will ease the transition.

It's been yet another busy week. My boss is encouraging me to get my real estate license and I'm not sure that's something I want to do. Despite the fact that I work for a realtor, I feel like most real estate agents are just like Annette Benning's character in American Beauty. And I don't really think that's me. Not so much.

Whatever.

I clearly have nothing witty or profound to say today. Just a random update on the happenings at chez moi.

I hope everyone else has had a great week. I actually do have other stuff to write about, just not enough time! My mother-in-law is coming on Saturday so I'll be getting ready for her. Hopefully, I'll find more time to write later tonight or tomorrow.

Cars

I'm filled with links today. No. Not the sausagey kind. Linky goodness to let you know what is going on in this crazy world of ours.

Read this. And when you're done go get your tires filled and schedule a tune-up.

Fat-Bottomed Girls

"Parents want to feed their children healthy meals, but America's chain restaurants are setting parents up to fail," CSPI nutrition policy director Margo G. Wootan said in a statement. "McDonald's, Burger King, KFC, and other chains are conditioning kids to expect burgers, fried chicken, pizza, french fries, macaroni and cheese, and soda in various combination at almost every lunch and dinner."

I'm sorry? I must have misunderstood you, Ms. Wootan. Are you implying that as a parent, I have no control over or responsibility for what my child eats?

For God's sake, people. This is exactly what is wrong with this country. Trust me. I hate on corporate America as much as the next card-carrying liberal. But blaming fast food companies because of the crap our kids eat and their entitled little whining attitudes about what they want to eat goes entirely too far for this mom. And I say all of this as the parent of a child who begs to eat at Mickey D's every chance he gets, who is picky, and whose picky eating habits are a constant worry on me.

I pester, prod, and push my child to eat healthier. And I do indulge him in a trip to McDonald's or Burger King, knowing it's more about the toy than anything else, every once in a while. What I don't do is blame any one else for the way he eats or doesn't eat. I don't blame Kraft or Kellogg's or General Mills or RJR/Nabisco or ConAgra or any of the makers of convenience foods and snacks. If my child doesn't eat well it's because I as his mother and provider of nourishment have in some way failed to bring good foods to him or convince him to eat those good foods.

It's bullshit to say that "...America's chain restaurants have set parents up to fail." God that attitude sickens me.

Anyone who sat through a fourth grade health class or has watched a fucking PSA knows how to feed a child or how to eat healthfully themselves. To blame fast food outlets because people eat there is nuts. There's plenty you can blame them for in terms of the quality of food they provide, but they do what they do and we all know what they do when we choose to walk through their doors or drive up to their drive-thru windows.

No one is to blame for an obese America except Americans themselves who choose to eat poorly, sit on their fat, lazy asses and then blame someone else.

Boys Will Be Boys

This article pretty much confirms my limited experience raising children and highlights one of my biggest fears as the parent of sons.

For all the failings of the educational system over the past several decades to reach out to female students, it appears the ship has turned 180 degrees to the point that boys are being shut out.

I've been reading this research for a few years now... The lack of tactile experiences, the focus on test scores that requires endless sitting still in the classroom, the focus on teaching facts and figures at younger and younger ages while eliminating any experiences that teach the joy of learning, e.g. art, music, group activities.... These are all cited as central to the fact that more and more boys each year are diagnosed with ADD/ADHD when, in fact, they are just being boys.

We are trying to force kids to do things at ages four, five, and six, that their brains are not physically capable of doing. And it's worse on boys because their brains mature more slowly than those of girls.

And it's really easy to turn that all into a big joke, but ultimately, the joke is on us as a society. If we crush the self-esteem of a generation of little boys, tell them there is something wrong with them when they're simply being who and what they are, what kind of men will we produce.

I'm terrified of what this school year will bring.

But, I'm really glad there's research going on in this area and that others are noticing. I'm glad that a mainstream publication like Parenting is talking about it. I just wish it would trickle down to our educators. My fear is, however, that the ability to dose little boys with poison to the point that we zombify them and make things easier for our largely female teachers, is such a temptation that we will never recover.

I'm So Tired

I hate feeling dumb. But boy do I feel dumb today.

For a couple of weeks now I have been totally on edge. Snapping at people. My poor kids and husband included. I've felt edgy, achy, totally discombobulated.

This week, it kind of came to a head. I was feeling anxious about Scott's show. I had to make a decision about a job offer I'd received for a pretty cool job that would pay a fantastic amount of money but require me to go into an office one day a week and force us to hire a nanny and/or housekeeper because I'd need someone to help with Beckett. I walked around in tears or on the verge of tears for a week.

There were a couple of moments where I wondered if I might be having a nervous breakdown.

I was wondering what was up? Why would stuff that I could typically deal with without batting an eyelash push me so close to the edge?

Then, Saturday, it dawned on me.

I haven't had a break since May. Scott and I have gone out alone a couple of times, but most of the times we've had a sitter, it's been because he's playing. Or we've gone out with other people. I've been with the kids constantly except for the two or three times I've hired a sitter to go to a work meeting.

No down time for me since May. Even when Beckett has napped, I still have Brendan.

I love my kids. I love my life. But sometimes... I need some time. A bubble bath. A quiet hour with a book. To go to the bathroom without someone knocking on the door and asking me to come do something that could wait.

So, this morning, I planned to get up at 6:30 and work out. I actually woke up a bit earlier raring to go. I got up, did some Pilates, and only just now has Beckett awoken. Brendan is still asleep.

And I feel great!

Refresed, revived, and ready to go.

Coming Up Roses

I hate Back to School time. Well, I sort of love it. And I sort of hate it. As a student, I loved it. I loved learning and for me, summer was a long, boring, friendless time. I filled the days with reading books, listening to music, and counting down the days until school began again. While my friends were going to visit grandparents in far away places or making sojourns to the beach with their families, I was stuck at home all day while my mom worked.

This summer, we didn't go on vacation. The trip I planned for the boys to see their grandparents was waylaid by car trouble. It has been a long, boring, friendless time for me where I have felt cooped up and lonely. Even the things we've done haven't felt like things I wanted to do, but obligations.

This summer has felt long and exhausting. I haven't had a moment of me time it feels like. I haven't even exercised in months. I haven't had time to think or pray or do anything to rejuvenate my spirit. I feel aimless, hopeless, lonely, sad, confused.

But, I'm somehow not ready for school to begin again. Mostly, just because I don't like the school board deciding that school should go back in the middle of summer.

School starts in our county on August 11. August e-lev-enth! Can you believe that? It stinks for the kids.

We haven't even been on vacation yet.

AAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH.

I hate this frantic, frenetic, stupid, stupid world.

Black River

There are just a few more days to order tickets to Scott Downes Live at Underneath. You can get your tickets here. Remember, too that the ticket price includes beer and wine. It should be a great night of good music in a relaxed and intimate setting.

I know I'm shameless in plugging my husband's music, but I believe he is a gifted and talented songwriter and I want to share his music with as many folks as I can. If you're new here or you've never heard him, you can check him out on his web site. I suggest the live show at Kavarna.

Now, I said I was going to give away two tickets to his show this week and so I shall. If you live in the Atlanta metro area and you're interested in going to the show, visit Scott's site and listen to the song Black River. After you're done, come back here, and post a comment telling me what gets thrown in the water at the end of the song. I will choose one winner at random from the correct answers.

The contest starts now, Monday, 7/21, at 4:15 p.m. and will run through 4:15 p.m. tomorrow, 7/22.

Chimes of Freedom

Scott's cousin Valerie is an amazing woman. She's a gifted artist and one of the most awe-inspiring women near my age that I've ever met. I don't say it lightly when I say that there are some people that have the spark of the Holy Spirit in them and Valerie is on of those people. She has an unusual burden gift in being able to feel and carry the pain of others. It's not just that she can feel their pain, but that she wants to. Her empathy leads her to want to connect with others in this way, to truly experience what someone else felt or is feeling. She's a generous, and deeply beautiful human being.

She recently completed a 2100 mile bike ride that retraced the Underground Railroad from Montgomery, Alabama to Owens Sound in Canada.

You can read about her adventures here.

Chaos and Creation

Another super busy week. I've much to be grateful for, however, and I am delighted to find myself at home, blogging to my heart's content.

Last week I promised you book reviews and reviews you shall have, my friends. Today, I'm going to give you the lowdown on my friend Susan Schanerman's book Play or Pay: 77 Ways to Have Fun or Suffer the Consequences and End Up Paying the Price. But first, these messages... I do have a couple of exciting announcements. I am going to have two contests this week. Atlanta folk, get your babysitter ready. I'm giving away 2 tickets to Scott's show at Underneath next week, July 26th. More on that tomorrow.

And also, next week, I'm going to give away a copy of Anita Renfroe's new stand-up DVD. Again, more later.

Now, about Play or Pay: 77 Ways to Have Fun or Suffer the Consequences and End Up Paying the Price... If you're looking for a reminder that all work and no play makes you dull, dull, dull, in ways more than one, this is an excellent reminder.

Author Susan Schanerman survived polio as a child, but missed out on much of the fun and normal childhood activities of she saw other kids experiencing. As an adult, Susan came to see that much of the distress in her life, as well as the creative blocks in her own life and those of her clients, resulted from an inability to relax, play, and have fun. She points out in the introduction to her book that by adopting a more "play-full" attitude towards life, we can open our creative channels, and improve both our physical and mental health simply by playing and reducing our stress levels.

Play or Pay is short, fun book that you can read by opening it up to any page and finding a suggestion for a way to play. Having a bad day? Feeling stressed out? Pick up the book and open it up. You'll find suggestions like "Make a date with yourself. Take yourself to a favorite spot you haven't been to in ages." Or "Go to a Museum or art gallery. Spend enough time to allow yourself to feel completely inspired. Go home and experiment doing something creative."

It's a simple, but fun and inspiring book that reminds us all to slow down a little, take some time for ourselves, and have fun with this life because we only get this one and we might as well enjoy it.

I've been having fun just imagining myself doing some of the things in the book. I can only imagine the fun I'll have once I start doing some of the things in the book.

If you're curious, you can order your copy at Susan's web site. If you're a creative who's feeling blocked, you might also be interested in reading about her creative coaching services as well.