Crazy Love

I've never been one to come to the aid of friends who were throwing up. I've always been a bit weak of the stomach when it comes to bodily functions. In college, I never held anyone's hair out of her face while she hurled and I never expected anyone to do that for me. Although, I don't think it was necessary more than once or twice anyway.

Blood doesn't bother me in the least. But I don't do vomit very well. I got my fill taking care of my mom and grandmother. It seems like my mom was constantly getting sick because of some diabetic complication or the other and my grandmother died of stomach cancer so she was sick a lot the last few months of her life. I took a several week leave from high school to help care for her because we couldn't afford a nurse. I've dealt with blood, vomit, bloody vomit, poop, feeding tubes, and all kinds of crazy sick-room gross-outs.

Still, I've found myself getting furious with people for vomiting near me and found myself embarrassed by getting sick near others.

Yet, I've discovered, as I'm sure any of you who are parents have, that the nature of vomit totally changes when the person getting sick is your child. I never, in a million years, would have imagined that someone could not only get sick near me, but ON me and I wouldn't want to throw them through a window. But it has happened.

Friends, on Saturday night my darling baby boy was sick. Friday night, he developed a high fever, but had no other symptoms. On Saturday, he still seemed like he felt a little puny, but was otherwise fine and the fever was gone. Unfortunately, it all went down hill after he went to bed on Saturday night.

About 10 p.m., he woke up crying. When I went into his room, I knew instantly that he had thrown up because the lovely aroma hit me in the face as soon as I opened his door. Poor little guy.

So, I took him out of his crib, got a tub of water, and gave him a sponge bath on his changing table. Then, as I was carrying him over to his dresser to get some fresh jammies, he threw up all over the front of my sweater. I was calm. No problem. It's all part of being a mommy, I told myself. I hugged him and told him it was okay and he'd be fine.

After getting the jammies out, I took him back to the changing table to start again. I decided to take off my yucky, soaking wet sweater and t-shirt and finish the job in my bra and jeans. Everything's going fine and I've got him clean and ready to go. Then, just as I lift him up so I can get his pjs on him, the poor little dude hurls on me again. This time directly onto flesh and straight down into the waist of my jeans. I am, at this point, covered in hot, lumpy, orange baby vomit from my neck to my groin. Fun stuff on a Saturday night.

Somehow, Beckett managed not to get a drop on himself, so I carried him and his clean pjs downstairs to Scott and took a quick shower and put on my pjs. I was gone about 10 min. and in that time, Beckett managed not to throw up on his dad. So, I settle in on the couch with the sick groggy baby on my lap. I've never seen him so sad. He's always such a happy guy and usually so independent. It was unusual for him to want to fall asleep on me, but that's just what he was doing, when all of a sudden, he threw up again. On my nice, comfy, clean pajamas.

It's just strange and amazing to me, though, that my overriding emotions were sympathy and sadness. I just wanted to make him feel better and figure out why he was sick. When I've had to deal with sickies in the past, who weren't my children, even if I felt bad for them, I've always been kind of annoyed even if it wasn't their fault they were ill. Who knew a mother's love could abide such an abundance of gross?

I guess I do now.

Homebrew

Scott played a really great show last Wednesday night. The venue was really cool, but unusual. It was a local brewery, Atlanta Brewing Company.

On Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays they do brewery tours and tastings and have live music. It's a really neat idea. Just brilliant marketing. For the brewery and the musician. The shows are run by the owner/president of a local label with an impressive list of artists, so the music is far better than what you might expect for free.

The crowd was pretty big and reasonably attentive for an alcohol-fueled event. A lot of our friends came out which is always fun. And appreciated. My friend Josie – whom I haven't seen since 1992 – even came out with her fiance. That was pretty neat. Her fiance compared Scott to Neil Young. Always a nice compliment for a singer-songwriter.

ABC is ATL's oldest microbrewery and makes Red Brick Ale. I had had Red Brick and it's fine. Not awesome, but good enough.

At the tasting, I tried two of their other beers and decided I like beer again. If you're a beer drinker and can find either of these in your area, I strongly urge you to give them a try. The first is the Red Brick Blonde. It's very light and refreshing with a real clean palate. Nice. An excellent spring and summer beer.

The second I never would have expected to enjoy as much as I did. I like dark beer, but I've never been able to finish a Guinness. As Scott has so charmingly put it on many an occasion, "Drinking a Guinness is like drinking a loaf of bread." And we're both Irish. So, that's sayin' something about my particular tastes.

But, to my point, ABC's Double Chocolate Oatmeal Porter was amazing. If you like coffee, you'll love it. It has a rich, creamy coffee flavor with a strong chocolate aroma. There's no bitterness and best of all, it's not super-heavy. I wouldn't want it every day, but as a treat once in a while, it's pretty nice. Nothing like a loaf of bread. At all.

If you're in the Atlanta area, you should definitely go check the place out sometime. Give the beers a try and support a working musician.

Angie

Every now and then I overhear things as I'm walking through a store or Brendan's school. Things that make me chuckle or ponder what on Earth the speaker is talking about.

The other day I heard one that made me want to laugh out loud. In fact, I had a self-induced coughing fit to hide my amusement. Every time I think about it, I can hear it plain as day in the speaker's deep, booming voice and find myself laughing.

So, I'm at Publix, rushing through to grab a few things I need for dinner, hoping to make it out of the store before both boys melt down. It's late afternoon and I know I'm pushing my limits with them.

As I'm heading for the check-out, I notice a man and woman standing at the end of an aisle. From the way she's smiling at him and their body language, I'm pretty sure he's hitting on her and she likes it. She seems to be Hispanic and the guy could be any of 10 different ethnicities. But as I get even with them, I hear him say, Oh no. I'm Angelo Saxon.

What else is there to say?

I just wish I had been able to stick around and hear the woman's response.

Monkey to Man

I just stumbled on this fascinating blog. I want to keep reading it, but I just don't have time right now. Anyway, I thought I'd share. I love stuff like this.

Sleepless Nights

Yay for sleep!

It's so underrated and under appreciated by the young and childless and those who just happen to be blessed with little need of it.

I got almost 6 hours of the good stuff last night. Of course, the last two hours were fragmented due to little boys waking up while it was still dark outside and when I was asleep I was having horrible dreams. But, still, it's so much more than I've gotten the last two nights.

Thursday night/Friday morning Brendan had an asthma attack at 4 a.m. after I'd only been asleep for four hours and we never made it back to sleep. Then Friday night, I got a second wind that kept me up talking with Scott until 2 a.m. Both boys were then awake yesterday morning at 5 a.m. and even though I tried to nap yesterday, it was never for more than 15 minutes at a time because I kept getting woken up.

I hate myself when I'm exhausted. I'm crabby. Edgy and dull. Dim witted. Snappish and surly.

I wonder if anyone has ever examined postpartum depression and any resulting abuses as they relate to lack of sleep. I have never physically struck out at my kids and never would, but I know that I certainly have far less patience on days when I don't get enough sleep. And it's on those days that I can see how some parents who have fewer resources and coping skills might totally lose it. I'm not excusing anyone for anything, but when I'm worn out and feeling ill and contrary, I can see how it all just might fall apart in a split second.

Sleep is a miracle drug.

This morning, I feel like a new woman. Rested. Cheerful. Ready for the day.

And looking forward to nap time...for all of us.

You Dropped a Bomb on Me (Baby)

It looks as though someone at the Pentagon is listening.

All these years protestors have been chanting Make Love, Not War! And finally, the Air Force took them seriously.

Now, if we could only get the government to listen when we ask for something important, like say, healthcare for our children. Maybe in another 40 years or so.

A Question Mark

Every now and then when I'm looking at Google Analytics, trying to figure out some way to increase my traffic, trying to figure out what I write about that gets the most attention, I find myself both confused and tickled at some of the search queries that lead here.

For instance, I have recently had people searching for:

blonde twins at Alabama game -- I know of whom they search, too. They're pretty cute and always wear Bear Bryant hats.

barnes and noble employee rant -- among several other barnes and noble queries. This leads to a post I wrote almost two years ago. I recently got a rather rude and obnoxious comment about the post. Dude, get over it. I'm sorry you hate your job. But you're clearly only 16 or so and there will be other jobs. Unless you don't change that attitude.

hyperthyroid pork -- Uh. WTF? Anyone hazard a guess? Could that be oxymoronic? I am befuddled.

And my favorite:

why not to sleep with awesome -- Why not, indeed! If he truly is awesome, I say go for it.

My Hometown

I stumbled on this. No one will care, but it made me nostalgic.

I hated growing up there. Couldn't wait to leave. But sometimes...I miss my hometown.

You Gotta Feel It

Sometimes my heart aches and breaks and I feel crushed beneath the weight of emotion when I think about Brendan. He's my darling, intensely feeling child. I swear he lives and breathes with every fibre of his being. He's sensitive beyond what any one person should have to endure and I often find myself thinking about Wordsworth's poem:

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The Winds that will be howling at all hours;
And are gathered up now like sleeping flowers –
For this, for everything, we are out of tune.
It moves us not.
Great God! I would rather be
A Pagan, suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blowing his wreathed horn.

I guess I feel like Brendan is so connected to this Earth, so present to every moment of his life, unlike 99 percent of us. He feels everything so deeply, the joy and the pain. I worry about the pain. I worry when he takes responsibility for the pain and well-being of others.

Of course I want him to care about other people, especially his brother. But I worry when he worries about protecting others. And of course, when he hurts, I hurt. And he seems to hurt very deeply.

He sat in my lap and cried for 30 minutes yesterday when I told him about Mao. I'm actually thankful he reacted that way, really. It shows that he has the ability to love animals and understands they are important parts of our families. I think his reaction in that instance is perfectly normal.

But I worry about his reaction to other things over which he has no control. He overheard a news story about a day care center in Tennessee that was closed by the state after investigators found a 4-month old boy with a pacifier taped in his mouth. I don't generally let Brendan watch the news, but I was watching CNN at 6:00 a.m. when he wandered into the room and heard the story. The reporter stated that the boy might have died had they not arrived when they did. Brendan was very upset and asked why someone would do that.

How do you explain that one?

Several days later he came back to me and asked me what he should do if one of their babysitters ever taped a pacifier to Beckett's mouth and locked him in the bathroom! He was so worried.

Naturally, I explained that we know all of our sitters very well and they're all friends of our family and he should never worry about that. I told him that if a sitter ever did anything wrong or told him not to tell his parents about something that happened that he should tell us no matter what. Then, he asked if he could call me if we weren't home and tell me and got all worried over not knowing how to use the phone. It was so very sad.

I promised I would teach him to use the phone. (As an aside, I have tried teaching him before, but he has shown zero interest up until this point.) I told him not to worry and that no one we know would do that sort of thing -- that only bad people would do something like that. And I thought we were okay.

Then, the day before yesterday, he asked me if bad guys have mommies. When I said that they did, he freaked out! I mean, on the floor kicking and screaming, "No! No! No! Bad guys don't have mommies. I don't want them to have mommies!"

It just broke my heart.

What do you do with a little guy who is so sensitive? How does he survive in this world? This big ugly, scary, heartbreaking world?

Never Enough

After 10 years with us, our sweet kitty boy, Mao, has reached the end of his life. He's nearly blind. He has arthritis. He has a hyperthyroid condition, that despite treatment, has caused him to lose weight until he only weighs 5 1/2 pounds. He rarely seeks out affection. And, he has little control over his bodily functions.

At 10:30 a.m. today, I will take him to our vet who will then euthanize him.

I am so sad.

I know he's a cat. I understand that death is a natural part of the life cycle. I know he had a good life, at least the part of it he spent with us. He was 4 or 5 years old by the time he wandered up to our house and decided he wanted to stay.

I know all that. I know that it's cruel to keep him alive at this point.

But I will miss him. I'll miss the way it looked like he was smiling when he was sitting in my lap getting loved on. I'll miss his polite and silent meow when I was working in the kitchen and he wanted me to feed him. I'll miss seeing him curl up beside Brendan or go up to Cooper, our 65 lbs. German shepherd and sniff his nose.

He was the best cat I've ever known and I've had cats in my life since I came into this world. Okay. The tears are making it hard to write any more. You get the idea. I loved my cat. He's sick. I have to put him to sleep and it's not a fun or easy thing to do.

Goodbye, Mao. You were a good and true friend.

Piggies

Every good and true Southerner has his or her favorite barbecue joint. And naturally, an opinion on the best style of barbecue and the best kind of sauce (or rub, as the case may be).

I'm a fan of the western style of North Carolina barbecue, although, being from Tennessee, I have a real soft place in my heart for a Memphis dry rub. Of course, a rub is only good on ribs and chicken and I do prefer a good pulled pork sandwich any day to ribs.

So, I thought I'd try my hand at making a little pulled pork for supper tonight. We have soccer practice at 6:30, so I wanted to try something I could throw in ye olde crock pot and have waiting for us when we got home. Here's the recipe I'm using, although, I added my own enhancement by using a dry rub on the pig before throwing it in the cooker. I just don't know how non-smoked pork will turn out, so I thought it would probably want a little extra seasoning.

We'll see.

But right now my kitchen smells pretty good, y'all.

Shake It Like a Polaroid Picture

Check it, y'all! Scott sent me this earlier today and I'm really digging it.

You Pull My Strings

I love this song so much, I have to share this. Check out this live version of one of Scott's newest songs, You Pull My Strings.

This was recorded at the Inman Perk show a few months ago. It sounds fantastic.

I Get Weak

There are just moments of pure bliss in this life. Rare, fleeting moments, but moments so amazing the beauty of them can feed your soul for days or weeks, even, as long as you choose to hold onto them and allow their purity to infuse your being.

Last night I had the great fortune to live one of those moments.

While Scott played guitar in preparation for his next show, I lay on the floor sorting through pictures from Brendan's soccer game, just enjoying the music. A couple of songs in, Brendan comes out of his room and stands outside our doorway, listening. When he saw me peeking around the door at him, he smiled the biggest smile and ran to me, arms outstretched. I asked him why he wasn't in bed and he said, very seriously, because I just love you and wanted to be with you. I put him back to bed and returned to my laptop. After about 10 minutes, I hear his door open. A surprisingly lengthy time later – maybe 30 seconds – he appears at our door, but doesn't come in. Again, I ask why he's not in bed, and he very sweetly and shyly says, "Well, Mommy, I just love you so much and I really want to be here with you and I just can't control myself.

He was so very earnest and sweet. I held my arms out and he threw himself into them and gave me the biggest, sweetest hug.

I know he was playing me, a bit, wanting to stay up past his bedtime and hear his daddy play guitar. I know he was just curious about what goes on after he's asleep. But it still melted my heart and made me feel incredibly blessed. Looking at Scott and Brendan and seeing how much alike they are, my heart felt like it would burst from the overflowing of love I felt for my beautiful husband and this amazing little child we made together.

Sometimes, I feel like the weight of my love for Scott and our sons will crush me all the while it sustains me. I spend so much time worrying about them, worrying about losing their love, worrying about not being worthy of their love in some way.

Maybe that's why these moments when I am simply in the moment, feeling and being, and not doing anything seem so beautiful and prized.

I mean ultimately, I know that my fears are meaningless. I need to simply be in this life and enjoy every moment of it, the beauty and the mess of it all.

Volvo Driving Soccer Mom

soccer
Originally uploaded by belleoftheblogATL

Well, lo and behold, if we didn't have our very first soccer game ever this weekend. It was so much fun! I had no idea how much fun it could be to watch a bunch of four-and-five-year olds chasing a ball around a field.

Brendan had a great time and our team...My goodness they were so cute it hurt. But not just cute. They were good!

I mean we have some very good players on our team of four girls and two boys. We've got "Jet" and "Gigi", blonde twins who are quick and scrappy. Their little sister, Noey, who just beams and could be their triplet. Then there's Brendan who, having never played soccer before at all, jumped right into the fray, and had a great time.

Then there's Isaac. This kid has a foot. I mean just a really great player.

We won. By a lot. Our kids scored six goals, I think, to the other team's two. In fairness, they only had three players who showed up for the game and it was hot. One of their players, the only girl on the team, stopped a few minutes into the second half and just stood on the field crying. The coaches stopped the game and we sent two of our players over to play on the other team. We spent the rest of the game rotating players around, although I think we only ever had two of our players on their team at one time.

Toward the end of the game, our team stepped back and let the little girl who cried score a goal. She looked so very happy afterward.

All in all it was great fun and it really made me happy and proud to see my little guy trying so hard and having such a good time. Hopefully he continues to enjoy it and it turns out to be a positive experience for all the kids involved.

Androgynous

For the last two months or so, I've been working with a physical trainer. I've been working out almost daily and eating more consciously. I've always been what I think of as a healthy eater, but I've been actually thinking about whether or not I'm getting enough protein, enough iron, the right number of fruits and veggies in a day, looking at portion size, etc.

Finally, I'm beginning to actually like my body. And while I'm not quite ready for skinny jeans, I did look in the mirror the other day and think, Hey! I look kind of skinny.

I haven't thought that since I was 22. Okay. 23 might be when I started putting on the pounds. And after two babies in four years. I was feeling like I needed to regain control of my body. And I have. And I'm happy about it. And I'm excited about the prospect of wearing clothes I like. Pretty, girly, sexy clothes that say I'm as much a woman and a wife as I am a mommy. Not that I was ever one to wear frumpy sweats all day or something. It's just that I felt less than gorgeous in even my cutest clothes.

So, just when I'm excited about wearing the latest trends, the fashion world goes all Annie Hall and gives me this crap. All I can say is yuck and double yuck!

One Big Holiday

I thought that once school began, I would become a blogging fool. Unfortunately, (or maybe it's actually a good thing!) I simply haven't had time. My seven hours of "free time" each day seems woefully too little. Every minute gets eaten away with something.

Of course, I am enjoying more one-on-one time with Beckett who seems to be enjoying it immensely. He has suddenly decided to speak, crawl, and learn to stand all at the same time. Of course, his mad burgeoning skills mean he is sleeping less, but unlike big brother, he (thankfully) has not had any truly sleepless nights. It just means he's waking once around 11 p.m. and going instantly back to sleep and then getting up for good around 6:30. I can't complain at all. And, naturally, I'm overjoyed that his first word was mama. Brendan went for da-dee as his first word, followed soon thereafter by 'nana which meant banana. Mama came very late to him for some reason. I think he even said uh-oh and ba-ba for bottle before he said mama.

Beckett seems – if it's possible – more verbally advanced. He said mama on Friday, butter, which we interpreted as brother, on Saturday, and then – and I promise I am not making this up – something that sounds an awful lot like I love you on Saturday as well. He has repeated each of these several times, so we're thinking they're not just flukes. And if you repeat the words to him, he says them back.

So, in addition to that excitement, I have been working very hard to find work and think I have done so. I had two interviews last week. One was for a PR job with the (okay don't laugh too hard) National Singles Association. The other was ghost-writing for a headhunter who has a regular column in several business publications.

I will be doing the second one. I started yesterday, brainstorming on topics we could write about. He will get all the credit, but I will get a paycheck which actually matters more to me right now.

I also have several other irons in the fire with respect to work and hopefully I can pull some of them out soon. We shall see.
Scott has a show on Friday at a local coffeehouse and wine bar called Java Monkey. I'm excited about that. He has two other shows coming up in September as well and I'm working on a few other things.

If you happen to be in Atlanta and read this, come by Java Monkey on Friday night and say hi. And, of course, check out my darlin's music.

I'm leaving out a ton of things that have been happening, but I need to get supper going. Scott will be home any minute and I haven't even started yet. Zoinks!

Lost Cause

Just like so many of the things going on in our country today, the decline in purpose and meaning of the NAACP saddens me.

Once upon a time, the NAACP meant something. Stood for something noble and idealistic. Something that mattered. I don't know that this is true any more.

Not when the president of the Atlanta chapter can stand up and say something as ridiculous as his statement that equates deer hunting with dogfighting. Is he serious? Does he really not see the difference?

Does he not understand that deer hunting culls the population to a livable level, reduces the spread of disease, deer are eaten, and that when deer are hunted, they have a chance of getting away? How about that deer are wild animals and if they weren't hunted, they would starve to death?

Let's see how that compares to a dog that is chained up and beaten, thrown in a pen and forced to fight another dog to the death, and if it doesn't or doesn't win, is then drowned, or electrocuted, or shot at close range. Yeah...that's a lot like deer hunting.

Look. I get it. I know that a lot of African-Americans do not like dogs or fear them because there has been a long and sad history of dogs being used to torture and attack blacks going all the way back to the days of slavery. Still, does that justify cruelty to an innocent animal?

I believe that anyone who could do those things to an animal, would just as soon do it to a human. It's all just a matter of time. And I think it's a real shame that race has even been brought into the equation. This really has nothing to do with race, but a total lack of respect for life of any kind except his own on the part of Michael Vick.

Too bad the NAACP doesn't use its power for something or someone who actually deserves their efforts.

Authority Always Wins

Sometimes I just wonder what the hell is wrong with me.

I was a straight-A student in high school. A favorite of the teachers I loved. Some would have even called me a teacher's pet. But the ones I didn't like or respect? Oh boy!

I was the ringleader in getting our French teacher to quit my sophomore year because I hated her so much. I sassed her. Mocked her. Got in her face and yelled at her when she told my class that her three-year old spoke better French than we did. Laughed at her when she left the classroom in tears because we refused to listen to her. That, by the way, was the last time we ever saw her.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not exactly proud of that. I'm just using it as an example of my disdain for authority when it's an authority I can't respect. One form of authority I have a very difficult time with is making rules for the sake of having rules or rules that don't make sense or which are applied broadly leaving no room for individuals to determine whether or not they need the rule.

This is a trait that does not serve me well. It is a trait that leads me to instantly distrust teachers, principals, and school adminstrators in general. I feel they're all out to make me and my child conform to their ideas of what is normal and appropriate while they destroy any spark of creativity that might arise in anyone around them.

I know. There are some awesome teachers who inspire creativity. I know many of them and admire them greatly. They're not usually the ones who become administrators. Sadly.

All this came up for me today when I tried to cross the circular driveway in front of my son's school in a crosswalk (thank you, very much). An 8-year old school patrol nazi stuck her stop sign in my face and yelled, You can't cross there!

But it's a crosswalk, I replied, looking inquisitive.

Well, you can't walk across there. It's not allowed.

Quite maturely, I responded Well, that's the stupidest rule I've ever heard of. Can't cross the street in a crosswalk!

Naturally, all this transpired in front of Brendan. Yay me! Setting such a fine example. And of course, in front of the sternest looking female priest (priestess?) I've ever seen. I've noticed her all week walking her kids in, wearing her priest collar, and thinking nice things about her because she's obviously a minister of some sort. Unless, of course, she gets off on impersonating an Episcopal priest, which is actually kind of funny.

Anyway, when I said that the rule was stupid and got frustrated because the crossing guard Nazi refused to let me cross the street, she turned around and glared at me. Seriously!

If looks could kill, I'd be down at the funeral home right now.

Priest! Phhhh! Hello? Human frailty? Obvious parent of a pre-K kid? Don't know the arbitrary insane rules yet because handbooks haven't been given out yet on the third day of school!

That actually bothered me more than the rule itself. I'm on a show-a-little-kindness kick right now and it's really frustrating to me when other people are critical of the people around them when they show human emotion. Which, I realize is hypocritical because that's all this woman did and just because she's a priest I shouldn't expect her to behave any differently than the rest of us and I'm sure she didn't like me questioning safety rules in front of her kids, but ya know, I'm human. I'm carrying a 22-lb baby and holding a 4-year old's hand and carrying his book bag and trying to take the shortest route into the school. I'm an adult who knows how to cross a street without getting hit. Hell, I managed to survive all my life without getting hit by a car and my schools never had crossing guards and I walked over a mile to and from school.

I guess, what I'm trying to say here, is that if you're going to walk around wearing a giant wooden cross around your neck, a priest's collar, and you claim to represent the Highest Authority Of All, you might try showing a little good will toward the rest of us fuck ups.

Maybe?

At least until we grow up and learn to accept earthly authority or at least county school board authority a bit more?

School Night

My baby's growing up.

Brendan began his life as a public school student today, entering pre-Kindergarten at our neighborhood school. Very exciting. And not nearly as sad as I thought it would be.

I think any sad or melancholy emotions I might have experienced were overshadowed by my concern for him attending public school instead of private school. I never thought it would be an issue for me. I'm the product of public school and I turned out fine.

Of course, the public schools I attended were in a small town with lots and lots of money for educating kids. Our schools were always safe, clean, and our teachers reliable.

Here? I don't know.

I swear a child is going to get lost in Brendan's classroom. Everyone assures me the teacher, though not great, loves the kids. But her classroom looks like a bomb went off. It's dirty, cluttered, and totally chaotic. I hate it. It's driving me nuts.

I feel like I'm being closed-minded somehow. The school has such a good reputation, but I just feel like he's going to get lost in the shuffle of it. It's so different than the sweet little private preschool he was going to.

After dropping him off today, I found myself hoping he'd start hanging around this particular group of kids who were, as I told Scott, destined to become the kind of kids I hated growing up. Rich, preppy, athletic, good-looking. Not the kids with whom I was hanging out. But they were the most easily identifiable group to me. None of the other kids seemed quite....with it somehow.

Nope. I was hanging with the freaks and geeks, rebels and smart kids. Not losers. But not the kids running the show either.

As much as I hated those kids and still disapprove of those sorts of people as adults, I find myself thinking life will be easier for Brendan if he gravitates toward those people. And then I hate myself for thinking that way.

I just have to hope and pray that he finds his own way and figures out who he is and then I have to love him and embrace him whether he turns out to be a brain, a jock, a criminal, or a basket case, or something in between.