The Flu Shot Failure

Yesterday morning started as most mornings--coffee, laundry, a little quiet time, and a run.  I was actually feeling pretty good..

As I was out running my music was interrupted by Caroline's ringtone.  "Mama, where are you?" I heard her quietly say.  "Out for a run--everything okay?"  A sob escaped her throat, "No, I feel terrible; my head hurts, my throat hurts, and my legs ache.  Please come home."  Uh oh--this can't be good.  She's up early and asking me to come home.  I headed straight home and my suspicions were confirmed as I entered the den.  There lay Caroline, no TV on, no phone in her hand (and I'm pretty sure it hadn't been surgically removed which I believe may be the only way to remove it),  she was just quietly lying there with tears streaming down her face.  I immediately took her temperature and it was rising to above 100.

As the daughter of a doctor, I learned early on that doctor offices have a great time making fun of people who call a)all the time and b) when it's just a cold, so I am programmed to never call before 48 hours of illness (unless there's asthma involved of course--learned that lesson the hard way). But I knew the flu could come on quickly and I knew they could prescribe tamiflu within the first 24 hours and I knew I hadn't taken Caroline to get a flu shot.  So I picked up the phone.

I began explaining to the receptionist that I don't usually call on the weekends, I don't usually call the minute the children are sick, I hate to bother her, and maybe we don't really need to be seen today but I just wanted to run it by her.  (I'm suspecting she was rolling her eyes and wondering why this crazy lady felt the need to unburden herself  as she was watching all the other lines lighting up with equally--maybe not equally-neurotic mothers. And by the way, it was her job to answer the phones--if these crazy parents weren't bothering her she wouldn't have a job.)  She pleasantly responded, "Sore throat?  Could be strep she should be seen." At this point I felt I should make a complete confession, "Could it be flu?  She hasn't had a flu shot."  DEAD SILENCE  Perhaps it was only a few seconds, but I felt like it was an eternity and that she was probably marking in large red marker on the front of our file "NO FLU SHOT AND IT'S DECEMBER"  Again pleasantly, but a little less patiently she replied, "You didn't get her a flu shot?  How old is she?"  "13" I responded wanting to add but she's 5'10" and outweighs me, plus she's kind of sassy and we're really busy--oh and did I mention I'm a priest? Anything you want me to do for you? Instead we made the appointment, and I was secretly relieved that I had to go to work and Chris would have to take her and get the stare that comes when the doctor learns your children haven't had their flu shots--yep, it's happened before.

As SK was driving me to my car I told her that if Caroline had the flu I would call her and she would need to immediately go get a flu shot.  "By myself?" she asked with a tone of utter astonishment and disbelief.  "Yes by yourself; I've got to go to work.  I have baptismal prep this morning."  (Probably with a baby who has had his flu shot.)  "I can't go by myself," she retorted with an accusing tone that seemed to say, what kind of mother are you that makes your child go get a shot by herself--oh yeah, the kind of mother that also doesn't take her children to get flu shots the day they come out.  "Sarah Katherine," I calmly said trying to regain any credibility I had as a preventive health care mother, "You are going to college in 9 months; you have gone to the doctor before by yourself.  And need I remind you your over 18."  "But," she humphed "It was never for a shot."

I returned home as the boys were getting out of bed.  I repeated my instructions to them about flu shots if Caroline was positive, and then I told Chris about making her appointment (leaving out the guilty pleasure I had that I wasn't the one taking her in)  As I got to the part about the long pause after the confession of not having had flu shots, Boss said, "You know that lady was probably thinking 'what a shitty mother--wonder if she even loves her kids?'"  He certainly knows how to heap burning coals upon an already guilt ridden soul--I couldn't even correct his language.  "Yeah," William added, "And didn't Pop remind you about that last weekend when he was here for Caroline's play?  I think he told you several times and stressed how important it was. And," he added just to punctuate the importance of the conversation, "he's a doctor."  Feeling very chastised I thought to myself, "Yeah he stressed over and over to get ya'll flu shots but apparently he didn't take quite the same amount of time with his advice on how NOT to have four children in four years and he certainly never taught me how to surgically close your mouths as you entered the teen years! Now that would have been useful advice.)  William continued, "I think even Babah told you the other day."  Oh the joys of having divorced parents--double the advice in double the time.  "Anyway," finished William, "I'm not going today; I'm not getting a shot on my birthday."  "You'll be lucky if you have another," I thought as I slunk out of the room.

The good news is that Caroline doesn't have the flu or strep--just a regular old virus.  (You know the kind that the nurses make fun of you for bringing your children into the office immediately upon the start of symptoms?)They tested her for both, "First they stab and choke you," she told me, "And then they scratch your brain sticking a long q-tip like thing up your nose all to tell you there's nothing they can do--just drink fluids. And now I can't even go to Owensboro for the birthday party--you won't let me." she added with an accusing tone.  I may not be good at getting my children flu shots, but apparently I am personally responsible for viruses.  Glad I'm responsible for something.

Guess who's going to get flu shots?

I Refrained

Last night I drove home from work  with a tinge of fear and a whole lot of guilt.  Chris is out of town for the week and I'd been at EfM.  It was almost 9 pm; I was exhausted, and I had no idea what I was about to walk into when I got there.  All of the children except Caroline (and that in and of itself is fear inducing) had broken a cardinal rule of the house.  The children know not to disturb me during meetings unless it is an emergency--read someone is bleeding or not breathing (both of which are not beyond the realm of possibility on any given day in the Doyle household).  So when 15 minutes into EfM my phone rang, I panicked.  It was Boss, "Mama tell SK she has to stop at Walgreens for me to get emergency food.  I haven't eaten all day, practice was brutal and Case said there were emergency food things--emergency vitamins--at Walgreens."  Not being drawn into their arguments is one of my daily goals (Boss and SK have already begun the separation process and it is heart breaking to watch--they've never fought this much--but that's for another blog), so I said, "tell her I said to just stop it's on the way home, and you be nice."  I refrained for the sake of time to remind him about the bleeding/non-breathing rule, and I also pushed the questions of "When did Case become a doctor?" and "Why haven't you eaten all day." to the back of my mind.  That was made easier when I reminded myself that at least he was stopping for a legal remedy.  I did, however, text SK and ask her to please be patient and not let a fight break out.  Her response, "I'm sick of him treating me like crap when he has a hard practice."  I seriously almost laughed out loud, but I refrained from responding, "tell me about it." or "I feel your pain."  Remember, I'm trying to limit the texts/calls from home, so I just responded, "I'm sorry.  Try to be patient."  And for the next hour my phone was silent until....

Around 7:20 the phone started blowing up with texts from William.  "When are you going to be home?"  "I'm stressed about exams and need help."  "I need spare binders."  Anyone who has had a 9th grade student going through high school exams for the first time can understand why my guilt meter was going strong and I was holding onto the panic cliff with two hands.  (There is a very good argument to add exam stress to the bleeding and not breathing list of good reasons to interrupt me) Anyone who has had a 9th grade boy actually asking for help can understand why I had fallen from the cliff, was on the other side of the guilt mountain and making my way back up the next one.  He texted me it was math and science he was most worried about--BONUS the lights and music went off in my head--those are SK's strengths.  But, I remembered the irritation she was already experiencing so with a bit of pause and remembering that a) I had already asked her to be patient and b) I have recently purchased her quite a few new things (yes, I use bribery when it's necessary) I told him to ask her for help.  So with all this swirling through my mind I drove through the dark night and up our driveway bearing said 3 ring binders William needed.

 I walked in and only found the girls at the dining room table; they were laughing.  I began to exhale.  "Where are the boys?" I asked.  "Oh Mama," started SK (I sucked that breath right back in), "they're already in bed."  "But I have binders for William that he asked me to bring home." I refrained from saying, "that he broke the bleeding/non breathing rule to make sure I brought home."  "Mama," continued SK, "He had to go to bed.  We spent a long time organizing his Biology notebook, and it wiped him out.  We've still got his math and English to go.  He was so stressed he went into my room and took my color coded post it notes to use as dividers." (If he crossed the threshold of SK's room without permission, he truly was desperate.)  "He was so stressed,"  she continued, "I couldn't even yell at him.  Look at these notebooks; they're disasters.  But it's okay we have this week to get him organized."  I exhaled again and said a silent prayer asking that her benevolence would continue all week--Chris wasn't home until Friday.  I decided it was safe to go upstairs take out my contacts which felt like sandpaper in my eyes and get ready for bed.  But Caroline followed me....

As she walked in my room, where I was changing she began with, "Put some clothes on.  Grouse."  I refrained from reminding her that a) we all have to see her in various states of undress in places like say the dining room and b) that it was indeed my room.  "Mama, I can't go to basketball tomorrow.  It's dress rehearsal and I just can't miss any of it.  I know it's a game but..."  The standard Collegiate rule is that games trump rehearsal and rehearsal trumps practice.  Just to make certain I texted the athletic director.  My level of desperation cannot be described. It  was 9:15 pm and I really don't like to bother people at home but these were desperate times in the Doyle household.   He verified my understanding but added, "but this time we have allowed some exceptions."  Seriously?!?!?!  This is not the week for exceptions--I need rules dude!  Caroline was pacing and shouting Rachel and Clara Stewart don't have to go to the game.  I refrained from saying, "I'm not Rachel's and Clara Stewart's parent."  Really refraining from that was pure self preservation as I was at that very moment texting their mothers while trying to ignore the voice in my head that said, "if everyone else jumped off a cliff would you?" (Keep in mind I had already fallen from that cliff.)  Everyone was missing the game, so I gave in but reminded Caroline that she had to let the coach know.  (I was attempting to teach some sort of responsibility.)  Just to highlight the importance of commitment, I added "Caroline they need you; you are the starting center."  Caroline, "That's only because I'm tall and have a big butt."  I refrained from responding only because I was gagging.  "Caroline, you smell awful.  Go take a shower."  Caroline, "I don't smell; it's just my feet."  I refrained from reminding her that her feet were indeed part of her body--who knows where that conversation could have gone?

I headed downstairs for a final check in with SK--"Mama can you sit down and listen to my essays for my Yale application?"  As I was trying to pry my eyes open so that I could indeed be the present Mama that I want to be, Caroline came bopping down the stairs and into the room swinging her braid that was on the top of her head singing, "Look at me; I"m a helicopter."  I refrained from physically subduing her as the effort to get out of my chair was far more than I could muster and instead said, "Have you already taken a shower?"  "No, only my feet smelled so I just washed them." she, at least, honestly replied.  She plopped herself down at the table, pulled out her coloring book, and said, "I'm looking for a picture of Cinderella to color.  Here's one--oh look, Cindy's got big boobies."  "Caroline," I said before the conversation could go from PG to R, "your sister is reading me her essay and short answer questions.  Please be quiet."

"So," continued SK seriously, "The first one is about your favorite quote.  I put 'Saying no does not make you a failure' which I got from Aunt Ingrid."  I was about to say that I thought that was good when she continued perhaps because she thought my feelings might be hurt, "I would have used yours 'Have fun, remember who you are, be true to yourself' but I think of that more as a motto and not just a quote."  "I think of that more as Mama's way to tell us what to do." chimed in Caroline.  I refrained from saying, "and obviously you follow it because I don't know of anyone who has met you who doesn't remember who you are whether they want to or not."  Alas, she wasn't finished, "I hope they have that question when I apply to college. Mine is going to be 'Don't wear your makeup like that; you look like a slut.'"  Sarah Katherine and I both refrained from any comment and she moved onto reading me more questions and answers only to be interrupted by Caroline yet again, "Do you really have to know a lot of vocabulary for the SAT? I mean what are you going to use it for in life anyway."  I refrained from responding, "to communicate."  SK did say, "yes you do and taking Latin really helps."  "Well," said Caroline, "Then I'm screwed." "Next question," I said to SK refraining from any engagement whatsoever.

"Name something you've changed your mind about in the last 2 or 3 years."  I quickly and I thought rather humorously responded, "_______" (the boyfriend's name).  "How am I going to write 25 words about that?  That's dumb." Sarah Katherine seriously responded.  "Ok," I said, "How about how you've changed your mind about private and public school?" (back story--SK wanted to go to an all girls private Catholic school and we sent her to the public magnet instead.  The first year was miserable and now she loves it and has even remarked on two occasions of which I know that she's glad she didn't go to the other school.)  That however was clearly not a good answer as she rolled her eyes and said, "Yeah Mama I'll write an essay that says private schools suck and public schools are so much better to Yale--A PRIVATE SCHOOL!"  I really wanted to remind her that I hate that s___ word, but I refrained because, well, I was just too tired and clearly not helping at all a fact she could have taken into consideration from the beginning as I neither was accepted to nor even applied to any Ivy league school.  "I'm going to text Mason and ask her what she thinks." SK said.  Less than 2 minutes later the reply comes "______(boyfriend's name)" I took that as my personal victory and a very good time to exit the room.

As I was leaving I said, "Oh Abby says I should publish my blogs in a book. The money could actually help pay for the therapy ya'll are all going to need."  SK, "No!  You can't do that.  I've already decided I'm going to do that when you die.  I've got dibs on that deal."  I refrained from saying anything because really how do you respond to the fact that your eldest child is already trying to figure out how to profit from your death. (She already goes around the house and through my jewelery box telling me what she wants when I die.  I don't want to encourage her to hasten that time.)  I headed up to bed hoping to get a quick call into Chris, read, and lights out.  As I was pulling the covers down in bounds Caroline.  "I'm going to sleep with you tonight."  I pulled both sides of the bed down and refrained from saying anything because really what could be better than your baby wanting to snuggle with you?

It All Started with a Simple Question

Last night as we started eating dinner I asked, "Rev Emily wants to know what ya'll's favorite Christmas traditions are?"
"Why?" asked William.
 "Well,"I said, "It's Charlotte's first Christmas and they're trying to figure out what they want to start."
"You don't plan traditions, they just happen."  piped in Christopher--oh I wish it were that effortless but yeah me for making it look that way!
"I don't know," said SK "Just the whole thing."  I knew we needed to be a little more specific, so to get the pump primed to have them answer the question, I reminded her that when we lived in England and couldn't find the T'was the Night Before Christmas book she used her Christmas money to buy one from the school gift store.  So now the subject has jumped (you've got to be quick to keep up in this house).  William, "What were those store things again?"  "You know," said SK, "Where you go in and buy stuff for your family and friends because you're a little kid and can't go shopping anywhere else."  "They usually set it up in the cafeteria." I said trying to help give a visual to jog the memory. "Yeah" said Caroline, "You use the money your parents give you to buy the junk they donated,and then you give it back to them for Christmas."  (She has a point).  Christopher, "I hated those kids that would use the money to buy stuff for themselves--I wanted to punch them in the face."  (Now there's the Christmas spirit--not one of our traditions I hope.) "And," he added "They have those kind of kids in the US and in England." "But, at least I got to get the book for our tradition," redirected SK.  (Oh if we could have only stayed on this path.)
"I think Rev. Emily and Zach need to have another baby."  declared Caroline.  Instead of wondering and asking why Emily gets a title before her name and Zach doesn't which is exactly what I should have done, it reminded me of Dec. 20th.  "Oh, ya'll Daddy and I are going to be gone on Friday Dec. 20th.  We need to find places for you to stay--any thoughts?"  "Why are you going away right before Christmas?" someone asked.  "It's their 20th anniversary." remembered William my sweet and sensitive son.  "You better not be going anywhere warm and where I'd want to go." Caroline my typical 13 year old self absorbed daughter said.  Again instead of admonishing her for being selfish and making it all about her, which I should have done, I said, "We're just going downtown to one of the hotels there."  Hands immediately clapped over four pairs of ears as  chorus of shouts erupted--"oooooh, ugh, stop talking about it; please don't say anything else!"  And then Caroline's hands came off her ears and began waving in the air (I think she was trying to dance while seated at the dining room table) and she began to chant, "hotel, motel, Holiday Inn." SK, "Stop Caroline you're making it so much worse!"  Again instead of telling her that singing and dancing at the dining room table from a somewhat clumsy 5'10" 13 year old wasn't a good idea, which I definitely should have done, I asked, "What is that song?"  "It's a song about sex Mama," Christopher said, "just what you're talking about doing."

It all started with a simple question, and now I wonder, do Emily and Zach really want to know the Doyle's traditions?

So Basically Don't Act Like Myself

Tonight the boys play in their first basketball games of the season--William on the JV and Christopher on Varsity.  Basketball is Christopher's love--I remember when he was five he told me he was either going to play football for the Georgia Bulldogs or basketball for the Louisville Cardinals (I personally thought he needed a plan C which may include studying but in one of my finer Mommy moments I kept my mouth shut--a true feat.)  Boss no longer plays football, but basketball has remained his love. The sound of the basketball in the driveway is a perpetual sound--Thanksgiving he was outside for an hour shooting (in sub freezing weather because, "Can you believe it Mama?  We're not having practice today or tomorrow!)  Needless to say he takes it very seriously.  And here is where two of my worlds collide.

Caroline's crush--you know the one EVERYONE in the school knows about--students, teachers, staff, coaches.. is also on the varsity basketball team.  She stalks him pacing outside of the gym, peering into the weight room, and not being very quiet about it.  Christopher and William have begged her to stop; they've asked me to punish her--it's interesting they think I have control over her; haven't they lived in this same house for 13 years?  I have to admit there's a part of me that is in awe of her.  When I was in 8th grade, I would have never had the nerve to go anywhere near a junior much less talk to him.

Until two nights ago, varsity was scheduled away while jv was at home--this caused great anxiety in our house.  Obviously Chris and I were going to have to divide and conquer--Chris and I love being at the games and hate missing either.  Caroline, however, was devastated.  Varsity was away--hence she wasn't going.  Mourning set in.  But two nights ago our worlds changed.  Varsity was moved home.  I was excited--first varsity game played in front of a home crowd.  I smiled Christopher shrugged; Caroline lept and jumped like a new born foal--keep in mind my new born foal is 5'10" and probably not the most coordinated of the four, around the den shouting, "YES, YES, YES!"

This morning Christopher woke up early-he's clearly a bit nervous but unlike his frolicking sister, he keeps his emotions pretty tightly in check.  He got ready and sat in the den, head phones on, eyes closed.  Caroline looked into the room and said, "Has he thrown up yet?"  (note there was not a hint of empathy in her voice) "Not yet," I responded.  "Well he will" she countered, "He always throws up before games--now he'll have to do it at school."  (again no empathy, in fact I heard a tinge of glee--) I decided to attempt to have a conversation with her about tonight.  "Caroline, tonight is a big night for your brother.  Please act.." and here's where my adult vocabulary failed as I needed to figure out a way to stress the importance of what I was saying.  "Please don't act like an idiot."  Caroline, "So basically you're telling me not to act like myself?"  "Hmmm," I thought never wanting to stamp on their personalities but also understanding the gravity of the night for Christopher--talk about feeling pulled, so I said,  "Maybe just for tonight."

Stay tuned--I'm not sure how this will end.

Another Five Years of Therapy

It all started at 6 am when I finally made it to the grocery store to shop for our Thanksgiving meal.  The entire family had planned the meal which frankly is not hard because one of the two parents has made the children so neurotic about traditions that we have the SAME meal for every holiday.  Honestly this year was a tad bit more difficult because we are having Thanksgiving with just the six of us so we had to have endless discussions on whether tradition dictated that we recreate the dishes that others usually prepare..so here I stood before the sweet potatoes.  Let me be clear, I HATE sweet potatoes--the taste, the texture, the smell--everything.  (This may be hard for you to believe but one night when I was in elementary school I sat at the dinner table until 11:30 pm because I refused to take one bite.) So I stood in front of those seemingly neutral things wondering how many years of therapy I would have to pay for if I just flat refused to make them?  See these were part of the tradition conversations--two weeks ago William begged me to get the recipe from Aunt Meredith--"Please Mama we have to have them.  They're always my favorite."  When I told him no he responded with, "I wish I was going to Aunt Meredith's house."  While I don't do sweet potatoes well, I do guilt perfectly, so I began counting them into a bag--you get him next year Meredith!


I made my way through the store weaving in and out of the loyal employees restocking and cleaning the aisles.  It was really a tad bit festive.  That's a good thing because as I checked things off my list I had an ongoing debate in my head--do I make the pie crusts or buy them?  The conversation was agonizing and there was no one to talk to about it at this hour!  The debate grew louder and louder--man I hope I wasn't actually talking out loud, but I can't promise that.  I finally decided that I would buy them--I had a lot to do and I'd already succumbed to the eldest soon to be leaving home child and agreed to make my home made yeast rolls instead of buying Parker house rolls.  (That conversation went like this, "But you ALWAYS make them.  It's my favorite part of Thanksgiving."  Seriously it doesn't take much to get my guilt going.)  So I looked for the frozen pie crusts--I have never bought them so I don't know where they are.  I finally asked a young man who I think may need his own therapy because I asked him like this, "Can you tell me where the pre made pie crusts are?  I usually make my own but this year has been very busy and I'm just shopping today and have so much to do that I'm not sure I'll have time.  Do you have homemade pie crusts or pre baked pie crusts at your house?"  His eyes glazed over as he led me to the freezer section where there are CHOICES!  I stood there trying to figure out which to buy--the young man had long since disappeared.  Finally I chose some and said to myself,  "These look pretty good; no one will be able to tell the difference."  And with that I checked out, went home, and had the car unloaded before anyone even got out of bed.

I left the house again at 9:30 for an appointment and to run errands.  That's when I realized that I had forgotten the appetizers!  I called my husband and he suggested we just get stuff from Lotsa Pasta--well I'd already given into the pie crust--it's amazing how easy it becomes after the first time giving in--so I said I'd go get them on my way to get my hair cut.  The only thing I like about cold weather is that I can go to the grocery store and still run more errands without worrying about refrigeration. I was so proud of myself that I even emailed a friend and bragged about how I bought already prepared appetizers.   After more errands and a visit to a friend in the hospital I made it home to a quiet empty house and began the meal preparation--if it had only stayed quiet and empty...

I made the jalapeno cornbread (not a mix) for the stuffing and started on the pecan pies.  As I poured it into the crust I had another moment of guilt--then I just poured a glass of wine.  The family started arriving home, showing me their bras, hair cuts etc.  Christopher came in from babysitting my godchild Charlotte with his best friend who we often wish was more than a best friend also named Charlotte.  "She never cries for me Mama," he proudly announced as he kissed the top of my head.  I love that he kisses the top of my head but I also wanted to punch him in the gut--she ALWAYS cries for me much to her father's delight.  Charlotte the best friend gave me a big hug too.  I adore this girl and the only wise decision and comment I probably made yesterday was to the babies who also adore Charlotte and want her to be the girlfriend.  I said, "I think it's better that she stays the best friend that way she can always stay in our lives."  That was said just in time because in walked SK saying the boyfriend who is no longer the boyfriend is on his way over.  It's so much easier to love and miss the boyfriend who is no longer the boyfriend..."Oh I can't wait to see him."  I said.  To which I received a massive eye roll and a warning, "He's not staying long." (He was still here when I went to bed at 11.)

Chris had now arrived home tripping over a large box in the mud room.  "What is this?"  Me, "It's the Thanksgiving china." "I love that china!" chimed in SK and Caroline. "Can you unpack it?" he begged trying to limit his editorial comments about the china. "I'm making pies.  Can you get someone else to?"  William was called to the kitchen and asked to unpack the china and put it in the dining room. (It was clear SK was not in the mood to be asked anything as the boyfriend who is not the boyfriend was on his way over, and I think Chris was afraid to ask Caroline to do anything as it may require him commenting on or touching her new bras again.)  William, "Really, Thanksgiving china?"  Chris, "Yes, but first we should probably pack up the arbor day china."  He just couldn't resist..he followed that up with, "This is the Thanksgiving china we bought in England."  William, "Wait a minute, we bought Thanksgiving china in England?  That's messed up."  Chris looked at me with that look that says, "glad one of them has some sense." and added, "yep and she finds equally crazy friends to shop with her and justify her purchases"  (You're welcome Ingrid.)

After he finished unpacking the china William hesitantly (I think the china had reinforced his memory of my neurotic behavior as I'm preparing for a holiday) asked, "Are we going to get to eat dinner tonight or is all this food just for tomorrow night?"  "Yeah," chimed in Christopher, "we're starving."  I pictured the bag full of premade appetizers in the refrigerator outside, calculated how much longer it was going to take Chris to grill, factored in the grumpy overly hungry ratio of four or five or six teenagers (didn't know how long the boyfriend who is not the boyfriend or Charlotte was staying) and in a weak moment sent Caroline out to get one or two, I stressed the one or two--I shouldn't have been surprised that she brought the whole bag in.  While I was busy getting out appetizer trays and spreaders, (only a few actually made it onto the trays and into dishes the rest were eaten straight out of bags and containers--I'm amazed--no one died from lack of social etiquette), they descended upon the bag like vulchers scratching and clawing to get their favorites out.  "Ya'll don't eat those all.  They're for tomorrow."  Christopher, "but we're hungry today."  He had a point--doesn't have any appetizers for today but he had a point--

The boyfriend who is no longer the boyfriend had arrived.  This totally confused everyone particularly the babies who kept saying, "But they're acting the same?  Are you sure he's not the boyfriend anymore?"  I have no idea how to explain this to them; Chris however kept sending them to the basement to spy.  While I told him that was a terrible thing to do, I did grill them when they returned.  Were they smiling, talking, touching?  (We are not the most mature parents)   Charlotte left and we sent the boys down to play video games in the back of the basement--just a little bit calculated...  While we were waiting for dinner to be finished Caroline asked, "Can I make the pumpkin pie now?"  This was a BIG deal--never before had I asked them to help with preparing Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner but I had asked her earlier in the day if she would like to make the pumpkin pie.  (For the record, I should have asked years ago--it's fun having them all in the kitchen working together--well some working together some just offering snide remarks.)  She began reading the recipe and asking me where everything was ( it was all laid out on the counter).  As she stirred the pie filling she said, "This is way too runny--what's wrong with it?"  Yet another reason they should help--"Caroline, it has to be put in the pie shell and cooked."  "Ohhhh, well why didn't you say so?"  I wisely refused to remind her that she had the recipe in front of her and perhaps she could read it.  "Where is the pie shell?"  she asked.  I got it out of the freezer and began unwrapping it.  There was a total look of shock and terror on her face--"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!  You didn't make them? You BOUGHT pie crusts?"

Chris sighed, looked at me with pity and said, "Thanks Caroline, that comment is going to cost us another five years of therapy."

I Heart...

It all started because we needed a large bag to brine the turkey...

I suggested to Chris that we use a trash bag, but we can't because apparently the trash bags we have are scented.  As Chris was taking out the trash he asked me if I remembered to buy trash bags this morning (that would be 6 am) at the grocery store.  Oops forgot--but as he shook out the bag to put back in the trash can I caught a whiff and said, "Ewww I don't like that smell."  Caroline, "It is gross; kind of like scented tampons."  And William walks in at this exact moment--"stop talking about tampons and bras and everything else!"

"Oh that reminds me," I chime in, "SK is going to take you to buy bras today."  Caroline, "Good mine don't fit--I'm pretty sure my cup size has gone up."  William, "Stop talking about that.  Do you want me to talk about my cup size?"  Caroline, "Whatever"  Chris, "Cups don't come in sizes."  William, "They should, small, medium and large."  Caroline, "Oh to protect your boys."  And I was so glad I had somewhere else to be so this conversation had to end.

 Six hours later the girls come in from getting their hair cut and after going bra shopping.  I asked how much they spent.  "Who knows?' says SK.  Oh this is a big problem--. She went to the car to bring them in as I began asking questions (since it was my credit card they were using and didn't pay attention to how much they were spending.)  "Did ya'll officially get measured?"  Caroline, "Yes and guess what?  We're both 36 C's--you're not (she just had to throw that in).  Well actually SK is a 38 B but the lady said those sizes were like sisters just like us so it's okay."  At this point SK returned with the bag and Caroline got hers out and put it on over her clothes.  I asked, why do I ask anything, "Did they show you how to make sure they fit right?"  Caroline, "Oh you mean scooping your boob up into it?  Yeah they did." as she demonstrated.   Caroline begins prancing around with her new bra on over her sweater explaining to me how good it feels--it's cushioned and cute. At this point Chris comes in from working out.  "Daddy, feel this bra.  It's awesome."  Chris, "Umm, I don't think I want to do it."  "No really," said Caroline approaching him, "it feels awesome."  Chris, "Umm that's okay--where's the turkey?' "Daddy," Caroline continued, "My boobs have grown.  I heart periods."

It might be good no one is joining us for Thanksgiving.

The Put Down Your Cell Phone Silence

Saturday was an interesting day.  I was at an EfM training--loving it, but I needed to be home for Georgia/Auburn kick off (an hour and a half drive).  I was thrilled to learn that while ESPN in Leitchfield was saying kick off was 2:30 it was actually 3:30 in Louisville.  On the way home my temperature spiked--ugh!  Got home to the couch and laid around until kick off then dozed during the first half--that is the only thing that kept my temperature from reaching blood boiling levels.

William was in a play at 7 and we had to get there by 6:30--it sold out for three nights straight.  As the lights were going down for the play, my phone started exploding with ESPN updates and texts from my sister.  We were back in the game!!!  I resisted the urge to run screaming from the theater and straight down the street to my in-laws to watch the conclusion of the game--that doesn't mean that I did not stop refreshing ESPN non-stop.  Well, the game didn't turn out so well, but William was amazing.

After the play the family, minus Christopher, all went to Ramsi's for a celebratory dinner--it's our tradition.  Not to be sidetracked, but to be sidetracked.  Five years ago after a ballet performance, Ramsi's was the only open restaurant.  In our family, do something once or maybe twice and it's a tradition.  So now even though I have been told they don't even really like Ramsi's we HAVE to go there after every performance.  And that my friends is not because of my neurosis--no that is the gift of neurosis which I have unselfishly bestowed upon my children.  So we were all there and everyone was taking pictures.  Some people, who shall rename nameless, were racing to get them on instagram and then see who got the most "likes."

Chris and I exchanged a few glances which said, "Which one of us is going to tell everyone to put their phones away?"  Chris won (or perhaps lost) our glancing contest which frankly is a good thing.  He is much nicer about phone rules and makes them way more fun.  So he says, "On the count of three we're all going to put our phones in the center of the table and the first person to touch theirs has to pay for dinner." Now we all knew who was going to pay for dinner--but it was more fun than the way I would have done it which would have been to say,"Everyone put your phones away or I'm going to take them for a week."  So all the phones went into the center of the table and Caroline put them in a pile back and forth horizontal/vertical.  Chris says, "Hey that's like jenga."  William, "Like rich people jenga." And then we fell into the silent abyss of no cell phones.

Anyone who has four teenagers (I recognize that number is small so I'll increase it--anyone who has teenagers) is probably familiar with this silence. It  happens immediately following the "Phone Put Away."  It's as though they have to rewire their brains and remember how to talk to people without glancing down in their laps (like we don't know what they're looking at when they glance down).  So we had that moment of silence--the moment seemed to stretch--Chris looked out the window over to the Skyline chili sign and I suppose he was trying to break the silence so he says, "Hey William look at that sign--it says 'A Thanksgiving Three Way'  William, of course, begins his belly laugh--SK momentarily looks shocked, but we all know that was a fake look of surprise; these things happen all the time in our family.  Nothing should ever shock anyone, but at least she's learned the etiquette of looking shocked and those things which the rest of the world deem entirely inappropriate.   Caroline begins saying,"What?  I don't get it."  Chris just sat their with a totally innocent expression on his face.  Caroline kept saying, "what?"  "Chris," I say, "Now we're going to have to explain this to her."  All I could think of was we were now adding to her arsenal of inappropriate things to say; she really doesn't need our help.  SK now is repeating, "Please not now--tell her later."  William is almost under the table he is convulsing in so much laughter.  And then we all hear Caroline say, "I just don't get what's so funny.  If you'd said menage a trois or a threesome--now that would be funny."

And with that the "just put down the cell phone moment of silence" was over.

My Wide-open Middle Schooler

I really do wish I had Caroline's free spirit and guts--or maybe I don't.  Recently I learned that Caroline and two of her 8th grade friends randomly walk up to junior and senior boys and grab a hold of their hands.  My boys are horrified--I think it's hysterical.  But what I really think is amazing is the way some of these boys have embraced these silly girls.  Some now, when they see them coming, hold their hands out.  It's all part of being a small community.  Although her brothers are horrified at her behavior, I hope they too would be as tolerant and kind as some of these older boys are if they are ever "stalked" in the future by middle school girls.

Early this school year it became obvious (dancing around singing his name was a good hint) that Caroline has a crush on a high school junior.  It's been very open in our home; the boys actually claim she's a stalker and while they sometimes laugh, more often they try to be strategically distant during her antics.  We know about it; her friends know about it; after her conference two weeks ago, I now know the entire faculty knows about it.  None of that bothers Caroline--I love that about her!!

This afternoon she came out of the gym after basketball and was literally skipping through the rain to the car.  She opened the door, threw her backpack in and said, "Guess who was in the gym while we were running sprints this afternoon?"  (She really should make these guessing games more difficult.)  "______", I say.  "Yep--and guess who came in first in all the sprints?"  Now this was a little more difficult; I suspected she meant herself, but at the same time this is the same girl who when I ask if she wants to go running with me responds, "Why would I want to do that?"  But I decided to go out on a limb and respond somewhat hesitantly, "You?"  "That's right" she said as she danced around in the rain, "I told Rachel if there was always a picture of him around I'd always run fast."

Keep up--these conversations are like being a ball in a pinball machine.  Next she says, "Do you know that some boys have awesome back muscles?  ____________definitely does.  They ripple."  I know it was risky but I had to ask, "How do you know?"  "Well", she continued, "after practice we go out in the hall when the varsity boys go into the gym.  Coach Newberry talks to us about what we've done and I just watch them in the gym. Boys have lots of back muscles."  "Caroline", I say, "Shouldn't you be paying attention to your Coach?"  "Oh, I never do that.  It's more interesting watching the boys."  I really and truly was trying to figure out how to connect in any way with her competitive spirit that would remind her she needed to listen to her coach, so I said, "Do you see your brother?" (A very highly competitive basketball player)  "Why would I look for him?" she retorted followed quickly by, "He says I'm allowed to talk to him when he's with his friends but not when he's with the basketball team."  (At least she somewhat sees that some people take their team seriously.)

And now for the next ping--"Hey guess what?"  I really should be more disciplined in saying what, but I'm not.  "What?" I ask.  "Rachel, Leah and I are in a group and we have to make up a song."  "Oh," I say, "for what class?"  "It's for science; it has to be on the carbon cycle.  I really wish it was for sex ed."

I really need her Godparents to just move in--I had no idea how much we'd need you.

Halloween--Well it is Georgia/Florida

Every Halloween I remember with a smile, Halloween 2003.  The story actually starts in early September at the final St. Paul's in the Park Wednesday night picnic dinner.

I was in the middle of my "I know everything and I will judge everyone 30's" and that particular night I was waxing on and on about why people over use cell phones and how they really aren't needed.  My very patient and loving friends who had older children just smiled and allowed me to think I knew everything.  As I was in the middle of my soliloquy, we heard a scream and Caroline yelled, "Mama I can see William's bones!"  And that she could--William had fallen off the wall and well, let's just say it was one of those moments when you didn't look around and ask others whether they thought you should take him to the hospital.

Now Chris was still at work; Christopher was at football practice and I was trying to figure out how to get information to them.  Janie and Pam, both smiled, held out their cell phones and said, "Would you like to borrow this?"  As Fr. James was getting William into my car I ran up the hill to tell Sarah Katherine that I was going to the hospital and Miss Janie would take her home.  She responds, "Well I just hurt my foot.  I should go with you."  At this point in her life, SK was a bit melodramatic and liked a little more attention than she does now.  Really who could blame her--she had three younger siblings--I'm sure she did feel ignored, but that's between her and her future therapist.  Anyway, I briefly looked at it, said it was fine, got confirmation from Pam and Janie that I shouldn't worry about it and left for the hospital.

That night every time I called Chris he told me that SK kept complaining about her foot but he thought she was fine.  He was actually a bit annoyed she kept getting out of bed. William and I got home very late after having to have his arm surgically set; I was exhausted and morning came far too soon.  When Sarah Katherine got up she limped into the den in a very dramatic fashion.  In my mother of the year voice I said, "You know if your foot is broken you can't dance in the Nutcracker this year."  She looked up at me and said, "Do you think you can get your money back?"  And with that I loaded up the four children and headed back to the hospital.

X-rays were done and the doctor walked in, "I'm so glad you got her in right away.  She's broken her growth plate and needs to be completely non weight bearing.  I'm sending you right up to the orthopedist.  She may need surgery."  We left the room and headed to the elevator where I heard one nurse say to another, "That looks like a new cast on the little boy."  "Yes," said the other, "They were just here last night."  I pictured our charts with big red X's on them, and I kept glancing over my shoulder and quickening my pace as I was certain that at any moment a social worker would flag me down. I reminded the children that both breaks happened at the picnic in front of other people and were accidents--okay I was trying to make myself feel better.  I didn't.  As we headed upstairs I kept telling myself no one else at the picnic thought SK's fall  was serious--I still didn't feel better.

Fast forward one month and we had the first snow of the year.  Yes, in Pittsburgh it started snowing in early October every year we lived there.  Natives kept telling me how unusual it was--I wasn't buying it.  Anyway, SK was still on crutches and William was still in a cast.  I was at Bible study and received a call from SK's school (yes, I now had a cell phone).  "Sarah Katherine slipped in the hall and I think there may be something wrong with her arm." said the nurse.  So again, I gathered up the three younger children, rushed over to the school, and headed back to Children's.  (There was a very good reason they were able to begin funding another wing while we lived in Pittsburgh.  Construction stopped when we moved to Virginia--seriously.)  Sure enough, her arm was broken.  Seems her crutches got wet while on the playground and she slipped coming back into the hall. So now I had an 8 year old who was non-weight bearing with a broken arm, a six year old, a four year old and a three year old.  People wonder why my biceps are so toned.  We left the hospital and headed straight for Toys-R-Us where I could both assuage my guilt with new toys and buy a wagon.

When Chris got home that evening he immediately said he would cancel his trip with his good friend Jeff Ball at the end of the month.  I really wanted him to be able to go; he doesn't ask for much--to attend at least one Georgia football game a year and the Big East Tournament--I couldn't bear to ask him to stay.  So I called fairy godmother Anne Rowland and asked her to fly out for Halloween.  Absolutely she said.

Halloween was on Friday that year.  Anne arrived and we took the four children bundled in coats (still snowing) out to trick or treat.  I had very wisely bought a double size wagon--plenty of room for candy bags and chubby three year old tired legs.  We began trick-or-treating.  Halloween in Virginia Manor in Pittsburgh is an experience.  It is packed with families and there are pick-up trucks driving around with kegs in the back--welcome to Pittsburgh!  You're no longer living in the Bible belt.  Standing outside of one house we began a conversation with several parents--mostly men--Halloween does seem to be a "daddy holiday."  One of the men we knew and he asked where Chris was.  I explained that he was at a football game.  The man seemed quite surprised, "He went to a football game instead of being here for Halloween?"  At this SK,my usually extremely respectful child to every adult other than me, spoke up with a somewhat incredulous tone that clearly said how could anyone  be so stupid and even question this, "Well it is Georgia/Florida."

We propped her up well for the picture!

She has no filter but she has a heart

Life with Caroline is interesting to say the least.  If she thinks it, she says it.  Within the four walls of our house, it's pretty hysterical, but we sometimes have to remind her (again and again and again) that while we know she doesn't have a racist, sexist any "ist" bone in her body--she honestly is the most inclusive person I have ever met-- sometimes the way she says things could be taken wrong.  For example--I was going to the beach and one of my best friends, Mac, was going to come stay one night with me.  Mac wanted me to ask Chris if he was okay with it as it would just be the two of us--Mac is a true southern gentleman.  Here's the conversation:

Me:  "Chris, Mac wants to make sure you don't mind if he comes to the beach for a night with me?"
Chris: "Not at all.  I'm glad you get to see him."
Caroline:  "Seriously?  Why are you even asking, Mac's gay.  I mean you're cute and everything but not cute enough to make a gay man straight!"

That's the background on Caroline.  The other thing that makes Caroline interesting is  her conversations which are  complete stream of consciousness--attempting to connect them, while amusing, is pointless.  So here's the conversation that happened in our kitchen two nights ago in the course of 10 minutes.

Caroline, "I need to go to a jeanologist."  It was evening, I had already had a glass of wine, so my defenses were down and I made the mistake of trying to make sense of what she was saying.  I thought perhaps that was a new fashion word or a new shopping service so I say, "Caroline we just bought you jeans.  We're not getting anymore right now."  Caroline looked at me as if I was completely ignorant (let's be fair she's 13, she often looks at me that way).  She responds, "I don't know what you're talking about but I'm talking about the doctor you have to go to once you start menstrating."  (spelled as she said it).  I looked over at SK who gave me a look which said, "How are you going to handle this one?"  I decided to investigate--"Why do you need to need to go to a gynecologist?"  "I think that's what they told us in sex ed," responded Caroline, "I can't remember.  I wasn't paying much attention because I was trying not to laugh."  She was already losing interest in this conversation so I just finished with, "We'll stick with the pediatrician."

She may have been finished with that conversation but not with talking.  "Mama you know what I want for my 20th birthday?"  Again, the wine and late evening time interfered with my judgement and I had to ask, "What?"  Caroline, "A cake that says 'Congratulations you beat the teen pregnancy statistic.'"  As I was wondering whether there was a connection with the previous conversation--a big mistake as she's already moved on in conversation.

"I have to make 5 more of these bracelets--five white links and one black."  This time it was SK who fell prey and asked why.  "Because the fat five have become the fat five plus one."  SK, "What is that?"  Caroline, "My friend group--and she proceeded to name them."  One of these girls is African American.  I gasped and wondered whether to address the calling themselves the fat five plus one or the race comment; it won out. "Caroline, you cannot make bracelets like that.  That might really hurt ________'s feelings."  "Mama," responded Caroline in a very exasperated voice, "It was her idea.  It's not like she doesn't know she's black."    And with that I moved onto my second glass of wine.

Last night the conversation was a little bit different.  We were talking about Halloween and the group of friends she had coming over for chili and trick-or-treating.  She named one little girl who is not Caroline's siblings favorite.  There's been some drama-shocking with middle school girls. I wasn't thrilled either as I have recently found out the mother of said girl has been talking about Caroline and frankly telling untruths.  (Chris talked me down off that cliff and wouldn't let me call the mother or the school--that's a totally different story.)  Caroline also knows about those conversations and she filled SK in.  Now my children can fight with each other--I sometimes wonder if WWF is filming in my house--but if anyone else says or does anything watch out.  That is particularly true with our 5'10" "baby".  First time I put her in timeout, the other three children went with her--they were in tears (she was not).  SK was furious!  "She is not welcome here.  How can you let her come over when her mother is saying those things about you which a) aren't true about you and b) are true about her daughter!!!  This is not okay--stand up for yourself."  And here is where we see both Caroline's lack of filter and gigantic heart. "SK, she cannot control her mother and what she says anymore than we can control Mama.  I'm not going to not be her friend because her mother is a lying b***."

I know I should have corrected her language but I was too busy being amazed at her mature, loving heart--

We All Have Our Ways to Say Goodbye

Two weeks ago Sarah Katherine was leaving to go to South Carolina to visit her "bestie."  The boys went with me to take her to the airport.  On the way Christopher says, "We're just dropping her off right?  We don't have to go in?"  Sarah Katherine looked over at me trying to act very confident, I'm her Mama I could see right through it, and said, "If you don't have time you don't have to; I'll figure out how to get my ticket."  (This child has flown by herself for years as well as internationally; I suppose we all have our fears.)  "Christopher," I say, "We have plenty of time to take her in and still get you home.  We are all going in."  Christopher responded with a grin, "Probably means you'll make me carry her suitcase too."

So we all four went in (Christopher rolling her suitcase), checked her bag and got her ticket.  In years past I have often been allowed to walk her to the gate--guess since she's now 18 no one offered that.  After checking in we headed for security.  William carried her backpack and Sarah Katherine held my hand as I gave her one instruction after another about getting through security. "You'll have to take off your shoes; take your computer out; empty your pockets" All things she has known for years, but it felt better to be talking. Christopher, having walked over to Burger King, ranted on and on about how they should have a dollar menu just like other "normal" fast food restaurants; "this is ridiculous.  Why would anyone buy food there?  Why isn't there another fast food restaurant here?  This is just wrong!!!"  (It's funny that the price of things matter when they're spending their own money.)

We approached the line, William handed SK her backpack, and I launched into my regular speech as the children rolled their eyes and lip synced along with me,  "Have fun; remember who you are; be true to yourself."  As this was Sarah Katherine's first college trip alone I added, "Don't screw up--you have the world at your feet; do not give colleges a reason not to take you.  You have worked hard to have the choices you are going to have; don't blow it."  Then I took her face in my hands and kissed her forehead.  We both had tears in our eyes, although I tried to hide them.  I hugged her fiercely,  smiled at her and sent her towards the line.  She started down  continually glancing over her shoulder.

William, "Mama you're crying!!!!"  Christopher, "Of course she is.  You know Mama, this time next year she won't be going for just a weekend."  "Yep," added William, "She'll be long gone."  (I just love my sensitive caring boys...)  "Let's go, "  I snapped.

We all turned one more time to look at SK; just as we did she again looked over her shoulder.  She was almost to the front of the security line, the place was packed and Christopher yells out, "Hope you remembered your emergency tampons!!!"  He turned to me and said, "Now we can go."

Radius and Diameter

Do not read this if you want it to end well; do not read this if you even want to understand how this conversation happened because I know neither.

Homework is often done at the dining room table; all four children sitting there working on their own assignments, but every once in awhile someone will ask someone else for some help. The other night only the babies (yes even at 13 and 14 we still call them the babies) were in the room and this is what I hear.

William, "I have a hard time remembering the difference between radius and diameter."

Caroline, "Radius is the measurement from outside to your nipple; diameter is all the way across with your nipple in the middle."

Something tells me William will never confuse those terms again.

The Way to Clear a Room

Last week my bonus sister gave birth to her first child. The whole family was so excited when she went into labor; I kept them up to date on what was going on. At noon I told them her water broke; at 2 I said, she's three centimeters dilated, and at 6 she was up to 5.  At 10:10 I announced she was pushing and then Everett was here!!!  There was never any discussion about what any of that meant, so I assumed they all understood--well so much for assuming....

This weekend three of the four were away where a good friend also is close to delivering.  SK was updating me on how our friend was doing.  "She's 3 cm's and ______________ kept saying, maybe we should go."  I asked, "was she having contractions?"  Christopher, "what's that?"  That should have been my first clue that this conversation was not going to end well.  "Contractions," I began to explain, "is the pain you have as you're dilating."  Christopher, "So how do they measure that anyway?  What kind of ruler do they use?"

Without thinking, again big mistake, I hold up two finger and say, "they use fingers to measure."  And then the room cleared.

Jar

I was calmly serving plates last night as the children (minus Caroline) were gathering at the table.  William was telling a story when out of his mouth came a not so nice word.  Christopher jumped on it--now you would assume that he jumped on William, but then you probably haven't been around our family enough to know that you should never assume.  Not William but me--yes I'm the one who received Christopher's tongue lashing (brings a whole new meaning to the often heard phrase "it's always the mother's fault.").
"See Mom!" bellowed Christopher, "This is what I was talking about last night.  You let this stuff happen.  You have to stop it!"  Now some of you are probably wondering how I have the power to force William to use profanity so I can "let" it happen--others of you are waiting to learn how I'm going to just stop it--powers for some reason Christopher seems to think I have, and you're not alone.  But, in order to understand this story I have to go back a night.

Two nights ago we were at Mellow Mushroom when Caroline said a not so appropriate word in general and particularly out of a young lady's mouth.  Christopher has been quite bothered by her lack of a filter for a long time.  He turned to me, backed by Sarah Katherine, "Mom, you would have yanked us out of here, grounded us, yelled at us--why do you let her talk like that?!?!?!"  After I explained to him that "let" was clearly the wrong verb, I told him that I wasn't pleased with it, but that my reaction was different based on the fact that there were not younger children being exposed (clearly said youngest child has already been exposed and has drunk the kool-aid).

Back to last night--Christopher very seriously said, "We have to stop talking like this, and soon.  What if someone came into this house at dinner time and we forgot we weren't alone?"  I'm not quite sure how we could forget, but...He continued, "We have to stop cursing and just saying grouse things--especially Caroline."  "Yeah," Sarah Katherine chimed in, "She's the worst."  "She is," added William.  This took us down another rabbit hole of repeating all the inappropriate things Caroline has said in the past few weeks.  (Now keep in mind, Caroline isn't even here AND as the youngest I'm fairly certain she learned much of what she says from the three now holding court in the judgement seat.)

"I think," continued Christopher, "We should make people pay every time they curse.  Actually they should pay every time they say something about sex or anything inappropriate."  Sarah Katherine jumped right on this band wagon, "We can use the jar the Fiscus gave us."  (This jar which sits on the counter empty was supposed to be a jar to collect memories of the year--we've already failed at that--perhaps it was because I've been too busy letting my children say inappropriate things.)  William, not to be out done and clearly having forgotten that he was the catalyst for this entire conversation jumped in, "A dollar every time you use profanity."  Now I'm not sure what's wrong with the word profanity, but I must admit I'm middle aged--because SK jumped back in making fun of what William said, "And we should also make people pay if they say something stupid like that!"  "Definitely" agreed Christopher, "and William you owe for saying that."

Throughout this conversation Chris and I were trying to point out that none of them ever had money, so we weren't sure how this was going to work. (They decided for every dollar they had to put in they had to give us an hour of work without whining--I'm thinking that's slave labor wages, but I wasn't saying a word--I was thinking about windows being washed and baseboards cleaned). Deciding I should just embrace this, at least for tonight,  I began trying to straddle my priest and mama roles suggested we then give the money to the church at the end of every month--I'm fairly certain based on the past few dinner times that we could rescue any church from financial disaster within a matter of months.  "No" said Christopher,"the person who has to put the least in gets to keep the money at the end of the month."  The others definitely jumped on that. Not only did they think this was a great idea, but every time someone said something during this conversation they considered any of the above criteria, they shouted "Jar!" at them.

Back to Christopher's idea for the competition, shocking that it took this long for it to turn into a competition--I was having fantasies of all the color coded charts I could make to keep up with who put money in and what was said--Chris, however, said, "And who gets to decide who is jarred.?"  "We'll vote" everyone shouted.   Chris going right along with this whole thing obviously forgetting the THEY HAVE NO MONEY EVER problem, said, "well Mama and I get veto power."

I spent the next few minutes looking around the table where wheels were obviously turning in each of their minds as they were already planning the things they would buy with all this money; I suspect, they were also trying to figure out how they could subtly encourage others to say inappropriate things.  I was still trying to get them to consider charities.  They kept shouting "Jar" at each other whenever anyone said just about anything.  They were talking so fast and so loudly and over each other, that my mind was having a hard time keeping up--really need those color coded charts.  I'm fairly certain Chris and I never fully agreed to this whole idea, but apparently the children only think we have power to "let" people say inappropriate things, because they weren't waiting for our approval/permission, they were too busy "Jarring" each other.

As we were getting up from the table I tried once again (just in case the idea does truly get off the ground)to return to the idea of charity.  "Ya'll I really think we should consider giving the money to charity."  William, "I'm a charity"  All four of us in concert, "JAR!"

Saying Goodbye to Boss--a lesson in loving and letting go

Thirteen years ago Christopher started preschool a couple of mornings a week.  He would wake up each morning and ask if it was a school day.  When I would answer yes, he would be so excited.  He'd get dressed, get his frog backpack, his lunchbox and stand at the door until we were ready to leave.  I often heard him telling William (who was then only 9 months) all about "chool".  We'd drop Sarah Katherine off at her classroom, and then every morning, the closer we got to his classroom the more tightly he would hold my  hand.  By the time we'd walked the hallway, he had a death grip .  We'd walk into the classroom where each and every time he would grab me and begin the blood curdling scream, "Mommy please don't leave me!  Don't leave me!!!!"  And each morning his teacher would literally peel him off me, he would be turning red, and I would say, "I love you Boss.  See you right after lunch.  Have a good day."  I'd hitch William up on my hip and walk out and to the parking lot where more times than not I'd crumple.

Why I would think am I doing this?  I am a stay at home mom; he can just stay with me.  I'm going to permanently scar him.  Sometimes it took every ounce of strength I had not to walk back into the school, sweep him in my arms and take him home.  Sometimes it took every ounce of strength my friends had to keep me from walking back into the school (thank you Gillian, Lucy, and Leslie), and sometimes I would sit in the car and cry until the school called my cell phone and said, "he's fine."  (that usually was within five minutes).  This went on for three years, three very long years.  I knew he was fine for many reasons, but one major one was that when Chris took him, this never happened.  I knew he would be fine, and yet, my heart broke every morning.  I hated hearing him cry; I hated knowing he was hurt or scared if only for a moment, but I did believe this was part of my job.  Part of my job was to teach him to be independent, teach him to rely on himself, teach him that I love him, that I will always love him whether he can see me or not.  And I suppose in a way, I was teaching him he was his own person--a person created in the image of God, by God and for his own purpose. And so I left him each morning with my final words, "I love you, I'll be back."

Fast forward 13 years--it has not been an easy start to high school for my sweet boy.  Much of it he has brought on himself.  I understand that.  He's made some dumb choices--not life altering, but nonetheless, he's had to learn some hard life lessons about manning up and admitting his mistakes, life lessons about who he can trust, life lessons about what it means to be a friend, and life lessons about consequences that come from dumb choices.  And for another year, my heart breaks almost every day.  I hurt when he makes bad decisions both for him and for others.  I wonder how I can make things better, easier, less challenging?  I worry I haven't done enough, been enough.  I worry that going to work is causing this, and I worry that I suffocated and sheltered him for too long.  When I know he is hurt, when I know he is extremely sorry for his actions and/or words, I want nothing more than to take that cup from him.  I want to stand in his place when he is talking to the Dean of Students and the Headmaster.  I want to tell them about the little boy who got in his first fight at school in second grade because he saw someone right a racial slur on the bathroom wall.  And I want to tell them about the boy who went to the principal in fifth grade because a new boy who couldn't speak English was being picked on by all Christopher's friends.  I want to tell them about the boy who held and patted my hand for 3 hours during Caroline's surgery to amputate her pinky.  I want them to know about his deep heart for justice and his love of all people.  But instead, I have to let him stand on his own two feet.  I have to let him learn that how he behaves defines him, and that he and only he can change people's opinions of him.  And I have to let him grow into the man God created him to be, independent of me.  And every morning my heart worries because I want life to be perfect for him.  He's not screaming blood curdling screams in his classroom--but just like then, I have no control.  I cannot always make life easier for him, and it breaks my heart.

This morning I drove him to school at 7:30 for his spring lacrosse trip.  We didn't talk much.  We had already talked about making good choices; we had already talked about this being a chance to completely start over, to show people who he truly was.  One thing I have learned is that too many words are just, well too many words.  But I have to admit, my heart was breaking.  I have never been apart from him on Easter.  As we were driving I pictured all those Easter mornings; I pictured him in his smocked john-johns, his sweater vests, his pastel polos, and lately his vinyard vine ties (thankyou Aunt Meredith).  And I thought how I wouldn't see him in church and he wouldn't be at Easter dinner, or at the beach next week, and my heart truly was breaking.  We drove up to school, he didn't hold my hand gripping constantly tighter.  No, he started pointing out who was there, wondering who he was going to room with, and telling me to just pull over he'd get out and I could leave.  I parked the car and he got out.  He went to the back, got his lacrosse bag, closed the trunk and started to walk away.  But he turned came back to the car, leaned in, kissed my cheek and said, "I love you."

It's already been a long day.  I'm trying desperately not to suffocate him with texts--not to continually check in and remind him to behave.  It hurts to have him gone; as all my children are growing up, I am beginning to understand what people mean when they talk about a physical ache for your children.  Today during stations of the cross, the words referring to Mary "a sword of grief pierced her soul" resonated deeply with me.  Jesus was on his way to be crucified; he was on his way to living into his full glory; to fulfill his work on earth, the work God sent him to do.  And Mary had to stand by and let this man, this boy, this child she birthed, nurtured and loved become the man he was created to be.  May God give me the strength and wisdom to remember my children are God's children, and may God give me the strength to love them enough to let them go and become all that they were created to be.

Even I Couldn't Believe this Conversation

Two weeks ago, Sarah Katherine called to see if Kirby (aka "the boyfriend") could eat dinner with us.  I could think of no reason why not--the Chris' were going to be really late, but the babies, SK, Kirby and I sat down to eat.  We returned to the dinner conversation of the previous night..

In the 8th grade at Collegiate they divide the girls and boys and teach sex education.  Since we'd already talked about it the night before, I felt prepared.  Mistake number one.  Tonight, William decides to share with us that the man teaching the class was willing to answer any and all questions.  I respond, "that's good.  People should be able to ask questions and get honest, accurate information.  What sort of questions were they asking?"  That question was mistake number two.  It started easily enough, Can you get pregnant the first time you have sex?  (Good to know they answered yes you can). We were then interrupted by Caroline who had information to add.

"Did ya'll know they have flavored and colored condoms?"  Silence in the room--Caroline, "Well, did you?"  All I could think was do not make eye contact to the boyfriend who is sitting directly on my right.  I gathered my wits and as calmly as I could said, "Yes we do know that.  How do you?"  Caroline, "Well, the 8th grade girls told me.  Plus I've seen them."  Looooong sip on the wine glass--me, "Caroline, how have you seen them?"  Caroline, "They sell them in the women's bathroom at Thornton's.  Why would they do that?"

Mistake number three--I believed I could now turn this conversation back to a semi-educational one (as long as I continued not to make eye contact with the boyfriend).  "Caroline, it's important that girls be as prepared as boys.  Girls have to protect themselves and not put all her trust in a boy."  I was going to move on, but she was clearly not listening and was firing questions at me, "What about female condoms?  Do you have to use them with boy condoms?"  I tried to answer her questions thinking it would end the conversation.  That was mistake number 4.

Caroline turns to William and asks, "What other questions did they ask?"  I think to myself, at least we've moved away from her questions--mistake number 5.  "Well," says William, "they asked what kerblumpkin meant."  Caroline bursts out laughing-- I ask William, "what does it mean?"  That was mistake number 6. He starts laughing at the fact that I don't know.  So, I finally turn to SK and the boyfriend and ask them.  Now the boyfriend is clearly trying not to make eye contact; both are bright red, and SK says, "please Mama don't make me answer that."  With all my wisdom and maturity I decide to drop it.  William continues to say words that they asked about all of which I didn't know (if you'd like to know, check urban dictionary).  At this point, the Chris' walk in and I begin to talk to them only half listening to the other conversation.  That is until I hear William say, "And they asked them to describe 69"  Without thinking I turn back to the table and loudly say, "Well I even know what that is!"  You couldn't hear a pin drop.

SK, "May we please be excused?"

(and the boyfriend came back to dinner the next night--)