Rite of Passage

Oldest recently celebrated his fourteenth birthday, and tonight he attended his first church dance. He can be kind of shy in certain situations, so I wasn't sure how he would fare. After he got home I asked, "Did you have fun?" As he was loosening his tie, he mumbled, "Yeah."

This is usually about all the information we can get out of him, but I decided to dig a little deeper. He had expressed some hesitancy about actually dancing instead of just hanging out with friends, so my next question was, "Did you dance?" Once again he gave the monosyllabic, "Yeah."

So far, so good. I figured it wouldn't hurt to try one more question: "How many girls did you dance with?" To my amazement, he nonchalantly replied, "Oh, I stopped counting after four."

I think we can call the evening a success. :)

Open Letter to Little Boys Who Own Pocket Knives

To whom it may concern:

No matter how good of an idea it seems at the time, never, under any circumstances, use this:


When what your really need is one of these:

Or you could very well end up looking like this:

And while the injury itself may not be life-threatening, you may feel as if you will die of boredom during the six-hour wait at the emergency room.

Sincerely,

All mothers of little boys who own pocket knives

Wish me luck!

I've been very, very spoiled for a long time now, and I fully realize that. While being a stay-at-home mom is possibly the least glamorous job in the world, it does have certain perks. For one, I can dabble however I please. I've tried scrapbooking, selling Tupperware, gardening, and then knitting, which finally stuck. My schedule is also incredibly flexible. Oh sure, the kids need routines, and that's great, but I'm not going to get fired if I'm behind on dusting the baseboards.

The problem is that the lack of focus is freeing and constricting all at the same time. While I have firmly enjoyed not being tied down to a certain vocation or extensive scheduling, it has also made me much more likely to be, well, a slacker. My little inattentive ADD brain really needs some kind of external structure to function well. (Okay, maybe to function at all.) I think that's why going back to school has been so great for me. I finally have a reason that I have to be somewhere and have certain things accomplished at a certain time. Of course, I have to admit that I'm still a total slacker when it comes to housework. I seem to have just enough free time left that I'm quite comfortable with heavy-handed procrastination.

All of that is about to change.

This semester, I am going to be taking twelve hours of classes, working as a tutor and Supplemental Instruction leader for twenty or so hours a week, and still trying to keep up with my three busy boys. Now, I fully realize you "normal" folks out there don't really think this schedule sounds too bad. Good for you. Consider this a virtual pat on the back. I, on the other hand, am vacillating between excitement and dread.

You see, I have lived so much of my life under a dark cloud of depression, and the fact that I'm actually accomplishing something tangible energizes me. Even when things are going well, staying home with the kids leaves me with very little to show for it because no matter how much I get done, almost all of it is undone by the end of the day. For someone prone to feeling worthless on the best of days, that cycle gets to be excruciatingly painful. I'm also hoping that a tighter schedule will motivate me to get more done. If I have less time to goof off, I'll goof off less. Right? (Oh, I certainly hope so.)

However, at the same time, I know that there is a delicate balance of structure that is just right for me. Too little, I waste time because I have so much time to waste. Too much, I have severe anxiety issues over never having quiet, alone time and eventually suffer from a total meltdown. So, with the new semester starting Monday, I am cautiously optimistic, praying that my schedule has just the right balance of what I want and what I need. I've got my Google calendar all color-coded so I can keep up with the kids' schedules and see what I need to do when as far as housework and homework are concerned. Tomorrow I'm going to get my notebooks all ready for my new classes. And Monday I'm going to take on the world. Keep your fingers crossed for me. I think I'll need it.

Odds and Ends

When I left the blogosphere for a while, I was sure that I'd come back brimming with inspiration. As usual, I was wrong. (Rhett, if you're reading this, I never admitted that. Okay?) Even though I don't have a parade of words dancing in my head to entertain you, I did accomplish my original objective of spending some quality time with quality people - and that is better than a million witty blog posts in my book. So, in lieu of something spectacular, here's a sampling of the ordinary, but actual, happenings over the holiday break:

1. On Christmas Eve, we told the kids that they could retrieve their stockings whenever they liked, but that they were not to wake us to open presents until 6:00 on Christmas morning. Unfortunately, we didn't realize they would get up at 2:17 in the freaking a.m. Next year, the rules will be oh-so-different.

2. Waking up at 2:17 to the sounds of children scurrying around playing with stocking stuffers and not getting back to sleep until 4:30 or so makes Mommy a little cranky by the time 6:00 rolls around.

3. Guitar Hero III totally rocks!

4. Evidently, there is a precise combination of sleep deprivation and my mother's pancakes that can make me pass out cold at the breakfast table on Christmas morning. Seriously. Like one minute I was saying, "I feel a little funny," and then, what felt like days later, Rhett was slapping my face, calling, "Deanna! Are you with us?" Not something I would like to make a Christmas tradition. No, sir.

5. I found a game that Rhett remembers fondly from his childhood: Scotland Yard. I wish you could have seen the twinkle in his eyes and the utter joy he displayed as we taught the boys how to play. It was almost as good as watching the kids open their presents.

6. Really - Guitar Hero III is the most awesome game ever.

7. I learned a new term. Oldest informed me that December 30 is New Year's Adam, because, you know, Adam came before Eve.

8. We spent New Year's Eve with my parents, and some family from out of town. My college age nephew and nieces have an amazing gift: they can make me feel incredibly old and so much younger again all at the same time.

9. You can learn some really interesting things about your extended family by playing a few rounds of Taboo or Scattergories. Of course, some of those things might be a little disturbing, but they make good blackmail fodder for the future, so it's okay.

10. Did I mention that we got Guitar Hero III for Christmas? Rhett and I might even let the boys have a turn.

11. I said might.

Disconnect to Reconnect

I'm going to unplug the laptop and put it away for a week or so. Blogs and emails can wait, and even if I submit scholarship applications, there will be no one around to review them until after January 1. Rhett has taken vacation time while the kids are out of school, and I crave connecting with the real, live people with whom I share a home and attempt to build a life. We plan on spending some quality time with hot cocoa, popcorn, and good old-fashioned board games. (I may even sneak in some knitting while we watch a holiday movie or two.)

I hope everyone is having (or had, depending on what you celebrate) a joyous holiday season, and I'll see you next year!

Haiku Hullabaloo

Youngest has been studying poetry in his fourth grade class, and he has been trying out all of the same forms I remember working with waaaaay back when I was in elementary school - you know, when I only got to ride the school bus after the wheel was finally invented. Yesterday he wrote an adorable haiku:

I love you so much

I'm talking to Mom and Dad

That's my love Haiku

The cutest part, however, is that he used a heart for "love" in the first line and for the "o" in Mom and the "a" in Dad. Isn't that sweet? Of course, this is the same little monkey that was having a farting contest with his brothers not too long ago. Oh well. I'll take what I can get. Youngest's little poem reminded me of my most favorite haiku ever:

Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refrigerator

I originally saw that little gem by Rolf Nelson on a t-shirt. I wanted to order one, but it is sold out. Still, go ahead and check out threadless; they've got some cool stuff. Which reminds me, I need to go finish my Christmas shopping. Ooh... Can I make that into a haiku?

I'm getting stressed out
Christmas is coming too soon
Can I just skip it?

Okay, I probably don't want to do away with Christmas altogether; I just want to refocus on what is really important. Heck, I feel that way all year. I think I feel another poem coming on:

Peace, hope, joy, and love
My wish for you this season
Happy Holidays

All the Boring Things I Won't Post Today

I've been sitting here for a few minutes racking my brain to come up with some semblance of a blog post. I've started a draft on a few different things, but they are all just excruciatingly boring. Just so you'll know I tried, here's what they are:

1. My eighth grader's assistant principal announced on the intercom that students are not allowed to congregate in groups of three or more. I'm honestly not sure how they're going to enforce that one. I'm not even sure why. Maybe it's because the school is a global studies magnet, and this is a way of studying what it would be like to live in a communist country.
2. Rhett evidently swallowed a gerbil. He keeps clearing his throat every minute and a half or so. He's only sitting three feet away from me. Can you tell I get easily annoyed by extraneous noises? I wonder... if I hit him on the back of the head, will it make him feel better? Will it make me feel better?
3. School is almost over for the semester. I have these delusions that over the month long break I am going to get more organized and accomplish a lot of things that I've been putting off because of school. I know, I know. I said they're delusions, okay?
4. I've been having panic attacks every night when I go to bed because that's when I remember all the stuff I've been putting off because of school. One of those things is Christmas shopping. I'm getting a little anxious just writing about that one. *think happy thoughts - think happy thoughts - think happy thoughts*
5. I've been feverishly knitting a darling little hat for a friend's daughter, but I forgot to take pictures of it in progress. Now it's almost done, and I can't stand to take a picture of it so close to the finish line. It'll have to wait until after Thursday because I have a couple of last minute things to tidy up for school. Trust me, though. It's cute.

See? I wasn't kidding. It's a total yawn fest around here. Oh well. At least I didn't try to blog any of that drab drivel. Maybe something intriguing will happen tomorrow.

Dream On

I had the strangest dream last night. This guy from church - we'll call him Bro. Friendly - was really angry with me. You have to realize that Bro. Friendly is, without a doubt, the nicest guy I know. He is always smiling. He teaches Sunday School and even does a Family Fireside once a month. But for whatever reason, in my dream, Bro. Friendly was not all that friendly. He was all red-faced with a vein bulging in his forehead, and he was right up in my face, just screaming at me. He kept accusing me of stealing furniture from some family I didn't even know. All I could say was, "I didn't do it! Rhett did!" About the time I was sure that Bro. Friendly was actually going to punch me, I woke up.

I wonder what that dream means. Let's look it up in a dream dictionary. Evidently I am a conflicted, anxiety-ridden, attention-starved mess. (Stop giggling, Rhett.) Who knew the images from my dreams could be so accurate? Let's try a couple of other dreams I remember.

I have a recurring dream about my teeth falling out. That means I feel powerless or out of control. (Yep. Most days.) I often dream that I flunked high school and have to go back and do it all over again. That signifies feeling inadequate. (Are you noticing a pattern here?)

Aha! This is a bunch of hooey - I found one where they are completely wrong. When I was pregnant with Oldest, I dreamed I gave birth to a kangaroo. According to the dream analysis, that means I was anxious about delivering a healthy baby. No, no. That's not it at all. That was a prophetic dream about having a son with big feet who likes to carry toys in his britches.

Whew! For a minute there, I thought I was really messed up!

We Surrendered

The kids have taken over the living room. They have firmly planted a PlayStation flag on their newly acquired territory. Luckily, Rhett and I escaped unscathed thanks to a cleverly drafted peace accord. The agreement gives us rights to the bedroom television and passage to the kitchen as needed. So, we spend the evening as refugees.

Thank goodness for Tivo.

Gratitude

Today is all about giving thanks. (Or overeating. I'm never sure which.) Anyway, I thought I'd take a minute to think about what I'm thankful for:

1. My kids are smart, funny, strong, and healthy.


2. Rhett is patient with my silliness. Very patient.


3. We have a roof over our heads and food on our table.

I truly am thankful for these things, but the list feels a little stale. This is the same stuff everybody else is thankful for. I need to show gratitude for the little things, the things I usually take for granted:

1. Rock-star parking


2. Yarn ( I would say it's cheaper than therapy, but if you saw my stash you'd know I was lying.)


3. Warm socks


4. The way my Dad's eyes light up when he tells a joke


5. One of the cats, Matilda, being smart enough to stand by the door and use a special meow when she feels a hairball coming on


6. My favorite song playing on the radio exactly when I need to hear it


7. Yarn-stealing squirrels in Canada - They give the Yarn Harlot something to write about.


8. And, of course, I can't leave out pumpkin pie:

Happy Thanksgiving!

34,000 Ways to Say I Love You

I just found a sock in the middle of the living room floor. I know, I know - as a mother of three boys I should not be all that shocked. What you have to understand is that it wasn't just any old sock laying there abandoned and helpless. It was a handknitted sock.

My boys don't fully realize what that means. In At Knit's End, Stephanie Pearl McPhee (aka Yarn Harlot) says that the average handknitted sock is made up of 17,000 stitches. Yes, you read that right. 17,000 stitches. Now first of all, I didn't realize I had the attention span to do anything 17,000 times. But even more surprising is the fact that, in order to make a pair of socks, I actually had the attention span for 34,000 stitches. In fact, I cherished every single stitch.

You see, when I knit a pair of socks, I'm not just producing an item that I could buy for $1.99 at Wal-Mart. Every inch of the four hundred yards or so of yarn that goes into those socks slides between my fingers as I knit, and I put a little bit of myself into that humble knitted gift.

This is important to me because my boys are getting older, and I often have to send them off into the cold, cruel world to fend for themselves. But I know that when they wear those 34,000 stitches, I'm with them in some way. Since nobody really notices socks, it's like our little secret. I keep their little feet warm. I cushion their step as they run and jump and play. I give them a foundation to stand on when they are faced with a difficult choice.

I know it sounds like a lot to expect from a pair of socks. But trust me, it's in there.

Contentment

Lately I’ve been a bit overwhelmed, and this morning was no different. I was stressed about a Spanish exam, I still hadn’t decided on a topic for my research paper, the dust bunnies in the closet were ganging up on me, the fat lady in the mirror scared me half to death, and I accidentally stepped on the cat. By the time I got out of the house, I was a self-conscious, overly worried bundle of nerves. Then, something magical happened.

I went blank on a couple of items on the Spanish test – and it was okay. I saw the fat lady’s reflection in a window – and she wasn’t so scary any more. At lunch, I actually let myself just enjoy eating lunch instead of frantically searching for a research topic while I dripped salad dressing all over my books – and the world kept right on spinning. I had no idea things could work that way.

Who knows what changed. Maybe the planets all aligned. Maybe some wish I made on a star one night so long ago I’ve forgotten what the wish actually was finally came true. Heck, maybe I’ve just achieved some kind of miraculous hormonal balance that has washed all my cares away. I’ll never know for sure, but this afternoon has been absolutely splendid. The changing leaves are more vivid, my husband is more handsome, my children are more precious, and the fact that I have no idea what to fix for dinner doesn’t bother me in the least.

Yes, life is good.

Jokes My Kids Told Me

Since there's a big writers' strike going on, and the late night shows are in jeopardy, I'd like to submit some of my boys' finer material for consideration. Jay, Dave, Conan - you know where to reach us if you want some of this comedy gold for your monologue!

Q: What do cannibals eat at parties?
A: finger food

Q: Why did the elephant sit on the marshmallow?
A: So he wouldn't fall in the hot cocoa

Q: What do you get when you cross Star Wars and road construction?
A: R2Detour

Then there's always the Chuck Norris jokes:

A lot of kids wear Superman pajamas... Superman wears Chuck Norris pajamas.

Most kids check their closet for the boogie man... The boogie man checks his closet for Chuck Norris.

;)

Ignorance is Bliss

Today I'm working on a little presentation for my Theatre class about The Angel Project, a self-guided theatre installation/walking tour of New York that was held during the Lincoln Center Festival in 2003. As I've been reading reviews, there seem to be two major questions asked over and over:
1. How do I tell who the "angels" are vs. who the normal people on the street are?
2. Why can't I have this experience every day just by taking a deeper look at the world around me?
That second question inspired me to take a few minutes and really appreciate the view from my kitchen table.

Just beyond my laptop I see a stack of school books that I still need to put away. And there's the paperwork from parent-teacher conferences that I still need to file. Is that a dirty sock one of the boys took off from church yesterday sitting on the dining table?!?!?

Maybe I should look out the window...

Uh oh. Oldest still needs to pick up the wood scraps from his latest project. And who left their socks under the trampoline? We have really got to get the leaves raked. It certainly wouldn't hurt to sweep the pine needles off the patio.

Perhaps I should try the kitchen again...

Oh crap. The laundry is staging a coup. There is dried scrambled egg on the counter because my children eat like farm animals. That plant is dying of thirst. I really need to mop this floor.

Oh, never mind...

I suddenly don't feel a need to appreciate my surroundings at all. I liked it better when my blinders were on.

I'll Take "Safe Answers" for $500, Alex

Sunday night we were all driving home from my parents' house, and the boys were discussing the difference between nerds and geeks. Evidently, according to Oldest Son, there are stringent criteria for each classification. After listening to the debate for a bit, I posed the question, "What am I?"

[Insert cricket chirping sounds here.]

Evidently the boys were afraid to answer, and I have to give them props for being smart enough to not call me a geek or a nerd (at least not to my face). I finally broke the silence and gave them some advice that will take them far in life (especially when they get married), "No matter what the conversation, if a woman asks you 'What am I?' the answer is 'beautiful' boys. The answer is always 'beautiful'."

Not missing a beat, Rhett chimed in with, "And if a woman asks you anything else, the answer is always 'Yes, dear.'"

I'm Missing an "H"

I've always felt defective. I understand now that I've been measuring myself against an impossible standard: my mother. She is absolutely amazing and always so full of energy. I truly believe that she accomplishes more before 8:00 a.m. than an average person does in an entire week. But when I was I kid, I didn't realize that. I just saw her buzzing around and felt incredibly inadequate.

Seven or eight years ago, I was finally given a name for my perceived inadequacy: Attention Deficit Disorder, or ADD. (Unfortunately, naming the problem didn't cause my bathroom to instantly shine or get me caught up on laundry.) What I noticed about this diagnosis was the glaring absence of an "H". You see, my type of attention deficit is known as "inattentive". This is the zoning out kind of ADD, the kind where I am blissfully ensconced in my own little world until something truly interesting comes along. ADHD, on the other hand, is for the unfocused types who run around, always busy with something, even if it's the wrong thing to be busy with. The way I see it, the "H" is the crucial difference between the two types. So, I've decided I desperately need my missing "H".

I think my Mom has this elusive "H". Let's face it, what we might call "hyper" in children, we just call "having a lot of irons in the fire" in adults. I also think that the "H" can skip a generation. While Oldest Son is a dreamer like me, Middle Son definitely has the "H". (The jury is still out on Youngest Son. So far, he seems miraculously balanced. It must be his father's fault.)

Now before anybody gets upset, let me make it clear that I don't think having ADHD is necessarily easier that having ADD. But, you see, I've already got the whole unfocused routine down. I've been working on that for thirty-five years. But if I found my missing "H", I might actually get something done. Sure, I might only get the dishwasher halfway unloaded before I get the brilliant idea to make a tutu for the cat, but at least half of the dishes would be put away (and the cat would look really cute, but miffed). So, needless to say, if you see an extra "H" floating around, send it my way!