Breathing a sigh of relief

I am feeling so free tonight! I figured something out about myself. I have been stressing over S and his schooling, his failure to take responsibility as he should, etc. I’ve been worried about S and C’s relationship (things are a bit rocky right now, not much detail). I’ve been really upset, and the boys seem to be avoiding me. Maybe they are.

Today I’ve been thinking about my stress level, and how upset I am about the boys. You see what I’m saying? “I” am upset, “I” am stressed, “I”. How much of this has been about me? What about them? C is 19, S is less than a week away from 18. They have been with us for over a year. They are growing up!

Light left for college this fall. I’m fine with that. I know what to expect from that relationship. But with the boys… who am I? They have a huge place in my heart. I love them, as sons at least, and maybe in some other vague way I can’t describe. I’m not sure what to expect from the relationship I have with either of them. My mothering instincts are strong. But one of a mother’s most important tasks is to work herself out of a job. I’ve had 18 years to work on that with Light. C and S have only recently moved into my heart. It is with them that my heart/mind is confused about this whole “let them grow up” thing.

After talking it out with Superman (which means I talk, he nods and smiles and looks concerned and makes the right “mmm”, “yes” noises at appropriate times) and having a good cry, I’ve begun to let go. The boys are having their own problems, but those are THEIR problems. I can listen, I can support, but it is time for me to shut up, to stop trying to interfere.

I’m not exactly sure how specifically to do this “let go” thing, but I know I have to do it, for them and for me. I’m ready to work on that now. I shared that information with S and he seemed relieved. I admitted to him that I’ve been annoying recently. He was glad I finally figured that out! And now I feel lighter, less stressed, more free. It is a good feeling. And I’m proud of myself for figuring it out on my own. Now we need to work on the “how.” But this is a really good first step!

Please disregard the previous unkind mention of Superman

He has redeemed himself, as is evident by the posting of this and the previous post.

Oy

I don’t know where to start. So I run around in circles not being any good to anyone for anything. It has been that kind of day. I’m tired. My brain is beating me up. Does your brain ever tell you things that aren’t very nice about you? From what I’ve read on Kickin’ Tina I think warrior scout has this problem sometimes. Or at least used to.

I’ve been told not to listen to these things. But they are very convincing. For instance, “I am incompetent at most of the things I try to do.” “I get started on something, but just can’t see it through, so it ends up being a big mess. This applies to tangible projects and to emotional/social efforts.” “I have failed my children, at least for today, and possibly for a large chunk of their lives.” “No matter how hard I try, I fuck things up.” “I’m not worth it.”

Some days I can ignore these messages, laugh at them, or even disagree on a few points. But I can never refute the whole message, and even if I am ignoring it, I don’t discount it. Today I need to see some positive results from the efforts of my life over the last 3-6 months. Squat. Just a big mess. Maybe these are long-term projects, results won’t be evident for a long time. Shit. I’m not that patient. I don’t have enough faith for that.

Some of the issues in question are:
S- his life, his education, his health – both mental and physical
Diva- her life, her mental state, her education
Sproing- his life, his future, his temper and attitude
My kitchen- will I get the cabinets cleaned, painted, and everything put back in them? Or will the kitchen forever look like someone is either moving in or moving out? Will we ever be able to eat at the tab le again?
My living room- O.M.G. That is all.
Oh, shit, the whole rest of the house. Ever seen the show “Clean Sweep?” My whole house is one giant “before” picture. S and I were supposed to work on the living room Friday, but he had to make up absences at school and I got sick with a 24-hour virus, so nothing got done. Even if I hadn’t been barfing my guts out, S and C stayed out ALL FUCKING NIGHT the night before so they were exhausted.

That’s the thing. S promises to do all these things, like go to school, but “something came up” and he had to stay out with his friends all night. BULL SHIT!
OK, I’m rambling again. And I am not coherent. I am, however, tired. I just wanted to post my frustrations (sorry, gang, for the downer) and go to bed. Thanks for listening.

Oh, shit. Now I can’t post this damn diatribe because “Superman” kicked the power strip, turned the whole thing off. It controls the base computer and the wireless router so now I can’t connect. This is my life. Unconnected to the vital elements that keep me motivated. Shit. I’m going to bed. Shit.

Coming soon to a blog near me

I am working on a 100 things about me list. Last night I got up to about 16. I was very tired at the time, so I have no idea what I wrote. I wasn't drunk, but tired can sometimes mimic the tipsy thing.

On another topic, Light is home for the weekend. She's the one who took the rest of the family to the party I didn't attend last night. I'm checking my favorite blogs this afternoon, and she mentions something I've got on my profile page. Um, dear, how often do you read my blog? Pretty often. Ooops. Steve told me just after I started my blog not to tell family or close friends about it, unless I felt really comfortable with them reading about themselves. I should have listened to you Steve. I haven't told anyone else since then, but I can't remember exactly who all I told.

I'm not much of a party animal

Tonight was the night of the one party I go to, the annual Halloween bash at the home of a friend. It started years ago as a party for her small children. The children have grown, and the party reflects that change - somewhat. I adopted 2 kidlets who are now 9, and she had a late-in-life "surprise" who is now 6 (I think). There are a couple of other regulars who also have younger kids. It is challenging to host a party that entertains older teens/young adults without being too "informative" for the younger ones. I usually end up laughing a lot. She's a great party planner and hostess.

But I didn't go. I used the excuse that I was getting over that day of sick, was too tired. But really, I probably could have gone. I'm not that tired. I just have trouble getting out of the house and being with, you know, people. Once I'm out I usually function pretty well. Is it the fear of leaving home, the fear of being with other people, the fear of being in a different space?

I have good days and bad days. On bad days I can't go to the grocery store. Can't go into Wal-Mart. But even on good days it is hard for me to attend social events, such as this party. Today has been an introspective day. I've been playing with my blog friends all day, reading blogs and posting comments. You guys are safe. I can visit with you from my nest on my bed, in my old ugly purple nightgown. Honestly, today I haven't even left the bedroom. Superman has brought me food. The children have come to visit me. I often have days like this. I think it is probably not healthy, but I am afraid to change.

Today whilst reading Cooper's blog I was inspired to take a walk. Inspired, but not moved. I stayed on my fat butt and read about his walks through the woods with his two adorable little boys. (Really, if you aren't familiar with Cooper's Corridor, you must visit him!)

Now I feel bad about not going to the party. This is the first one I've missed in over 5 years. But I just couldn't go. Tomorrow is Sunday, and there is a lovely little Episcopal church just south of downtown (our downtown is two whole blocks long!) that I'd like to attend. I keep intending to go. I keep not going. My excuses: I stayed up too late Saturday night and am too tired to go; I'm too fat to go out in public; I have nothing to wear to this proper little church; I feel uncomfortable with the class of people who attend. (It's a higher class of folks, you know, and I am more of a red-neck butch bitch.) It all boils down to bullshit. But I'm stuck in a mire of bullshit.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Interesting stuff historical, social

This is another daily email subscription I receive. I thought today's offering was very thought provoking:

In today's excerpt--Billie Holiday (1915-1959), considered by some the greatest female jazz vocalist, introduces "Strange Fruit," a song about lynching, into a world of songs about love and romance:"

A few years back, Q, a British music publication, named 'Strange Fruit' one of 'the ten songs that actually changed the world.' Like any revolutionary act, the song initially encountered great resistance. Holiday and the black folksinger Josh White, who began performing it a few years after Holiday first did [in 1939], were abused, sometimes physically, by irate nightclub patrons--'crackers' as Holiday called them. Columbia Records, Holiday's label in the late 1930s, refused to record it. 'Strange Fruit' marked a watershed, praised by some, lamented by others, in Holiday's evolution from exuberant jazz singer to chanteuse of lovelorn pain and loneliness. Once Holiday added it to her repertoire, some of its sadness seemed to cling to her; as she deteriorated physically, the song took on new poignancy and immediacy. ..."

Lynchings--during which blacks were murdered with unspeakable brutality, often in a carnival-like atmosphere, and then, with the acquiescence if not the complicity of local authorities, hung from trees for all to see--were rampant in the South following the Civil War and for many years thereafter. According to figures kept by the Tuskegee Institute--conservative figures--between 1889 and 1940, 3,833 people were lynched; ninety percent of them were murdered in the South, and four-fifths of them were black. Lynchings tended to occur in poor, small towns--often taking the place, the famed newspaper columnist H.L. Mencken once said, 'of the merry-go-round, the theater, the symphony orchestra.' ... And they were meted out for a host of alleged offenses--not just for murder, theft, and rape, but for insulting a white person, boasting, swearing, or buying a car. In some instances, it was no infraction at all; it was just time to remind 'uppity' blacks to stay in their place. ..."

The night that she first sang 'Strange Fruit' [at Cafe Society in New York] 'there wasn't even a patter of applause when I finished,' she later wrote in her autobiography. 'Then a lone person began to clap nervously. Then suddenly everybody was clapping.' The applause grew louder and a bit less tentative as 'Strange Fruit' became a nightly ritual for Holiday, then one of her most successful records, then one of her signature songs, at least in those places where it was safe to perform."

Lyrics:

Southern trees bear a strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black body swinging in the Southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant South,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,
And the sudden smell of burning flesh!

Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.

David Margolick, Strange Fruit, Harper Collins, Copyright 2001 by David Margolick, pp. 8, 19-20, 3-4.
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A Meme: Then and Now

Pastest, Paster, Past and Present
Stolen from Seismic Twitch.
20 years ago
1.) How old were you? 25
2.) Where did you go to school? Had recently graduated from Mercer U, Macon, GA
3.) Where did you work? Had no job outside the home, but we were foster parents for an adoption agency, we took care of newborns.
4.) Where did you live? An adorable apartment complex in Macon. Two story townhouse thing, built in the post WWII housing boom.
5.) Where did you hang out? At home, mostly, or at friends’ house. Sometimes at church.
6.) Did you wear glasses? Yup, since the 5th grade
7.) Who was your best friend? Besides my husband, Kay Wilmot.
8.) How many tattoos did you have? Zero, none, nada, zilch
9.) How many piercings did you have? Ditto. Not even in the ears
10.) What car did you drive? Honda tiny itsy-bitsy Civic, very old even then. Smelled funky, and the interior was disintegrating and leaving a greasy murky film on the windows.
11.) Had you been to a real party? Yes, but wasn't really doing parties at that time.
12.) Had your heart broken? Oh, yes. And broken a few along the way as well.
13.) Single/Taken/Married/Divorced: Married to Superman for 4 years by then. He hadn’t earned the “superman” designation yet. He was a real dufus, but I loved him.

10 years ago
1.) How old were you? 35
2.) Where did you go to school? School of Hard Knocks
3.) Where did you work? “in the home” I was a “housewife.”
4.) Where did you live? In a cute little ranch style house on an acre of land about half a mile from nowhere.
5.) Where did you hang out? At home, at church.
6.) Did you wear glasses? Yup
7.) Who was your best friend? Besides Superman, Tammy
8.) How many tattoos did you have? As many as I have now: none
9.) How many piercings did you have? I had by then gotten my ears pierced, but wasn’t able to wear earrings because my body produced scar tissue from the intrusion and I was developing “cauliflower ear.” I can’t remember if the piercing had closed over by then.
10.) What car did you drive? An old beat-up Ford E150 Econoline cargo van, light blue with scratches and patched spots. I named it Babe the Big Blue Box.
11.) Had you been to a real party? Not since college, many years ago.
12.) Had your heart broken? Yes, by my husband, whom I forgave and we were building our relationship back up. He wasn’t quite to the “Superman” status, but was getting there.
13.) Single/Taken/Married/Divorced: Married

5 years ago
1.) How old were you? 40
2.) Where did you go to school? Didn’t
3.) Where did you work? At home. I was homeschooling my two oldest children.
4.) Where did you live? In a great big house, old and falling apart, but a wonderful place to live (except that the landlord was an ass.)
5.) Where did you hang out? Home, church
6.) Did you wear glasses? Yep, but still hadn’t gotten to the point I needed bifocals
7.) Who were your best friends? Everyday friends, local people I talked to regularly, people I called when I needed to talk? Nobody, really. I had friendly acquaintances, “played well with others,” but didn’t have what I consider true friends. Superman has been the only constant friend like that in my life. I do have another friend from high school with whom I am very emotionally close, Jeanne, but we only talk on the phone once or twice a year.
8.) Who was your crush? Shhh, don’t tell anyone. At that time I had a sort-of crush, not a biggie, on my doctor. He’s tall, sweet, funny, cute. He has since grown a goatee which IMHO has ruined the whole cute look.
9.) How many tattoos did you have? Same as before: none
10.) How many piercings did you have? Just the grown-over ear piercings
11) What car did you drive? A late model red full-sized E150 Econoline van.
12.) Had you had your heart broken? Not in a long time
13.) Single/Taken/Married/Divorced/Bitter: Married
14.) Any kids? Yes, 4. Two oldest biological, 2 youngest adopted.

Present
1.) How old are you? 45
2.) Where do you go to school? Wish I was in school, but not matriculating anywhere at the present.
3.) Where do you work? On the road! School bus driver for local school district.
4.) Where do you live? 3bed/2bath brick ranch in older subdivision. I hate the ranch style. Have for years. But it is what’s available and it does meet the basic family needs.
5.) Where do you hang out? Home, mostly. Don’t do church anymore since I started associating with gays.
6.) Do you wear glasses? Still, only now I have bifocals
7.) Who are your best friends? Superman, C and S, and my oldest daughter, Light. I don't get out much.
8.) Who is your crush? Sort of a small fantasy-like crush on my boss, the director of transportation for the school district. Really cute, about my age. We have a lot in common and he is really fun to talk to. We mostly only talk about work related things, or problems with our ADHD children. He has a son who is 3 years older than Twitch who has similar “issues” as Twitch.
9.) Do you talk to your old friends? Mostly not
10.) How many tattoos do have? Still none, and don’t want any.
11.) How many piercings do you have? None
12.) What kind of car do you have? My beautiful old ’91 pick-up truck (in the shop right now) and a 2000 Chevy Express full size fan/bus. 15 passenger, like the church or day school buses that run around here.
13.) Has your heart been broken? Not recently
14.) Single/Taken/Married/Divorced/Bitter? Married almost 25 years.
15.) Any kids? The 4 plus 2 more. Light and Twitch, biological, ages 18 & 16. Diva and Sproing, adopted, both age 9.5. The gay boys, C and S, who live with us and are a lot like sons in many ways.

Update on the man in the closet

This is a follow up on this post.

I had a chance to talk to A yesterday about our mutual friend. A says he has encouraged _______ to come out, as have many other concerned friends and relatives. But ______ gets very irate when the topic comes up! A suggested that I not have that talk with him, at least not now. So I won't. I will, however, try to make positive comments when given the opportunity.
A did say he would mention me to _____, tell him that I am a good resource for support, encourage him to come to me if he needs to talk. I think that's a great idea. I hope A gets to have that conversation with him.

Moss in a stream

This photo is from an daily email subscription I receive. I thought the photograph was particularly nice.

A Quote

Strength is the capacity to break a chocolate bar into four pieces with you bare hands- and then eat just one of the pieces. -Judith Viorst, novelist and poet

The morning after

Note to the wise: Don't drink the night before you get a virus. A biological virus, not a digital virus.
Yesterday I was sick. One of those mini-flu things, a 24 hour "bug". Ug. I won't go into details, but suffice to say it wasn't fun.
Today I feel ...not as sick, but really groggy. Ever feel stupid? Like you can't get your brain to work as well as it usually does? I'm stupid today. I am able to process information, sort of, but very slowly. My fingers are stiff so it is hard to type. My back and leg muscles are sore, but don't ache like they did yesterday. Thankfully. That is not the way I wanted to spend my day off.

Protecting my manhood

Perhaps, now that I'm tipsy, I should explain about my sense of gender. A few examples: My darling husband wants to get a minivan. We need another vehicle and a minivan fits most of our needs. However, I am protesting mightily because I feel that driving a minivan will emasculate me. (He is much more confident in his masculinity. Having a penis helps, I think.)

I drive a truck. A 1991 F150, 4.9 liter 6 cylinder extended cab with manual transmission. A man's car. I love my truck. (insert Tim Taylor "grunt" here) Driving my truck, I feel a sense of freedom and self-expression that fills a deep inner need.

I don't wear make-up. C and S have loads more make-up than I do. I only have one compact of orange-ish blush, a tube of garish red lipstick (to clash with the blush), and a small container of blue eye shadow. This is for a costume, an alter-ego I call Doris Weintraub (said with a strong Brooklyn accent.) Doris W. is a stereotypical New York Jew with gaudy jewelry, a wicked Mah-Jong habit, and the ability to apply a guilt trip rivaled only by a Catholic mother. Doris W. is about as "feminine" as I get.

I do enjoy wearing skirts. They are comfortable, especially since they tend to allow the breezes to blow up into the naughty bits, thus keeping things well aerated.

I taught my sons how to spit properly. For that matter, I taught C to spit properly. 18 years old and he could only lean over and dribble spit out of his mouth in a shameful blob. Gross. I pride myself on being able to hawk a lugie from the window of a speeding pick-up truck to a distance perpendicular to the plane of the driver's door of 4 feet (on a good day, with favorable wind conditions.)

Those are just a few examples of my butchy bitchiness. To know me is to love me... anyway.

late night ramblings

I've been reading some of my favorite blogs, and looking at a couple of new ones. You all give me a lot to think about, both comic and dramatic, tragic and joyful.

I've had a glass of wine and a few "sissy beers." I read somewhere that blogging while tipsy can be fun for both blogger and bloggee.

Right now I just feel sleepy. Of course there may be a good reason for that. I got up at 4:30 this (yesterday, now) morning, after staying up to read my favorite bloggers until just past midnight. Goofy girl! And now it is almost 1 a.m., here I am still beating away at the keyboard.

Tomorrow is a teacher workday, "non-student" day. When the students don't go to school, I don't have to drive the bus. I will not drink the night before a work day. My job is too important/dangerous to risk driving impared. (by either possible alcohol in my blood stream, or a wicked hangover.) But I don't have to drive the bus tomorrow!

Let me explain about the sissy beers. I am not at all fond of the taste of beer. I've even been given some reportedly "good" beer. It just tastes like a higher quality of nasty. Beer is a made from malted barley. Malt. Malt liquor. Those sweetie, fruity alcoholic drinks like Smirnoff Ice and Bacardi Silver are a "premium malted beverage." With "natural flavors." And 5% alcohol by volume. Sort of like beer, only for sissy bitches like me who aren't man enough to drink real beer.

Honesty- be true to yourself

I know a guy. He's an energetic, creative young (good looking!) black man who lives in our city. I had some business dealings with him earlier this year. He's a terrific man in many ways. Recently C and S introduced me to a new friend of theirs, A. (He puts the flame in flamboyant!) While visiting with this wonderful new friend we discovered that we both know this other man. A knows him because they used to be boyfriends. OK, I didn't know that about this man.

That's what makes me sad about him. I didn't know because he's hiding it. He's evidently dating girls now. He's trying to make his mama happy. He "got religion" and renounced his former way of life. Right. A, ever the discrete gossip, told me of a phone conversation he had recently with another friend who "couldn't talk right now. I'm with _______, and we're fixin' to, um, [ ;) ]."

I want to talk to this wonderful young man. If I was with him right now I'd (first put my shirt back on. Damn it's hot in here!) say. "__________, you are a wonderful, beautiful man." (Do you think that would scare him? I'm probably at least 20 years older than he, and pasty white, not gloriously rich black like he is. Oh, and married, and the mother of one of his former students. I mean "beautiful" in an objective, platonic way.) ..."Be true to yourself. God made you just the way you are. It will be hard sometimes, but I believe God will honor your efforts to live as he made you. You've got lots of talent, a lot going for you. If you try to suppress part of who you are it will end up crippling you."

That's the way I see it, anyway. Do you think he'll know what I'm talking about if I don't come out and say "I know you are gay?" As far as I know he doesn't realize I'd have any reason to know he's gay. He will throw up a wall of defense if I really do say that to him. But that conversation is for him to dwell on, to contemplate. I don't expect any kind of immediate positive reaction (except possibly polite ignorance or something). And maybe it won't make a difference in his life at all. Then again it might be helpful.

So, all you wonderful gay guys (and lesbians with an opinion), do you think I should talk to him, or leave him the hell alone?

UPDATE: Guess who I saw in Wal-Mart tonight? Of course you know- it was the man in question! But I hadn't had a chance to check for responses to this post yet, and I wanted to get some input from my readers before jumping on the poor guy. I'm glad I didn't accost him. Although I really want to talk to him, I think that now isn't quite the right time. In middle of a main aisle in W-M isn't the best place for this conversation, either! Especially with my husband and two kidlets right there begging to get out of the store already!

What's funny/ironic about seeing him tonight is that I rarely run into him when running errands, hanging out, etc. Was it a sign or something?

We did greet him, the kids hollered to him, we smiled and waved, etc. I'm going to try to meet him again for business purposes, maybe re-invigorate the casual acquaintance-friendship. This hopefully will lead to a better opportunity to casually, non-threateningly bring up the topic. It may also allow me a chance to let him know I am an advocate, an ally. And I have no intention (hell NO!) of "outing" him. I respect his privacy, his timing, whatever in that very personal choice of if or when to come out.

Today's driving tip

Turn signals. Also commonly called directional signals. Use them! If there are other drivers around you anywhere, in any direction, use your turn signals. Directional signals are used for changing lanes, passing another car, indicating a turn at an intersection. It is very helpful for other drivers to know what your intentions are if you are going to move from your current direction, lane, etc.

On a related note, please check your signals periodically as you drive down the street. Make sure your blinker is off if indeed you don't intend to make a turn.*

*I'm guilty of that one. Frequently on the bus I don't realize my signal is on. The bus makes lots of noise, and even more when there are students riding, so I seldom hear the sound it makes when blinking. I'm always embarrassed when I realize I've been driving down a long straight stretch of highway with my signals just a-blinkin'. Duh!

Another Quote, just because

In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts: they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. -Ralph Waldo Emerson, writer and philosopher (1803-1882)

There have been times when I've read a book, seen a painting, or some such as that, and thought to myself "Gosh, I think I could do something like that." But I never do. Sometimes the difference between a work of genius and my paltry life is that someone else made an effort while I just sit here thinking about all I could be doing if I weren't just sitting here.

mood: melancholy

Quotes and stuff

I see lots of signage on my job. Some of the signs have pithy sayings. There’s a sign at the church near the high school that says “He who angers you controls you.” I like that. I allow myself to get angry at people sometimes. My daughter Diva likes to aggravate us. The psych report mentioned that she does this in a (successful) attempt to have control over us. Ouch.
On a more humorous note, there’s another sign I see regularly. This week it says “Schizophrenia is better than dining alone.” It pokes fun at mental illness, which isn’t PC, but it’s funny nonetheless. IMHO.

Trying something new...

Let's see if this works.

OK, the first two pictures were taken by S. I think I might have taken that last shot. That's my hand holding the cigarette. FYI, that cigarette represents 50% of all the smoking I've done in the past 3 months.

Learning about blogs

I figured out how to put a picture in the sidebar. This is a picture S took of me over the weekend. He got a new digital camera and has had lots of fun playing with it. He wanted to take pictures of me, and I let him. He is very artistic, makes a nice composition with a photograph. But the pictures he took of me make me look fat. The fact that I am very overweight contributes greatly to the effect. But I like my hair, and I had him take a picture of only that part. If his heart had been in it he'd have taken more hair pics and made it even more artistic, but I think he wanted the whole essence of me, not just small snippets. So this is the only hair shot I got.
S loves me, the whole me. He likes me more than I like myself. That is why he likes the pictures that show face, shoulders, all the chins, blubbery bust, etc. Those photos don't fit the image I hold of myself. When I think about my appearance I see myself at least 100 lbs lighter than what the mirror shows. It is amazing how the human brain works. I can stand at the bathroom sink and brush my hair, take my meds, brush my teeth, wash my hands, and never really see myself in the large mirror that covers the wall above the sink. She's all there, I just don't see her. Because I don't want to see her.

Henry is back!

Henry was waiting for me in the parking space when I got back from trundling a student back home at mid-day. Henry, for the uninitiated among you, is my school bus, the bus regularly assigned to the route I drive. He has been in the shop for a few days having the wheelchair lift repaired. It is good to have him back. My bright-eyed boy was so happy to see our bus that he kissed the dash as he was getting on this afternoon. I washed Henry last week, but it isn't clean enough to kiss, really.

Did you guess?

Have you heard this yet? Important, breaking news from Yahoo.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071020/ap_on_en_ot/books_harry_potter

Brings a new level of sympathy and affection for the ol' boy.

Trouble in Diva land

My youngest daughter, Diva, is quite an enigma. She can be super sweet, considerate of others in need, she loves a good party, and has an amazingly creative imagination. BUT...

She's had some behavior problems, and the older she gets the worse it is. That creative imagination of hers is interfering with reality. She is also having trouble with academics. She's in 4th grade now and has been working at least 1 grade level lower than average in her academic subjects. She was close to being held back in grade 2, and then again last year her teacher and I had long discussions about keeping her in 3rd for another year.

Things transpired over the summer; some worries of mine became more immediate. In August we took her to the child psychiatrist in town, who then referred her to the "Behavioral Health" department at the hosptial for testing. The report/results came in yesterday's mail. It is worse than I thought.

I'm too tired, too upset to say more about it now. I will try to give more detail soon. Tune in next time. Same Bat time, same Bat channel.

I was not excited about driving the Kidney Shaker. It is old and smelly and dirty. Really dirty. Until yesterday it hadn't been used since sometime last spring. The buses spend the summer at their summer estate, a large meadow beside the maintenance shop. They get dusty and moldy standing there in the rain and the hot South Carolina sun. Kidney Shaker was nasty dirty.

It also has a slow governor on it. The thing will only go 45 mph, rattling and shaking in protest with every rev. It gets even louder when it idles. My route takes me way out to the bottom of our county, and I drive Henry at 55mph when we get out of town. KS is slowing me down!

I was in a bit of a funk about the bus when I picked up my last bundle of kids yesterday afternoon. They were a bit freaked about getting in this ancient rust bucket. I mentioned that it was a very old bus, and one of the little boys said "Cool! It's an antique!" All the kids were excited about that, and so was I! What a great attitude. Since then I have (mostly) had fun driving the antique bus. I can't say my kidneys have enjoyed it, though.

Henry

I finally found a good name for my bus. One of my students helped me think it through, and we've decided to call him Henry. All the special-needs buses are numbered with the prefix "H". I think it used to stand for "handicapped," but since that's a no-no word now, we say "special needs." However, the H remains on the buses. So of course the bus name must begin with H. This is my third year driving Henry but the first time I've found a name that fits him.

Old Henry is having trouble with his wheelchair lift. Something in the hydraulic system I suspect. When I fold out the lift it begins to slowly descend on its own before I can use the up/down switch. Earlier this week one student almost rolled his chair onto the lift when it had dropped almost 2 inches below the level of the bus floor. I turned in a maintenence request Thursday morning, and Henry was gone Thursday afternoon. That's when I got the Kidney Shaker.

Stay tuned for more about the Kidney Shaker!

Where were you in 1988?

Remember my post yesterday about my clean bus? When I got back to work for the afternoon run my bus was gone. In its place was this nasty old bucket of bolts I call the Kidney Shaker.
OK, I suspected they might have to take my bus to the shop, so I wasn't surprised to see the Kidney Shaker. This old bus is one of the few spare buses we have in this district. It was new in April of 1988.

In 1988 I lived in Macon, GA. I'd been married for 5 years, and was 26 years old. Superman had a job in a small machine shop close to our apartment. I wasn't working outside the home, and we were foster parents with an adoption agency. That year we had a bunch of newborn babies at home, usually only one at a time. I didn't get much sleep, but I had a lot of fun (no, not on Grandma's feather bed) taking care of sweet little bundles of baby.

In August of 1988 Superman was fired from his job, ( a true blessing, really) and we had to leave Macon because he couldn't find another job before the end of August when rent was due again. We moved to Ringgold, GA into his parents' house. They were in exile in Houston TX at the time. Superman's baby brother was a senior in high school, living at home while his folks were in Texas.

Superman spent lots of time and effort looking for a job in that area, to no avail. But that didn't take up all his time. I became pregnant in October. He found a job in New Bern, NC in November, and moved there in December. I was left in Ringgold with my teenage brother-in-law and morning sickness. Not the best autumn of my life. Superman came home for Christmas, then I moved the rest of our junk to New Bern in early January. 1988 was a busy year for me.

Where were you? What were you doing in 1988?

Life with young gay teenagers

Living with teenagers is a pain in the ass. Living with troubled children is a pain in the ass. Living with a troubled young gay teenager is paining me terribly.

This latest bit of angst is with S. He is a senior in high school, and has been a less than model student most of his life. As I have mentioned in other posts, none of his close family members has ever graduated from high school. He is almost finished. He can do it. He's very smart, but he's very insecure (though he'd die before admitting it.)

He started off the school year with a great burst of enthusiastic energy. His early grades were wonderful. I saw a report from his geometry teacher yesterday. He has failed every assignment and/or test for the last 3 weeks. It isn't that he's too stupid to understand the concepts. He might have to study, to work his brain to comprehend, but he's got the native intelligence to do it. But he has been very irresponsible the last few weeks.

About a month ago C, S, and I went to Columbia (SC, capital city) for a gay pride festival. It was my first! Theirs, too. They met a group of other young people from our area. The gay community in Greenwood is so underground we had to go to Columbia to find others from around here. Anyway, the boys have been spending a lot of time with their new friends. I am glad they are making new friends, friends who have so much in common. This is a healthy thing, but they are being unhealth-ily excessive about it.

They've been staying out all night with these new friends. They got home yesterday at 5 a.m. I know this because I was up, getting ready for work at the time. They hadn't been to sleep yet. And this was a Wednesday morning. S got about 2 hours of sleep before he had to get up for school. This sort of thing has been happening 2, 3, 4 times a week for a month. It is no wonder his grades are slipping.

I have been pouring my heart into helping this kid. There are at least 3 people at the school who are bending over backward to help him. Three "social service" types, one of them is his guidance counselor, have gone to bat for him, helping him get medical attention (he of course has no insurance, and no money of his own.) They've intervened with his teachers, the guidance counselor is working her butt off helping him make up some classes he failed last semester, trying to keep him from having to take the whole class over again. And in all of this, S just goofs off.

I'm afraid he's rebelling, or acting out his insecurities, or some such psycho-bull-shit. And I know he is a teenager; 17, almost 18. Therefore of course he is an idiot, as is my son Twitch. But it is time for him to grow up, at least a little bit. Time for him to act responsible for himself and to the people who are trying to help him.

I had a brief talk with him last night. They got home before 10, like he said they would. First time he's told the truth about his comings and goings in a week. So last night I tried to talk to him. I went in to their room, asked him if he was willing/able to hear me at this time. He said he was. I sat down, looked at him, and couldn't think how to begin. So finally I said "You tell me what I'm going to say to you. You give me the lecture." He asked which one. I laughed, said there were a few that applied right now. He said "Is it the one about responsibility?" Yea, that's one of them. I was trying really hard not to cry. I have been very upset about this. I hate to get all teary and cry when I'm trying to discuss issues I care deeply about, with people I love deeply. Finally I reminded him of a talk we had last week, wherein I discussed all the people who are working to help him right now. I told him that I love him very much, that I am pouring large bits of myself into his life. He interrupted me to say "No one appreciates that more than I do." (Cue the tears. Try to get a grip. Continue, shakily...) Well, dammit, show me! Show me with your actions, your behavior. Quit lying to me about how you are going to buckle down, nose to the grindstone, etc. DO IT, don't talk about it. I told him I feel as though he is taking everything I've done, all my love for him, and throwing it back in my face. Then I told him that's all I'm going to say right now, and I left. No long lecture. (this is progress for me. I tend to go on and on, ad nauseum)

When I said he's throwing it all in my face, he diverted his gaze. He's a manipulative little bastard, very good at lying and charming his way out of crap and into good graces. And I'm a sucker, I let him do this to me more than I should. But not this time. I'm sick of it. I am very hurt, very insulted. I know he doesn't mean to, but the point is he (is an idiot) is insulting me and my family. When he couldn't look at me I know I got through. Don't know what he'll do with that. I am willing, nay eager to talk to him, to talk through emotional stumbling blocks, issues, fears he has about proceeding with his life. Honestly, he probably doesn't even know why he's acting this way. He's very proud, hates to admit weakness. I suspect he's afraid we will stop loving him if he admits (perceived) weakness. He is, after all, only 17. I have told him, maybe not often enough, that I love him no matter what. No matter what he does or doesn't do, can or can't do. But this is a relatively new concept for him, and he's had 16 years of the opposing view from people who are supposed to love him unconditionally. He needs to hear it again and again.

Anyway, I'd appreciate comments and/or suggestions. Thanks.

The bus

I finally washed my bus yesterday. It was filthy. I could hardly see out the back window. It felt so good to get into a clean bus yesterday afternoon!

too busy

I have been so busy I haven't had time to turn on the computer, much less post here or read my other favorites. I should be able to spend another two or three hours here this morning. I hope my phone doesn't ring.

after Asheville

We got home from Asheville about half an hour ago. It was a long day! The pride festival was good, but much smaller than I expected. There were only about a dozen vendors and 4 or 5 booths of support/advocacy groups. I had a wonderful time talking to all these people, particularly the support groups. There was a woman there who is working on her doctoral thesis, and had a survey for LGBTs to fill out about relationships with their family of origin from before, during, and after the coming out process. I couldn't fill one out, being a parent/friend and not gay myself. She's a candidate for a PhD in Counseling Education and Supervision at UNC Charlotte.

I got some information and encouragement for starting a PFLAG in my little town. We need one! I am supportive of the effort, of the idea, but I know myself well enough to know that I am not gifted with administrative skills and am not a good candidate to organize a group by myself. I am too disorganized, easily distracted and discouraged, and am afraid to call people on the phone. The PFLAG volunteers there encouraged me to get started with it, saying that the national PFLAG organization is very helpful in the start-up process.

The boys were disappointed at the size of the event. This was Superman's first pride event. The South Carolina Pride in Columbia last month was better, I think. But this was good, if small.

After leaving the festival we drove downtown for dinner. Downtown Asheville is a pretty big place, at least to me coming from this tiny town. It was so vibrant on a Saturday evening! There were people everywhere, walking down the streets, shopping, dining. Finding a parking spot was challenging. Parking our huge van in spot we found was challenging! We checked in at the restaurant, was told there was a 40+ minute wait time, so we poked around in the shops on that block. It was great. There are some fun little shops, at least in that block many of the shops we saw carried non-mainstream type merchandise. We spent a long time in a shop that sold lots of incense, artsy postcards, funny or thoughtful buttons, scarves, tie-dyed t-shirts and the like. Alternative, really. Then I went to a used bookstore. It was really big, took up 3 "store front" units there on the block. I found the LGBT section almost by smell, or some 6th sense. Just about went directly to it without having been in this store before, not asking for nor receiving assistance. Didn't end up buying anything there, though would love to have spent more time perusing.

I'm just about to fall asleep, face first on the keyboard. Goodnight y'all!

the pro-nounce-ation of words

There is a boy on my bus who goes by his initials, JW. Each of the other children on the bus have different ways to pronounce JW. The little kindergartner who is madly in love with him pronounces it "jay-duh-view." His sister says "jub-you." It took me a while to realize she was referring to him. The the bright-eyed simple boy says "ay-ub-a-yu," but he's got some speech issues, so that is a good excuse for him. The lovelorn girl's brother just calls him "Jim." I'm never sure what to call him.

Saturday

I spent my blog time yesterday looking at other blogs. I keep experiencing things during the day that I want to write about here, but haven't yet done so. I get so caught up in the great stories and lives of other bloggers that I don't often make it back to my blog to tell my stories. I'll try to get better about that.

Today we are going up to Asheville, NC for the Asheville Pride Fest. We should have left over an hour ago, but we are going with some pretty queenie gay boys, so we are waiting on them. Superman and I are going with C and S and another gorgeous queen who is getting his hair done. We are waiting on the hair, I think.

The trip should take us about two and a half hours. I'm looking forward to it, as the traveling companions are lots of fun. We'll be meeting up with my eldest, Light. She's got a two day Fall break at school. She'll be coming home to spend the rest of a long weekend here.

If I had a working digital camera I would take pics then post them here for you. But alas, I have no camera worth taking. That's one of those things on my wish-list, for when I have enough money to spend on that after buying food, gas, paying utilities, etc. Being a grown-up has disadvantages, for sure.

yes, I am still here

Been reading my first few posts. Do I really complain that much? Ugh, how can anyone stand to be around me?

Thought I'd give a driving tip. It is something I think about regularly. So here it is, the Driving Tip o' the Day:

Use your headlights often. In any low-light conditions you should have your headlights on. In fog, rain, early morning or late afternoon, through long shaded areas of roadway, turn on your lights. Headlights not only help the driver to see in the dark, they help other drivers to see YOU! So even if you can see just fine, other
drivers may not be able to see you so well. Turn on those lights!

Thank you. This has been a presentation of Java's Driving School, LLC.

Happiness and light to you all!

The look of love?

Fox Photos/Getty ImagesRadclyffe Hall, standing, with her partner, Lady Una Troubridge,

Just checking my email I came across a link with a link to a link to this.

It started with a story in Scotsman.com about Glasgay! , Glasgow's gay pride festival that begins this month. In one of the story comments way down the page, one gal links to this picture and has this to say about it "...while they look a couple of misery guts I do believe that they loved each other..."

Hope the photo shows up. If not, here's the link: http://www.nytimes.com/imagepages/2007/06/24/books/24brown.html

More ranting about the system, school this time

Yesterday I posted about the bit of trouble I got into when I tried to take S's book bag to him at school. Today my boss stopped me in the lot and stuttered... "I don't need to say any more about yesterday, do I?" Huh? I knew what he was talking about, but didn't know why. I just told him "No, I know I'm supposed to 'do the right thing.'" I continued toward my bus. Thinking. Why would he ask that? Is there more?

So I buzzed him on the two-way. "Did somebody say something else?" He replies "Nothing worth mentioning." Sh!t. That just made me madder. I had calmed down since yesterday, mainly by trying not to think about it. But it came up again. What else? And boss-man isn't forthcoming with details. Probably for the best. But I worried it like a dog with a smelly shoe for half an hour, until work took my mind off of it.

I went into the office after my route. I asked boss-man "Is there something else I should know? Or is there something I already know that I need to be reminded about?"

"No." he says, with his 'everything is fine, just calm down' smile. He's good with that. So we chatted a bit. I (calmly for the most part) explained my dissatisfaction with this rule and the system in general. It helped. Me, anyway. We discussed possible benefits of this rule of not allowing parents to visit the classrooms without the office's stamp of approval. For instance, he says if they make an exception for me to go on the halls, then what's to stop other parents from showing up anytime? Well, for one, I don't know another parent with children in the school who would make the effort to do that! He conceded. (was he humoring me? Maybe) What it comes down to is control. They have it, I don't, so neener-neener on me. And that's the truth-th-th-th. I have no way of winning in any possible way in this dispute.

I did on one previous occasion check in at the office before visiting the teachers. The pinch-faced microencephalon at the reception desk refused to let me out of the office. She called the assistant principal to "take care of me." I never got to see the teachers I needed to see. The a$$ principal told me he'd take care of getting what I needed. (I needed assignments for S who had been suspended by this same a$$ principal the day before, but that's another story and my blood pressure is too high for it now.) He said he'd talk to the teachers and have them all e-mail me with the assignments. That was on a Friday. On Sunday evening I got an email from one teacher. I never ever heard from any of the others. And I know they have my email address because I had been in contact with each of them previously.

-steam comes out the ears-

I ended up apologising to boss-man for getting him mixed up in the middle of this mess. And I thanked him greatly for running interference. I told him I'm very glad he's buffering these messages from the school, and he said "yes, you are!" Again, Sh!t. What I don't know helps keep me out of trouble, I suppose. He's helping prevent me from saying something I'd regret to someone I shouldn't talk to right now. Boss-man is a good guy, overall. Irritating sometimes, but generally beneficial.

Fun at the soccer game

I am not much of a sports fan. I sometimes enjoy watching baseball, but that's about it. This evening I had to take my son Sproing to his soccer game because Superman (Concolor) wrenched his back out of whack yesterday. I really didn't want to go. I wanted to stay home, wash the sticky road grime off my tired old body, and blog, blog, blog!

But I did the good mommy thing and took him to the game. There were rewards. In particular, the referee. A blonde hunk of a college boy, not too tall, with broad shoulders and what looked to be a nice a$$. His shorts were a bit too long and not nearly clingy enough to be sure about the bum. His very light blonde hair was buzzed short, giving him a saintly nimbus. Ah, men!

BTW, Sproing's team won 2-1. Bet you thought I wasn't paying attention!

A rant about the local public high school

Today I went to the high school to deliver S's book bag to him. ( He is a teenage boy, ergo he is stupid. He left his book bag in the car. ) I know who his teachers are, where their classrooms are, and when he is in those classes. I had to start work soon, and the bus lot is beside the high school, right next to the building where S was in class. So I went in, gave the bag to him. On my way out, a small minded troll lady teacher thing stopped me to tell me I need to check in with the front office whenever I go to the school. She recognised me as a bus driver, and knows I have children in the school.

When I explained that I was there just to give something to the boy, she said "nevertheless, if you don't check in, you are considered to be tresspassing." Hell, lady, I work here! You know who I am! I am here for the benefit of my student! What kind of tight-assed stupid-rule-following bitch are you?

So rather than saying "well, then, go get the resource officer to arrest me," I thanked her very much (with my most sarcastic smile) and went to work. Steaming.

yada, yada, the rest of the work day, etc.

So when I got back after driving my route, I went to see my boss about some bus issues (which may show up in another post ). We got those things squared away for now, and then he says he got a call from the high school principal today. Fuck a duck. That bitch. I have tried to have meetings with this bitch a few times in the last three years. Never has she been available to meet with me. My daughter Light tried to interview her for the school newspaper last year, and the bitch wouldn't give her five minutes. Now, today I walk into the school to help out my boy, and she's all over my ass. (and not in a good way AT ALL)

My boss is a cool fella, though. He knows my intentions, he knows how I feel about bull shit rules. He knows that he would be hurting if I left him. He said all the right things, trying to assuage me. He is very diplomatic that way. So I'll let the system fuck me over. Again. And I will try to make it through Twitch's high school career, then try to find some alternative schooling for the two younger ones.

some substance

It is my bed-time. The alarm goes off at 4:15, so I try to go to bed, to sleep, around 9:00. Rarely am I successful. Especially since I got so involved with the blogosphere.

I have a list of blogs I like, which I may at some later point add to my blog. Most of my favorites are written by fascinating, thoughtful gay men. I try to check most of them every day or two. Once again I have spent my entire Sunday checking out blogs.

My gay history: My boys like to say I am a gay man in a woman's body. Until spring of 2006 I was a fundie anti-gay Christian. Then I met my boys. My oldest daughter, "Light," was good friends with a young man, C. They were both in high school, and active in a large Baptist church in town. Then C came out of the closet. That was met with mixed reactions. Many of his friends were fine with it. His church was not. His mother was, OMG, not OK with this! She and her husband (C's step-dad) kicked him out. He was 17, a senior in high school, newly in love with his first real boyfriend. I was getting to know him pretty well, and falling in love with him. So my husband "Concolor" and I invited him to stay with us. We also met, and fell in love with, C's boyfriend S.

I loved and accepted C. But homosexuality was against what I had been taught in the church, all I believed. But I knew with all my heart that God made C. But how did C become gay? Was he really born that way? When did he first know? I had a ton of questions for him, and he graciously answered every one. And I answered all his questions, supported him, helped him through this coming out process. We spent hours and hours talking. I didn't get much sleep.

I had lots of questions about homosexuality. I needed to know if one is born gay or becomes gay. I checked out a lot of websites, both pro- and anti-gay. The pro-gay sites made more sense to me. I read books. The first one I read was Born Gay by Glenn Wilson and Qazi Rahman. That's heavy stuff. I started Queer Science by Simon LeVay. Still working on that one, very slowly. I've also read a couple of books by Ritch Savin-Williams.

We started going to P-FLAG meetings. I kept researching. I asked a lot of questions of Google, C, S. Wish I'd found these blogs earlier! But maybe I wasn't ready. I have learned a lot.

Interestingly, Light came out to me as bi-sexual shortly after C moved in. At the time I told her "I have too much other stuff going on in my life right now to worry about that." Or something of the sort. We have talked about it, and I have become more comfortable with it. I did say something along the lines of "it may only be a stage of your development," but in my memory I didn't dismiss the whole concept. I wasn't too upset, anyway.

(One thing about me: I tend to make short stories long. I ramble, especially when I am tired.)

As of now, C is still with us. He is a sophomore at the university in town. His boyfriend S lives here, too, and is trying to finish his senior year in high school. Light is a freshman at a women's college in-state. (Is that perfect for her, or what? All women, all the time.)

Also in the home are my three other children. My son "Twitch" is a junior in high school, age 16. My other son "Sproing" is 9, in the 4th grade. My youngest daughter "Diva" is also 9, also in 4th grade. There will be many more posts about them in the future, I am sure.

There are 7 of us living in a 1600 sqare foot house. With Light in college, she is a part-time 8th. My life is not boring.

Ooops! Past bed-time. Going to pretend to get ready for bed now.

This is only the beginning

and so far I have no idea what I am doing. More later, maybe with more substance. Maybe not.