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This is fun. Do you think this is any predictor of my performance in college?

There Are 0 Gaps in Your Knowledge

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I had a Tuesday ::Updated::

Update: Here is the model in question and the beamish boy himself. 

A Tuesday in November. I usually like November, to the best of my recollection. It's February that really gets to me. But for some reason I seem to be dull, lacking anything resembling enthusiasm for life right now. I feel as though I'm plodding. 

The best and the worst of today came from interacting with Sproing. This morning before he left for school he was horrid. Have I mentioned that he has been diagnosed with ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder)? Before we had Sproing in our lives I thought ODD was some fancy psychological label given to a mean little kid. I have a new appreciation for the deeper severity of the psychological designation. He's not just mean, he doesn't just oppose. He goes out of his way to push the opposition. It sucks the life out of me sometimes.

This afternoon, however, I helped him work on his science project. He has to make a model of a cell that includes (labeled) a cell membrane, nucleus, cytoplasm, and vacuoles. (I want to say "vitriols") We had a good grove going and it was an exceptionally positive experience as long as his attention held out. He lasted well over half an hour, which is fantastic for him. I spoke with his teacher today, too, and she says his effort and thus his grades have improved remarkably over the last week or two. 

I might take a picture of the cell model we made. I sewed the basic form. His idea was to use a styrofoam sphere, but I couldn't find one at the store today. So I made a hemisphere out of fabric scraps. Initially he was skeptical. That's mommy speak for "he totally freaked out because it wasn't exactly the way he wanted it." Once he warmed up to the idea of using this thing I made, he worked on it with me and did a lot of the work himself. It was overall very rewarding. 

I had a very friendly girls' trip to the ice cream store with Diva today. She had an appointment with her counselor (which she spent pouting and unresponsive in the counselor's office) so after the appointment we went out for ice cream together. That was another one of those good mommy things to do. 

It all takes so much effort. I'm exhausted. 

And I'm tired of blogging about my children. I love them dearly, as you probably know. But I don't want to talk about them right now. 

The Holidays are approaching. Ugh. I don't want to do anything for Thanksgiving. We aren't going anywhere, not that I want to anyway. My extended family will be gathering in the driveway between my dad and brother's houses (next door neighbors to one another) to eat a festive holiday meal. I rather imagine my other brother will be frying a turkey again. It's what they do these days. They're all in Florida, not far from one another. (especially my dad and youngest brother. duh.) Too far for us to travel this year. I have mixed feelings about that. I tell myself I'm glad we aren't going, but there is another voice somewhere deep inside whispering a scream, "You belong with those people!" My overall impression, though, is that I'm glad we aren't going.

Then there's the Christmas thing. Ugh again. The only thing I want to do is exchange one or two small token gifts (but not junk, stuff-to-dust, or clutter) with members of my immediate household. No fancy dinner, no tree, no lights, no stockings stuffed with stuff, none of it. I want to sit in my comfy chair in front of the blazing fireplace drinking either hot chocolate or egg nog. I also want to build a gingerbread house this year. I do that occasionally, when I'm not so overwhelmed by the rest of my life. I'd like to do a gingerbread house this year, and perhaps that means I'd like for my life to not be so damned overwhelming. 

I have high hopes that things will get better when Light gets home from school the second week in December. She takes a lot of the pressure off me. But then I worry that I'm putting too much on her. Oy. I am obviously overthinking things here. 

So I will stop thinking for now and go to bed. 

Goodnight

I want one just like this

This you have got to see!

Check out the making of video, too. Very interesting.

I had a weekend

The play for which I was sewing costumes opened and closed this weekend. Community theater, folks. Five shows, plus one on Thursday morning for the school kids. 'Twas the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. I didn't watch it. I actually didn't even do all the sewing I was supposed to. I did get the four dresses built, but the mob caps were fewer than desired.  I'll go ahead and make some more now, anyway, because they'll be used later. Brigadoon is coming up soon.

My allergies have been acting up, causing my throat and ears to itch. Sunday the mess moved into my lungs. I need my inhaler, but can't find it. I think the thing has expired, anyway, so I'm going to call the doctor's office this morning to request a refill on that prescription. If it gets much worse I'll go in for a look-over. Right now I don't think I need any antibiotic. Yet. My chest is tight, though, and I've got a wee cough. I feel icky, but not so much that I can't do anything. 

I think some other things may have happened this weekend, but I'm not sure what. I slept a lot. Superman and Twitch went grocery shopping yesterday and bought $400 worth of stuff. He likes to stock up. 

We have a new-to-us fireplace insert. It was cool enough last night that Superman built a fire in it. He says it puts some nice heat into the room. I think we'll set a fan in the hallway to encourage some of that warm air back toward the bedrooms. 

So, in conclusion, there isn't much to blog about. On today's agenda is more laundry (yes, the washing machine is still working!) and a visit to the drug dealer, my psychiatrist. Nice fellow, but not nearly as useful as my therapist. (No offense, Ur-Spo)

Happy Monday to all, and to all a good week.

Various and sundry

I spent the evening yesterday in the green room at our local community theater. I was at the ready with needle and thread. It was fun. The play is Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Most of the cast are children. The energy was exciting though not over the top. Last night was the dress rehersal. This morning they are performing for the local schools. Tomorrow night is the first public performance. I plan to go over there shortly and see what sort of costuming assistance I can provide. This time I'm taking my thimble. I forgot it last night, and my finger is consequently suffering. 

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Manny is on the fritz again.

Superman thinks ist's the starter motor. It won't start. Duh. Instead it makes this strange grinding noise. I said to Superman this morning if it is the starter motor, we should be able to push start the thing, bypassing the starter motor. We (meaning him and the boys) can push it out of the driveway and point it down the street (a very gentle decline) and I can start it as it rolls down hill. He agreed that if it is the starter motor, that should work. However, if it isn't the starter motor, we'd have a dead truck at the bottom of the hill and he wasn't going to push the damn thing back up the hill. Hmmm.  Good point. For now Manny will just decorate the driveway. We'll decide what to do with him in a week or two, or whenever it gets unbearable having only one working vehicle. 

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Just a quick note about the washing machine. I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired of the subject. Anyway, it is working, but seems to be having balance trouble. These front loading babies are supposed to spin beautifully without the typical out-of-balance shimmy that many top loading machines have. Well, something is screwy. Superman is talking about taking the back and top panels off to check the shock absorbers. I don't know how he'll check them, but I'm not going to fret about it now. My point, though, is that I don't know how much longer this machine will last. I paid a lot of money for the thing, and I expect to get more than 6 years out of it. Although I love the features, the recent performance is frustrating.

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You have met Sproing, right? He's my bouncing (you have no idea) baby boy, nearly 11 years old now. We adopted him as a newborn, brought him home from the hospital when he was 4 days old. If you compare the picture of me in the right sidebar to this blurry picture of him (he didn't hold still) you will notice that our skin tones don't match. 

The dear boy gets teased a lot in school because of his race and skin tone. He's very dark, and by some twisted standard within the black community (at least around here) the darker your skin, the lower your value as a person. I could go on and on about how wrong that is, but I'll resist. He also, of course, gets a lot of flack because he has white parents. People are always asking him if he's adopted. Frankly, he's sick of it. He said so this morning. According to him, this is what he now tells anyone who asks:

These people are not my parents. They are my limo drivers.

The entry I've been waiting to write

So last night I was in the living room cutting out the pattern for the dresses I'm sewing for this play at our community theater. Which opens Thursday. Yes, 2 days from now. And I just got the dresses cut out. But that's not what I'm here to talk about. 

Superman was at the computer, behind me as I was working. I've been thinking on these things the past couple of days, and I said to him "Superman. Do me a favor. Google 'Whirlpool Duet Repair.'" A few clicks later he said, "Oh look! Here's the repair manual! It's a PDF file!" Oh, for cryin' out loud. Why didn't he look this up earlier? Why didn't he find this when he was looking for the replacement part 5 weeks ago? I know Mimi has been wondering the same thing. 

Why didn't I look it up myself, or suggest it earlier? Well, part of my reason for not suggesting it was to wait and see what he would/could do. The dear man is very intelligent. Brilliant, one might say. But he doesn't think in broad strokes (or something like that). I was hoping he'd take the initiative. I got frustrated enough to break through my immobility and suggest a deeper search. Some of my hesitancy was intentional. Some of it was more laziness or fear or something deeply emotional. I'm not sure.

So he read the pertinent parts of the manual, looked at the pictures,  and went to tackle the machine. The thing requires a star head screw driver to disassemble the pieces. By show of hands, how many of you own your own set of star head screw drivers? I don't bitch too much when Superman buys himself stuff at the hardware store because frequently it is in my best interest. Yes, Superman owns a set of star head drivers. 

The part in question is the door latch mechanism, which is (not surprisingly) on the front of the machine at the door. I was so excited about him fixing my washing machine that I forgot to take any pictures of that process. It was really easy once he knew the trick to access the latch. There's a spring retainer ring that secures the gasket to the doorway... yada yada you aren't interested in that part. But he was so sexy and manly as he was repairing my machine! I nearly swooned. 

The machine has been vibrating wildly as it spins sometimes. That's what broke the latch this last time. I wondered if the springs holding the drum were the problem. Turns out there are 4 shock absorbers holding the drum in place at the four corners at the base, plus a couple of springs at the top of the drum. He took the back off the machine to check these. He looked. They looked like shock absorbers. Hmm. Then he replaced the back. Whatever. I got a picture of that. 

The back of the washer

The backside of Superman

Now I get to wash a load of clothes!!! Since the washer broke I've had the laundry lined up along the one long wall in my living room that spans the room from the kitchen to the hall. The kids have been dumping their dirty clothes anywhere along there. Last night I sat in that beige chair you see in this picture and sorted that laundry. There are now 6 full baskets waiting to be washed. 
There are probably at least 3 more basket's worth of dirty laundry in the kids' room and my room. Plus bed linens. And I need to sew up those dresses for the play. And cook supper. Yeah, I'm still on the computer. OK, I'll get this posted and move on with my day. Ta ta!

Stay calm

I don't even know where to start. It's Diva. She's growing up too fast. I don't mean in that "what a sweet girl, it seems like just yesterday she was but a wee thing" way. If only. 

She is in the 5th grade at the elementary school a few blocks down the street. Her 11th birthday is less than a month away. She likes to ride bikes, watch cartoons, and is crazy about Hannah Montana. 

Evidently she is also crazy about a boy in her class at school. 

Last Thursday morning at about 10:30 I got a call from her teacher. She said that she'd intercepted a note that Diva wrote to "another student in the class" that was of a sensitive nature. The teacher wouldn't come right out and say what exactly my dear child said. But she said she'd send the note home to me in a large sealed manila envelope. OK. I debated whether to go over to the school and try to get it myself before Diva had a chance to "lose" it. I decided to wait.

When Diva arrived home at 3:00 that afternoon she was all sweet and smiley. She is usually a cheerful child, unless she's pouting about something specific. Without waiting for me to ask for it, she produced the large envelope from her book bag. Sproing made some excuse about going to see his friend and bounced out of the house. Good. I didn't want him involved in whatever this turned out to be. 

I opened the package to find a nice stationery envelope with the name of the object of her affection (misspelled, I think. She pronounces his name with an "n" in it, but there was no such letter in the address). To give further clue to what I didn't want to think, there was a big luscious lipstick kiss across the flap of the envelope. Where did this child learn about sealing a letter with a kiss?? Inside the envelope were two pieces of the matching note paper (mine, which she took without permission, but that's so beyond the point). On the first page was scribbled in green marker "XXXXXXX means kiss  100x's  100 kiss's" It looks much more random on the note paper than I can make it look typed out like this. But that's the message, loud and clear.

So I brought forward the second page. It says, in green magic marker, "Do you want to have sex? Yes or No   roomers"

Oh, shit. Deep breath, Mom. Don't yell. Remain calm whatever you do!

I was sitting in the chair I'm in right now, her standing beside me. I took a few breaths. And said "Um, Diva?  Um, wha'... um... who... um, ah, ..." No good. Try again. "Diva, um, how... wha'..." This isn't going well. By this time I'm holding my forehead with my left hand, the notes in my right. "Ah, Diva, um, did you, ah, ...um... We need to talk about this." Good move Mom. You can't even speak. I don't remember if I made any coherent sentences after that until I told her to go to her room. I was calm as I said it. In retrospect I realize I should have said "We need to talk about this, but I need some time to gather my thoughts." Well, my thoughts weren't gathered enough to say that, but whatever.

I didn't have the heart to call Superman. I didn't want to tell him over the phone, you know? Eventually he came home. Diva was in her room most of the rest of the afternoon, and ended up cleaning her room very well. Her Dad came home, she was out of her room, we had supper, life happened. Of course I told Superman about it, had showed him the notes by then. I knew we needed to discuss this before she went to bed.

As the kids were beginning to get ready for bed around 8:00 I called Diva into my room. Superman and I were sitting on the bed. I was calm. I asked her about the notes. We talked. I was calm. She answered my questions. After some bit of discussion something she said prompted me to ask her what she meant by the question. Was she curious about his intent, or was she inviting him to have sex with her? Her eyes brightened up and she said, "Yes, I wanted to know. See, that's what I wrote there," pointing to the word "roomers." Then she read the note to me, filling in a whole sentence that contained the word "rumors" and indicating she had heard that he wanted to have sex with her. She was just curious about it. 

The child lies with astonishing frequency. I could tell, however, that she was being totally honest about her intent. I suspect she was a bit befuddled about all this fuss. The teacher had discussed it, I had been unable to clearly speak when I read the note, she'd spent the afternoon in her room, and now we were having one of those infamous "discussions" that parents have with their children. But I was calm. Superman sat on the bed and didn't say a word that I can recall. He didn't know what to say, either. 

These are a few of the things we talked about. I asked does she know what sex is? Yes. What? Rather hesitant and embarrassed she said "When a boy sticks his dick in my, um, you know, privates." OK, she's got that one pretty much figured out. "Have you ever had sex before?" I ask, masking my fear. "NO! Ewww." Oh, thank Gawd. 

I talked about how old one should be to have sex, what state of a relationship one should have before becoming intimate. I always try to ask her questions (I am the question queen, after all) to get her to participate in these discussions. If I just drone on, she tunes me out. It is so hard to make this stuff applicable to a child her age. I tried to tell her about how a sexual relationship involves complex emotions that children aren't able to handle. The thing is, at her stage of emotional development she doesn't have the maturity to understand that it takes maturity to successfully enter into a consenting sexual relationship. Half the stuff I said to her probably went right over her head. I realized as I was speaking the words that she wouldn't understand them. I repeated myself, trying to simplify with each repetition. The dear child watched me with rapt attention, a very unusual state for her. 

At one point during the conversation when I was talking about writing notes to boys (Don't!) she said "Do you want to see the other notes I wrote to him?" I remain calm. "Yes, I would." She runs out of the room, Superman and I look at each other, and I whisper "There are more????"

The one note in question had the number 3 written in the upper right corner of the envelope. Yep, the third of six notes. None of the rest had been opened. I calmly told her I'll hang on to these notes, since it isn't proper for her to be writing notes to the boys right now. Y'all, I haven't had the guts to open the other envelopes! And number 6 is addressed to this boy's mom and dad! I still have them all right here. 

One thing I don't want to do is fill her head with fear and superstitions about sex. Respect, yes. Outlandish unhealthy ideas, no. I told her that now is about the right time for her to start to think about boys (or girls, as the case may be. You know I'm cool either way. But since the note was written to a boy, I didn't bring that up.) and about being in love. But it's the time to just think about it, not do anything! This is a time for young boys and girls to practice these emotions, and it will take a lot of time to figure it all out. Take your time, child, don't be in such a rush!! No, I didn't say that out loud. Do you think she heard me thinking it?

So that's where we stand now. A week later and all seems calm. This is not the end. The next 7-8 years are gonna be real doozies. 

I'm still standing

Yes, I'm still here. I've been busy with all that life stuff. The time I have spent online I've been surfing other blogs rather than posting anything on mine. I have an interesting story to tell you, but I want to work on it some more. I'm not going to tell you now. In the meantime, here are a few random thoughts.

Superman is getting sick again. He gets sick a lot. It worries me. He had a flu shot last week and yesterday he started having some mild-ish flu-like symptoms. He is achy and has a stuffed up nose. He's also stupid the way he gets when he's sick. He isn't rolling around on the bed in pain or anything, he just feels generally icky. 

I took Diva to the ear,nose, & throat doctor today. She is now scheduled to have her tonsils and adenoids removed on Friday the 21st. We saw the doctor, he's a nice guy, it didn't take long at all with him. Then we went to see the gal who schedules the surgery. We waited in that little anteroom for over an hour. Finally we saw the lady who handles the insurance stuff. Then we waited for a few more minutes to see the gal who actually schedules the surgery. It was a long and boring morning. I would much rather have been here. Diva finally got back to school at 11:30, 2.75 hours after I picked her up from school. 

Yesterday was the lunch meeting with that women's forum thing I've been attending. I put on a posh frock and sat in a room with other women and it didn't even kill me. I mostly enjoyed it. The speaker yesterday was the neuro-psychiatrist at our hospital. I have met her before. 3 times. Because she has tested 3 of my children for learning disabilities and emotional problems. Yep, were're spe'shuul. Anyway, the doctor is a really nice lady, very smart, who had some interesting information on how memory works. It was good. And I ate some salad; very good for me.

C and S got a new-to-them truck. It's a little pick-up, a Ford Ranger I think. It's cute. Dark green. They got it for $800? Something ridiculously cheap like that. C casually mentioned that it needs transmission work. Hmmm. It was parked on the side of the road out front when Superman came home yesterday. As he approached our yard he looked at the truck and could tell the frame is bent. We shall see what we shall see. It's not my truck, they will have to deal. Looks like another character building experience. 

I have had something I have to do, somewhere I need to be every day this week. I hate that. I much prefer to have my days unscheduled. It's more peaceful like that. Of course in January when I start classes I'll be pretty scheduled, huh?

Earlier this week I bought myself a six pack of diet meal-replacement drinks. Like SlimFast, but the store brand. I put the unopened box on the floor under my bed. Earlier this afternoon I looked under there and noticed the box was opened. Two cans are gone. I'm pissed. Again. This happens all the time!

Sproing saw his counselor this afternoon. Superman took him. Superman told the counselor that Sproing sometimes steals little things, lies about all sorts of stuff, and bickers with his sister all the time. He told me the counselor kinda shrugged and said she didn't know anything specific we can do besides what we're already doing. Well, that obviously isn't working real well!! I have said it before (perhaps not here, I don't recall). Our kids are so extreme they befuddle the professionals. Or maybe we just have incompetent professionals around here. That's a possibility. There aren't a lot of local therapist/counselors who work with children. 2, maybe 3. Diva sees one, Sproing another. 

Our washing machine is still broken. Superman is waiting on the repair manual. He called about that. The supply house said that it is on indefinite backorder. The manufacturer has run out of manuals and is waiting for enough orders to come in to justify a printing. This is getting ridiculous. I'm still not sure what we're going to do. We could call the repair guy out again, pay him to fix it. We have the replacement part. Or we could spend $100 on a cheap used washer to use until we get the nice big one fixed. 5 or 6 trips to the laundromat would pay for a used washer. I'm wearing my last piece of clean underwear. Oh, the humanity!

It seems like I'm forgetting something really obvious, but for the life of me I can't figure out what it is. Eh. We'll let this do for now. Then I'll write up that other interesting story. Maybe I'll post that one tomorrow. 

Gonna go to college to gain a little knowledge

I got an email message Friday from the assistant director of admissions at Lander University. In part it said

I’ve verified that we have received your Mercer University transcript, which indicates that you have earned a Bachelors Degree in Sociology.  Based on that alone, I was able to admit you this evening. 

In Saturday's mail I received an official letter informing me that I have been accepted for the Spring 2009 semester. There are a few loose ends to tie up, then I'll be able to pre-register for classes when pre-registration opens in a couple of weeks. 

I had no doubt I'd be accepted. I've been kinda cool about the whole thing, though. I was pleased when I got the email Friday, and again very satisfied to get the official letter. But as the idea has been percolating over the weekend I am getting more excited. I'm going back to college! This has been a dream of mine for, well, over 20 years, since I graduated the first time back in '86.

Per request

A brief explanation about how I came to have sex in a cemetery

A post full of linky love

It was 1981, if that makes any difference. I was 19 years old and in a rather strange relationship with a young man named Joe Choo. Of Chinese extraction and from Malaysia, Joe had come to Macon, GA to attend Mercer University. I was a freshman in my second term at Mercer that spring, and had been dating Joe, mostly living with him and his brother Edwin for most of the winter and spring until I wised up and left his sorry ass. The story is much more complicated than that, of course, but has nothing to do with having sex in the cemetery. 

Macon, GA is a very large town rich in history.  When General Sherman marched to the sea from Atlanta, he bypassed Macon. We are all thankful for that, I suppose. Macon has some gorgeous antebellum architecture that otherwise would have been destroyed. 

Macon is also rich in dead people. Old cities tend to do that. The largest and oldest cemetery in town (as far as I know) is Rose Hill Cemetery. It is built (are cemeteries "built"?) on the hillside overlooking the Ocmulgee River that runs through Macon. It's very beautiful and much like a park.

Irrelevant fact: One of the most famous graves there is that of Duane Allman of the Allman Brothers Band. 

Back in the early 1980s when I lived in Macon, this cemetery was the prettiest park-like place to visit. Lots of the students from Mercer would come to the cemetery for picnics, Frisbee-golf, or other instances of fooling around. It is private property and should be respected as reverently as is due a cemetery. But we didn't. We were jerks. 

A railroad track runs between the river and the cemetery. Somewhere at the bottom of the cemetery right by the tracks is an area that looks vaguely like this (but not so neat). This one happens to be the Allman grave site. But pay attention to that retaining wall. Joe and I found a secluded area with a wall similar to this one. I think we had a picnic there. But one thing led to another and as young lovers will we ended up playing hide the sausage. He had me sitting on the wall, which was not the most comfortable perch. Except for the engineer in the train that passed by, no one saw us. (oops) So I guess I was caught having sex in the weirdest place I ever had sex. The experience is memorable, but not for quality of the sex. For good quality sex I'd have to tell a different story, probably one that didn't include Joe Choo.