We met with the orthopedic surgeon from Shands today. For those of you who don't know, Shands is the medical school affiliated with the University of Florida.
We were fortunate not to have to drive up to Gainesville, a 4.5 hour drive, instead meeting him at a satellite office he goes to twice a month, only 2 hours away from my home.
And what is my final conclusion? Based on all I have learned and continue to research, the best approach for us is to find a way back time machine and travel back to 13 August 2010 to 9AM and for me to say to my son, "No, you can't go to the beach, bad feelings..." and make him stay home.
That is the best solution to this whole f*cking mess.
Educationally, where are we? He has what is known as a Galeazzi Fracture. Oh but if it could be so simple.
In fracturing his arm, it appears he ruptured a ligament in something called the TFCC, which is the Triangular Fibrocartilage Complex, which in basic terms is a group of ligaments, cartilage and other crap that run in between the radius and ulna, keeping them in position and stable.
Essentially, he f*cked that up so it doesn't work. If you were to look at his hand now, the pokey out bone on the outside of your wrist, with palm down, pokes up about a 1/4 inch more than it should... so it's extraordinarily pronounced. That means that the bone that goes to your pinky finger? It appears to sloop down from the wrist and then go back up... kind of a dip. If you were to hold your palm down parallel to the ground, if you've not screwed yours up too, you should find from forearm to pinky is about level.
His is not.
Which leads you to the next question... if its not a seriously painful situation, do you care and if so, why?
Yes. We do. Because long term he can now get osteoarthritis in his wrist. He could probably live with the immobility issues he has. An unnatural movement at best, he is unable to move his hand from side to side. Palm down, arm parallel to the floor, move your hand laterally, like you are mimicking a turtle floating side to side. He doesn't have that motion. Ranges of other motion are limited at times.
So there is motion issue and there is long term arthritic issue.
He has something called DRUJ instability which is distal radial ulna joint instability.
Where do we go from here?
He talked about the best way to fix it at this point is opening the wrist up and taking a ligment (cadaver?) and drilling a hole in the radius and ulna and creating a new TFCC ligament that had ruptured. I swear that's what I heard.
Now I'm not so sure. So there is a lot to think about. I called our normal orthopedic surgeon who sent us up there to talk to him. I have a lot of questions and as of now we have an appointment on 13 May, but now I'm not so sure I want to wait. I'm hoping he can call me at home so we can talk.
Because... this is my son... and the longer this goes on... and the more research I do... the more I start to get upset about it.
Which is why I want to find that f*cking way back machine and take us back to that fateful Friday because it would surely make this easier since my crystal ball is broken and I can't seem to figure out how this is all going to turn out.
I love how surgeons make it all seem so easy. He kept saying, 'You don't have to do anything at all. This is a BIG decision." And I know that it requires a full arm cast to the top of his arm for 6 weeks. And I know that it requires a double splinted brace for weeks after that. But other than that, what was the big deal? He would never say WHY it was a big decision.
And so he drew pictures and told me to go on line and do research, giving me key words, but his end seemed very simplistic and he never mentioned hardware and future surgeries and the sheering of the ulna... and... and... and now I get what the big deal is and... I hate it very much. And it's so not as simple as he made it out to be.
So we're all taking a deep breath and waiting to talk to my guy down here, who I trust implicitly to guide me in the right direction. And I want HIM to do it if he knows how. I want HIS eyes on it and nobody else's.
Because this is my 16 year old son. It's his right hand. And I think that our guy down here takes it all very seriously. And will do us right... if he can.
In the end we'll make the decision that is right for him... but until then, we have to figure out what it is.
Off to Orlando to hang out with a bunch of 12 year old boys. I bought a bright pink hat today to my guys can readily spot me.
It should be fun. It's blog fodder...
So I went to my chaperone meeting for Bones' trip last night. Here is my take.
My assigned roommate has the potential to make me bat crap crazy. Going in, I knew one of the Moms already and she gets on my last damn nerve. So I was saying a silent prayer, "Please, Dear Lord, I've gotten myself into a potentially large mess. Please do not let my roommate be HER."
And it wasn't.
It is not someone worse, that's not possible, but... argh. Looking straight at her, speaking to her, I can confirm, I have not one thing in common with this woman and she thinks she knows everything. "Dear, my son is in 7th grade. And let me tell you about hormones..."
When I quietly said, "Bones is my 3rd son. I have two teenagers..." it didn't seem to phase her. Whatever.
There were a lot of things said at this meeting run by the music teachers that left me for a bit of a loss.
First the good news. I am only chaperoning two boys, both aged 11. They keep it to a very small chaperone to student ratio. Some have four, at the most, and a couple have three, with two of us having two kids. It's all good. I hear they're good kids.
Now for the weird news.
I walked in and saw I wasn't chaperoning Bones, which I'm fine with, but I was surprised. Said I, 'OH! I'm not chaperoning my own kid?" His vocal teacher said, "No, we try not to do that..."
To which I replied, "No, I'm fine with it. I just feel REALLY bad with whoever got stuck with him..." and he laughed. And I was serious.
God love my son, but he is a high maintenance kid and I was fully prepared to take on he and all his little high maintenance friends for the weekend. You know... birds of a feather...
They have us not chaperone our own kids for multiple reasons, but one of them was so it doesn't turn into a 'family vacation'. I think one of the quotes was, "We don't want you to decide you're going to go off with your daughter to get your nails done while you leave the rest of the kids behind. You are a chaperone to everyone and we have a schedule of events we keep..."
He would say that because... IT REALLY DID HAPPEN. Can you frickin' imagine? I'm so completely stunned by the classlessness and sense of self entitlement of some people.
And THEN they said, "We can't tell you what to do in the privacy of your own room, but we would greatly appreciate it if you didn't drink in front of the kids or while you're supposed to be chaperoning..."
Behind me I heard a mother mutter "Damn."
And they told us this because... IT REALLLY DID HAPPEN. They had a parent get so drunk on a trip, they had to ask them not to attend the performance.
I was aghast.
I was horrified for the kid. Can you imagine how embarrassing for that kid, to have your parent so drunk an assistant principal has to ask you to stay in your room and skip the performance?
I don't get it.
It sounds as if the parents are more of a hassle than the kids...
Anyway, I fully intend to have fun. I'm making a list of what I'm taking. I think I'll have fun with the boys I'm assigned. I call them my little United Nations. Between Bones and these two boys (you know Bones will seek me out), we'll have three Continents covered by heritage.
A special thank you to Joan of Primordial Slack, who suggested in the comments that I spin the egg. That in fact DOES work. I'm guessing the still liquid state of the yolk and whites jiggling inside don't give the egg the ability to spin like a total solid state boiled egg does.
And I know there is a signficant difference because as luck would have it, the unboiled egg was... NUMBER TWENTY FOUR! YES, the LAST egg to try. Actually, I was trying them in pairs because 1) I have two hands and 2) never having done it before I wanted a comparison.
No comparison needed. One spins and one... does not.
Anyway, so I left out the red egg that we realized had NOT been boiled.
The next morning, Bones looked up at the egg tray and said, "Mom, why did you leave out my red egg?"
I replied, "Because THAT is the raw egg. I didn't want to take any chances."
He said, "NO! NO it's not! I put a Y for yolk on the raw egg. This isn't it. I shook it and could tell."
He exasperates me. My sil stepped in and said, "Bones. Your Mom knows. You marked the wrong egg!"
Adament that he was right he said, "NO! No, this isn't it!"
So finally I said, "Bones. Go to the sink and you bash that red egg as hard as you can against the inside of the sink and see what happens."
He grabbed the egg, went to the sink, and SMASH, egg goo went all over the inside of the sink as the shell shattered and the innard gushed out all over his hand and the side.
He looked up and said, "Hunh. I guess you were right."
My sister in law just shook her head and said, "I guess so." I didn't even bother.
I had my meeting with the school for this vocal field trip with 12 year olds. More on that tomorrow.
I'm still mulling things over...
My boys all get it. They're old enough to know all the secrets of the little fun parts of the various holidays.
But they still love dying eggs and getting Easter baskets.
I boiled enough eggs today so every boy would get 6 to dye. That's two dozen eggs since there is a cousin over. This is a tradition now, for my husband's family to fly in for Easter from New Jersey and even if the cousins are in their twenties... they dye eggs.
And so I took the eggs out and dropped on and it cracked. I set it aside and told everyone not to dye it.
Flash forward to this evening as place the dye filled coffee cups on the kitchen table and I looked down to see that my egg holder was holding... 24 eggs.
For some reason it didn't click. I think I assumed the broken egg was in there. Bones placed them so I figured something in his head was screaming, "All the holes must be filled!"
I was off to the side doing some ironing as the boys gathered around and the following conversation ensued to the best of my recollection.
Mr. T: How many eggs do each of us get?
Me: Six. Well, someone gets five. I broke one. So three of you get six and one of you gets five. You can fight it out... It looks like someone put the broken one back, so you need to find it.
Ringo: I ate the broken one.
My sister in law: Ringo ate it.
Me, puzzled: He ate it? There are 24 there...
Bones: OH! I replaced it!
Me: oh! You did! I didn't see you boil any eggs.
The rest of the room: *silence*
Me: Uh. Yeah.
Me: *deep breath* It's raw... you have a raw egg mixed in there?
Bones: I guess so.
Mr. T: I think we can figure it out...
Me: No! Don't be trying to figure it out. My brother tried that once. No good can come of it. I don't want anymore broken eggs since as it is, someone was SUPPOSED to get five. Leave it alone. We'll figure it out later...
So I'll be hiding 23 hard boiled egg and one raw one. I'll evidently be gentle. I figure over night isn't enough time to make it smell.
Only Bones would forget a very primary step. "Boil?"
Everyone was here for Good Friday dinner tonight. Fish, of course, was the main course, with a variety of sides and my carrot cake for dessert.
My husband's sister is in town with some of her family. His brother came with his family. My brother in law has a son who is two years old. I'll call him... David.
David is a stocky little curly haired boy that looks JUST LIKE cupid. If you were going to model a figure, you'd use David. Impish smile, mop of unruly curly hair, sparkly blue eyes, the kid is a truly funny little kid.
And I'm going to post this for my own memory, that one day I'll remember, because I'm not sure you'll think it's funny, but I do. And I want to remember it so in 20 years I can say to him, "Do you remember when..."
I have magnets on my fridge. He struts around my kitchen, opening things, grabbing sunglasses and wearing them, and pulling magnets off my fridge. He and I have a favorite past time, "What in the kitchen will the magnets stick to..."
I'll say, "David, David, come over here... will the magnet stick to this pantry door?"
And he'll strut over with the magnet, turn around, push his butt against the pantry door, look at me, and then try to stick the magnet on. And I'll shake my head and say, "Nooo... neither your butt nor your magnet will stick to the door..."
"David, come over here. Will it stick to my garbage can?" (It's metal.) And David will strut over my my garbage can, stick his butt on the can, and then stick the magnet and I'll say, 'YES! The magnet sticks... but alas, your butt does not."
I'm not sure what this thing is with his butt sticking to things before a magnet. Today we had the dishwasher open (knives don't go in when he's around) and I said, "David, does the magnet stick to my dishwasher?" and he SAT on the open door and then tried to stick it.
It's just a funny little quirky thing he does, all 23.5 months of him, and it makes me laugh. The whole time... he grins. He's constantly grinning at me.
But the funniest thing was when he walked into my pantry and closed the door. I stood staring at the closed door, looking over at his Dad shrugging. Finally David opened the door and in his hand he had this HUGE potato he'd found on the floor. It was still covered in dirt.
He looked up at me, looked over at his Dad, grinned and then LICKED the potato. His Dad and I were saying, "NO! David! Don't lick the potato..." and he grinned, strutting out of the pantry, potato in hand.
I think he carried this dang potato with him for 5 minutes. Wherever David was, there was the potato. It was as big as his forearm.
Once again, he went into the pantry, turned around, made a big show of it and LICKED it again. I said, "That's it... I'm washing the potato".
My bil said, "You're worried about the potato? It's just spit! Wash his mouth!"
I looked at him and said, "NO! If he's going to lick the potato, it's going to be a CLEAN potato". So I scrubbed it down with hot soap and water and gave him back his potato.
He grabbed it, went into my pantry and closed the door. And we waited. Waited.
Finally my bil said to me laughing, "You know he's sitting there in the pantry, licking that potato..."
And then David came out, handed me the potato, and strutted off to get into other mischief. The potato was wet. Sure enough, he had been standing in my pantry, licking that damn potato.
I'm not sure what it is about 2 year olds, but they are the funniest little people.
What is going on in their heads?
Just a bit 'o randomness...
Ringo had gotten back from Nashville. We were all sitting down at the table eating supper when my husband got up and went to the fridge to look for something. Bent over, looking in the vegetable bin, he overheard Ringo say, "So, anything happen while I was gone?"
My husband stood up, casually turned his head over his shoulder and said drily, "Yeah, your brother got a detention in PE because the coach hates black kids..."
T and I busted out laughing, and Ringo said, "Wait. I don't get it..."
This trip with Bones next week just keeps getting better and better. (*sarcasm*)
Not only do I get to chaperone an unknown quantity of middle school aged boys for 3 days, in Orlando, where it is hotter than three hells...
... and get to room with a total stranger...
... it would appear that Bones made a mistake. We are NOT going to Disney. It would appear we are going to... Wet 'N Wild.
Did I tell you how much I hate the sun?
Have I ever said here that I was certified to be a LifeGuard in high school?
Have we ever spoken about how I'm a bit of a germ phobe?
Yeah, I'm not thrilled. Water, mass quantities of children I don't know, in the sun, doesn't sound like fun to me. To top it off, I was excited at first that my bathing suit fits again, until I realized that maybe it's two sizes too big now.
I'm trying to put a good spin on this. I am.
Blog fodder. It's all about the blog fodder...
For a more humorous end to this, as if picturing me stressing over a bunch of 12 year old boys at Wet 'n wild wasn't enough, two very funny videos I've been sent lately.
One clean... one not so much.
This first one was sent by my reader, George. You may have to live in PB County to get this, but we have a very large building here in town that is nicknamed the Darth Vader building. It's a huge building on Flagler, on the waterway, with black reflective windows.
This last one, I got from TGOO, and I think it's hilarious, but it's not very nice. Y'all have probably seen it, but I had to put it up. Too dang funny...
I gotta get that series on DVD...
Have used Webkinz that you don't know what to do with? Go HERE, scroll down to TX until you find Adopt a Platoon.
I'm mailing out a box of old Webkinz that are perfectly new, except the computer tag was pulled off. I'm sending them off to Iraq and Afghanistan for our soldiers to use as goodwill gestures for children there.
My kids are thrilled they'll be put to good use. I'm thrilled to get them out of the house!
It is never a good thing when the discussion in my car is whether it is more difficult to get a detention in Private school or Public school.
Consensus was that it is harder in Public... yet it happened.
Question raised was, "And how exactly does one manage to get one in... PE?!"
You have to read to the end to get the answer.
I have the fabrics picked out for my new niece's quilt. Quilting will commence in the next couple weeks. I'm going to take my sewing machine in for a good cleaning and tune up first.
I'm so excited with all the bright and funky colors I picked!
Fabric is truly an addiction for me. I walked into the quilt shop and I could feel my heart starting to race with the excitement of being around so much color and texture... endless possibilities... all calling my name.
I haven't bought the fabric for the back yet. Nothing spoke to me. I think I need to wait until the top is complete... then I'll get a better feel for it.
My car door, driver's side, has been giving me a problem for about a year. When you open it, it would go, "POP!" and pull a bit before it opened. It was disturbing to anyone who had to drive it.
I went to something the other day where they only had valet. I drove up in my van, dreading the young man to open my door. Sure enough, the door went "POP!" and he jumped. I said, "You didn't do it. Something's wrong with the door..." I handed him my key and said, "I wish I had something more fun for you to drive..."
Today the "POP!" went away and now... it appears the spring doesn't work. It's quiet and smooth as the door opens... but it doesn't want to stay open, it wants to swing shut.
I've decided this is a better place to be.
I know, you're wondering why I haven't gotten this fixed. Because I can't spare my car for that long at the dealership for something I deem trivial.
Engine? Important. Transmission? Important. Tires? Important. Oil? Important. Doors? Not so much.
Unless if falls off. That would suck...
Conversation with Bones between his Dad and him; I'd already had the same conversation and T overheard the first time. T and I just sat there listening, letting it play out, so we could watch the frustration grow on his father's face.
Setting: Dinner time
Cast of Characters: Bones, Dad, Me, Mr. T. (Ringo was in Nashville.)
Me to no one in particular as I started my dinner: So I wonder how hard it is to get a detention during PE.
Hunhead: You got a detention... IN PE?!
Bones: It wasn't my fault!!!
Mr. T and Me, watching, quietly.
Hunhead: How can it not be your fault? What in the world did you do?
Bones: Dad. Dad. Dad. I swear it's not my fault. My PE teacher is rascist.
Bones: It's true!
Hunhead: Bones. You're not black.
Bones: I know. But I hang OUT with all the black kids.
Mr. T and me, quietly watching, grinning.
Hunhead: You're trying to tell ME, that YOU got a detention because your PE teacher is racist and ... you're not black.
Hunhead: Because YOU hang out with the black kids?
Hunhead: How many of the black kids got detention?
Bones: Ummm. None.
Hunhead: So NONE of your black friends got detention, your PE teacher is a rascist and YOU got detention.
Hunhead: Listen to me. If he was a rascist ALL the black kids would be serving detention on Tuesday and NOT you. Do you get it? He's not rascist.
Evidently, you can declare 'RACISM!' kind of by proxy. At least in Bones' world. He doesn't have to be black, but because his friends are, if anything happens to him, he's allowed to throw the rascist card.
You can't make this crap up.
(Sidenote, I know what happened. I think the group of kids that Bones hangs out are not the best behaved in PE and by the way, they also happen to be black. I suspect that amongst themselves they have decided this teacher is rascist. I suspect he is not... this group of boys just don't listen. However, Bones hearing them say it all the time, it must mean it applies to him too, when in reality, the only thing that applies is his poor behavior and theirs. I have to shake my head. We did set a record though... April for our first detention??? Really?!)
And so my son is in Nashville; his first band experience. I've not heard much from him. He likes the hotel. He's having fun. That is it.
Well... until tonight.
I refer to my son often as the Black Hole of information. Information goes in, but nothing is forthcoming. Imagine my surprise when I was watching a movie with the younger two when pictures came to my cell phone.
Pictures of trophies.
Evidently the Jazz band he plays in won Gold and the Percussion Ensemble won both Gold and from what I gather, the coveted Adjudicator's Award.
He is flying high. He's as excited as it's possible for his personality to get.
I told him, "Now you know why I loved being in band. It is the feeling you get of being part of something successful and bigger than yourself."
I always hoped to have a son that was a percussionist. When I was in band, the drummers were the ones I laughed at, but they were always the ones that when it came to music, had it together. If the drumline fell apart, the band went down with it. They were the glue.
Since my son broke his wrist (we go to Shands in 2 weeks for an orthopede to render his opinion) he had to quit playing the double bass, something he was not sad to give up. Since he was already a drummer, he moved into the percussion class this January and... feels like he's at home.
He's lined up to play the quads during Pep season, next to one of his buddies that's a snare. He feels... like he belongs.
Last week he and his buddy bought Morph suits to wear at Pep rallies etc. He bought blue and his buddy bought gold. School colors. The percussion instructor said it was cool with him if they wore them, standing side by side. Now they just have to get it passed through the band director.
And this... is exactly what the drummers in my band would have done... if such a thing had existed:
And then there is... (ignore the linens in the laundry baskets in the background...)
This should prove to be interesting.
I'm just about finished with my weight loss journey, settling into learning how to maintain in the next month or two. I've lost about 20% of my body mass since November. I'm happy with it, but I've noticed that a few things have changed since I weighed this amount last time, nearly 10 years ago, and I'm not sure it bodes well for me when I hit goal, a weight I've not seen in... 18 years.
I nearly stepped out of a pair of pants the other day. I was aghast, not realizing I'd lost so much weight that the pants needed to find a home on another body. I looked at the sizing tag and they are a full two sizes too big. It was then I realized, I need to shop again.
As I've lost weight, I've gotten rid of tons of clothes and bought just a couple pairs of pants here or there to get me through until I hit my final weight. This weekend I realized it was time for me to find a new pair of jeans that actually fit and that I LIKE to wear, as opposed to all the ones that are one size too big and make me look a big sloppy.
So off to Kohl's I went to find just one pair, hopefully on sale, and that's when I realized... Kohl's no longer carries my size.
When you're 5'6" and you're lean, you might be a size 6 or 8. When you're 5'2" and you're lean... you move into... well with the new sizing system that the stores have come out with... I call them Negative Numbers.
Kohl's doesn't sell that size and it's hard to find in general. I was in a store once and this long leggy 5'10" girl with her boyfriend picked up the size I wear now and said, "Who wears this size, people who starve themselves?"
I wanted to butt in and say, "No, Hobbit sized lean people. You big people stay away from our clothes..."
I'm lean. Joe at work said to my Tech Lead the other day, 'Look at her! She is getting too thin! Don't you think?"
My TL looked me over and said, "Nah, not yet, but she can't lose much more or she will be. Right now is good. Much more and there won't be much left..."
Joe said, "We can slide you into a mail slot. Don't buy a plane ticket next trip. We'll just slip you into a FEDEX slot and mail you."
It was funny, but it points out to me that I am just about where I need to be. Goal may not look good. Where I am now... could be right.
So back to Kohl's. I couldn't believe they didn't carry it. All over, every type of jeans, I searched and searched. And now... I was getting pissed because I wasn't finding anything and really, it's ridiculous.
I decided to go over to the Junior's department. I was irritated, but decided to try it.
First of all, I don't like wearing jeans with pink glitter and rhinestones across the ass.
Second, I'm OK with low slung jeans, but I prefer my jeans to have more than two teeth in the zipper before they're 'zipped up'.
Third, Juniors don't have hips. I have had three kids. I have hips. I even like my hips. I never b*tch about my hips. I'm cool, they're mine, and they're just the right size. However... I do HAVE them and they are tough to fit into jeans from the Junior's.
Fourth and last, Junior's asses are all still perky and... up. They haven't fallen. I will readily admit, my butt is not where it was 10 years ago. In essence, my ass has fallen and it can't get up.
I finally found a pair for 'short' people, a number that might fit, I slid them on, zipped up the two teeth and thought... 'something feels funny'. I looked at my backside from the mirror, happy I'd found a pair that didn't have CANDY spelled in pink and silver Rhinestones across each cheek, and realized... half of each side of my backside was INSIDE the thigh of the jeans.
The legs of the jeans were holding both my thighs and my ass.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath... and strains of a song from my youth started playing through my head, "One of these things just doesn't belong here... one of these things just doesn't belong...."
I'm sticking with my saggy old jeans for now. Pisses me off...
I have an overstuffed burgundy armchair with ottoman in the corner of my bedroom. It has a couple quilts thrown over the back and some pillows in the folds of the corners of the chair. It's comfortable and it's not uncommon on a lazy Sunday afternoon to see my husband sitting in it on his laptop or even dozing.
This is Bones 'Storm Chair'. He still hates bad weather, absolutely petrified of storms. This is why he's not in Scouting. So when a storm comes through, he will come into our room in stealth mode, seek out the chair and curl up and sleep in it, waking when he hears his father's alarm go off for the first time in the morning, and then quietly make his way back to his bed... as if he was never left.
How do I know he's been there? I can see a blanket that's in disarray or I find my laptop on the floor. I sit here blogging from an adjacent rocking chair (it's a cozy room) and when I'm finished, I'll switch off my laptop and set it on the ottoman. If I wake up and find it on the floor, I know Bones has been snoozing in the big chair.
On Sunday night, Bones could not sleep. He went to bed at 9 and by the time my husband and I went to bed at 11, he was still not sleeping, occassionally calling out from his room, "You're not going to bed yet are you?"
He prefers to go to sleep hearing Bill O'Reilly drone on from the family room TV.
My husband and I went to bed and we completely sacked out. Monday night rolled around and I went to get my laptop... when I found it on the floor.
The following conversation ensued, to the best of my recollection:
Me: Did you sleep in the big chair last night?
Bones: Yeah. I couldn't sleep, so I figured if I got in the big chair I might. How did you know?
Me: I found my laptop on the floor...
Bones: Yeah, I went in there about 1AM. Then Dad's alarm went off at 6:00 and I laid real still under the big blue blanket, pulling it over my head so he'd not notice me. He went to shower and when you got out of bed, I quietly got behind you and followed you through the house while you checked your phone, got out the bread to make lunches... I just ducked into my bedroom and went back to sleep.
I was startled. Actually, do you know what my first thought was? And I'm not trying to put TMI out there, I'm not, because I keep my family life private, my real family life... but... we're married and we've been married for 20 years... and sometimes its kind of nice to wake up a certain way... and... well.
You get it.
All I kept thinking was, "Oh Dear God. What if it had been one of those good morning wake ups? He was TWO FEET from the bed!"
So now I know to tell my husband we need to get UNbleary eyed in the morning and make sure nobody has crept in during the middle of the night and taken up sleep in the big chair. Holy crap.
Meanwhile, Bones wasn't finished talking about his sleeping escapade. (This really doesn't happen but once or twice a year...)
Bones: Does Dad talk in his sleep?
Bones: I thought so. I could hear him talking, but you weren't saying anything back, so that's when I realized, "Hey, Dad talks in his sleep! I couldn't understand what he was saying though. Something like, 'It'll be OK...'"
I, for some reason, found that part to be funny. My husband was not quite so amused when this came up at dinner. I commented that he really only talks in his sleep when he's stressed.
My husband rolled his eyes and said, "Yeah, that would be like every day..."
Bones finds it amusing. Probably because... he talks too.
No spies in this family...
The big deal about two weeks ago was what high school all the 8th graders are going to. We are driven by magnet schools. Everyone is trying to stay away from the ghetto kids and get their kids a good education in the Public system.
And since we got wait listed at one of the best Public schools, my 2nd son is going with my eldest to Local Catholic School, hereby called... LCS.
Other than one teacher, I'm pretty dang happy at LCS. Well, that and the fight to get my 2nd son into Honors English (a fight I WON, I might add), we've had no issues. And of course, it's not free, and that sucks, but my eldest has made some GREAT friends, I overall love his teachers, it's truly a college prep school, and although I know there are a lot of drugs and sex, my son doesn't partake.
So a girl in T's 8th grade class, that was slated to go to LCS, came in the other day and said to T, 'I'm not going to LCS. I'm going to Gator Local High School and its not about the money. My Mom said that if I go to LCS, she's afraid I'll get mixed up with drugs.'
(I may have posted this... if so, this is part II) I did a big *blink*. My eldest son burst out laughing because as we all know, there are drugs EVERYWHERE. You cannot escape drugs... you cannot escape sex... you cannot escape alcohol...it is everywhere at every high school.
I told my boys I'd be offended as well if my Mom had so little faith in me that she thought that by my simply 'being' in an environment I'd get involved with drugs. Really. WTF?
So this has been a running joke in the house, "ooohhhh, noooo! Be careful! I might get mixed up in drugs!!!" My boys put on a sing song voice in the house and pretend to be her. 'Ohhhh noooo! Not LCS! Don't make me go there! I might just find the need to... take drugs!"
Nasty of us, but the whole thing is so ridiculous.
Imagine our private laughter when we saw THIS article on-line today.
We were at supper tonight and my eldest said, "There were like 3 fights at gator local high school today. It's all over FB. Everyone's talking about how the fights are just escalating there... how bad it is."
And THAT, my friends, is why my kids are at LCS and not in the local public school. I can't control the drugs, the sex, the alcohol, but I can find a place without knives, guns, and fights. His first quarter in high school, his best friend was in a four hour lockdown at one of the schools for a gun on campus, and his other friend got pepper sprayed while watching a knife fight. We were teasing his one girl-friend, asking her if she liked the new cologne at her school, 'eau de pepper'.
And I'm not so stupid as to think that these things CANNOT happen at my son's school, but I will say that the likelihood is significantly less.
I wish I could be a fly on the wall in Sally's home today as this makes the news.
I'm at up 145AM to leave the house at 215 AM to take my son to school for a band trip to Nashville, TN. His band is playing in a competition there on Friday. I've baked cookies, bought snacks, and was in charge with buying breakfast at Costco for 120 people on a bus for tomorrow morning. (Done.)
I'm excited for him. He's excited for him. It's his first trip and his bag is packed, tux, new guitar strap as his band director informed him yesterday that the Rastafarian theme had to go for competition. Black looks better with a tux... rather than the Jamaican color theme.
Here's to hoping they do well and have fun in Nashville, even if it is a crazy short trip.
I call her... 'The Night Elf', for she is elfin and she does not sleep... at night.
As a coworker of mine said, kids the same age as mine, "They come in this size?"
And I think I shall be posting a response to an email I received from Flam. Heh, heh, heh...
I need time.
(Sidenote, yes, she has a name now.)
Born this morning, at 5:30AM, weighing in at 7 lb 6 ounces, the newest addition.
The Great Flambina is now a big sister. I want nothing more than to be there hugging on them both.
I'm so in love.
Our littlest Elf. I think she's thinking, 'Hey. I'd like some eyebrows and eyelashes!'
Bones may have the opportunity to participate in a FlashMob. Can you believe he is saying no right now? Really?
I suspect it is because he's not feeling well. When he's better, he may change is mind.
I will keep you posted...
My new favorite FlashMob. A birthday. In Denmark. Chokes me up...
At the beginning of the school year, we received information regarding Bones' final vocal competition, in Orlando in April. It asked if I wanted to chaperone and I checked NO, while looking for the HELL NO box that did not exist.
I figured they had more than enough parents that would want to hover over their kid, ever so worried about their middle school kid going so far away from home. (2.5 hours for 3 days) Also, it's not free to chaperone. It was still going to be a chunk of change. And... I have two other kids.
Flash forward to last month, I received a phone call on my cell phone from a cell phone number I didn't know.
Bones: Hey, Mom. Mom, mom, mom, they need you to chaperone for the Heritage Festival.
Me: They NEED me or YOU WANT me?
Bones: They NEED you. Mr. Tucker said they need you.
Bones: Here! I'll let you talk to him!
Mr. Tucker: Hi, Mrs. L.
Me: Mr. Tucker, Bones said you need more chaperones and I am more than happy to come, I just wanted to make sure you really really needed me and its not ... well... Bones being Bones. You know him.
Mr. Tucker: No, we need you. And you can pay in installments, but I need the first payment by Friday.
So I hung up thinking, "Crap. Well, it's all good... "
I paid the first installment. I paid the second installment. I'm thinking, "This is a chunk of change. Room for 3 nights, 3 meals a day, 9 meals, a bus for 3 days... wow, expensive... but... I guess that makes sense."
And I thought nothing else of it.
Until last week when Bones came home.
"Mom, Mom! Mom! Mom! Guess what? Those three days we are there? We're doing Disney AND Universal Studios! I'm so excited!"
My first thought? "F***"
What I said? "GREAT!"
Let's be clear about this... I'm about to go on a 3 day trip with a bunch of 12-14 year old boys that I don't know. I've never met them, I don't know their parents, I know not from where they come.
When I chaperone at my other boys' schools, I've known all those kids since they were 5, half of them have been to my home, and I have almost every one of their Mothers on speed dial. I can look at a kid causing trouble and say, "I KNOW your Mama and I have her on speed dial. Shape up or I'm calling her. Have I made myself clear?"
I know in advance who the problem children will be, why they are that way, what I need to do to intercede, who I need to look out for, who is higher energy, who gets picked on.
I'm going into this sucker BLIND. And it's for 3 days. And there is Disney and Universal involved. And I'm going to end up rooming with some parent I don't know.
I'm not excited... at all... but I'm hiding it from Bones, acting like this will be a thrilling adventure, when in reality, I'm tired just thinking about it.
And wondering how random this really was. Is this a case of his vocal teacher thinking, "Bones is a real pain in the neck. I need his Mom on this trip..."
But I do know that about a month ago we got a permission slip that all 6th graders were to go to Kennedy Space Center and they needed chaperones. They needed volunteers and they were going to randomly pick names out of a hat to determine what Moms 'got' to be invited.
I figured that tons of Moms would put their names in and the probability would be remote at best.
Guess who's going to Kennedy Space Center with a bunch of 12 year old kids?
And don't think for a minute I believe this was random. She saw my name and thought, "Right. Bones has been a thorn in my side all year. His Mom signed up? She can deal with him and all his little friends."
Ringo said, "Stop volunteering to chaperone!"
I replied, "I stepped up for you and your brother, EVERY SINGLE TIME you asked. I can't say no now just because Bones wears me out. It's not right..."
On a good note, I get to know the teachers. That is one thing that has made me sad about Public School... not getting to know the teachers.
Mr. T does not take Standardized Tests well, something it is time for us to fight and master. He took the entrance exam for our local Catholic HS and scored very average, except for Math (SURPRISE!). Upon receiving his potential schedule for 9th grade, I noted they put him in average English and Social Studies. I immediately wrote a note to both departments requesting him to be moved to Honors.
I received the following email from the co-chair of the English department.
Dear Boudicca's Family:
After reviewing Mr. T's inquiry into English I Honors, I believe that Mr. T would be best suited for English I. Placement into EN I Honors is based on test scores, middle school grades, and middle school teacher recommendations. At Local Catholic HS, our mission is to help each student become the person that God invites him or her to be. If, after the first quarter, we strongly believe that Mr. T is capable of the honors curriculum, we can always switch courses - - but you cannot switch from Honors to EN I and then back to an honors, IB, or AP course. If you have any questions and/or concerns please feel free to contact me via email. Thanks and we look forward to having you and your child as a part of the Local Catholic HS community.
So what do you think I did right about then, besides almost stroking out from being so pissed? (The stroke was probably prevented from my very low bp... 97/55 takes a lot of spiking upward to stroke out. Probably the only thing that has saved me all these years...)
I wrote 20 different responses in my head. Thankfully, at 45 years old, with maturity comes restraint, because this is the note I WANTED to send. I was venting at a girlfriend, who was egging me on.
She is evil. I cannot vent to her. She wanted me to send this. Actually, she double dog dared me... which would have worked 20 years ago.
Who am I fooling? It may have worked last year...
Dear Local Catholic HS,
Your letter to me implies that you have consulted with his middle school Language Arts teacher. Imagine my surprise when I called her and found out in fact you have not. I specifically said to speak to her as he does not test well, and given you wrote that placement is based on three different requirements, and given he is an A student, I deduced that obviously his teacher gave him a poor recommendation.
Evidently I was wrong in my deduction because it would seem you hadn't bothered to speak with her personally, basing your placement upon just one requirement, and not three.
I'm so disappointed. I expected far more from Local Catholic School. You consider yourself a top contender in the County for education, but that could not be further from the truth if you are not looking at each child as an individual.
Mr. T is currently wait listed at Moonland HS, one of the premier high schools in the Country. He has told me he is torn as to what school to attend should he come off the wait list.
I do believe that has been solved.
I will simply tell him that by coming off the wait list, God is inviting him to this better education and it is my mission to ensure he takes God up on the invitation.
Until that happens, however, my husband and I expect you to move him into Honors English. We have no problems conferring with the Principal in this matter.
Instead, I sent a very sedate letter, informing him that based on the data gathering *I* had done since his letter to me, including emails from his teacher and a personal conversation between my husband and said Language Arts teacher, that we requested him to move Mr. T into Honors.
I left out the part about our seeing the Principal if he doesn't.
Afterall... that's a given. No need to state the obvious.
As I say over and over, "It should not so difficult to educate one's children..."