Todd and I sometimes get crazy when the kids are away.
Archive for September, 2009
Livin’ on the Edge
Monday, September 14th, 2009This Makes The Suffering Worthwhile
Sunday, September 13th, 2009I rocked back and forth. I chewed my fingernails. Groaned, moaned, and covered my eyes a few times. I scared the cats with my vocal outbursts. My cussing woke up the children one time.
All of it, the whole Godforsaken game, one of the most harrowing Bulldog games I have ever watched, was worth it after a win, and seeing this little gem:
Ah, there is nothing sweeter than victory over one’s nemesis. Nothing.
Please Dawgs
Saturday, September 12th, 2009Don’t break my heart tonight. I can’t take it. It’s been a long, sad week. That started with y’all losing last Saturday night, it went downhill from there, and I’m counting on you to turn this thing around.
Love,
Dawgwood Girl
P.s. Extra points for making Spurrier throw his visor.
For Roswell, and for Spanky. RIP.
Friday, September 11th, 2009A friend of mine is being buried today. I could not make the funeral and I am sad about that. I know that there are others who couldn’t make it either, but that we are all there in thought and, some of us, in prayer.
Charles (we all called him “Spanky”) was not a close friend, but he was a friend, nonetheless. He was a boy who was in my classes. He was a boy who was at parties, who gave great hugs, had a big heart, and was quick to laugh. Charles’ laugh was so distinctive that I can still hear it in my head, clear as a bell. After twenty years, I can still hear his laugh like it was yesterday.
Last Saturday, Charles shot his father, and then he shot himself. The grief one feels over a friend killing themselves is overwhelming. The grief of knowing that someone you cared about took a life, much less the life of someone so close to them. . . that grief is almost unbearable. It makes you want to sleep to escape the thought of it. It makes you want to climb right out of your own skin to stop feeling it. You don’t want to imagine the grief of a mother, a sister suffering the pain of such a loss. And yet you cannot get away from it. It permeates everything.
You try not to think about it, but you can’t stop. It keeps you up at night, wondering how it turned out this way. You think, here I am, with my loving husband, my wonderful children, and my happy home. Here I am twenty years later (a blink of an eye, really) and where did Charles go? What happened to him in the last twenty years?
I cannot reconcile the boy I knew with the picture in my head of the man he became.
I have thought of it hourly for the last five days. I have wondered how it was him that ended up with an addiction. There were so many of us, and so many of us did more than we should have, and what made him the victim of addiction? It could have been any of us. “There but for the Grace of God go I” is on a loop in my head this week. I have thought about God, and heaven, and forgiveness. I have thought about whether there is an afterlife, and if it is punitive, or if it is a place where we all will find forgiveness, solace, and peace. I came up with no answers, save one: We are all so intertwined.
When I think of the community I came from, one that is grieving from top to bottom, one that was touched in so many ways by this one family, I know this: We are all intertwined. The things we do have an impact. Sometimes that impact is not seen until we lose a piece of ourselves. And then it breaks down and we are so very aware of the gaping holes in our lives. This one boy with the unique laugh was a friend to so many of us. He was a son, a brother, a cousin. And his loss and the loss of his father are felt so very strongly by one community today. The one thing I know is that we are all stronger for having known one another and that each and every one of us can never forget that we hold those that love us in the palms of our hands.
This is for the town that I have scorned. The town that has changed so much over the years and which I was so glad to have left. But that town is not just growth and development and a homogeneous population. It is the town where I grew up. It is a community, no matter how far flung we all our now; Deep down, we are still those kids that walked to school through an old cemetery to sit in run-down classrooms together. We are church groups, and football teams, and kids who sneaked into neighborhood pools together. We fought at the water tower. We are a bunch of kids in the McDonald’s parking lot on a Friday night, waiting to see where the party would be that night.
This is for Roswell, a community that lost two of her own this week, and who is the lesser for the loss, but the greater for having known each other.
Another friend sent me the lyrics to this song. I have heard from distraught friends all week long. It has hurt my heart, but reminded me that I came from somewhere, that we all came from the same place. That when one of us hurts, we all hurt.
Adapted from the Will Oldham song.
And the original:
Nicest Thing Anyone’s Said to Me in Ages . . .
Thursday, September 10th, 2009Tiller just said to me, “Mama, you sure do make great paper airplanes.”
I just love the low-tech paper airplanes. You fold a couple for each kid (making sure to reinforce with some Scotch tape, or else you will spend all afternoon refolding them) and then send them off to decorate them with crayons and markers. Then it’s off to the backyard for flights, while I sit inside sneezing me head off.
They totally get into it! Added plus: Tiller is flying hers in her ballet tutu. Rollie just improvised decorating his by taping a Hot Wheels car to the top of it.
Fuckin’ awesome.
Then Rollie said, “You do make the best paper airplanes, you and Daddy.”
WHAT?!
I feel that there will be a bit of an airshow out back this weekend. The Dogwood Girl fleet WILL dominate.
Obama Speech Review, by Rollie
Thursday, September 10th, 2009After all that school speech hubbub, Rollie came home from school and didn’t say a thing about it. I didn’t ask, because I knew Todd would want to hear what he had to say about it, too, and you don’t ask a six-year-old what happened at school that day more than once and expect to live. You would die a slow, eye-rolling, sighing death, petulant death.
So, I held off until we sat down to dinner. (Yes, despite my being less-than-traditional in many ways, we do try to sit down to dinner together. Sometimes it happens.)
Me: “Rollie, did you do anything interesting at school today?”
Rollie: “No.”
Me: “You didn’t get to hear a big speech or anything like that?”
Rollie: “Yeah.”
Me: “Can you elaborate?”
[Rollie rolls his eyes.]
Me: “Who did the speech?”
Rollie: “Barack Obama. He was on TV, but he was really at a school in Arlington, Va.”
Me: [thinking to myself, “well, he must have been paying attention enough to get the President’s locale. . . “] “So, what did you think of the speech?”
Rollie shrugged and gave it a thumbs down.
Me: “Why didn’t you like it?”
Rollie: “It was boring, boring, boring.”
All further attempts at discussing the speech with Rollie were met with adamant resistance.
I am thinking that maybe jason B. was right. The kids didn’t get it at this age. They were bored.
That being said, I think that there must have been some discussion of educational goals at school, because later that night, I overheard this discussion between Rollie and Tiller:
Rollie: “Tiller are you going to college?”
Tiller: “No! I don’t want to go to college! I want to stay here with mama and Daddy!”
While this is disappointing in some respects, I would probably be okay with this. As long as I can make her wear footie PJs and silky nighties with strawberries all over them, and cuddle on the couch, forever and ever.
Taking Off the Training Wheels
Tuesday, September 8th, 2009In all the school speech hubbub of yesterday, I didn’t get around to posting what I really wanted to post: My baby boy learned to ride his bike without training wheels yesterday.
My mom told me that I started wanting to learn to ride my bike at age four. She said all the older kids were riding theirs, and I wanted to also. I don’t remember that, but I do remember riding my brown, orange, and yellow (it was the 70s!) Roadmaster down a short sloped driveway at a neighbor’s house, my dad holding the hard yellow seat behind me. I remember skinned knees, and no helmet. I remember exhilaration.
I tried teaching Rollie this spring. I took him over to a parking lot nearby, and it was a disaster. No one got hurt, but I was nervous, he was wobbly and frustrated, and it was hot as Hades. We did not last long on the asphalt, and we gave up.
So, Rollie had a play date at a friend’s house earlier this year and the little girl could ride with no training wheels. Rollie was interested again. We have no flat area to learn to ride bikes in our yard, so we have to take the bike somewhere else to teach him to ride. We have been, shall we say, less than proactive about doing so.
Rollie started asking us more often to teach him, but something always came up. Then yesterday, Todd told us all to pack up and we headed over to the local park. We took Tiller’s little bike, too. We strapped them both in their helmets. Rollie even wore his knee and elbow pads (overkill, as it turned out). Todd got Rollie on the bike, and we showed him how to set up the right pedal (he is right-handed), so that he could stand on his left foot while using his right foot to step on the high right pedal, thereby giving himself a sort of initial boost of speed. We told him that he had to pedal fast to keep going. We told him that he needed to put his feet down when he came to a stop, that he needed to remember to steer.
I sat on a curb and bit my fingernails.
Todd went to the opposite end of the parking lot with him, and then slowly they started. Todd held onto the back of the seat, just as my own father had thirty-plus years ago. I wondered if my Mom could even watch me learning. I watched as my firstborn sped up, and wobbled, and freaked out and put his feet down on the pavement. I heard Todd say, “Slow down, Buddy. I can’t keep up with you.”
I watched as they tried again. Rollie took off, and started a little faster, and he was wobbly, and the look on his face was one of pure terror, mirroring my own I am sure, and suddenly, i realized Todd was not holding him anymore, just running right back and to the left, arms creating a waiting safety net around Rollie’s sides, but not touching him. I heard Todd speaking to him, “You’re doing it all on your own, buddy. You’re doing it.”
Tiller rode in circles, training wheels flashing in the sun. Todd and Rollie got ready again at the end of the parking lot. Tiller straightened out and pumped her legs as fast as they would go, sparks almost coming off the training wheels, her bike leaning precariously to her side. Rollie started off from a low incline, picked up speed, then started pedaling furiously as he quickly moved away from Todd. Rollie was moving of his own energy. Todd was left in the dust, looking panicky. I was in a panic of my own, my heart in my throat. I yelled, “You’re doing it, Buddy! you’re doing it!” Tiller’s bike rattled and she toppled over, a slow motion, non-life-threatening wobble. Meanwhile, Rollie came to a shaky stop, feet dragging on the pavement, and I was completely torn. Tiller’s training wheel came right off the bike and rolled in a large circle, slowed, came to a stop, and fell over.
We all looked at each other in amazement.
Rollie had ridden a bike by himself, and was all pride and bluster. Tiller had ridden the wheels right off her bike.
It was a good day. I only wish I had gotten video of the baby that once came out of my vagina now riding a bike around on his own bottom and two legs, laughing and getting mad because we wanted him to slow down. It just happened so fast.
I Can’t Make This Stuff Up. . .
Monday, September 7th, 2009From the principal at my son’s school:
“Dear Parents,
I just received final clarification about the President’s Address Tuesday. Per the Superintendent, [the school] will be showing the speech live. If parents do not wish to have their child view the speech, they will need to contact their homeroom teacher. Alternative activities will be in place for those students.
I apologize for the previous email. I am just trying to accommodate all stakeholders at [school].
Sincerely,
Principal McPrincipalson, Ed.D.”
What a shit storm over nothing. Wish they would send me a list of those who hold their kids out, though, as I would have reservations about their mental stability and would like to avoid play dates with them.
Seriously?
Monday, September 7th, 2009The following is a note from my son’s school’s principal, via the PTA. . .
“Dear [name of Elementary School] Families,
As you may be aware, President Obama is scheduled to address the nation’s
schoolchildren on Tuesday. However, [our school] will be postponing the
viewing to later in the week. I will be sending a letter home on Tuesday
explaining the details and giving parents the option of allowing or not
allowing their child to view the address.
Thanks and enjoy the rest of the holiday.
Principal McPrincipalson, Ed.D.
Principal
School Name Elementary
—
As a PTA membership benefit and an important communication tool, you have received this email directly from the [school name] PTA.”
Seriously? Glad to know that the powers that be at my child’s school are caving to a bunch of hysterical nut jobs.
Here’s the thing: If you don’t want your child to watch it, keep your child out of school that day. And in the future, please refrain from throwing around the old “that’s not patriotic” charge; In my opinion, if you are refusing to let your child hear a message from the President of our country, you are showing disrespect to the office of the President. Who’s unpatriotic now?
Yeah, my kid will be there. I refuse to teach my child that it is okay to refuse to listen to someone else’s viewpoint. I will teach my kid that it is required that he show respect to the highest office in the United States.
It’s Official
Sunday, September 6th, 20092009 is pretty much the worst year I’ve ever had, as far as stress in my life, and terrible things happening to people I know. I am completely over it.
2010 can only get better, right? RIGHT!?