she's just saying...

Little tiny pill

OK, this is going to sound pathetic, but really it's not.

I did go out with a friend for a birthday drink and food at my favorite local wine bar. Henry went with us and behaved beautifully, taking care of us and entertaining himself (and many others, as usual). I was kind of reluctant to go as I felt a headache coming on at work, but took an Imitrex on the way there and soldiered through.

By the time we got home, it was clearly a migraine lurking behind the pill that mildly suppressed it. I took another one and lay down "for a little bit" until the pill did its work. Henry again was lovely, making me tea and bringing me his blankie (yes, he still has one - she's now a member of the family).

Three hours later, I woke up to find him watching cartoons and eating cereal at 11 pm. This morning promises to be fun...

I don't know how many of you experience migraines. Imitrex works, slower than you'd like, and pretty much always knocks you out. The key is to take it AS SOON AS YOU FEEL THE MIGRAINE, not like me, who pretty much ignores the signals until it demands full attention and acquiescence. You really need to get out of denial and act immediately if you don't want to end up in the emergency room, painfully reciting all your medications, doctors, insurance info and medical history over and over while an ice pick is being hammered into your temple, waiting around while a meth addict trashes the place, eventually getting a shot that makes you throw up and knocks out the headache while a nurse's assistant feeds your child doughnuts and Pepsi at three in the morning. Not that that's ever happened or anything.

Just saying.

Race, curtain fabric and the Campbell's Kids

Since Tuesday night, many people have been asking me what Henry thinks of it all; i.e. a black man winning the presidency. The answer is "not much."

We watched the returns together -- I figured it was more important than his grammar homework that night. They declared Obama the winner and started panning the faces of the huge crowd gathered at the park in Chicago. Just like Kathi D and so many others, I just burst into sobs and couldn't stop. Henry mistook my tears for sadness and sat patting my back, saying "It's OK, mom." I told him that I was crying with joy, and tried to explain the significance of the event. While I talked, Henry's eyes welled up and tears started rolling down his face. I asked him why he was crying, and he answered through his sobs, "I don't know!" When mom cries, kids cry.

The fact that Obama's win holds little meaning for Henry is understandable and certainly positive in many ways. He's only nine, and has no reason to believe it's out of the ordinary. In our little city, we have less than 1% black residents, many of which are, like Henry, adopted kids of white parents. He's had no significant exposure to black cultural or racial issues. But is that good? Or should I make him aware of the racial context he's certain to face?

I think it's naive to say his color doesn't matter and won't affect him throughout his life, and wonder how to best prepare him. Many experts say to wait until he asks about it, but so far he's never brought it up; it's always been me. From when he was a baby, I made a point of having black and African music, art and books in our home. I colored in the all-white faces in his books with a brown pencil, and scrutinized birthday cards, posters, curtain fabric, cartoons and decorations for multi-culti scenes. I wonder if I'm over-emphasizing the issue, and certainly it seems he couldn't care less. But you never know what messages are sent and received.

What are your thoughts? I'd love to hear.

Where's my brown pencil?

"Legs" Hochschild

Check out those bones -

Here's the close-up:

I don't even like football much. But watching him is fun.

Top Ten: Happy Homemaker edition

Here's a quickie:

Top ten main dishes I make for dinner:

1. Pasta with pesto sauce. This is (strangely) Henry's favorite food. He'll eat it for breakfast lunch and dinner, and even after dinner. I have to buy the bulk jars of pesto from Costco in order to afford this. I add fresh tomatoes to get a little more nutrition in it.
2. Spaghetti with tomato sauce, homemade with turkey sausage added.
3. Pad Thai. This is easier than it seems, using jarred pad thai sauce. It uses a lot of pans though.
4. Fish tacos. Easy.
5. Caesar salad with grilled salmon. Another surprise is that Henry loves salmon. Praises be! I make a killer Caesar dressing that I've perfected over the last 25 years. Secret ingredients and all.
6. Lemon chicken stir-fried with veggies.
7. Zucchini risotto. My sister Susan's award-winning recipe, minus the heavy cream and 1/2 the butter.
8. Roast chicken on the grill. No clean-up.
9. Grilled teryaki tuna. Super easy, with Japanese sides.
10. When we're out of time, Spaghettios or chicken pot pie. For him, not me. I go to cheese, crackers and a glass of wine.

(PS: I don't eat beef or pork, which is why meatloaf isn't on the list. Henry can if he wants, but I don't cook it.)

The birthday present quandary

We (me, actually) have always specified "No Gifts" for Henry's birthday parties. He's used to it so doesn't protest (much). He has enough plastic crap in his room and hundreds of books from the used book store already. The established custom is that you allow gifts, you then have to give back "goodie bags" which are usually small cellophane bags filled with candy and little toys, another task most parents confess they dread. The whole thing is much too involved IMHO, and Henry would rather do something with his friends than open gifts. We've gone bowling, to the High Desert Museum (funner than it sounds), to the local video game "lounge" and had sleepovers. He never misses the gift ritual.

When I tell people, most parents express relief at the rule and say they wish they followed it as well.  I'm hoping to start a movement here and a few friends have actually started doing it too.

The flip side is that I don't buy presents for his friends' birthdays. I don't have the time or money and just don't believe in it. Last week he went to three birthday parties, all of which had gifts involved. I felt like a Scrooge, and am not sure how to handle the whole thing. When Henry is invited, should I say "he'd love to come, but I should tell you we have a no-present policy?" What are they going to say - no, he can't come? I don't know if parents and kids even notice in the hubbub of the party, and frankly if we had to buy gifts for all the parties he attends, he probably wouldn't go to as many. It's all pretty awkward, though, and I'm feeling residual guilt.

What do you think about the whole birthday gift ritual? I'd love to hear your thoughts, and any suggestions on how to handle.

Signed, Ms. Scrooge McDuck

Stone Soup - the real lesson

The other night, Henry thought some chicken soup would help his sore throat, but I didn't have any canned. I realized that I actually had half of the chicken I cooked Sunday (a chicken on every grill!). I also had noodles, of course, so I started to scrounge around for what else I could add in order to produce homemade soup at 7 pm on a school night.

I reminded Henry of the Stone Soup fable we read the night before, and remarked that this was our stone soup as I found shallots, carrots and celery and made some broth. He got totally into the spirit of the moment and dumped in some left-over broccoli from the fridge. We went out and cut some parsley from the parsley farm and some thyme and sage from the front herb boxes and kept improvising.

Henry started weaving his own version of the Stone Soup story while we were cooking, spinning it into a half-hour tale complete with characters, plot, setting, dialogue, drama and mood. I was entranced by his story and how he conjured up such a colorful tale on the fly.

The soup turned out to be delicious, and it was a classic learning moment for me. I'd been worried over Henry's lack of focus in class and inability to finish his work when the others did. While stressing about what he couldn't do compared to his classmates, I neglected to notice the unique things he can do, those amazing creative skills that set him apart. As I mentioned here before, I hope his teacher and I can find a way to keep his spirit up and frustration level down while he struggles with the structured classroom learning environment of public school. I feel I fail him regularly by focusing on the negative, but isn't guilt one of the defining emotions of parenting?

Thoughts on being single

It's not easy to be single in Bend, the ultimate family town. It's not so bad if you're in your twenties, as there are a lot of snowboarders/mountain bikers/climbers/beer bongers/computer geeks to hang out with. It's when you're in your 40's and 50's and with a younger child that things get really tough. Older single guys have already left a family behind in most cases, and just want to be footloose again, partying, traveling and "taking long walks on the beach." (It's only two hundred miles away...)

But lest I sound negative, there's a lot to be said for being a middle-aged single parent. (Whee - sounds like fun, doesn't it?) I cook for Henry and myself only, and if I don't feel like it, I don't. I'll eat cheese and crackers or nuke something and he'll be quite happy with mac and cheese from the box (plus broccoli, of course!). We do whatever we want on weekends, whether it's hanging out watching sports and cartoons or heading out for an adventure. Nobody's asking for my time and attention, other than cats and dogs and Henry, all of whom are easy to please. And I have the bathroom/closet/kitchen/TV/bed all to myself, to be as indulgent as I want. There's no negotiation, compromise, misunderstandings or power struggles. It's all about me, and Henry.

OK, on the down side, no cuddles of the adult kind, other parental type to take over when H has got me beat, someone to do the dishes while the other does the bedtime struggle, no one to fix the disposal or lift out the air conditioners. For the heavy lifting, I rely on neighbors; the rest I shoulder by myself. It can be a little isolating, but at least I know what I can count on.

Reading this, I realize it portrays a somewhat negative view of marriage as a state of struggle, disappointment and appeasement. Yeesh - no wonder I'm single. But finally, really, I'm getting to be okay with it, and even pretty comfortable. You know my mantra: You Can't Have Everything.

Therefore, it's important to ac-cen-tuate the positive, e-lim-inate the negative and pour yourself another glass of wine.

Feels so good...

...feeling good again. Two months seems to be the ticket. What once was a painful ache is now a pang of regret. Whadda ya know?  It really does take time. "Every day, in every way..."

These days, work, Henry, kittens, dead fish (yes, he seems to have succumbed), baseball, knitting, work events, flag football practice, homework and oh yes, work seem to be filling my plate. I'm very happy with the new job - it's just right. I'm energized by it and challenged, and feel I can contribute substantially while learning new things, all critical criteria for the easily-bored. It's good to learn once again that I actually do like working, after the slow painful wind-down of Edge and an aimless summer.

This is turning into a catch-up blog, what with all the self-referential links. So, to round things out, Oreo is going under the knife on Tuesday, then is moving in with some friends of ours, so we get to see him grow. Some regrets, but right now he's in the pouncing and biting phase, so it's a little easier. It's actually kind of scary to have a very fierce kitten, claws out, determined to jump on your face and bite you. Over and over. Everyone's a little nervous around him right now.

First day photo

Fourth grade! How did that happen?

How soon can he start driving himself to school?

Suburbutopia

[I suppose Bend isn't really the suburbs, but life sure looks and feels like it.]

We did our annual ease-back-into-school mode with the "Meet the Teacher" event at Henry's school this afternoon. The kids see their new classrooms, check out their teachers and eat popsicles from the PTA. We  catch up from the summer and plan playdates and carpools for flag football practice.

I enjoy the rhythms of life in this town. They're very pleasant and comfortable; like living here in general. I feel vaguely embarrassed that life is so easy for us, though. Must be my liberal guilt. Enjoy the benefits, but feel kinda bad about it. 

But boy, we're a white bunch here. Another transracial adoptive mom and I were looking around to see if there were any new non-white kids, as we know every one of the other eight black kids there, including our own. (This is out of an 800-student public school.) We got very excited to see a black mom - the only one I've seen in Bend. We're progressing!

Yes, I know, race doesn't matter, blah blah, but I can't imagine being in the one percent minority in grade school. Doesn't seem to bother Henry though.

Not much bothers Henry, except when they run out of popsicles. Hope it stays that way.

:30 sec. script

Establishing shot: Melissa watching the Red Sox/Angels game.  Pan to TV screen: Home Depot spot showing mom/child painting room together. Enter Henry.

Henry: That's what we should do. Look how fun it looks!

Melissa (reluctantly): Sure, honey, we can paint your room. You'll have to think about what color you want.

Henry: over his shoulder, out the door: Checkers!

Cut to shot of Henry's floor:

Fade out on Melissa, cursing softly.

Taming the wild kitten

Poor shot, but they were hiding under the toilet.

One of the insane interesting things I've done in the past few years is to foster kittens for the Humane Society of Central Oregon.

These are kittens who are too young to be adopted and need ongoing care. Sometimes they come with their mom, sometimes not. Depending, they may need to be bottle-fed, weaned or just socialized.

I'm known as the go-to gal for socializing the feral kittens. They come to me all hissy and terrified and they leave happy, cuddly, well-adjusted kittens ready to find their "forever family" (as we say in the adoption biz). Or at least they're supposed to. Every so often there is a kitten who prefers to stay wild, thank you very much. Those cats get sent to "the barn," a supposedly-real place where they can catch mice and play with cows all day.

So I now have four little hissies that I'm working on. It's best to separate them so they have to rely on you for companionship, but it's a painful process. Hearing pitiful kitten cries from four different spots in your house is a little nerve-wracking. And then you have to go around to each one and cuddle/feed/play with it. Good thing I'm unemployed!

My household and the whole neighborhood gets involved so the kitties can get used to dogs, cats and kids. It's fun, really. You get the cutest part of them and then when they turn into destructive maniacs you trade them in for fresh ones.

That reminds me of a story about Henry, my (adopted) son.  I was explaining a few years back that it was time to take the kittens back to the shelter to be adopted by their new families. He was silent for a moment, then asked in a worried tone: "Am I going to have to get a new family too?"  AWwwww.

Gutter Therapy

Nothing like clearing gutters for clearing the mind!

The gutters had not been cleaned in 9 years. I remember, because I had just gotten Henry and some kind neighbors came over and cleaned them.

It was deeply satisfying. First, because they were completely impacted with juniper droppings and dirt; second, because it was on my to-do list for, oh, a couple of years. Now that I've accomplished it, I can do anything! I'm strong and self-reliant!(gutter affirmation).

Of course cleaning up the decks after cleaning the gutters is boring, dirty, hot and annoying. Hey, that's why we have kids! If I could just find him . . .

Next up on the list: washing the windows. And then maybe I'll tackle the garage.

Should money be a motivator?

Henry's wallet

The real problem (or blessing - dunno which) is that H has no interest in money. Is that because he is not materialistic or because he's never had to be concerned about money? He really still can't tell the difference between something costing $1.99, $19.99 or $199.00. He never thinks about getting his allowance unless I remember it, and doesn't ask for things except to rent video games.

The last (minus 3) time H lost his ski jacket I said he had to buy the next one by himself at the Salvation Army. (This is in a line of, oh, 9 lost jackets in the last three years.) It sort of backfired because he found a rockin' Burton snowboard jacket for $15. Of course, that one is long since gone as well. After losing his last jacket, I told him I wouldn't buy him a replacement. So he wears his down coat everywhere, even to camp today. But he likes to wear it. Hmmm. So now I feel H needs a new light jacket, but he doesn't.

Plus, he made $150 by reading a few lines into a microphone. So how can he get that motivated to water the plants for $1? He'll do it because I ask, not for the money.

Retainers!?

missing: top teeth

When Henry got his retainers I was thinking of starting a pool on when the first one would be lost and have to be replaced (for $100 a pop).

Too late! I think we got to 33 hours, during most of which they were not being worn. Back to the orthodontist tomorrow...

Ideas: what can a 9-yr-old do to earn $100? He made serious money doing radio voice-overs, but that went to the new bike. He's too young to mow the lawn, unfortunately. Maybe he could sell his old toys in a yard sale...

loose ends

Time to tie up a few:

1.Yes, Henry does not like the retainers. He says he'd rather have the braces again, and even offered to pay for them himself. We're trying them (actually, he's trying them) a few hours at a time. And they have been lost twice in the two days we've had them. Unfortunately, they're clear and small and easily overlooked.

2. I think I've solved the catnip situation. If you can't cage the cats, cage the catnip.  They hang around it alot but haven't tried to break in yet. I think the smell alone drives them crazy - they don't have to ingest it. Does anybody know?

The owner of Chow (the out-of-coffee cafe, in case you didn't guess) sent me a lovely email apologizing for our experience. He said they weren't out of coffee - it was a server misunderstanding. That's good to know - I'm definitely trying it again.

3. Our knitting group may have found a home - Makahna's Cafe on Galveston. Great spot! Meets all our criteria (natural light, not too noisy, comfortable space, parking, beer and wine). The owner, Steve, kept it open just for us, which was wonderful. He's working on staying open evenings more. Check it out!

4. I did buy an electric mower and love it.

5. The laser treatments I had to control my glaucoma were very successful. My interocular (great word) pressures are way down, and should stay that way for a few years, hopefully.

bye bye braces

And they're off! After 11 months, Henry's braces came off today, and his teeth are beautiful. He took it all in stride, as usual. We'll see how the retainer goes...

Look at that beautiful smile. Thurs. am: Just in time for the last day of school!

The [dreaded] Third Grade Play

If it's spring, it must be time for the school play. This year, all the third-grade classes at High Lakes (there are at least 5) put it on together. It had something to do with Native Americans, though there was a square dance in the middle of it set to what sounded like a polka tune.  I can't say it was the most dynamic script -- actually, there was no script, just a lot of barely coherent recitings of Indian sayings. And some Native American chanting with drums.

Cool flute though (they brought in a professional).

I was thankful that the costumes were easy  - white T-shirts, earth-toned pants, and the interpretive Indian belts the kids wove. I recognized a lot of my rejected stash yarn in the crowd.

We survived it and came home to play baseball in the front yard. That Flash is one hell of an outfielder! But that's another post.

the square peg

Raising a child who has a different way of perceiving and interacting with the world is clearly tough. Doing it alone can be agonizing. H is extremely energetic and talkative and often has a hard time focusing (yes, we know the diagnosis). He's incredibly smart and funny and imaginative, but his active mind doesn't mesh well with linear tasks.

It's so clear to me and others who know him that he's going to accomplish something great in life. But he has to get through third grade, and right now, his personality is too big for a class of 25 kids. Last night we had another heart-to-heart, with tears on both sides. I tried to explain the square peg in the round hole. The square peg is perfect in its squareness but needs to try to squeeze into that hole sometimes as best it can. It's not that it's better for him, really, it's for the convenience of the rest of society. I never understood that until I had a square peg of my own.

His way is the right way for him. It's where creativity and genius live. But he has to be able to sit quietly in his seat to "succeed." So to accomplish that, it's recommended that we medicate his exuberance. Which breaks my heart.

croup-ier

Is that a sea lion in the kitchen at 4 am?

No, it's only H with the croup. A quaint old-fashioned virus, it causes kids to cough like a barking seal in the middle of the night. As we can attest.

Trying to keep a perpetual motion machine quiet isn't easy. Lots of lame movies and TV shows, hot tea with honey and lemon, chasing away the neighborhood kids, tying him to the bed. Just kidding.

I caught him on the phone in the bathroom, calling a friend to see if he could come play.

Meanwhile, I'm at home as well. Why do we feel guilty when we're home from work, even with a legit excuse? And it's not that I have much work to do, and it can all be done from home. Still I feel like I'm skipping school, not being able to enjoy it while I'm waiting to be caught.

Meanwhile, the seal is hungry - that never changes.

Labels: solo parenting, son

hell no I won't go

I can't face getting up at 4 am Sat. to stand in line to sign H up for the Bend Parks & Rec summer programs. The doors open at 7, so to get your choices, you truly have to line up at 5. 5 AM outside, that is. It's cold and dark and miserable. We huddle in chairs and blankets, wearing our ski gear, waiting it out. Many jokes about how a few years ago, it would have been for concert tix.

Just as bad is the upcoming signup for Kids Inc, the before/after-school care BPR runs in the local schools. Great program, limited space. Last year I got in line at 5, and people were camped out from the night before. It was miserable, boring, cold and damp under the trees at Hollinshead Barn.

I love love love BPR (not only because they're a great client of BendFocus) for the incredible job they do with programs, parks and trails. But there's GOT to be another solution for this registration fiasco.

What it does is reward the most determined, obsessive, clued-in parents who are able to stand in line for hours those mornings. Those who aren't in the know, are new to town or don't have the resources to get there early are screwed for summer camps or childcare for the school year.

Which is fairer, a random drawing or survival of the most determined?

I don't know, but for summer at least, I'm going to attempt the on-line registration that opens at 7am tomorrow and hope their server can take it. And you'll see me in line at 5 am for Kids Inc in a few weeks.

Labels: Bend, pov, rant, solo parenting, son

Stage mom

H continued his fledgling career as a voice-over artist today for another radio spot. Amazing coincidence that the new Edge spot called for a 9-yr-old boy.
He did great as usual - taking direction smoothly and hanging in for multiple takes. Tim Underwood really knows how to get the best from "the talent." He put H through his paces: jumping up and down, reading backwards, reading as different personalities, etc.

If I still lived in LA, I'd be driving him from callback to shoot to audition to sessions all day. Thank god we're not, really.

Labels: solo parenting, son, work

soccer in the snow

Oh my it was cold. I realize no one wants to read about third-grade soccer, including me, so I'll keep this brief. H's team came back from a 3-0 deficit and ended up with 6 goals. Including one by H, of course.

Labels: Bend, Central Oregon, son

Third grade math

I never liked it the first time around.

Now trying to help with homework problems, it's all becoming clear. I only had to live 40 years or so to get it.

A simple word problem (what is the least number of coins needed to give a customer .42 in change?) stumped the chump last night. A clear case of the classic "Read the problem!"

I had H subtracting .42 from a dollar, then working the coin numbers. I overcomplicated a simple question and confused the hell out of him.

Oh well. As Barbie used to say, "Math is hard!"

Labels: solo parenting, son