Soup Is Not A Finger Food

Announcing: An Amnesty Program

ATTENTION ALL FAMILY MEMBERS!

I have recently noticed that certain items have disappeared from the kitchen. They just go... missing. Poof. It's like, one day, my favorite Swiss serrated knife with the red handle was there, and the next day it was nowhere to be found. I just noticed its sister-knife - you know, the one with the birds-beak blade - is also missing. And the one with the white handle, too. 

In addition, there are two large mixing bowls that are MIA. BIG ones. (Where could you possibly have put them??)

And this is to say nothing of the various cups, glasses, bowls, spoons, etc. that I perodically retrieve from your bedrooms.  And also, kitchen shears. Feel free to use 'em - just return 'em.

While I'm at it, I can't help wondering if the persistent dearth of phillips-head screwdrivers in this house is somehow related to the absence of key kitchen implements. I'm no detective, but it seems like more than coincidence to me.

NOW, THEREFORE, in consideration of the aforementioned situation, I am hereby announcing an Amnesty Program. Individuals who return any of these items to their customary location in the kitchen (or, in the case of the screwdrivers, the toolbox) before 11:59 p.m. on December 31, 2012 will not be prosecuted. All fines and penalties will be waived. No questions will be asked.  You don't have to sneak them into the kitchen when I'm not looking; you may simply leave them on the island and walk away a free man. (Or boy.)

In the meantime, I'd like to take this opportunity to remind you that dirty socks do NOT belong in the family room and the shoe basket is NOT a place to "hang" your coats.

Thank you for your compliance.

Love,

Mom

 

A remarkable evening

THERE SHOULD BE NO REASON for me to want to capture in writing just another Monday evening at home. I should not feel compelled to write about sitting on the sofa, fire in the fireplace, sports on the TV. Maybe it's like this every night in your house, but last night was different here.

For starters, all five of us were in the room together. Even Ross the Boss, who, at age 14, would rather convene with friends via xBox Live than watch sports with his family, joined us. Even Seth, now 16, who spends many evenings in his room, his thumping subwoofer pounding out the soundtrack to... whatever it is he does in there.

Peezer, of course, is always around. At 7, he is still of the age where he demands our attention, craves our approval. He is happiest when we are interacting with him: Tossing a ball, playing a game, or simply watching whatever it is he does when he says "Mommy! Mommy! Watch this, Mommy!" And I watch and say, "Wow, Peez!" or whatever half-hearted response, and then feel half-guilty about it, knowing that in a few years he mostly won't care what I think.

The teenagers are long since past that stage. I believe they still want the attention and approval, but they'd rather die than show it or - gasp! - say it.

But last night, Seth asked for another foot rub. It all started on Sunday, when he and I had been on the sofa watching football. (We watch a lot of sports in our house, especially during the fall.) His legs were stretched out and he put his feet on my lap. I started to massage them. Without asking. Something new. He's reluctant to hug me, let alone have me touch him for an extended period of time. But he luuuuuuuved the foot massage. The King of Sarcasm turned into a puppy dog. He didn't want me to stop.

His brothers saw how good this made Seth feel and wanted in on the action. Peezer was next. Predictably, he couldn't get beyond the tickle factor. So his was short.

Then, Ross. He LOVED it! So I rubbed and rubbed some more. Peezer wanted another go at it. I said, "No, Ross hasn't let me touch him for this long in many years; I'm not done yet." Ross just smiled.

And, we talked. I made observations about their feet. Seth, poor kid, has feet like mine: Wide and calloused. There are probably bunions in his future. (Sorry, Seth.) Ross's are narrow and straight, like my sister's. My mom used to take her to a special shoe store to get shoes that fit what the shoe guy called her "aristocratic feet." I think Peezer's are more like Seth's than like Ross's.

We also talked about Homecoming, which is coming up in a couple of weeks. This is the first year Seth has wanted to go, and it's Ross's first year in high school. Seth is going with a big co-ed group of friends and has nothing dressy he could wear, so we were trying to plan a shopping trip. Ross put himself out there last week and asked some girl with a thoughtful, clever Big Ask. She said yes at the moment, but found him at the end of the day and reneged privately. "Was she at least nice about it?" I asked, fighting every urge to unleash my protective Mama Bear. "Yeah, she was," Ross said then. Last night, he says he was only a little bit disappointed, and hasn't decided yet whether he'll go to the dance or not. If he goes, he, too, needs new clothes. But I told him he may not sequester himself in the basement and play xBox that whole evening.

Maybe in your house, this is just another weekday night, but in mine, it was different. I've been joking lately that the teenagers are trying to kill me with their antics. They can be so moody and sarcastic. Selfish. And just downright mean to their little brother. I assure them daily that I don't live to make their lives miserable; they seem unconvinced.

But last night, I saw the other side of what sometimes feels like a giant parenting abyss. Maybe we are connecting with them; we just haven't been witnessing the fruit of our efforts. Last night, they set aside the snark and sarcasm. The big boys went easy on their little brother. They let me touch them. And they opened up and we talked.

And this? This is how I picture it. This is how I want it.

It was just so, so nice.

This post isn't for you, friends - it's for me. I'm coming back to read this one the next time I have to say no. The next time a teenager attempts to twist my words and provokes my ire during what should be a "normal" conversation. The next time one rolls his eyes at me to convey impatience and disgust. The next time one forgets to call or fails a test in school or demands, "Where are all the towels??" or leaves yet another mess of empty soda cans and potato chip bags on the family room table.

Last night seems unremarkable on its surface, but to me, it was worth remembering.

 

Monopoly

I DIDN'T FEEL LIKE PLAYING Monopoly last night...

But the 7-year-old set up the game and counted out the money and pretty much insisted that it was going to happen. And then the 15-year-old heard we were playing and wanted in on the fun. And then I remembered that in 5 or 6 years, the 7 year old isn't going to want to have much to do with his old mom, and when that time rolls around the 15-year-old will already be away at college. And so, on a weeknight, instead of focusing on homework or chores, three of us played Monopoly.

And it was fun.

 

Unbalanced

TODAY IS ONE OF THOSE DAYS - no, weeks - that makes you realize how delicate the balance is of work vs. family... and also humbles you into remembering that sometimes, despite elaborate plans and optimistic intentions, it isn't always possible to do it all. At least not on your own terms.  And for someone like me, with control-freak tendencies, that's hard.

(Lest you think I'm left to deal with this on my own, please know I'm feeling grateful to have a spouse who is more than willing to share the load. His week has been blown up, too. But today it was my turn.)

I'm lucky to have a job where I can flex my hours and arrange my schedule to accommodate the frequent personal crises that come up. I can often telecommute if I need to. But as great as that sounds to someone who doesn't have that option, it's not without cost. Especially if you have a sick or needy kid in the house. Or two! Working at home is one thing when you're alone, but quite another if you're not.

Peezer decided that he had a wicked headache last night, and said he still had it this morning. I'm almost 100% sure he isn't capable of the theatrics that would be necessary to trick this experienced mom into believing he had a malady was anything but legitimate. And let's face it, as much as grown-ups need the occasional mental health day, you have to believe kids do, too. So whatever it was, he wanted his mom, and I said okay.

Seth is still home, and needing extra help (ice, pain medication, waitress services). Yesterday, he got a hard, removable boot, instead of an actual cast, but we're still waiting on approval for an alternative to crutches, which, owing to his left-side weakness, won't work. So today, I set about begging and pleading trying to obtain the blessing  act of Congress Royal Decree approval for Seth to get one of those knee-scooter thingies so he can maneuver at school next week. This involved two calls to the orthopedic doctor's office to request a letter of medical necessity, several calls with the medical supply store, and two calls to the insurance company, which I had to make because apparently the provider's line shuts down at 11:30 a.m. on Fridays. Because I guess people don't have medical needs on weekends. (WTF, Carefirst?)

So much for my mammogram, which I'd finally scheduled for this morning. I've been carrying around the prescription since my annual exam in August and delaying it because... well, I don't know why, it's like there's never a good time to do these things, but I finally did schedule it, largely because of her, and because I know it's ridiculous to postpone these things. Only you can't take a headachey seven year old and prop him in the waiting room with a Nintendo DS and tell him to just hang out till Mommy's done.

Meanwhile, I'm supposed to be telecommuting. Remember that? And that is the other hidden challenge in what may seem on the surface to be a pretty sweet gig: I don't get sick days. I can take off, but I don't get paid. My clients still expect their projects to be completed. But try telling that to the seven year old who's like, "Mama, can I watch that funny video of the preschooler?" when I'm trying to crunch spreadsheets and - ironically - assist an employee whose kid was not properly enrolled for coverage.

And yes, I do understand the irony of blogging instead of finishing that spreadsheet, but my concentration is elsewhere now and my heart just isn't in it. Because two of my kids need me today. And so that is where I need to focus.

That doesn't stop me from fantasizing about martinis and manicures and sneaking away to warm, tropical locations... but unless the Money Fairy drops a big bag o'cash on my front step, I'm going to have to finish my work. But probably not till tomorrow. Because today, I gotta be Mom.

 

Broken

YOU KNOW HOW SOME DAYS, everything that happens to you is tied together with a common theme, a leitmotif if you will? Yesterday's theme was BROKEN. 

And yes, I realize these are first-world problems, but still, they are my problems and this is my blog and so I am going to tell you about them.

I took the 'Burb back to the body shop that fixed it in December because the right-side headlights - the ones they had replaced - were noticeably dimmer than the ones on the left.  We waited, thinking it would be an quick 'n' easy swap of defective headlights for new.

Peezer was very patient. Here, he is lobbying me for an E5, after consuming an A6. I spent $2.25 on a junk-food breakfast for him while we cooled our heels.

Alas, as these things often go, it wasn't a quick fix, so they finally put me into a rental car and sent us on our merry way.

Meanwhile, yesterday was a Federal Holiday so the boys were off school. After a morning of quiet reflection on the importance of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s contributions to the advancement of racial equality in the United States of America sleeping in and playing video games, Seth decided to go longboarding on a sunny, cold Monday. As I was fetching Peezer from an afternoon playdate, Seth called me, the distress in his voice evident: "WHERE ARE YOU?"

Me: "I'm on my way home, where are YOU?"

Him: "In the 'hood. Can you come pick me up?"

Me: "Why, what happened?"

Him: "I think I broke my foot."

Thank goodness he was wearing his helmet. If only he'd worn it on his FOOT.

It wasn't dramatic, but the swelling was evident and he was in pain, so Curt hustled him out for a fun evening at the ER where they confirmed our suspicions, wrapped his foot, gave him a Vicodin and sent him home with instructions to get a cast in the next day or two.

 

Honestly, we're taking this in stride. This was our first ER visit since February 2006! And it's the first broken bone for any of our kids.  Of course, this is going to put a big damper on that whole learning-to-drive thing. You see, last Friday, Seth obtained his learner's permit (he aced the exam!). I don't want to say I'm relieved, but... well, part of me isn't upset about having to wait a little while longer on that.

While they were at the ER, I got on the phone with Maneesh, a nice man at Verizon DSL who walked me through countless ipconfigs and pings and restarts, all in the name of restoring wireless internet and, consequently, calm to this increasingly wired family. The DSL quit working on Friday, right after I'd spent almost three hours at the MVA with Seth, and I just didn't have the energy to call India then.  We were away for the weekend, but the minute we returned, the boys were all MOM, CAN YOU PLEEEEEASE FIX THE INTERNET??? (Well, no, I can't fix the Internet, but I can try to restore connectivity to our home, would that work?)

Never mind the fact that I can't Facebook  play Words with Friends  Blog  work if I don't have internet access. It was as if they were afraid I would forget!

The sillies!

After 90 minutes of "Yes, ma'am, okay ma'am, would you please try one thing for me, ma'am?", Maneesh determined that while he had successfully restored DSL connectivity, I was on my own with the wireless router. Maneesh helpfully offered to connect me with their "Expert Care" service, where, for $14.99 for a "six month subscription" they would help me get it up and running. I said no thanks, Maneesh, give me a tracking number and I'll try it myself. 

 And guess what?  I GOT IT WORKING AGAIN!

I'm trying hard not to be smug, Maneesh, but I've got your Expert Care right here, buddy. 

So, to recap: The internet is fixed, the patient is resting comfortably, and I'm about to go take one of Seth's Vicodin return the rental car and pick up my beloved Burb.  You see? We have problems and we address them head-on and we FIX. THEM.

Now, who wants to come help me assemble a coffee table that's been in its box since it arrived almost two weeks ago? Anyone? Bueller??