August 29, 2005

Hunkering Down

Katrina is headed this way, so I just filled up the car (?) and bought lots of charcoal and some extra water. I still have plenty of Y2K water left, and still more water and plastic sheeting from when Tom Ridge told us to stock up on these necessities a while ago. If we spring a leak I think I’ll have it covered.

Being the Type A mom, I did my grocery shopping for the week yesterday, and I’m about to cook it all and store it so it can be heated up one way or another once the power goes out. I even bought some yarn to knit a couple of scarves for the boys and a 550 piece puzzle for the anticipated blackout. All I’m missing is a few more C batteries. I bought a combination TV/flashlight after Ivan and it requires NINE batteries to run. At that, it’s still a lot cheaper than a generator.

I came back home after exercise to check the computer one last time before the weather gets bad. I found that I’d been tagged by Dances With Minivans to share the five songs I’m listening to the most right now. The timing could not be better; I brought my iPod in from the car to recharge so I won’t be without tunes AND electricity. Scrolling to my “Most Played” menu, I find:

Smithereens- In a Lonely Place - I’ve been recreating some of my college music, and this is a wonderful, sad song with background vocals by (blast from the past) Suzanne Vega.

Indigo Girls - All That We Let In - From their latest album, which is as good as their early stuff. The whole album is great except for track #6 or 7, which is the case on most CD’s.

Garbage - Sex Is Not The Enemy - Off their most recent album, Bleed Like Me. I hope that the rumor that Garbage is breaking up is not true. Speaking of breaking up, their song Breaking Up the Girl off Beautiful Garbage is fab, but my all time fave might be Temptation Waits off Version 2.0.

Dwight Yoakum - I Sang Dixie - Dwight rocks in one of those “he’s so ugly he’s totally hot!” ways. Kinda like Benicio del Toro. I saw Dwight in concert years ago, and I haven’t been able to shake the image of him cavorting in tight blue jeans with rhinestones down the sides. Not to this song, though. This is what he sings when he brings it down a notch.

John Lennon - Whatever Gets You Through The Night - It’s alright! It’s alright!

I have to tag five people, so I’ll tag:

Miss Zoot
Corndog
The World According to Tish
MetroDad
Angry Pregnant Lawyer

Just got a phone call that schools are letting out early because of anticipated tornadoes. Must run finish disaster preparedness….

August 27, 2005

Football Diaries - Part I

Football season is upon us. You’ve heard all the cliches about football in the South, so I won’t repeat them here. I’ll just say that I heard that a church in Tuscaloosa had quite an interesting service last Sunday. According to my source, they sang a few hymns, prayed, introduced all the football players and coaches in the congregation, then called it a day. No sermon was delivered. I don’t have any difficulty believing that happened in this religiously conservative, football frenzied state. Football is its own religion here.

We’ve agreed to let Finn play tackle football, although I think nine is awfully young to be suiting up in pads and a helmet and crashing into fellow players. The game just seems much more violent than baseball or soccer. However, Bill assured me that all kids start tackle football at this age, so I decided to get with the program.

Last week Finn and I had to go to the sporting goods store and purchase his pads, pants, helmet, mouthpiece, and so forth. The clerk patiently explained to Finn how to insert the pads into the pants and which way the shoulder pads went on. The salesman kept glancing at me, worried that I was not paying attention.

“Most of the mothers like to watch me do this once, then they practice putting the pads in the pants and taking them out a couple of times, ma’am,” the clerk told me.

“I’m not playing football, so I don’t need to know how to do any of that,” I told him. “At our house, the player is in charge of his own clothes. Finn, you watch closely because this will be totally up to you and your dad,” I said. “But your dad is more familiar with baseball outfits, so I think you ought to be pretty comfortable with it.”

“It’s a uniform, not an outfit,” Finn said patiently. “I think I know how to get the pads in and out.”

“Great,” I said. “If you’re not positive, we’ll just leave those pads stuck in the pants til the end of the season so we don’t mess them up.”

“The pads aren’t washable,” the clerk interjected, alarmed.

“Well, I wasn’t going to wash the pants with the pads in them,” I explained. “If we can’t get them out, we’ll just Febreze the pants until the season is over. If there are bad stains, I’ll just rub them with baby powder to lighten them up a little.”

The clerk shook his head, packed all the equipment into a bag, and went to the cash register. He handed me the bill. I looked at it. It was the GNP of a small country.

“Do you have a place I can sit down?” I asked weakly. My face felt hot and I could feel the blood thudding in my head.

He motioned me over to a bench. I pulled out my cell phone and handed it to Finn.

“Finn, I think I may be having a stroke,” I told him. “If I pass out, call 911 and then call Daddy and tell him we’re on the way to the hospital.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic, Mom?” Finn asked tiredly.

“Given the amount of this bill, no, I don’t think I am being dramatic at all. I think I am having a panic attack.”

We sat on the bench a moment while I recovered. After I’d written a huge check, we walked to the van, staggering under the weight of all the equipment.

When Bill came home from work, he gave me a perfunctory kiss, then hustled to Finn’s room to check out his football duds. Finn put everything on and dashed around the house, shouting, “Forty-nine! Hut! Red!”

Bill grabbed the football and tossed it to him a few times, and much high-fiving ensued. They were so fired up I didn’t even point out that the No Balls (The Kind You Catch Or Throw) In The House Rule had been hopelessly violated.

After testosterone time, Bill came back into the kitchen where I was cleaning up. “Looks like he’s got everything he needs for practice,” he said.

“For that amount of money, I hope so,” I replied, spraying the counter with 409.

“Just promise me one thing?” Bill asked, dismantling the coffeemaker and putting the parts into the dishwasher.

“Sure,” I said, my heart melting at the sight of a male tidying up.

“Keep the baby powder far away from those football pants. Finn and I will handle getting the pads in and out of them.”

“It’s a deal,” I said, squirting dishwashing gel into the dishwasher. Apparently I am absolved of any responsibility for understanding the football uniform, which was my goal.

I sure hope Bill can maintain his levelheadedness during football season. I’d hate for his baseball mindset to migrate into football season.

August 26, 2005

Primping in the Tiny Kingdom

My 20th high school reunion is in six weeks. No one is talking about it out loud, but you can tell that the participants are well aware of the impending event. There’s been a run on Crest White Strips and self tanner at the local Publix. The gyms are filled with sweating thirty-eight year olds trying desperately to fit into their acid washed jeans from the 12th grade.

A source tells me that a graduate living in the midwest has already been spotted shopping for the big weekend.

I’m not immune to the need to impress the math whiz, the quarterback, the homecoming queen and the SGA president. I’m trying to decide which hair color I’ve sported over the last two decades best says “She may drive a minivan, but she’s hip and cool with a hot husband and three reasonably well-behaved boys. She’s not practicing law at the moment, but she could be if she wanted to. She’s got her finger on the pulse of America.”

Does Clairol make a color like that?

August 23, 2005

The Odd Child Out

I’ve always worried about Drew the most. Until now.

Drew and Porter were born seven weeks early, and spent a couple of weeks in the NICU. A few days after they had both come home, Drew started looking even paler than usual. I wasn’t sure what was wrong– I just had that mother’s sense that he was in trouble. While I was on the way to the hospital with him, he stopped breathing. I drove as fast as I could, trying to reach back to his seat to push on his chest without wrecking the car.

When I got him to the NICU, he was turning blue. The nurses grabbed him from me and started working on him. Although one nurse tried to turn me around so I could not see what they were doing to him, I saw needles and tubes and blood flying around the table where he lay.

I heard them say that his oxygen saturation was at 40%.

I don’t remember much of the next two weeks. Drew stayed in the hospital. I had Finn and Porter at home. I was trying to nurse Porter and just keep Finn, who was two and a half, alive.

All the while, I was fixated on the memory of Drew’s bluish face, the tangle of medical staff working on him, and the very real possibility that if he survived, he’d have permanent problems as a result.

Bill visited Drew in the hospital every day– sometimes twice a day.

In contrast, I could barely stand to go. Each time I saw him in his tiny crib in the NICU, looking like a tadpole hooked up to tubes, I tried to pretend he was someone else’s baby. I worried that if I didn’t, I’d get too attached to him and then I’d lose him. Some days I didn’t go to the hospital at all. I’m ashamed to admit that now.

As it turned out, Drew had contracted meningitis. He came home after two weeks, and quickly improved. As he’s grown, he’s always been smaller, skinnier and paler than Porter, but he’s been perfectly healthy in every way. I’ve finally decided he just has the physique of the grandfather he was named for– my most active grandfather, who biked well into his seventies.

Recently I’ve found myself in an unfamiliar situation. I’ve been losing sleep worrying over Porter. As the kids have grown older, it’s apparent he’s the odd child out.

Bill and I are both high achievers. Finn appears to be heading along the same path. He has nice friends, he does well in school, he plays the drums and a variety of sports. He’s pretty wise for his age.

Drew is Bill in a tiny package. He may be pale and skinny, but he has more determination and attention to detail in his little toe than most people have in a whole body. He likes to set a goal and accomplish it. He also has a tight group of friends.

And then there’s Porter. Yesterday I wrote his teacher a note:

Dear Ms. S:

Bill and I are very worried about Porter. Please watch him for a couple of weeks and let us know whether there is cause for concern. I know that he is less mature than Drew is or than Finn was at this age. My specific areas of concern are:

- His tendency to act like a baby (baby talk, asking questions incessantly– mainly questions he already knows the answers to, acting like he is not able to do something he can do)

- Shyness (won’t look at people when he talks to them, puts on what I call “the chipmunk face” and acts like he’s dumb around strangers)

- Not very interested in making friends - gets along fine by himself, a loner

- Is able to read well, but has been “afraid” to read out loud recently, told us it was “scary” when he had to read out loud to you the other day

- Not able/willing to follow the rules when playing games, bails out and goes off to do his own thing

- When asked to do something he doesn’t want to do, or when in the middle of an activity he doesn’t like, complains of headache or stomacheache

- Has trouble focusing on one task

- Doesn’t smile in pictures, makes his “chipmunk face” like he’s embarrassed.

However, Porter is smart. He is a better reader than Drew. Additionally,

- He can entertain himself happily for hours

- He has a vivid imagination and spends a lot of time turning toys into inventions and creations

- Is very coordinated (bikes, rollerblades)

- Eats anything

I would appreciate your thoughts on anything we can do better at home to address any problems you see at school.

Many thanks,
Anne Glamore

I have a child who eats anything, and who has never told me he is bored. Why am I so worked up?

Because I am frustrated. It’s hard to reduce a child into a list of characteristics on a sheet of paper. It is clear that Porter’s personality is very different from mine, or Bill’s, or his brothers’. I don’t exactly know how to handle him– and I’m his mother. I feel like a failure.

I worry about the fact that he doesn’t have close friends, and he doesn’t seem to miss them. Then I worry that I’m worrying too much– after all, he’s only seven.

I worry that he’s been shortchanged. Did I spend so much time fretting about Drew that I failed to pay enough attention to Porter?

My feelings toward him swing wildly during the day. One moment I’m enjoying snuggling with him. I love the fact that he still wants to hold my hand. Moments later, I’m irritated by his babytalk. I’m sure he’s capable of acting more mature, but I can’t make him that way.

For now, we’re watching him, and waiting to see what his teacher has to say.

And sending out prayers every hour.

August 21, 2005

And In The Morning, We’re Making Waffles!

Last week a friend of mine came through town. She and her three children spent the night with us. Her oldest son, B, is Finn’s age. They’d never met before, but they hit it off immediately. B plays the cello, and he and Finn had a drum/cello jam session, while Porter added some electric guitar here and there.

The addition of a stringed instrument to our usual rehearsals made it all sound quite highbrow to me. It worked in reverse for my friend. She is used to hearing only piano, cello and violin; hearing the racket the boys made trying to eke out the beginning of “Smoke on the Water” with a cello accompaniment sounded like cacophony to her.

Finn and B raced bikes in the driveway, played foursquare, listened to music, and took frequent breaks to eat massive amounts of yogurt and peanut butter crackers.

At 10 pm, with everyone else in bed, they were in the kitchen eating cereal, talking.

At 11 pm, I heard them retire to Finn’s room and continue whispering.

At 11:30 pm, I fell asleep, while they continued to discuss matters of grave importance.

The next day, after my friend left, I asked Finn what he and B had talked about for so long.

“Just stuff,” he said.

“What kind of stuff?” I pressed.

“Just, like, school, and our friends, and what kind of things we like to do when we hang out,” Finn said.

We were quiet a minute as he chewed and swallowed a bite of peanut butter cracker.

“This might surprise you, Mom, because everybody knows that girls talk all the time. But if two guys have a glass of milk and some cereal and a quiet spot, they can spend a lot of time swapping manly stories.”

That did surprise me. I plan to get my friend to debrief B and report to me immediately so I’ll know what’s going on in Finn’s life.