Archive for the ‘Sons’ Category

TGIF – because if it weren’t for it being Friday I’d be all ready to give up!

You see, my darling baby boy (Yeah, the one that’s a foot taller than me – what’s your point?) came home the other day flinging things and searching under and growling and muttering under his breath. It seems that when he was at the local superstore, he changed in the bathroom out of his work clothes – and apparently left his wallet sitting on the sink.

…

He realizes this a full 24 hours later, chaos ensues, and lo and behold -no wallet. So, we hit the bank right away to cancel his bank card, and then checked the lost and found and with the desk, and no one had turned it in. He had receipts and stuff in there that were pretty important, but mostly it was his bank card and his license. Which meant he couldn’t drive out to his buddies house that night, because with HIS luck, he’d get stopped. Not good. Unhappy boy.

So I calmed him down, and today, we head to the DMV when he got home from school. He woke me up (I tend to sleep in the mornings after they go to school – specially after being unable to sleep the night before, actually getting UP and starting a pot o’beans n ham at 5:30 am!) – and then nagged and rushed until I headed out the door to the DMV – his favorite place in the whole world.

Not.

I fill out the paperwork, and settle in to wait. It was less than 10 minutes, so I was like SCORE – we’re gonna get out of here fast! And then she asked for an alternative ID for my son and I realize… it’s still sitting on my desk.

Oy.
Supermom FAIL.

So I call Auntie, she says she’ll grab it and bring it to us, but she had to finish what she was doing, and then she picked up Peppermist and the dog, and then the dog got out, and then she finally got to the DMV and the dog got out AGAIN and we had to chase him down, and then! Finally! an hour after we started to do something simple…

Success! Replacement License procured!

Only for me to have to tell him he can’t have the car overnight because his little sister has a Swim Meet tomorrow and I need the car. Some days, I just can’t win.

At least we still have ham’n'beans still a slow cookin – and it smells FANTASTIC. Redemption approaches…

So, my son, while he was still driving my car a couple days ago (His truck is fixed now, WHEEE! Well, mostly. It was making an odd noise when the Boy left for work… anyway) I got this GIDDY call from my sister.

Her: I’m TELLIN!
Me:…tellin what? (damn, what did I do?
Her: Did your son call you?
Me: …. nooooooooo (oh shit, what did HE do now…)
Her: he just called Uncle to pull him out of the DITCH!
Me: ….in MY CAR?

So yes. The boy had gone around the corner, and in his typical fashion (I imagine) was “drifting” (though I’ve TOLD him that drifting is done on PAVEMENT not snow – what they do is SLIDING) and put himself in the ditch. At least, that’s what I assumed. I also figured that he wouldn’t call and fess up, because his daddy? NEVER would have.

He surprised me.

Boy: So… has your car been in the ditch yet?
Me: Not while I’VE been driving it..
Boy: CRAP. Auntie tattled, didn’t she.
Me; Oh yes she did.

Now, the boy’s story is this: He was minding his own business, driving down the middle of the road and SUDDENLY AND HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW OR WHY he was in the ditch, and unable to get out, even with my 4×4.

Umhm. He still sticking to the story too. Uncle pulled him out, he got to work on time, and I forgot about it really, until Auntie and I went shopping together today and I went and picked her up. And she pointed out the tire tracks. Now, I’m not gonna continue to tell the boy that _I_ think he was “drifting” and slid too far, because he knows. However, I WILL give you the following evidence and let you decide yourself.

Observe:

Now, sure. SOME of those tracks are from the Truck that pulled him out. HOWEVER, please note the width of the road:

Ummmmmmmmhmmmmmm.
I rest my case.

You, my darling son, can tell me whatever ya like – but you been BUSTED.

You know, I’m working really really REALLY HARD to not realize that he’s graduating in May, that he turns 18 in March, that he’s Practically A Grown Up and my parental control will not be near as controlling as I’d like it to be for my little boy forever and ever amen. I’m TRYING to put blinders on – but OH NO. He has to go and do things like… oh, brandish his new Class Ring all over the place.

Harumph.

It came in the mail last week, and the boy couldn’t be more pleased! Even so, I love how the photo of his hand describes so many things about my son. For example:

1. His hands are HUGE. They swallow mine, and I have big hands for a girl!

2. His hand is DIRTY. Dude. Could you BE more of a boy? Wash your hands!

3. He’s cracked his knuckle there on something, and in typical boy fashion, keeps picking at it. Srsly Boy? Gross. And also? WASH YOUR HANDS.

4. Look at all the nicks and scars – this boy is CLUMSY. Usually with sharp and pointy things.

5. Those hands are not just large, but strong, just as strong as the heart and mind of my PRESHUSH BEBE BOY. They are hands that he uses to help up a friend in need, hands he uses to help make something work that was broken, hands he uses to defend his friends, hands he uses to protect his sisters, hands he uses to console his poor mama who’s not handling this growing up thing very well.

Sigh. This growing up stuff sucks.

When we had The Boy, I was momentarily terrified. I mean, I had a sister, no brothers, my mother was a sister, no brothers, my dad raised daughters, and well, who knew how to raise a BOY? And more importantly, how do we raise a BOY who is sensitive enough that all the girls (and their mama’s and papa’s) will be pleased to know him, but who can also kick as when he needed too? I mean, I WAS a girl. Girls I understand. (and, sorta, ya know, fear. haha.) But a BOY?

Fortunately, as my kids are fond of saying, I have the mind of a 16 year old boy, and I think we’ve managed to do pretty well in the past almost 18 years. The boy is strong, sensitive, knows when to fight, when to back down, and most importantly, treats the girls he knows (aside from his sisters, of course) with the utmost respect. They turn to him as the best friend, the one with the strong shoulders, the one they can talk too, who will respect them and not ask for anything in return.

This of course means he doesn’t have a girlfriend – but as I keep telling him, girls marry their best friends, not the asshole badboys. So hang in there, your time is coming…

So how did it come about? There were a few times of disagreement with my husband, but the one thing he ALWAYS insisted on was that The boy never hit a girl. Ever. He and I even fought over that a bit, because I was of the mind that if a girl hauled off and punched him in the face, she kinda deserved what she dished out. Heh. We compromised by teaching the Boy that to hold her so she CANT hit him again is ok. Then it never ever came up, so we didn’t have to worry – because he IS so sweet to his feminine counterparts.

My dad always said that in raising boys, you only had to worry about “one prick in town” but to raise girls was to worry of “every prick in town!” and I’m pleased as all get out to know that the boy is someone parents are pleased to know, that parents trust with their daughters, because he cares for them and takes care of them too. The boy even hugs his mama in public and still tells me that he loves me every single day – even in front of his friends.

So what advice to I have for the raising of boys?
Let them explore. They’re going to do stupid shit – things we think are dangerous, but that’s how boys learn not to do that again (or to do it differently). Remind them that no matter WHAT they do, you’ll be there to pick them up, so that when someone else does something stupid, they’ll be there to do the same. Teach them to respect women, teach him to defend them, and to defend himself. Teach your sons to listen, to think before they act, that it’s not a bad thing to have feelings, and to question why. Sounds lofty, huh? How do you do that?

Lead by example.
It’s really that simple.

Now go hug your boy, and ask him how his day was, huh?

Here’s an earworm for mom…

Which is really just an excuse to post senior pictures of my son. I let him wear what he wanted, I let him be HIM – and he and Todd, an old friend of mine, had a good time together. It’s hard to believe that the little chubby cheeked smiling toddler is a senior. a SENIOR. Planning his first TATTOO for when he turns 18.

I DEMAND A RECOUNT!

Sigh.

This past weekend something happened to really solidify that yes, my son is a senior. In HIGH SCHOOL. Now, I’m not sure which one of you allowed this to happen, but it is simply NOT OK for him to be this old, for him to be looking forward to what to do “after I graduate”, for him to say things like “apartment, rent, job” and mean things that don’t include mom!

It’s. Not. OK!

This past weekend a good friend of mine who happens to be a photographer as well (and a darn good one!) got together with my son for his senior pictures. Now, The Boy HATES getting his pictures taken, so the fact that he willingly did so for me was a sign of this maturity thing I’m still not quite used too. It helped that it was a friend of ours, too. It made The Boy more comfortable, and Todd even made a special trip here to the house to take some additional pictures with The Boy and The Beast.

Then, this weekend, all my kids were away, staying with friends. It’s not often that all three are gone at once, and it was so… so… so… quiet. Is THIS what I have to look forward too? No one bickering with the other, no one calling MOOOOOOOOOOOM, no one bitching about there being nothing to eat, no one else to untangle the dog when he wraps himself around the tree for the 2243295417230129 time, no one to ask for ice cream when I go to the store, no one else for the animals to sleep with so I end up with all three cats and the dog in bed with me, no one to fight over the computer, all. the. quiet…?

(Wait – did I say I WASN’T ready for this? Lemme re-think this…)

Oh, and no one to growl at me in the morning, or crawl into my arms for a morning hug? (And yes, I still get hugs from my son, too! The one who’s GRADUATING – often in PUBLIC!)

Yeah. I’m so not ready for this. The boy seems to sense this (it could be my repeatedly calling him MAH BABY! and telling him he’s cute and pinching his widddle cheeks), and on Friday night before going to his friends, told me to stop working, put everything away, and get in the car – he was taking me to dinner. We headed to his new favorite pizza joint, and since it was Friday night and they were way busy, we put in our order and just bummed around for the hour and a half it took for them to fill it. We walked around the corner to Blockbuster and picked out some movies – but mostly? We just sat around and talked. And laughed. And played paper football. And picked on each other. And picked on the pizza place dudes – who told him that the next time he came in with his mom, they’d give him a discount. When they laughingly told me that meant he’d HAVE to spend time with me, he threw his arms around me and said “That’s fine by me, I love spending time with my mom! She’s awesome, can’t you tell?”

You know, I did something RIGHT with that boy. It’s always nice to realize that now that he’s almost all grown up, and of course I’ll always love him – I also genuinely LIKE him too. He’s quite the kid, and I am SO proud to call him my son.

Maybe I can convince him to just pay rent and stay at home… just a little longer…

So, it’s been two weeks – and you know what that means, right? Yup. But first – I have to get something out of my system… you ready?

HE PASSED HE PASSED HE PASSED HE PASSED!!!

We just returned from the DMV, where the boy took his driver’s test for the second time. He spent the past two weeks telling me “I don’t care. That way, I am not disappointed.” He didn’t even really get behind the wheel again until a couple days ago when he and Papa (or Gramps as the Boy calls him) spent all day together, driving everywhere, and getting more familiar with Soldotna – where we don’t usually drive, and the woman took him last time (as they usually do – more traffic, lane changes, challenging, etc.).

This time, he had a different tester, and I got a good vibe off of her from the beginning. I saw him pass the parallel parking first, and then took off… and turned toward KENAI – which is where we live and drive 95% of the time!

The Boy: When she said take a right, I knew I had it. I KNOW these streets!

They were gone for almost 30 full minutes, and then sat in the car and talked while I tapped my fingers and wished I could see his expression. Then they came to the door – and he GRINNED and I knew then he had done it.

I refrained from happy dancing IN the DMV though, just as he refrained from grabbing me in a hug super tight in front of strangers, and contented himself with grabbing my hand and squeezing it nice and tight instead. I got the hug later.

And happy danced. It looked a LITTLE like that picture up top as the news spread.

Congratulations, baby boy. I’m SO PROUD OF YOU! I totally knew you could do it!

Right now, he’s over at Auntie’s in his first solo drive to put another new part on his truck, before he TAKES HIMSELF TO WORK in a couple hours. And tomorrow? He is doing a dump run for me. And the day after that? Taking his sister to school for me.

Of course, you know what this means, right? Now that I got one all licensed – I gotta start all over with Peppermist.

…HOLD ME.

PS – the splint. He took it off for the duration of the test. Doc told him “Well, I can’t TELL you to take it off, because you could do further damage, but I’m not sure they’ll let you test with it on.” So he took it off – put it back on in the car right after we had license in hand. He didn’t need any advil though – riding the adrenalin high instead.

So, I’ve mentioned my son’s love of sharp and pointy things before, something I can 100% blame on his father. After all, that’s where a lot of the swords came from, as well as a heaping helping of pure Irish brawling blood. It’s amazing how much my son resembles his father – even more so at this age, Kevin and I met when we were in high school. Some of the things he says and does cause the biggest case of deja-vous possible. I’ve had these conversations before, rolled my eyes the same way, just now it’s with the Boy. It’s familiar, comfortable, and amusing. Because The boy?

The Boy is definitely his father’s son.

He proved it today, again, (as if there were any doubt!) at the doctor’s office. It was time for the re-xray of his hand, to see that the break is healing well, etc. The brace he’s been using is in pretty bad shape, and the doc decided to make him a new one.

Which is precisely where my husbands genes stepped in to do all the talking. You see, along with the swords, my son adores the medieval armor too, and at some point in this splinted stint, he’d decided that the material they used to make the splint would be perfect for form fitted arm braces. Braces that caused me to be quickly informed that they’re called “Vambraces” in a tone that said clearly “GAWD MOM don’t you know ANYTHING?” Typically these are made of leather and steel, but for practice, the splinting material (I think it’s this stuff) would be perfect.

So he talked to the doctor and asked if he thought it were possible. The Doc’s eyes lit up, and he called in his assistant, and every male in the office at the time peeked in to see, and after building my son his new splint that he NEEDED – they gave him exactly what he WANTED too. Form fitted braces for the top and bottom of his right forearm, which he and his buddy are going to drill holes into along the edges to add zip ties to close them. (picture coming when the boy gets home from said buddy’s house tomorrow.)

For free.

It’s the last part that stopped me from saying “no” of course, thought I did do a lot of tsking and shaking of my head, and laughing as they traded website urls for more official gear, etc.

I was one away from all girls… I was THIS CLOSE…

With the kids all starting school, at all ages, we’re once again having to trust we’ve taught them what they need to know in order to protect themselves while they’re away from our (often over-)protective grasp. As with everything, I encourage one rule, first and foremost and that is for the parents: TALK TO YOUR KIDS. While some subjects are sensitive, and assault is certainly one of them, it’s a very important conversation to have, and have more than once.

RAINN – the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network – has posted some guidelines to help protect our children from Sexual Assault, and how to talk to our kids about them. We’re surrounded by messages about it through the media, but there’s not a lot of advice about how to talk to our kids. They’ve set up guidelines that are simple and clear, and worth a read. The most important thing, of course, is that no matter how uncomfortable these conversations can be, the important thing is that they happen.

The three Keys that RAINN stress are these:
— Talk to your children about sexuality and sexual abuse in age-appropriate terms.
— Be involved in your child’s life.
— Be available.

We need to empower our kids to say “No” and make sure they feel comfortable coming to us, as parents and trusted adults, if something happens, or they suspect something might. Also, you’ve heard me rant on victim blaming before (if not, stay tuned, I probably will again) – so make sure while you’re talking to your kids, that they know that it’s not the way they are dressed, the way that they talk, or even the way that they walk that attracts the attention of an abuser – the abuser is in wrong, period. Teaching modesty is good. Blaming attacks on a short skirt or tight shirt? Is not.

But in the end – no matter how you go about it, what you choose to say, the most important thing is that these talks happen, so that our kids have every weapon at their disposal for protecting themselves when we’re not around.

PS: Check out RAINN’s back to school tips too! It’s aimed at our college students, but works for our High School teens as well. College aged women are the highest risk for being sexually assaulted. Being aware is often the first step in staying safe!

WTF Universe? Srsly. WTF?

So he failed his test. That was bad enough, and he was quite upset – but his day was not to get much better, because, when The boy returned home from work that night, we discovered his Ferret was having seizures, and had severely dehydrated himself over the previous 24 hours. He stood there with tears in his eyes, I explained that I wasn’t sure anything could be done, but how to try to get the little guy to drink some water, and to just cuddle and love on him for a while.

By morning, it was clear there was nothing that could be done.

I talked it over with The Boy, before school, and he asked me to take the lil guy to the vet, and if it was decided there was nothing that could be done, to take care of it before he got home. He went to get ready for school, and hit the garage door with his fist as he headed to his room.

“Mom, I think I just broke my hand.”

…

Yeah. So I checked his hand – he said it didn’t really hurt much, it wasn’t swelling right away, so I took him to school, then called Auntie Ladybug, so that she could help deal with the Ferret. At the vet, they found a mass they were pretty sure would be discovered to be cancer. Bottom line – he was in pain, and too far gone already. There was nothing that could be done, so we had to put him down. Auntie Ladybug and I buried him in the backyard, next to our cat that died a few years ago of old age.

It wasn’t easy, at all, to make the decision, and to hear the pain and sadness in his voice when he called to ask if it was done. When I picked him up though, there was another cause for the pain. His hand was swollen, and it was clear he had indeed done more damage to his hand rather than to my door.

So, it was off to the doctor – on a time crunch, as I needed to work at 4pm – and we got him seen. He’d fractured the metacarpal ‘neck’ of his right pinky – the spot just below the knuckle in his hand. We got him splinted up, and called in to his work to get the night off, and than dashed home so that I could do my job too.

At some point, in the doctors office, I knew he’d started to get a handle on things, and return to the boy I see every day. Wanna know what clued me in? When he was standing behind the cute PA at the computer, and mimed grabbing her butt – and referred to her afterward as “the one with the grabbable ass….”

That’s my boy.

(but Universe? If you could give us a rest between beatings, I’d sure appreciate it. At the very least, provide me with happy drugs – like, oh, margarita’s as big as my head? ktnxbai!)