Code Red Cancelled

I sent the boy to school yesterday, all legs bending properly. It appears to be growing pains - yesterday he complained of pain in his right leg, and this afternoon, said his left thigh felt sore. We will still seek out the specialist, because they are good to know, but in the meantime, we are returning to normal around here. Knocking on wood, loudly.

In other news, we hit Trader Joe's last night to stock up on some groceries and it was packed with Christmas goodies. We came home with just a few, namely the gingerbread house (natch) and the advent calendar (double natch), and the CANDY CANE JOE-JOES. A note: when my time comes, and I go to my great reward, I would like to be buried with a box of these tasty morsels.



Do you realize that Christmas is coming? I KNOW, right?! But still... You know, I do try to be somewhat organized, and not to fly too much by the seat of my pants, but it does still sneak up on me. So I've decided that one thing that might be a good way to get in the spirit is to host a party, here on my blog. It'll be sweet, because I don't have to clean my house, but I can still enjoy your charming company. Please come, this Sunday, bring your best Christmas recipe, or story, or the best/worst Christmas present you've ever received, or just come and vent about the fact that Christmas is less than a month away and you are using up valuable shopping time by reading blogs instead of getting things done.

I'll be here, with a plate of Candy Cane Joe-Joes and a cup of coffee. See you then!

the land of worry

When Joe-Henry was first born, it was clear to the doctor's but not to us that there was something different about him. All we saw were these eyes, wide open, that took in the whole room and the measure of everyone he saw. But the nurse noticed it first: He had a large birthmark that ran the length of his left leg, and two of his tiny fingers on his right hand were, well, not tiny. Or at least not as tiny as the other three fingers on that hand. There were whispers amongst the staff, and eye contact, and after his bath, and some initial routine baby tests, they whisked him away to the NICU. After days of tests and more tests, days in which I could not feed him lest he have involvement in his intestines, it was concluded that he had something called Klippel-Trenaunay Syndrome. We could barely say it at the time, sleep addled and worried as we were, but in the years since, it has become another member of our family. It is something of an identity - not just for Joe-Henry, but for us, his parents, as well. It won't always be that way, there will come a time when he will make decisions about how to deal with it, if indeed he has to, on his own. But until then, it's mine, too.

We have been fortunate, so fortunate. His case is fairly mild, and his involvement does not cause him constant, debilitating pain. There have been a few bouts of cellulitis, which have been scary, and some odd hiccups here and there, but mostly it's just the syndrome's underlying there-ness that has caused my hair to turn white in places. It has just been this other creature sitting in the corner that looks me in the eye when he gets an odd symptom, as he did last night, when his left leg wouldn't bend.

I took him to his pediatrician today, who recommended ibuprofen for a few days, and if it gets no better, an mri. I've been in touch with the folks from the support group, sending emails, receiving knowledge and hope due to their familiarity with this terrain. I've requested a referral to Shriner's Hospital in Portland, because I've heard of an ortho specialist who has a lot of knowledge about kt, which is almost as rare as the syndrome itself.

I'm doing my best to take action, to stay positive, to not worry too much. I am staying within my worry speed limit, working hard not to get too far ahead, to not picture my boy being wheeled into surgery, or hobbling about as a grown man. But it's so hard. This is when motherhood is hardest for me - I can soothe away bad dreams, stomach aches, trouble in school, temper tantrums. But this - this is just me keeping the monster at bay so that he doesn't pick up on it. I busy myself with tasks, I keep my voice cheerful, but all I want to do is have someone, someone who knows for sure, tell me it will be alright. And I know that just isn't going to happen. Because no one really knows for sure, do they? That is the cold, hard fact of parenting: there is so much that is unknowable and out of our control.

That is the nasty bitch of motherhood, right there.

A good thought needed

Last night, as Joe-Henry was coming up the stairs from playing music with his friend next door, he complained that suddenly he couldn't bend his knee. I thought maybe he just tweaked it a bit on the stairs, but after a while it became clear that, no he couldn't bend it much at all, and it hurts him when he sits, and getting on the floor (which he has to do at school) is nearly impossible. His left leg is pretty involved with his k-t, and I'm worried that it's some symptom of his this blasted syndrome, and even more worried that there is no one here to deal with it. I'm not panicking, but my intuition is telling me it's not just growing pains, either. I think I'll be taking him to the doctor today, I'll let you know.

A Treatise on Panties

You have the title of this post. If you, like me, think there is a point at which you do not need to know so much personal information about a person, then you will stop reading. But I'm not reading it, I'm writing it, and I'm out of fresh, witty insightful material. I have dug to the very bottom of my barrel, so here you go. If you turn back now, there might be hope for you.

There is an old family story about me. When I was about three, we had a house full of relatives visiting, and my mom, up to her elbows in Lutheran hospitality, decided it would be okay if I dressed myself for church. As my uncle carried me down the aisle of Our Saviors Lutheran Church, a smile broke across his face. As he handed me to my mother, her face grew red, and hot, and she marched me back out of the pew, down the aisle and back out to the car, where she had my father drive us home so she could put a pair of proper cotton panties on my bare bum. Apparently, we made it back for the sermon just in the nick. We were late for the opening hymn, but I'm sure mom didn't mind, because of the show off who always sat behind us and insisted on singing harmony, which cheesed her no end. Besides, better late than immodest.

When I was just out of college, I stayed for a couple months with my college roommates at the home of one of their moms, a single divorcee, who gave us all garter belts for Christmas. It was my first gift of that type - I've been given lingerie by a few men in my time since then, most notably my husband, but it seemed like a very loving, cosmopolitan, grown-up gift. I used it once or twice, but mostly I just liked the idea of it.

When I was in my late thirties, I shared a dressing room with a bunch of younger women, one of whom had just started wearing a thong, and swore by it, and so darn it, I had to get one too. It made me feel sexy.... when I looked at it in my drawer. But as soon as I put it on, I felt, well, like I had kitchen twine caught up my ass. I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to pick something out of there.

I've tried, since then, to wear a thong, trying on different styles of thongs, different fabrics, but it all feels like a nasty joke that I'm not in on. It feels kind of mean, like whoever designed them was someone who never intended to wear one. I fully admit that the IDEA of them is sexy, and that granted, they are not meant to be worn for long. And unfortunately, I will resort to them on occasion, having run out of clean, comfy, normal panties. But all day? Oy, it puts me in a bad mood. I need to take an extra dose of lexapro just to make it to lunch. Someone once gave me a very good piece of advice when I was shopping for lingerie for my honeymoon. They said "see how it looks around your ankles, because that's pretty much where it'll be most of the time." Honestly, that's where it's most comfortable.

I buy my undies in bulk now, from Costco, like a lot of other women in America. It makes me kind of sad, lumping them in my cart with cases of soup and nose spray and giant bags of coffee. I would love a sexier alternative.

If only sexy was comfortable.

For Sharing the Path...

The pies are baked, the turkey is waiting it's fate in my refridgerator, and the house is still dark. The floor is cold to my bare feet, and I see thick frost on my old car out our dining room window. It's November, alright. Even the kitties are curled up in the down blanket on the sofa.

I woke up early this morning, coughing and hacking, so not wanting to wake the sleeping angel men in my house I padded out to my computer. Thanks must be given today. Because I am oh, so thankful. If you read the paper at all, or watch five minutes of the news at six o'clock, unless you're the headline, you're probably thankful, too. And if you ARE the headline, please know that my heart is with you. truly.

I am thankful for the Lego airlines plane that I just stepped on under my computer desk, for all the toys scattered around my house by a merry imp. A merry imp who seems to be getting a huge influx of testosterone, and is changing daily. Growing taller, getting wiser and funnier by the hour. I am beyond thankful for him, the word "thanks" seems to catch in my throat, it's not enough. Not nearly enough.

I'm thankful for the husband who keeps me grounded, who makes me laugh, and who's intimacy I treasure more than anything. He will not believe this, but he is the most positive person I know. Because he's not a Pollyana, but he keeps going, keeps trudging forth in the world, making a difference in large ways and small just by being himself. He's kind and he's generous and he doesn't suffer fools. When I am with him, I feel like I'm the person I've always wanted to be.

I am thankful for my extended family - my in-laws who make me feel as though I were the best thing to happen since sliced bread. We've not been without our itchy scratchy moments, but they're few and far between, and it just proves that we're family. But how many women can say their mother-in-law is one of their dearest friends? I love their company, I miss them like crazy today, and someday, I hope to find the recipe to Mom's Oatmeal pie. I've tried to recreate it from the internet, and I nearly killed seven people last year who tried to choke it down. Mom - if you read this, and can find the recipe, please send it again!

I'm thankful for my brothers and my sister and my nieces and nephews and their wonderful, growing families. For our shared history and memories and our future adventures. My siblings were all much older than I, so we never really shared that giggling under the covers stuff, and there have been times when we didn't see much of each other at all. But I'm so grateful for their wisdom and guidance and for the fact that they never rub it in that I'm the baby. In fact, they treat me like a grown up, and I'll always strive to earn that.

I'm thankful for my job, and my colleagues and most importantly the kids who try so hard, every day to do their best, to communicate and show me their beautiful hearts. I'm thankful for "NO Anne", and "I don't like...", and lost markers, always yellow and pink, and jeans that are so loose they fall off as he walks down the hall. I'm thankful for the staff that guides me as I learn more about autism, thankful for the laughter and the tears and the sanity they provide.

And I'm thankful, so thankful to my friends who read this far. By some miracle of wires and networks and stuff I don't understand at all, we've connected. Some of you, I've never met, but I feel as though we've shared a bottle of something somewhere along the line. As I've stepped gingerly into the blogging waters, you were there when I shared my most embarrassing stories, my gushing parent stories, my horror stories. You've always had something to say, you've made me feel like less of a dork, and you've made me laugh out loud. You all have your own unique voices, and I love reading your stories. You inspire me daily, and I'm so grateful for all of you: There's Suttonhoo of course, with her infinite knowledge of just about everything and her heart as big as the desert sky, my real-life friend who inspired me to blog in the first place; then there's Franklin, my first official friend I don't know in real life, my sister of a different mother, who makes me spit my coffee out my nose with every thing she writes; there's MinivanMom, with her passion and her nerve and her desire to make the world better daily, there's Lola, the beautiful and kind and fiercely multi-talented; there's Kari the ridiculously talented, hysterically funny and well dressed; there's Rodius, with his humor and depth and heart, and of course the mighty Thumper; there's Rodi's mom, Purelight, with her wisdom and grace and fabulous sense of humor; there's my girl Donna, who's comments always make me feel like I'm chatting with a long lost friend; there's my real-life pal Claire, with her amazing mothering skills and sense of home; there's Kimberly, whose path is so different from mine but whose grace and good heart inspire me. I know there's some I've forgotten, and for that I ask your forgiveness. My house is awake now, and the Lego plane under my desk is being dragged across my big toe, so I'm losing my train of thought. Plane of thought? Anyway....

Today and always, I wish you all a deep well of thanks, full of moments to make you laugh, and think, and hopefully share, in your own amazing voices.

Do a Great Thing....

Are you looking for a way to thrill a child this Christmas, (or perhaps a whole LOT of children) and at the same time, help another child in a third world country? For $399.00, you can give one, and get one, and $200 is completely tax deductible.

Check this out, but do it quick - it's only available for another week:

One Laptop Per Child

While you're on their website, you can check out the laptops amazing features, as well as link directly to David Pogue's excellent review, AND his video review. You can also read a great review, written by a twelve year old user.

Merry Christmas, and you're welcome!

Now THAT'S Optimism....

Tonight, at bedtime, with the lights off, we chattered sleepily about a bully at school, having just watched "He's A Bully, Charley Brown". They always fill the second half hour of any Charley Brown special with the odd, sloppy seconds Charley Browns, the ones without the charming voice overs, the ones that you suspect might have been dashed off on a cocktail napkin over martinis made with expensive vodka.

Anyway, I was trying my best to explain the difference between defending yourself and being mean. I said, "Well, defending yourself is like saying firmly 'stop doing that - it's not okay', and being mean is saying 'stop doing that - it's not okay BUTTHEAD".

He was quiet for a moment, then he said, "wow, mom. If my butt were on my head it would be so much easier to wipe."

Thank God I have this kid, because I could never in a million years make up anything that funny by myself.

When You Wish Upon A Star

Say what you will about The Wonderful World of Disney: It's manipulative, it's ferociously capitalistic, it's driven to brand and license every adorable character within an inch of it's life. Yes, yes, it's all true. But I'll tell you what, it really is the happiest place on earth if you have kids. Of course you pay for it through the nose (and if you're me, in more ways than one - I came down with a nasty cold our last day there), and you'll never feel your feet again from all the walking and standing in line, and you'll crave quiet like an drunk craves the demon drink, and it's guaranteed that at least one person will meltdown every day, although it will not always be a child.

But where else can you get hugged by Winnie-The-Pooh,



get a license to drive your dad around the bend at age seven







and fly a rocket all by yourself?



Where else can you become a Jedi in Training,



defeating Darth Vader AND assist Buzz Lightyear in saving the Universe from the Evil Zorg? All in the same hour? Where else can you help a pirate named "Honest John" find his treasure?



And where else can you stand in line for twenty minutes for a one minute ride on a roller coaster with Grandpa and have it be the bellylaugh of a lifetime?

Once, when Joe-Henry was about four, we hit Disneyland for some random occasion. We lived within an hour's drive then, so we had the California pass, and all we did was visit with Winnie-the-Pooh. We'd finish up standing in line, he'd hug Pooh, and we'd just head on back to the back of the line for another round. On this particular visit, we had waited in line to see Pooh, and he had to go on a lengthy break. He whispered to his "handler" to have us come back during one half hour time slot, so we came back to see Pooh at our appointed time. As we were arriving, he was too, and he saw Joe-Henry, and got down on one knee and opened his arms. Joe-Henry ran to him, and Pooh hugged him tight, and then slipped a note into his hand. He couldn't read yet, but I read the note to him. It was a handwritten note in Pooh's characteristic script, and it said "Joe-Henry - Pooh luvs you like Hunny." I burst into tears, and Joe-Henry has kept the note in a special place ever since.

He knows now that Pooh is just a person in a costume (I'll tell you that sad tale some other day - but for now I've promised to not make certain people cry), but I think that Disneyland, and all that it entails -



family, friends, and a few days of YES, LET'S DO! - really, truly do carry more than a smidgen of magic.

The Good Fight

For Joe-Henry's birthday, we got to go to Disneyland, where he was chosen with some other kids to save the Universe from the Dark Side. Here are a few pics....

They got to wear robes


And practice with light sabers


Use the Force


Darth Maul doesn't stand a chance against this young padwan


The Dark Side has been vanquished - we're all safe. At least until the 4:30 show.

Seven Years Ago...

I was given a new identity.
It didn't stick immediately, because no one called me by my new name right away, and if they did, they said it in such a way that you could hear the quotation marks surrounding it, like when you first get married and someone calls you "Mrs."

After years of trying, and months of waiting, we had a little baby boy.
And he had parents.
My husband and I.
That was us.

I was his Mom.

It took me a long time to grow into my new self - sometimes, I still feel like I haven't got my arm completely through my sleeve. But there is no shaking it off, because, well, he talks now, a lot, and can yell my name when he needs help: "MOM!"

That's me. That's who I am.

He can do so much on his own now - not like in the beginning. He can walk and talk and get dressed by himself (though he still begs for my help), and makes friends and does homework, and operates in the world without me hovering nearby for a full six hours. Yikes.

You'd think that this identity of mine might loosen up a bit, with that freedom, but it doesn't. It wraps itself tighter around me, and I'm realizing, seven years in, that this is me, now, for life.

Mom.

Hopefully, I won't mess it up too much. Just enough that he'll have stories to tell, and something to gripe to his friends about.

Oh, and that seven year old? He is full of light, and dark and music.
And he is my son.

Another milestone

With not much to do yesterday (or actually many things to do that I was in deep denial about), I decided it would be a great day to take JH on the Max train to the Children's Discovery Museum. It's our favorite place to go, and riding the Max is not only an entertaining ride, it's my only surefire way to not get lost on the way. My nickname around here is Magellan. You get the picture. I also figured it was Joe-Henry's last chance to ride for free, since he turns seven in (gulp) a few days, and that's the cutoff age for free rides. When I told him this fact, he panicked, and said he needed to get a job so that he'd have money to ride. I told him if he takes out the recycling, I'd pay for his tickets on Max.

We had a decent time at the Museum, had it not been for the bossypants older girl in the play grocery store who hogged the cash register for the better part of an hour, it might have been a lot better. He asked nicely for a turn once, and she shoo'd him away with some lame story, so I finally told Joe-Henry to go tell her he only had a few minutes left to play so he needed a turn, she proceeded to give him instructions on the correct way to work the check out line. She apparently didn't know who she was dealing with, so he set her straight with something like "I've WORKED HERE BEFORE - besides, it's just PRETEND. THANKS ANYWAY."

He didn't add "BEEYOTCH", but I know he would have if he'd had it in his vocabulary.

And yes, I know, it won't be long now.

Aaaaanyway, on our trip home, sitting on the Max, I was kind of lulled into my post-chaos coma, staring openly at the mass of humanity sharing our ride: The older couple, nattily dressed, holding hands; the really young black kid with the amazing tattoo of what I'm sure was his baby on his forearm; the homeless guy with taped glasses, reading a philosophy book; the mom and her college-age daughter, her lap piled high with Nordstrom bags, discussing what kind of burritos would be best to buy to stock her new freezer in her new apartment. The daughter stared straight ahead, barely giving her mom an answer, while her mom did her best to engage her in conversation, talking about her new apartment and roommates, but doing her best to not sound like an eager puppy. "Wow", I thought, "couldn't she at least manage some eye contact? Or just a change in inflection? Throw your mom a bone, here - she's doing her best. She just took you to Nordstrom's for pete's sake!"

I put my arm around Joe-Henry, and absent-mindedly kissed the top of his head. He looked up at me, with a pained expression, and then rose up to his knees to whisper in my ear.

"Mom. It embarrasses me when you kiss me in public."

I looked at him, his sweet cheeks, his chapped lips, his tousled hair. Tempted as I was to be ornery and kiss his face all over, I managed to whisper "Okay, sweetie. I'll try not to do it anymore." I removed my arm from around his back, and sat, looking toward the front of the car, doing my best to choke down the huge lump in my throat. I knew this day was coming. I just didn't expect it so soon.

Last night at bedtime, we all snuggled on his tiny bed, all three of us, while he read to us from Diary of a Wimpy Kid. We laughed 'til we cried, and when it was time for lights out, I tucked him in, hesitating for just a moment.

"Mom. It embarrasses me when you kiss me in public. But not when you kiss me at home."

And with that, I got a sweet taste of my future as the mother of a big boy.

Happy Veteran's Day

jh&flag
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

I have Monday off - a paid holiday for me. I'm not a Veteran, but my brother is. He is not off on Monday. So. Not. Fair.

Still and all, we had a perfect Autumn afternoon for our small town Veteran's Day Parade. As liberal as I am, I get a huge lump in my throat watching the flag go by, carried by, well, pretty much everyone.

When my dad was in the nursing home, with his memories fading, I remember the story my brother told of a visit with him on Veteran's Day. They wheeled all the residents out to the flag pole, and as they raised the flag, my dad removed his cap, and sat up straighter than he had in months, and saluted until they finished playing "Reveille" on an old cassette tape. As much as I miss him, I'm glad he's not around to see how our flag is used today. He'd have some choice words for our leader, I'm pretty sure.

I disagree with so much about what we are doing to our country today. But I will always, always be grateful to those who are serving our country. So, to all you Veteran's out there - Thank you.

If you want to see a few more photos of our day at the parade, check it out here.

In Five, Four, Three....

Time is giving me the business these days - it is moving too fast, and I can't keep up. My bones and muscles strain at the effort, but it just isn't happening. My dishes sit in the sink for two days because I've been gone from sunup to sundown and so has my husband, my laundry is piled high, and my son is a few inches taller than he was this morning.

He has a birthday coming up, and it is striking me particularly hard that he is no longer little. I mean, of course, he is, but now he's a KID. Not a baby, not a toddler, not even a little boy, really, but a kid. And a boy kid at that. Gone is the little one who thought pink converse were all the rage, and wanted to be Ariel for Halloween. This kid hides his eyes when he sees people kiss, and says loudly and emphatically (YUCK!) He still tells me that he'll play with girls at recess, but more out of necessity - with his syndrome, he just can't run as fast as the boys, so he's stuck there playing on the playstructure. But he's NOT playing house with them. He is driving a bus, or a train, and if they want to play house, well, they'd better move on back. It will be interesting to see what happens when he sees his favorite friend in the world - Grace - next week at Disneyland. Will they fall into their old, easy friendship, or will it be something new, fraught with gender issues? My bet is that they'll be a little nervous at first, but then will relax into their soulmate status, and have the time of their lives.

I always feel like I'm shot out of a canon when his birthday rolls around. Thanksgiving arrives just as I'm cleaning up the wrapping paper from his birthday, and then Christmas, with it's preperatory madness is breathing down my neck. But this year, it's something bigger - it has more to do with years than months or weeks. Decades, in fact. Soon, before I know it he will be ten. When I held him in my arms in the hospital, ten wasn't even in my vocabulary. People who had toddlers were bearers of ancient wisdom, and people with ten year olds, well, they were just too old to remember what it was like. There was no way they could even remember that far back.

I have news for my old self - that might be true of some parents. But I remember. If I close my eyes, I can still smell my baby. He doesn't smell like that anymore, not by a long shot, but I'm going to keep sniffing, because someday, sooner than I care to realize, he won't let me sniff him at all. I still will, of course. Surreptitiously, while getting my mandated one hug per visit home, when he comes back from college on break with mountains of laundry and stays for fifteen minutes because he's heading out with his friends. And honestly, it's what I want for him. That his luck holds with his syndrome and that puberty doesn't bring about health challenges, and if it does, that they're minor and maybe only embarrassing, but no not even that. I'm his mom, I can wish for that even if it isn't necessarily realistic. And I fervently, fervently wish that he has good friends that love and understand and honor him, and make him laugh, and appreciate his gifts and challenges. I have friends like that, and it makes the world a much better place.

In the meantime, he's still six for another six days. I think I'll go take a whiff right now. I'm still bigger than he is, for at least another year.

Perfect Description

Tonight, in the bath, Joe-Henry was lamenting the fact that his older neighbor friend doesn't listen to him, and then JH gets really mad, and gets physical with him, and then his friend tells on him and JH gets in trouble. I posited that, because his friend has a big brother and gets teased a lot, that maybe he thought of JH as a little brother.

To which he replied, "Mom, he's not acting like a big brother. He's acting like an 'OH brother'".

Rock On

Keeping the kid entertained by turning on the camera in my computer.

Look what I caught....

So Proud, Part II

Last night at a large family dinner for my brother, who is having a milestone birthday this week, Joe-Henry was doing his usual dawdling. His nose was running, and he kept wiping at it with his sleeve, AND eating his enchilada's with his hands. With Charley and I at opposite sides of the table, he got two different directions at the same time: "Use your napkin to wipe your nose" and "Use your fork".

Without skipping a beat, and because he knew it would make us proud, he stuck his fork up his nose.

Sure it hurt a bit, but he knows that in this family, funny isn't funny unless it's slightly dangerous. So he took one for the team.

As we like to say around here, the ham doesn't fall far from the tree.

At The Moment

Lola tagged me this morning, and I'm glad, because even though I'm not signed up to do the blog a day thing, I like to keep up!

Wearing: Turquoise snowflake pj's, blue socks and big fluffy white robe

Hair: unfortunate

Makeup: smeared under my eyes

Last thing said: "I had a dream we got married again, and I put the wrong date on the invitation and all these people showed up but there was no caterer, so we rescheduled. We charged people $20 a head to come to the wedding. I was mortified, but you weren't mad at me."

Last phone call: to my sister to remind her of our brother's birthday party on Saturday.

In your bag: my orange emergency kit with bandaids and lipstick, my wallet, my staff badge and some tampons.

Plans for today: to do my best, then go to the staff happy hour after work, or just come home and hang out with my family.

Last thing bought: a silver lamé jumpsuit and silver bike helmet for Joe-Henry's alien costume, a huge rubber spider and a tee shirt (all at Goodwill)

Listening to: the sputter of the coffee maker

Last showered: yesterday morning (I'm not there yet today)

Looking forward to: going to Disneyland with my family for JH's birthday

Worst part of the day: I'll tell you about the worst part of the day yesterday, because I just woke up today. Three of the kids in our class are going to be attending a new school (my son's, in fact) because they had to find another place for them due to overcrowding of our class. I have a LOT of issues about this, first and foremost being that I truly worry about how they will do and how it will affect the kids. One of the girls in my group is going, and she is best friend's with one of the boys in my group. They love each other madly. When his autism gets really big, he talks incessantly, saying negative things, usually "I don't like.." But during calendar time, they mentioned that the three who will be attending the new school were on a field trip there yesterday, I looked over and he was just sitting there, with quiet tears streaming down his face. It broke my heart into a million pieces.

Best part of the day: snuggling at bedtime with JH, while he read to me.

Favorite person of the day: My husband and my son. Don't make me pick between the two.

Thinking about: the fact that I have to get ready for work and I'm doing this instead.

Current annoyance: that I need to drop my husband from my health insurance because it eats half my paycheck, and I think that sucks.

Current obsession: what color to paint my dining room.

Feeling: rushed, but glad it's Friday.

I tag Franklin, and Rodius.

The Halloween Check List

Halloween went as expected yesterday:

Excitement - check
fun costume - check
trick or treating with best friend - check
tons of candy - check
HUGE MELTDOWN - check, check, check.

If you think that's from the candy, you'd be mistaken. One piece only, it was just exhaustion and too much excitement.

And starting the morning winning an award for being one of the most respectful first graders at an assembly, and he has a healthy sense of irony.

And being almost seven.
I've told him that seven year olds DO NOT HAVE TANTRUMS.
So he's getting it out of his system while he can.

Of course he hasn't put it together that I'm forty something and still have tantrums...

Shhhhh! Don't tell on me.