jubyred

Thanksgiving 1997

Ten Years Ago on Thanksgiving.

Item 1

I hate being “That Mom.” I didn’t like those broads before I had kids, and they still make me crazy.  But I’m beginning to get it.

I think it started with the diagnosis of BoyChild’s peanut allergy when he was three years old. Suddenly I had to deflect all danger from this kid in a way I had not dealt with before. Instead of just worrying he would fall down the stairs or choke on his peaches, I had to find some way to control his food intake when everyone we came into contact with wanted to feed my kid. I‘ve said this before, but he is an EATER.

We had a lock on the pantry for 2 years not to protect him from allergens, for we had long ago disposed of anything suspect, but because he would sit down and eat 5 slices of bread in one sitting. He would spoon Ovaltine into his chubby little mouth.  And on more than one occasion, I have found him elbow deep in the mayo. His Grammy says he is a joy to cook for.

So, everyone who shows up brings some li’l sumpin sumpin for him, and I have to be the mean Food Police, the big ole downer to say, “I’m sorry, but those fresh baked cookies that you just brought over might kill him.”

The part that irked me most of all is that I’m just not that person with my kids. I don’t answer questions for them. I don’t do anything for them that I’m pretty sure they could take on. On a day-to-day basis, I’m much meaner to my kids than that. There are no special dinners just because you don’t like what we’re eating (oh wait, that never happens). I limit all options and expect them to deal with it.

School began last week. We all woke up and got dressed and walked BoyChild to the bus stop. We took some pictures and waved “goodbye” And so began the week of letters to and from his teacher. The first day, we had dropped off all his school supplies including snacks galore. At snack time, she wouldn’t allow him to eat anything because she was freaked out about the allergies. He’s a pretty easy-going kid, so no drama ensued, but still…I bought the snacks. So, I wrote a nice little note explaining he could eat those. By the time she wrote me back, on Wednesday, she said those snacks were gone because the other kids ate them and could I bring in some more? Okaaay. I wrote back and said, “Sure!”

All week, he would come home and say he was bored. “All they do is baby stuff.” Getting him up in the morning was a struggle. He was hating it. And that was unlike him. When he complained that he didn’t have time to finish his lunch, I told him he should talk less and eat more. When he complained that he has to use the bathroom only at the bathroom time when the whole class goes, I told him that that’s the way they do it there and his body will adjust (but ask your teacher to go if you can’t hold it.)

Then on Friday, he brought home his work for the week and it was sad. He had a folder of the most basic work, recognizing colors and “find all the squares on the page” kind of crap. He’s a bright kid, sure. But he’s almost six. We’re a little past “can you find the blue triangle” stage. His report for the week said he was having trouble paying attention. Another telling sign for me.

Like any mother, I know my kid. He can be a real pain in my ass and he can be bratty and impossible. But a few things are givens with him. He is socially adaptable in most every situation. He is eager and ready for anything. He thrives if he is engaged even a little. He can sit and concentrate for long periods of time. And he loves school. He craves it. He loves the kids, he loves the activities, he loves the teachers. That’s never been an issue.

All I could think about was the Montessori principle of capitalizing on a child’s inherent desire to learn. Children learn to hate school because of their experiences. Hating school is not inevitable. But this is how it goes…kids are bored, not challenged or not getting the help they need.  They are not connected, not engaged, and everything is geared to the group instead of the individual child. If we didn’t get this right, and soon, he would be lost.

So, I sent a very nice letter to his teacher asking if we could find a time to talk about the kindergarten curriculum and what our options are in terms of something more advanced. I explained that there will be discipline issues if he’s bored and tried not to make it sound personal at all.

Later that day, the school principal called me to discuss it.

So, on Monday, the principal walked BoyChild to his new classroom with his new teacher (certified in Gifted curriculum). He will be assessed this week and the class will be broken into groups according to abilities then each group will be taught accordingly. He will also be going to a 1^st grade class for part of the day for reading and math. But he gets to hang with his li’l buddies for Art and PE and all the fun stuff.

A few hours later, his new teacher called me to introduce herself and ask me personally what the deal is with his allergy. I was delighted. She also loves next door to my Boot Camp trainer. It is destiny, I tell you.

Yesterday, BoyChild bought his lunch for the first time. When I asked him about what he ate, he said he had some chicken nuggets and some peaches. “There was some cake thing but it didn’t have ingredients on it so Ms. Phillips said I shouldn’t eat it.”

“She walked with you through the lunch line?”

“Yep. She helped me get all my food and asked the lunch lady about all the foods.”

I heart Ms. Phillips. This is why she was Teacher of the Year last year. He is in good hands. Guess that means I should let go a bit, huh? 

The Peanut Pickle

It has begun.  My utter hysteria over Kindergarten beginning tomorrow.  Stranger than my freak-out is the fact that it has taken me totally off guard.

On Friday, I left work early to pick up BoyChild from camp and take him to his Kindergarten orientation.  Now, keep in mind that he has been to two schools now.  School Number One was a little Montessori classroom with 14 kids and 2 teachers.  Period.  School Number Two was 6 classrooms and a handful of teachers who all knew my children. 

Kindergarten is a million kids, about 800 teachers, and 2000 administrative staff.  There are, oh, I'd say 50 doors leading into the school, and every one of those people are out to get my kid.  Oh, wait, no, that was my li'l nightmare last night.

In truth, I am feeling okay about this whole "some dude who may or may not be jacked-up on Meth is driving my only son to school five days a week" thing.  Sure.  No problem. No, this week's freak-out is the inevitable peanut allergy issue.

I arrive in his classroom and briefly meet his teacher.  She introduces herself using her first name which totally throw me off.  Then she points to where he will be sitting.  She hands him a bag of goodies and then goes to greet another family who has arrived.  First item in the bag, a big ole chocolate covered ALMOND.  Not a good sign.

Really, I understand.  I do.  If you don't have a kid with a nut allergy, it's not in your brain.  I don't fault her so much, but FUCK.  Have you picked up a fucking newspaper in 5 years?  Plus, it totally forces me to be THAT mom.  "Nice to meet you Ms. Pain in my Ass.  But don't worry.  After I smile sweetly at you, I'll just take out my teacher frustration on your vulnerable child."

-Hi.  I think I filled everything out correctly.  This is probably a  good time to mention that he has a peanut allergy (handing her the candy).

-Oh, well, that's an almond.

-Yeah, same thing in his body.  Peanuts, almonds, pecans---allergic to all of them.

-OH!  NO!  REALLY!!!??? (directs all of this to him)  Well, I guess we should keep you away from them then, huh?  How allergic is he?

-Well, he's been tested.  According to his allergist, pretty allergic.  Any ingestion could lead to anaphylactic shock.  It has the potential to be fatal if not treated.  He's pretty good about asking, but we should probably arrange a time to talk about this more if you haven't had a student with this allergy before.  With the right precautions, it's very manageable.  (I can see her eyes are on the door as other families file in.)

-Uh, yeah, okay.  I'm sending him some stuff home on Monday so you can just fill out the form in there.

-Uh, okay.  Is that all I need to do?

-Yep.  Ok, little guy.  It's nice to meet you.  See you on Monday!!

I went and met with the woman in charge of the cafeteria after that.  The basic gist is there are peanuts everywhere.  Cookies, brownies, in salads, sandwiches. 

Next stop, the school nurse.  Filled out a form aso she can keep an Epipen in there for him.  Did I mention, the nurse's office in on the whole other side of the school?

Okay, so here we are. Deep breath.

I have printed up and laminated little cards with his picture on it and emergency instructions that I will distribute to all his teachers-Art, PE, Computer, and Music.  The cafeteria will have one, the school nurse, and the front office. They look like mini-WANTED posters with the words "I AM ALLERGIC TO PEANUTS" on one side and the signs of a reaction and instructions on the back.

I have loaded up his class with every possible snack so hopefully no one else will ever have to bring any in.  He is taking his lunch everyday and has been lectured no less than 10 times on food-sharing and precautions to take.

On his first day of school, he's taking a story book geared towards kids his age about peanut allergies.  Hopefully his teacher will read it to his class.

Short of that, I'm not sure what else to do.

It's a fine line.  I don't want him to feel different.  But shit, everyone is different. Maybe it's good that he gets that now.  I have no idea.  Thank God he's hyper-social and we don't have to deal with any ADD issues or learning difficulties on top of this. 

I knew this day was coming. I guess I just anticipated that it would be about the normal stuff--the letting go of my first child and all of that.  I hate that those feelings, which I'm also feeling in mass amounts, is all jumbled up in this freaking allergy crap.

I am calling the allergist this week and having them schedule a food challenge ASAP.  Basically, they give him a small dose of pure peanut extract and we wait.  If he reacts, they are prepared to treat him.  If not, we figure out if we're safe.  Given his last 2 tests, I think it's worth a shot, terrifying as it might be.

If he was ever in the clear, I don't think I could convince him it's okay to eat peanut butter.  I probably wouldn't even try.

Saturday

And then there was Saturday at the Arts Festival.  My Dad and his wife are visiting for the weekend, so they were blessed to behold the sight of BoyChild rocking the hool-a-hoop. 

Friday

Some random shots of me and The Boy from Friday.  I look at these and can't believe how big he is. 

I Can't Drive 55

I got clocked doing 82 mph in a 55 zone.  Oops. He knocked it down to 68 so the ticket won't be so much, which was nice, but he wasn't nice enough to just drop the whole thing. 

Now my husband consisttly refers to me as some variation of "Speedy." 

The last time I got a speeding ticket was in college, I think.  Driving between my school and my then-boyfriend's school.  I got one and then, maybe 5 days later, I got another one.  But they took my license with the first one.  So when I got pulled over again days later and he asked me for my drivers license, all I had to give him was my ticket.   I started crying and he let me go, noting, "It's not because you're crying.  I just want you to know that."

No such luck this time.  My ability to cry on demand is not what it used to be.  Not that I would stoop to crying just to get out of my civic duty to pay my penance. 

It's About Time

It is 4:16 a.m. and here I am shopping for refrigerators online.  Does anyone else see that as an issue?  That I was snuggly in bed but incomprehensibly drawn to the Whirlpool website?

Holy shit.  What a day.

We have been in a holding pattern for 10 years a month or so trying to figure out what to do next with jobs and moving.  Although I haven't gotten into great detail lately, we have been having a ton of conversations about how to get on with things, so to speak.  I have been needing to move out of this small town where we have been isolated for the past 5 years for, oh, let's see,  5 years.  Don't get me wrong.  It is beautiful here and we have enjoyed our lovely home and have many many fond memories.  But I also think this isolation has been a large part of the reason I had considered a daily regimen of Lexapro.

Drew has been working a contract position for the past year or so.  It's the nature of being a designer.  Many companies like the flexibility of hiring contract designers because then they can fully staff up for a project then dwindle it back down when the project is over...blah blah blah.  It has advantages because it typically pays pretty well, but it is difficult with a family, not knowing if it will be for 6 months or 8 months or 3 years.  Plus, there are no benefits or paid days off, etc.

We knew it was eminent, but the final offer was hammered out today for him to start a new position in a week.  It's not contract.  It's direct hire, a 20 minute commute (as opposed to the 2 hour one he had driving to Coca-Cola downtown everyday), good team, all that jazz.  It's so amazing to see him genuinely excited about this. 

And then, here's what happened next:

He got the offer and within 4 hours, we had sold our house and written a contract on a new house.  Just like that.  We should be out of here and into the new house by April 12th or so. I still can't believe it.

So, after signing our life away and negotiating for some french doors in the sudy, we went back to "our" house and rolled around on the floors and opened drawers and sat on the kitchen island and peed in the upstairs bathroom.  We considered taking a shower just for the hell of it, but that would be a bit awkward should someone walk in, so we decided against it.  It is not, after all, officially OURS quite yet.  Yet.

There's not much to tell about the house.  It's new.  It has a big front porch upstairs and downstairs.  It's in a nice little neighborhood with lots of other families. The house is actually not that much bigger than where we live now, but the space is laid out much better for us.  And, there are two,  yes TWO sets of doors that lead into our bedroom that both close and lock.  So, even if they get past one, they've still got a second to contend with.  After 5 years of sleeping right off the upstairs TV room, this sounds like heaven.  Not having to put a pillow over my head to drown out Max and Emmy on Dragon Tales is sounding pretty damn good right now.

For now, I'll go climb back into bed and enjoy my last 3 hours of sleep, dreaming of bermuda grass and closet organizers.  Later today, we have to go pick out a fridge and decide on blinds or plantation shutters for GirlChild's room.  I'm leaning toward the shutters.

On The Move

So here we go again...the talk of moving has once again been brought up and we're running with it.

Months ago, way before I started back to work, I was sitting aorund one morning watching the Today Show when I caught a commercial from this local realtor who said he had some deal where he would sell your house in 90 days or he'd buy it himself.  So, I kind of tucked that away in my brain where I recently found it.

Last week, we met with Gail, my mental health professional.  We hadn't seen her in awhile because of my new schedule, but since the jungle drums had started to once again pound, we made an appointment to come-a-callin'.  I should point out that the only real time we can see her now is for an 8 am appointment duing the week.  This means we must be up at 5:30 and have everyone up and out the door no later that 6:30 in order to be there on time.  Yes, we are indeed, that committed to our mental health (and that desparate for direction).

Okay, so the big topic of conversation was how insane our life has been every since we started down this road together.  I documented it in this really boring post, if you're remotely interested.

The thing with us is that we have spent the better part of our life with children tag-teaming it.  We totally rock the tag-team.  We learned early on to do the pass off with the kids.  For example, we're all outside doing yardwork.  A toddler is in the driveway and in need of a sippy cup.  One adult says to the other, "You got him?  I'll be right back." You know that move, right?  That means if he runs away, you're the one who is responsible for chasing him and dropping whatever you're doing. I'm off the clock.

Well, it feels like our whole life has been variations of that move.  But none of it by choice. The family life I had in my mind wasn't like this.  It involved more, oh, how should I say it...family time.  But now that I'm working, here we are once more with this bizarre schedule and never having dinner together and disconnected weekends with one person feeling like the other is either in the way or not near enough.  And, the fact is, most of that is because we live in the fucking sticks.

So, enough already.

I called the Mr. Dynamo realtor (what is it with realtors and how much they LOVE themselves, anyway? It is so crazy how their picture is on everything.) and now we have an appointment with him next weekend to discuss the deal.  The secretary was like, "Uh, I don't know if he sells houses way up there," when I called.  So, I hate her.  But his partner called me back and took my address when we scheduled the appointment and didn't give me the old, "Where's THAT?" so, maybe.  Hopefully he won't get halfway here, pull over to call me and bail out when I tell him he has an hour to go.

I have no idea if this will work out.  I know we're going to end up paying a ton of commission on a house we don't have very much equity in to start.  But shit, at this point, I say let's call it a wash just to get out of here.  It took me two hours to get home tonight. Almost as long to get to work.  That's four hours I could be spending with my family screaming at my children and ordering pizza.  I hate that they're missing out on those memories.   

We Will Rock You

For Christmas, BoyChild received a Matchbox Car Race Track that he already had gotten from someone else for his birthday.  So we took it to Target for him to exchange it and allowed him to pick out what he wanted instead.

I should mention that my children have recently discovered Queen.  When I say "discovered," what I really mean is that the two of them have not ceased singing Another One Bites The Dust, Under Pressure, and We Will Rock You for the past 3 months. It's a bit disconcerting to watch my two year old daughter hold her baby doll and sing quietly, "Hey, gonna get you, too."  But I guess that's my fault.

As a result, this is what we came home with from Target:

   

*A diclaimer...the slippers belong to my two year old.  We were cracking up about the truck earlier tonight and decided to record it so we can recall how it used to sound once those batteries mysteriously disappear, but we have a standing rule that it is not allowed in the house.  He is only allowed to play with it in the garage or outside. The garage floor was cold and I didn't have any socks on, so that's why I'm standing around on my tippy-toes in shoes that are half the size of my feet.  You know, in case you were wondering.

No More Climax?

No, it's not just my imagination.  My town is an anomoly.  A soon-to-be-forgotten place.  I'm not even sure I actually exist.

(Thanks to Nick for pointing this out to me.)

 

Small Towns Vanish, at Least on the Map

 

By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

Published: December 10, 2006

 

CHATTOOGAVILLE, Ga., Dec. 9 (AP) — Poetry Tulip has vanished. So have Between and Climax. Cloudland and Roosterville are gone, too.

   

A total of 519 communities have been erased from the newest version of Georgia’s official map, victims of too few people or names too long.

The state Department of Transportation, which drew the new map, said that the goal was to make it clearer and less cluttered and that many of the dropped communities were mere “placeholders,” generally with fewer than 2,500 people. Some are unincorporated and so small they are not even recognized by the Census Bureau.

The state began handing out the new maps at rest stops and welcome centers during the summer.

Gone are such places as Ty Ty, Centralhatchee, Deepstep, Gay, Good Hope, Gum Branch, Talking Rock, Young Harris and Chattoogaville, a spot in far northwestern Georgia that consists of little more than a two-truck volunteer fire department, a few farmhouses and a country store/gas station.

“We’re not under obligation to show every single community,” said Karlene Barron, a department spokeswoman. “While we want to, there’s a balancing act. And the map was getting illegible.”

That does not ease the sting felt by some residents of  the  places that were dropped.

“This gets back to respect for rural areas,” said Dennis Holt, who is leading a community group that wants to restore the good name of Hickory Level, a town of 1,000 in western Georgia that was founded in 1828 and recently put up five new welcome signs. “I’m not sure we’re going to accomplish anything, but I would have felt bad about myself if I didn’t say something about it.”

Mapmaking criteria vary by state, and it is not unusual to have a little housecleaning over time, often to be rid of place names now considered racially offensive. But state mapmakers elsewhere said it was almost unheard of to see hundreds of communities removed in a single year.

In Texas, for instance, few of the 2,076 cities and towns are ever deleted because of strict standards that weigh whether a spot is along a state highway, has a post office or has a population of 50 or more.

North America’s largest commercial mapmaker, however, is not going to follow Georgia’s example. The company, Rand McNally of Skokie, Ill., which sells its products at gas stations and bookstores, said that a change of even a dozen place names on its state maps was rare.

“Our criteria for keeping towns on the map is not just population,” said Joel Minster, the company’s chief cartographer. “We won’t take a town off the map if we can confirm there’s still a landmark, even if there’s no people there.”

Rand McNally generally deals with clutter by varying the size and style of its print.

Because of the complaints, Georgia transportation officials said they would take another look at their guidelines for what constituted a community.

“It’s going to take a little bit of work and time, but I think maybe we can get it resolved,” said State Representative Tim Bearden, who represents a western Georgia county that includes Hickory Level and eight other towns removed from the map. “It’s about history and heritage.” He added that those little towns made good landmarks for travelers.

Some residents, however, do not seem to mind that their hometowns have vanished.

“There’s not even a flashing traffic light here,” Kelly Wiggins, a 49-year-old millworker who lives near Chattoogaville, said with a laugh while scratching off lottery tickets at the country store. “The only way people know us is as the last store before the Alabama state line.”