I read something recently that got me thinking. If I were to die suddenly and, years from now, my boys decided to read this dusty old blog (assuming it's still floating out here in the interwebs in years to come) what is the one thing I could write that would tell them how much I love them?
For my boys - When each of you were placed in my arms, I felt like the luckiest mother on the planet. I loved holding you, singing to you, reading to you, changing your diapers (well, maybe not the explosive ones), bathing you, dressing you up, making you feel better when ever you were sick, scared, or hurt, and taking you out to show you the world.
As you grew, I was so proud of the people you were becoming. One fiercely independent, brave, strong and opinionated. One gentle, wise, kind, and loving. My greatest wish for you both is that you find love and happiness in your life. Success is also nice, but I'll trust that you have the wisdom and strength to find something you are good at and that gives you a steady income. Or a wealthy spouse. That works too. ;)
I love you boys. No matter how much you fight the rules or battle with me and your dad, we will both always love you and support you in the best way we know how.
Just remember this! Mommy loves you! Always!
Thursday, October 20, 2016
I read something recently that got me thinking. If I were to die suddenly and, years from now, my boys decided to read this dusty old blog (assuming it's still floating out here in the interwebs in years to come) what is the one thing I could write that would tell them how much I love them?
Friday, October 14, 2016
People already think I'm weird (and I rather embrace my oddity) so...here goes.
I have IBS. Have struggled with it (and a host of other health problems) for many years. Several people have recommended I try a probiotic supplement to help alleviate symptoms. A month ago I finally bought one that came highly recommended - 6 strains of "good" bacteria for my gut health.
I haven't been able to take it. Why? It's bac...ter...i...a... Bacteria! I am going to swallow bacteria on purpose. Deliberately.
I know they use it to make cheese and yogurt. I know this. But that bug makes tasty tasty food. Food that rips my guts apart (because lactose) but still...tasty tasty food. This is a little pearl of BACTERIA. 6 kinds!!!
Someone reassure me this isn't crazy and that people do this all the time? Thanks.
On an even lighter note, my baby turned 10 on the 3rd. TEN. He is double digits. *sniffle* Here he is being blown away by a suspiciously large birthday candle the teppanyaki chef stuck into his fried rice that turned into a fireworks show. That was awesome.
Posted by Becky at 5:09 PM
Sunday, September 18, 2016
Remember our parents saying that? "When I was your age...we walked 5 miles, uphill, through the snow just to get to school!" or wherever. Us kids would laugh. Sure, sure you walked so much further than we have to. But I did do a LOT of walking and bike riding when I was a kid. A ton! I found myself thinking have I ever used that line on my kids?
I spent today in bed nursing a stomach bug when Max (age 9, almost 10) came bouncing in. He'd had a full day of soccer fun with his dad (opening day ceremonies and events) but once they got home, the dad headed for a much needed nap in his office and Max said he was lonely. Why? Half the house was resting and big brother had gone for a walk (or bike ride) to the store.
My teen walking to the store is not a new thing. His therapist told him quite a while ago that if he was feeling bored or angry or frustrated, go take a walk! I suggested he walk to the QuickChek in Netcong. It's not too far. We always make sure he has pocket money and having a destination in mind rather than wandering aimlessly is a good idea. (He does enjoy wandering aimless too, tho.)
I'm pretty sure my childhood home was a LOT further away from any convenience store than we are now. That got me thinking again. Just how much further did I have to ride my bike to get to my favorite country store than my teenager has to walk? Can I use that "I had to bike 5 miles through the snow just to get a sack of Swedish Fish!" line?
Thankfully, we have Google Maps, Directions and Street View now. I hopped on my computer and plugged in my street address from my middle school years. That's about the age I got really independent and rode my bike anywhere I wanted to go. I wasn't supposed to leave the neighborhood, mind you. But I did, just the same. I didn't know the street address for the places I'd ride to when I was a kid, so I just used street view and virtually rode down the roads I remembered from my youth. Memory is a funny thing. The shortcuts of my childhood were not easy to find! The landscape of my old home town and the surrounding towns has changed so much that one of the stores I used to ride to I can't even locate the general area. It's all industrial with large corporate buildings now. No farm stand and country store anywhere around.
So I rode my virtual bike in the opposite direction and went downtown looking for my second favorite country store. That ride was shorter, but much more hazardous at the time. The roads to get there were much more heavily traveled. I cruised through town following my old bike route (I stuck to back roads where ever I could in a effort to be safe) and finally located the side street where the store used to be. Gone. Torn down for a stretch of shops that looked "colonial" but were not actually 200 years old like the old converted house/store had been. I could go on a tangent here about tearing down history, but I won't.
3.5 miles from my old house to the spot where the Ye Olde Bedford Country Store used to be. That's 7 miles round trip. No wonder I was so fit back in those days, despite the asthma! But I probably undid a lot of that good by spending all my savings on penny candy. *snort*
Back to the teenager and Google. How far is it from our house to QuickChek? 1 mile. So that is a 2 mile, round trip, walk.
Kids! When I was your age, I had to bike 7 miles down sometimes dangerous roads to get to the store!
Heh. Yep, that will be quite satisfying.
|1 mile from home to QuickChek|
|3.5 miles from childhood home to the country store|
Posted by Becky at 5:59 AM
Sunday, September 04, 2016
For those readers with teenagers, first of all, my sympathies. Remember the good old days? When the kids were little and we were MoPs? Mothers of Preschoolers? There was a mom's group with that name that I always meant to join, but chasing after preschoolers is very time consuming. Then you blink and they are starting high school.
That adorable little boy who would hold my hand to cross the street and would run to me when he got hurt so I could make it all better is now in high school. How did that happen?
What's worse, I seem to have lost that deep connection we once shared. We went everywhere together. Did everything together. Mommy and her little buddy. He helped me shop (he just loved to grab things and put them in the cart. We totally needed 12 cucumbers and a jumbo pack of adult diapers!) He helped me unfold laundry. He helped me mess up the house. We watched hours of Bob the Builder, Maisy Mouse, and Little People. Over and over and over. Oh and Caillou. Gosh how he loved Caillou.
He got a wee bit older, but it was still the two of us. Now we loved Ninja Turtles and Pokemon! And any video game with Mario in the title. We'd network our Gameboys together and play mini-games and Mario Party for hours.
Even when the baby brother arrived, everything was great. The baby watched while we played. We looked forward to a time when he'd be able to play with us. It was going to be GREAT!
Then came the accident. The driveway was a sheet of ice...but it was February 14th and I would risk death rather than have my little man miss his big class party and exchanging all those Valentines we'd stayed up late to finish. I'd just strapped the boys into their car seats when my legs just went flying out from under me. I impacted the ledge of the minivan with my ribs, my head hit the car seat and my knees came crashing down onto the ice. I'd never felt pain that bad in my life. I blacked out, but not for long, I think. I came back to my senses and heard Tyler calling "Mommy? Mommy?!" and was able to get him to grab an extra blanket from between the car seats to put over Max. It was below freezing out and the sliding door on the van was wide open on the baby's side. I was on the ground, unable to move.
My brain raced from one scenario to the next. My husband was out of town. No way I could call him for help. I called him anyway, after Tyler was able to get my phone out of my purse. The daddy was in a meeting and I was barely able to talk, the pain was so bad. I couldn't convey the seriousness of the situation and he was impatient with me. I hung up. I could call my mother in law, but she was over 30 minutes away and who knew how long it would take her to get ready and get out the door. It was 7:45 in the morning! Neighbors? I wasn't thinking clearly enough to remember anyone's names, never mind phone numbers.
911? I probably needed to go to the hospital, but...what would happen to my babies? I knew they wouldn't leave them sitting alone in the driveway in a freezing cold vehicle. Would they be allowed in the ambulance? Probably not. The police or someone would probably take them away somewhere. The thought of how scared they would be by seeing me carted off in an ambulance and then put into the care of strangers just horrified me. I had to get up! I had to get off the ice!
I couldn't put any pressure on my knees. I just knew something was fractured. Same with my ribs. I grabbed what ever I could with my hands/arms and tried to drag myself upright, but the ice was too slick. 40 minutes I lay on the ice, struggling. It amazes me that no one saw me there or came to help. Finally, my cell began to ring. It was the school nurse looking for Tyler. I told her what had happened. She offered to drive over to the house and help! She also offered to call paramedics. I told her I was trying to get up but I would call her if I needed help, but that I didn't think we'd make it to school that day. I think I had a head injury too (AGAIN) so that could account for the epic levels of stupid mixed with my introverted "good god no, I don't want all those strangers showing up at my house" tendencies.
I did finally manage to get to my feet, free the boys from their car seats, and Tyler helped Max across the ice and into the house. I was moving very slowly and limping badly. The pain had me seeing large black spots in my vision. If I fell again on the way back into the house...well, we won't go there. Things were already bad enough.
The next two days are a blur until John got home from his trip. I honestly don't know how I managed. I could barely walk or move. I couldn't sleep, the pain was so bad. He pressed me to go see a doctor. The thought of trying to get back down those stairs, into a car, drive 30 minutes, and then walk across a lot all the way to my doctor's office...it was too much. Of course, my regular doctor wasn't available. The guy who saw me took a poke at my knees and ribs, saw the massive bruising and said "You need to go straight to the ER. There's nothing I can do for you here. You need x-rays!" He did give me some pain meds. But I just couldn't bear the thought of getting back to the car, going to the hospital and sitting around the ER for gosh knows how long. I was ready to drop dead as it was.
I just cried and cried. I wanted to get back home, take pain pills and finally get some sleep. So that's what we did. Stupid again. 2 years before I could put any pressure on my knees. Every cough/cold and I was separating a rib. They never healed properly. I ended up with a cane, then a walker. I couldn't do much of anything after that.
I keep coming back to that time. Was that when I lost my boy? Mommy couldn't keep up any more? Mommy wasn't as much fun? Mommy couldn't do as much around the house, so Daddy had to take up the slack which made Daddy cranky... He knew I fell and hurt myself. But I don't think he could process just how broken I was. And the poor baby. He wasn't even 2 yet. He never got to have the Mommy who could get down on the floor and play. Who could sit in circle time at Gymboree and play. Who could play at the park, rather than just barely make it to the bench. Who could walk around the lake and skip stones into the water. The fun Mommy. The active Mommy.
Really. Who wants a broken Mommy?
He's just so angry with me all the time now. I know. Teenagers can be difficult. They can say things that are like a knife to the heart. We would argue. Debate endlessly. He'd say things he knew I would find offensive, horrifying and awful. He blames me for everything wrong in his life. Everything.
Today he tells me I am the only one he can't stand. The one person on the planet he acts this way with. He wants to hurt me. He won't listen to me any more. He says everything I say is a lie.
I just want him to stop picking on and hurting his brother. I ask nicely, at first. I say please (at his request.) He ignores me. He doesn't speak to me. I keep hoping I can get through to him. Remind him of what we had. We were so close. I am on his side. In his corner. Always advocating for him. Wanting the best for him. Wanting him to be happy and healthy.
He hates me. And I don't know what to do anymore.
Posted by Becky at 7:47 PM
Sunday, August 28, 2016
A friend on FaceBook posted the following image today and it was like a mental time machine:
|Avon lipstick samples|
Oh my gosh! It's the 70s and my mom's friend, our neighborhood Avon lady is coming to visit! DING DONG, Avon calling! *happy dance*
I loved Avon day. Mom and her friend would sit chatting and I'd hover nearby waiting to be noticed. Once that happened, I knew I'd be showered with samples. Saaammmmples... Lipsticks, perfumes, lotions, night creams and stuff I didn't even know what it was for. It didn't matter. It was time to play dress up!
I'd use the lipsticks on my lips, cheeks, eyes, where ever looked "grown up" and put on my prettiest dress up clothes.
Of course the samples memory led to memories of all the cool stuff my Mom would get us from Avon for special occasions. Christmas, of course, meant neat stuff in our stockings. Soaps, wash-mits (they were like puppets for the tub), bubbles, lip balm...oh gosh. So much lip balm. I was addicted to the stuff!
|Top secret lip balm that looked like other stuff!|
|You have a burger in your purse? Nope!|
|This was a gift from our Avon lady. Lip balm in his belly!|
|Oh the fruit scented and flavored stuff! Loved it!|
|Halloween! The ghost was a finger puppet too!|
|Blue Bird of Happiness perfume. I still have this bottle!|
|We were dirty little piggies. That piggy bathtub was a nail brush and worked really well.|
|It's A Small World perfumes. I had the girl in the red dress.|
|Of course there was lip balm too. Always lip balm...|
We used our wash mits until they were shreds. Don't even get me started on the jewelry! Somewhere I think I still have a necklace with a chunky letter R on a chain. Wearing your initials or name on a chain was high fashion back then. Heh.
Posted by Becky at 7:16 PM
Monday, June 13, 2016
I turned 50 this year and it seems to have made me even more introspective than usual. Things have been hectic for the last month or so as we run up to the end of school. Lots of projects and getting ready for Tyler to graduate from 8th grade. Next year - high school! It's such a weird thought. My son is headed to high school. Most of the time I feel like my high school days weren't all that long ago.
I had a thought this morning that sent my mind racing back into the past. I was a rather shy and introverted child. I was happy as a clam just sitting alone and reading a book in my bedroom at home. If I didn't have a few extroverted friends, I might never have left the house. Thankfully, there were a few people along the way that would drag me out into the sunlight from time to time. My elementary school friends, Sarah, Laura and Jane. I love you guys. I wish we'd never lost touch. I want to thank my friend Pam for being the first friend who pushed me toward boys and forced me to flirt. Without Pam and, later, Chris - I might NEVER have had a boyfriend. After high school, there was my work friends - Sue, Harry, Kerry, and Sarah. I always seemed to have great luck when I had a friend named Sarah. And Kerry...he was a little person. That was not, however, the first thing you'd notice about him. He had a BIG personality. So big, you didn't even realize he was quite a bit shorter than everyone else. He made me feel beautiful in a wildly inappropriate way. What a charmer! But it was risky dancing with him. Sadly, as is far too common with big personalities in tiny packages, he had serious health problems and passed after complications from a heart transplant. I miss him too.
I also think being inside my own head so much of the time is what made it so hard for me to relate to my brother. He is 5 years younger than me, so the age difference was already difficult, but he was also rather extroverted and high energy. I am a very low energy kind of person. He didn't get me, I didn't get him and we never really bonded very well, sadly. It's a shame. As I get to know him, now, later in life, he seems like a really fun person.
I don't have any of that anymore, sadly. No extroverted friends. No one to drag me out of the house and get me into trouble now and then. I miss it.
Posted by Becky at 10:59 AM
Wednesday, June 01, 2016
My best friend died. Yes, it was many years ago, but I still think about her. Her birthday was May 30th and just a couple days after turning 22, she was gone. John found some stuff in a box today with her name on it. He was looking for something else for me, but she found a way to make herself known. She was like that. Just wanted to make sure she was never far from your thoughts. *grin* (Hi Kath. I haven't forgotten you.) Just out of curiosity, I plugged her name into Google (she would have LOVED Google) and it spit back a website that had her address, family member names and estimated her age at 47. Sadly, no. She is forever 22. Google had a street view of her house, tho. That was pretty nifty.
Last time I saw that house it was painted dark red, had black shutters, and was nearly unseen from the road. Her parents valued privacy and they lived on a VERY busy road, so they had an ancient rock wall that ran along the road and behind that was towering overgrowth and trees hiding their house and yard from view. It doesn't look anything like that now! Somewhere along the line, the town removed that ancient stone wall and put in a sidewalk. That would have come in handy years ago when I was riding my bike to Kathleen's house and, because of all the traffic, nearly getting killed every time. New owners cut down all the plantings, trees, and shrubs; painted the house white, put on a new roof, and now it's all open and grassy. I don't like it.
After studying the street view and the satellite view (so I could see that big back yard again...the tree house is gone too) I virtually toured the town. We spent quite a few years living in Bedford when I was growing up. That was where we stopped roaming for a while. Dad retired from the military and, after moving every couple of years, it was weird just staying put. I cruised through the back roads and found my old house on Google Street View too. My house used to be this gross mustard shade. Now it's painted white. There are TONS more trees and the house is nearly hidden by them from above. I like it.
I found the pond where I took swimming lessons. Springs Brook Park looks more like a pool from above. They've altered it, for sure. You can see the bottom and there is probably less risk from snapping turtles. I'm not sure if I like it.
Anyway, enough nostalgia for tonight. I was going to put screen shots of the places I mentioned in here but depression is sapping my energy even more than usual. That'll do.
Posted by Becky at 11:25 PM
Thursday, May 19, 2016
Like an elevator...one where the car never stops on the same floor twice and at any moment the cable may snap. Life. I've been a little emotional today. I read something on Facebook that really triggered a lot of mixed emotions. Next month, Tyler's 8th grade class is taking an annual trip to Washington D.C. Tyler wasn't invited. He missed out on the 7th grade trip as well. He was SUPPOSED to be invited, but someone didn't send critical emails. By the time we realized we hadn't seen any details about this year's trip, we were told it was too late. Besides, they aren't "equipped" to handle any special needs Tyler might have and don't want to take responsibility for what might happen. Yes, we asked. Yes, we protested.
I call BS on that! He's not that different from his fellow 8th graders. His needs could easily have been met (a list of foods he likes, a room with someone he is familiar with, no loud music, and someone making sure he knows well in advance where they are going, what they are doing and how long he has to prepare.) It's not hard.
He tells us he really doesn't care if he goes or not. But I have a feeling when he's sitting in an empty classroom for 2 days and then hears everyone excitedly talking about the trip on their return. he is going to have regrets. He's going to feel left out. He's going to feel hurt.
And I'll be feeling all that pain and rejection right along with him. He just wants to be a regular kid and treated like a regular kid. It's really not that hard.
Tuesday, April 05, 2016
Thinking about adopting a child? We did! We adopted 2 baby boys to make our little family and we love them more than life. I've advised a number of friends and acquaintances over the years on the ins and outs of the domestic adoption process. (We have little experience with international adoption other than researching agencies and starting to fill out paperwork.) We've talked about private, semi-private and open adoption (we prefer open), going through an adoption attorney vs. an agency (we've done both), creating a portfolio, etc. All very useful.
One thing I've never really talked about are regrets. As a whole, we've been very pleased and very lucky, but there is one thing, if I had it to do all over again, that I would change. Before I get into that, I'd like you to consider something.
Imagine what is going on in the life of a teen who accidentally gets pregnant. If they come from a loving and supportive home environment, chances are that baby won't be placed for adoption. Teens who give their baby up are most likely to come from a chaotic home environment. During the pregnancy, the fetus will likely be exposed to a lot of stress. Fighting, yelling, poor diet...you get the idea. All the literature says pregnant women should avoid stress, maintain a calm and restful environment and talk to their unborn child. They can hear you and are deeply affected by what is affecting momma.
That said, I wish we'd brought our first birth mother home with us. Our baby would have grown in an environment full of love, support and the sound of not only his birth mom's voice, but ours as well. I think it would have made a huge difference. If you have the means and opportunity to have the woman carrying your child come and stay with you during her pregnancy, DO IT.
If you are considering giving your baby up for adoption, please go to a lawyer who specializes in adoption or to a reputable agency. Ask for housing with your prospective adoptive family. That way you can get to know the people who will be raising your baby, they can help take care of your needs, and lower your stress level. It's a wonderful gift and will make you more confident in your choice. They will really want to be there for you and even help with delivery, if you feel comfortable with that.
Monday, April 04, 2016
I was shoveling a salad into my face for lunch today and found myself contemplating the strangeness of life. You know...like you do. See, my salad was liberally coated with ranch dressing. "What's so strange about that," you ask? Well, I hate ranch dressing. Or rather, I used to hate it. Growing up, anything made with buttermilk was eww. And I mean REALLY eww. Make me vomit eww. I wouldn't say I was a picky eater. I ate way more stuff than your average kid. Chili. Chinese food. Tacos. Spinach. Yeah. But I had my list. There was stuff you couldn't get me to eat even if you paid me.
Asparagus! Brussels Sprouts! Lima Beans! Bacon! (I know, right?! What kid doesn't like bacon?) Liver! Gravy with "gizzards" chopped up into it. Raw tomatoes! Oh, the list goes on.
My mother often told me, especially when I'd turn my nose up at something, that perhaps that food item was "an acquired taste" and I'd appreciate it more when I was a grown up. There did seem to be some foods that only grown-ups liked, but I was fairly certain it was a big scam. See, my parents tried to convince me that steak cooked out on the grill was "an acquired taste" and just for grown-ups. Us kids? We'd get Spaghetti-Os or Kraft Mac n' Cheese on those nights when Dad was going to cook out. The steak, wild rice, onion rings and asparagus (ok, I was fine with that last one) was just for Mom and Dad. Us kids? We'd be sent to bed after our boxed dinner and Saturday night was date night. Mom and Dad and their steak dinner, on TV tables in front of a good show like Love Boat or Fantasy Island.
Then, one night, I crept downstairs. I was hungry, not at all sleepy, and curious. Their dinner always smelled soooo good. I crawled to the doorway of our family room and peeked around the doorway to watch my parents eat and watch TV. It didn't take long before they spotted me. I plopped down next to my Mom and asked if I could try a taste of her food. She was very reluctant, but finally allowed me a bite of steak, a fork-full of rice, and an onion ring. They...were...awesome! It was fun staying up late, watching TV and eating off my poor Mother's plate. Soon after, I was allowed to stay up later than my little brother and they would make a little plate up for me with my own TV table. I began to wonder what other "just for grown-ups" items were being kept from me.
I'd try a sip of my mother's various cocktails. Good! I'd try a sip of Dad's cocktails or beer. Not bad! I took bites of lobster thermidor, shrimp scampi, hot crab dip and all the other foods my mother had deemed too sophisticated for my young palate (or, as I more wisely suspected, too expensive to make for more than 2 people.) But I still had my limits. That list in my second paragraph up there was still a no go.
It wasn't until I was in my 30s that I realized bacon was actually really good. Lima beans too. Then I tried asparagus that was roasted and had this amazing sauce drizzled over it. Not soggy from a can. And fresh brussels sprouts cooked in bacon fat with bacon crumbles...yum! Then came the restaurant that gave me a salad covered in ranch dressing (instead of my rather new adult love of bleu cheese) and it was also GOOD. Feta cheese! Bleu cheese! Goat cheese! Oh all the cheeses I'd avoided as a kid because they were "stinky." Sour cream!!! Realizing I loved sour cream was almost scary. I'd avoided that stuff for decades. Probably good, because all these rich and creamy tastes would have made me fat MUCH sooner. Heh heh.
Now I feel like I'm making up for lost time. I try things that I used to avoid, but there are still a few things I don't want to try because I have a feeling I will LOVE them and will eat far too much. Like Italian gelato. Ice cream that is supposedly even creamier and richer than American ice cream? Yeah. I better live without that one, just to be safe.
But you won't see me eating liver. I have a feeling, if prepared well (onions, bacon) that I could stomach liver now. I just don't want to. Same goes for mussels. Why do people want to each something you don't even chew and has been described as choking down a wad of snot? Food that is still moving (look on YouTube for sushi bar octopus or squid.) I have expanded my palate, but I still have to draw the line somewhere. :D
Posted by Becky at 5:27 PM
Friday, April 01, 2016
I had an excessive amount of caffeine today, so pardon me if I ramble a bit. My mind has been racing from one topic to the next, but I found myself thinking about those times in my life where the verbal filters in my brain seemed conspicuously absent. Words came out of my mouth and, from the look on the listener's face, I could tell I said something that shocked or hurt them in some way. I am better at thinking before I speak, these days. Usually. But sometimes, I ask the questions that no one else dares to ask. Apparently.
Think of a news reporter. There are those times, in an interview, where the reporter will ask a question and the audience will *gasp* audibly. That can be a good thing. They've asked the question everyone hoped would be asked. Or the question no one else dared to ask, but everyone was wondering about. And we admire the reporter's audacity. They went there! Then there are those times where a reporter will ask a question that no one else dared to ask because...it's just rude. The audience will *gasp* in horror! How dare they go there! That's going too far!
I've never been very good at discerning that line. But I want everyone to know, I ask because I am genuinely curious and concerned. I'm not a busybody! Honest. I don't gossip. I just need to understand what's in people's heads. What makes them tick. Why do they do the things they do and what goes into their decision making process.
And no, I am not satisfied with "I don't know." My children have hopefully figured that out by now. I'm going to keep asking until I am satisfied I have a real and truthful answer. ;)
Posted by Becky at 6:42 PM
Thursday, March 31, 2016
I meant to do a quick search of my blog to see if I've written on this topic before, but I opened a new entry first. So, now I must start writing. I am 50 now, so I guess I have a good excuse if I start repeating tales from my storied childhood. Ha.
In 3rd or 4th grade at Nathaniel Page Elementary, we were given the opportunity to join the band or the orchestra. That meant choosing an instrument. I'd always loved music and musical instruments, so this was HUGE. What should I play? Flute? Trumpet? Cello? Harp? French Horn? Tuba?? Violin?!?! There were so many choices! My father's first concern was cost. My mother's first concern was size. "How are you going to carry something that big to the bus stop?!" Followed by, "Are you going to practice? If we get you this instrument, you have to promise you'll practice!" I was ready to promise my first born child if they'd only allow me this chance to learn.
After drooling over various choices at a local music store, I finally settled on the violin. I'd taken ballet. I loved (and still do) Classical music. It was a sleek and elegant choice. Plus my parents said no way in hell to an electric guitar or piano. So...there was that.
I remember being measured for my violin. I remember my mother gasping at the rental fee but being placated by the sales person that all fees went towards the total cost of the instrument. Eventually, if I kept it up, we'd own the thing. Rent-to-own is a nifty deal to a naive 9 year old.
Then we bought the recommended text book, sheet music and record album. Yep. You read that right. My violin book came with a record album. Anyone remember The Suzuki Method? It's still really popular and a great way to learn. Like most kids, my very first song was Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. My second song was something by Bach. Yeah! The dude! And it was something I actually recognized from my Dad's radio station or an old Warner Brothers cartoon. REAL classical music. Not the boring, repetitive junk the other kids were banging out down in the band room.
|This is the one! I found this on eBay. Ah, memories...|
At school, my music teacher would play each part on each of the different instruments in our orchestra. I didn't think much of it at the time, but seriously. How impressive is that? He'd play the viola part on my friend's viola. He'd play the cello part on his own cello. He'd play the first and then the second violin parts on his own violin. He could play them ALL. Then we would all try and play together. For a pack of elementary school kids, I thought we sounded amazing. Like, Boston Symphony Orchestra amazing. And it was fun!
I played and played and eventually I started just lying on my bed and reading a book while my Suzuki Method record played for me. My mother would call up the stairs, "You are sounding really good up there, Rebecca! Keep it up! 15 more minutes and you can go outside." *sigh*
I did keep it up through Junior High. I joined their orchestra. But by then they expected you to know how to read music and there was no handy record to listen to and learn the part. I'd fake it for the first couple practice sessions until I knew what to play, then I'd join in. I also painstakingly wrote the corresponding letter for each note on my sheet music. For some reason, I could follow AABCFF much easier than just notes alone. I only looked at the notes to tell me how long to hold it. I'd lost most of my passion, however. That daily battle with my mom took its toll. When I headed off to high school, my violin was relegated to the floor of my closet and all but forgotten. I'd take it out, now and then, and play along with my Suzuki record, just to see if I still could, but I didn't really play seriously again until a couple years later when my mother got it into her head that I should compete in the Massachusetts Miss Teen pageant. I'm pretty sure I wrote about THAT topic.
I took my old violin out a few years ago, polished it up, tuned it, and squeaked out a passable rendition of Twinkle Twinkle. Max was thrilled. He loves music and instruments almost as much as I did at his age. I heard him noodling around on the electric piano today we got him for Christmas a couple years ago. Next year he will have the opportunity to join Band at his school (if they still have a music program by then.) I hope he decides to play something. It really is fun.
Posted by Becky at 8:19 PM
Monday, March 14, 2016
I am turning 50 tomorrow. In some ways I'm surprised I've lived this long. Fifty seems so OLD when you are a kid. So very far away. Inconceivable, really.
I wanted to take a few moments to record my reflections on turning the big 5-0.
I got nothing. *falls over laughing* Maybe I'll try again tomorrow.
Posted by Becky at 9:04 PM
Thursday, February 18, 2016
I am not a morning person. Anyone who knows me well knows I am at my best when I am allowed to sleep until noon and stay up until 2 AM or so. Between 10 PM and 1 AM I am often at my most creative...and loony. There is some weird sh*t that crosses my mind, let me tell you!
A few months back a friend was relating her pet woes. She has a dog who keeps knocking over the kitchen trash-can and making a huge mess. That got my gears working. I thought about potential solutions. I thought about common trash-can design. I thought about ways of defeating a persistent pup. Sure, some smart person designed a kitchen trash-can that slides in and out of a kitchen cabinet. But that would require a bit of remodeling and losing a whole cabinet. Then I came up with the idea of an inverted cone design that would not tip and opening like a flower to change the bag. I pictured sleek stainless steel with enamel coatings in various modern hues. It was an engineering masterpiece and a work of art. In my mind. Then, just to be sure I wasn't reinventing the wheel, I did a Google search for untippable trash-cans. Ha. I thought up a new thing! There is no sign of anything close to my idea out on the interwebs.
Of course a patent search might reveal otherwise, but my CAD skills are too rusty to draw up proper blueprints and go through all that red tape. So I'll just record my ideas here and if an ambitious pet product company or trash-can manufacturer wants to talk to me, just comment below.
But back to my late night musings.
I have very poor vision. It's especially bad in low light and, of course, I can't see a thing in the dark. Heh. I have a tendency to work away here at my desk and not notice that the sun has long since set, the husband has turned off nearly every other light in the house, and I am basically trapped. Once I leave the ambient glow of my monitor, I can't see a blasted thing and am likely to trip and fall over things in the gloom. Kids leave a lot of things around to trip over. So I starting thinking about solutions. Some kind of comfortable, wearable flashlight would be nice. But I don't want a "hat" or something hanging around my neck. That would get annoying after a while. Maybe a bracelet... I popped on to Google and, of course, TONS of people have come up with a buttload of wearable flashlight ideas. That's not original. But none of those designs felt just right for my particular needs.
The lovely folks at LootCrate had provided me with a little X-Files themed mini-flashlight that I've been carrying around with me lately (or trying to remember to carry around with me, except I tend to be a bit scatter brained and forget my light on my desk, or on my night table, or in the bathroom.) So that set my mind to ticking again. What do I always have with me that I can just attach a light to? My hair? Perhaps. A light up hair clip would be pretty nifty. My CANE! Yes, I need a cane and it is my constant companion wherever I go. A light that clips on to my cane would be awesome!
So I Googled "cane light".
Crap. Someone else already invented it. It clips on to the body of the cane and acts like a little headlight! So cool! Me? I took my X-Files pocket light and attached it to my own cane. I may not have invented something new, this time, but it's been 4 days and I have not been without a light to see by. I'd say that was pretty inventive.
I'll keep thinking. I've come up with all kinds of cool ideas over the years, but I never wrote them down. Do I still remember them all? Nope. Let's hope this is the start of a new/good habit. Write down those brilliant late-night inventive thoughts, people! You never know.
Posted by Becky at 9:09 AM
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
The boys had a half-day of school today. My cantankerous teen exited the school building first and jumped into my mini-van. While we waiting for my little 3rd grader, teen boy began a typical rant about the ills of society and how, one day, he would amass sufficient wealth to purchase his own country where he would rule as supreme dictator.
His Lordship: "I'd go into International waters, Mom. I'd build my country. A big island nation with only people I choose to live there. I'd bring back public executions. I would be the one making ALL the rules!"
Me: Interesting. So your goal is to become Magneto? [a reference to a comic book villain who bought his own country just for Mutant kind, for those who are not familiar with the X-Men.]
His Lordship: *derisive snort* "Mine would be a REAL place, Mom. You know World War III is going to start soon, right?"
Me: Well...I'd still be proud of you. I mean...your own country. I'd point at you and tell everyone I saw "THAT'S MY BOY!" By the way, how do your friends feel about these semi-insane rants of yours?
His Lordship: "Oh, I don't talk about stuff like this with my friends. Just you. I like pissing you off. It's fun."
I nod knowingly. See, I'd always suspected this was the case.
Me: "I see. What would you like for lunch?"
As I watched him mentally shift gears to think about food, I thought about our daily/nightly debates. He gleefully picks the role of devil's advocate and spouts random and highly controversial ideas just to see what I'll say. And yes, our discussions do get heated at times. He is very very good at pissing me off, but it takes a lot.
Then it hit me. He IS learning. THIS is how I impart wisdom and morality to my boy. THIS is where he tests the waters of belief, right & wrong, life goals, and how the world works. I am unwavering in my own personal moral compass. He tests me, but my answers are consistent and clear, With a side of lecture. Sometimes moral outrage and yelling. But he IS listening. He hears me and is taking it all in.
It was a moment of clarity that astounded me and gave me some more hope. It's going to be a lot harder to piss me off in the future. ;)
Posted by Becky at 1:34 PM
Monday, February 15, 2016
From Facebook: *giggle snort* When my hunny can't decide on which box of chocolates the boys and I will like best so he just buys 1 or 2 of each kind. Max has already negotiated that we will be sharing EVENLY the box of Lindor truffles and the box of Lindor GORMET truffles. He was ok with each of us having a box of Ferrero Rocher hazelnut chocolates. John's valentine's card made me cry (he's so sweet!) AND he got an edible arrangement full of pineapple stars, grape skewers and more chocolate covered strawberries. PLUS he made chili for dinner. I am floating on a cloud of heavenly smells and love. Now I'm not trying to make anyone jealous. Really, I think I need help eating all this chocolate!
It was really nice waking from my nap to the whole house smelling like John's homemade chili. He got the recipe from his Dad and we've been enjoying it for many years. Max actually helped make it today and ATE some for dinner! We had to keep the onions out until we'd grabbed his helping. He is very anti-onion, for some reason. He also determined that dark red kidney beans are yucky. But the meat and "sauce" were good on his rice. We can live with that! (Note to self: Next time we make chili, Max gets strained broth and meat only. Ha!) Have I mentioned that he likes those Doritos tacos from Taco Bell, but with meat only on them? Oh! And he did try (and like) my chili cheese dip on SuperBowl Sunday. He's getting more adventurous. Thank goodness.
The other thing I loved was the big roll of bubble wrap the packers at M&M used to protect John's present. I ordered him a Valentine's themed box of their custom M&Ms. Which reminds me...I should probably get a photo of some of them before they all get eaten. That bubble wrap tho. I haven't seen the kind with the BIG bubbles in a long time. Like the original stuff, just larger bubbles. Max was enchanted. He rolled the sheet out onto the floor and proceeded to shuffle rapidly up and down his bubbly trail and sounded like he stirred up a nest of machine gunners. Very loud! Very satisfying. *grin*
As for me... I feel totally spoiled. 3 boxes of chocolate, an Edible Arrangement, a sweet and romantic card, and dinner all made. Amazing. Oh! And poor John attempted to install the Kohler faucet I got for Christmas. Long story short, the old faucet has sprung a leak and John has tried everything from super glue to nail polish to plug up the weird pinhole that opened up in the side of the spout. Caused by rust under the white enamel coating. Sadly, he could not locate his vice-grips. He tried to make due with a regular wrench, but I could tell by the cursing it wasn't going well. He finally gave up when a hunk of plastic from...something, who knows what, snapped off and hit him in the eye. Max ran for safety goggles (he's such a good boy) but that was like closing the barn door AFTER the horse escapes. John threw up his hands in surrender for now.
Now it's 2am. I conked out at 10pm but woke to pee and can't get back to sleep. The whole house still smells heavenly. And I'm hungry. Heh. I think there is some salad I can nibble on...
Posted by Becky at 2:08 AM
Saturday, January 30, 2016
It's funny. I often get into these intellectual thought-loops where ideas buzz through my head, moving from one connection to the next. One idea to the next. Until it all comes back around to a thought I had days or even weeks earlier. Sometimes years earlier.
I was having an argument (as I often do) with Tyler about intelligence and whether or not the measurement of IQ was any indicator of real ability. How being "smart" is no guarantee to being "successful". He pointed at me and said "Look at you. You have a high IQ and you're just sitting there. If you're so smart, why aren't you rich or successful?" Yeah. He blows my mind on a regular basis. How do you respond to that? How do you take the weight and summation of a life half-lived (if you assume I am middle-aged at this point) and condense that into a couple sentences that will explain to an attention-lacking teen all the reasons (excuses?) as to why my life doesn't measure up to his standards.
I don't feel like a useless failure, most of the time, until I talk with my teen boy. Heh. Maybe I'll just print out this article for him to read. I can pretty much track back the places in my life where I was derailed to an early age.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
I haven't done a stroll down memory lane post in a long while. The brain tends to focus on getting through the day and time to just let thoughts drift isn't available. I did have a funny memory come to mind the other day when I was talking with Max about growing up in the 1970s.
In the early 70's, my family relocated, once again, to Massachusetts and eventually we bought a house in Bedford. It was a quaint little town with many old colonial influences and a crap ton of history. We were in a newer neighborhood (at that time) on the outskirts of town. All houses, no businesses. It was 10 minutes, by car, to the nearest strip mall, and our new town had a few of those.
In my many attempts to impress on my spendthrift son the joys of saving money, I mentioned that my brother and I also received a weekly allowance, but 25 or 50 cents a week didn't really go far in most places. There was the Ye Olde Bedford Country Store just off the main drag that had a great assortment of penny candy (I think it's a chiropractor's office now, sadly) but if you could reign in the urge to spend for a couple weeks, the place to go was Bowen's Toy Store.
This particular strip mall I am remembering had a number of different businesses, but the ones I remember best were Bowen's and RuthAnn's (a drug store). Years later my favorite Italian restaurant also opened in that mall, right across from where Bowen's used to be. I miss their chocolate mousse cake.
Back to Bowen's. You had to have at least a dollar to get anything good in that store, unless you were happy with the junk in the gumball machines. I did luck out with some pretty cool rings with big fake gemstones. I think that is also where I got my mood ring, but that machine was one of the 50 or 75 cent ones. Every now and then, when the stars aligned, my brother and I would have enough money to get something REALLY good. A personal favorite was:
Plus that plastic gunk smelled like a cross between gasoline, model glue and magic markers. I'll bet sniffing it was really bad for you, but it was hard to resist.
A tube of this could keep me entertained all day long. I had fun explaining this stuff to Max. Naturally, he wanted some. Explaining why they don't make it anymore was difficult. The wiki said something about noxious fumes. I can believe it.
Then there was that one Sunday, after church, when my Mom needed something at the drug store, so, naturally, my brother and I begged and pleaded to be allowed to visit Bowen's again. My Dad must have been in a particularly good mood on this particular Sunday, because not only did he allow us to browse the store while my Mom was doing her errand, he also allowed us to buy some of THIS:
Now Crazy Foam is really glorified shaving cream. It was meant to be used in the bathtub or shower as a funky and fun way to lather up. Much more fun that your standard bar of ivory soap! (This was before the days of shower gel.)
But how do you play with this stuff on a hot summer day when your parents have no interest in running you a bath?
Once we got home, Dad said (and I quote) "It's just soap. Go ahead and play with it in the backseat of the car. It could probably do with a good washing."
Yeah. I don't think Dad had any clue what 2 kids and 2 brand new cans of Crazy Foam could do.
My brother and I were both talking at once. My Dad turned a bit red for a moment and said "just go get the hose." After that, it was back to squeals of fun as Dad turned the ice cold hose on us both and rinsed out the back seat too. He didn't say a word about the mess and I don't think he told our mother either. We were running around the car, squealing and getting sprayed. So much fun. I am still amazed that my Dad kept his cool. He never kept his cool. Never. Which is why, I think, the memory is such a strong one for me.
Maybe he realized that the whole mess was his idea in the first place. He was the one who told us to go ahead and play in the car. Rational explanation, eh? But Dad was not known for being super rational when he was mad.
Maybe he saw the humor in it. Both his kids covered in soapy foam from head to toe and the car full of foam up to our waists. It must have looked hilarious! I'll never know. I think I'm the only one who remembers this incident. It was a good day.
Thursday, January 07, 2016
Happy New Year! Had an interesting discussion with my youngest boy.
Max ripped a giant hole in his favorite performance wear pants today at gym. I told him he had to wear the new royal blue pair Santa brought or I could get him another in black because there was no way he was going to wear leggings with giants holes in them. I had to go through the whole speech my mother used to give us about not letting her children leave the house looking like hobos. He countered with "but all my friends wear jeans and stuff with holes in it. On PURPOSE. It's fashion, Mom!" *le sigh* But he did eventually agree to a new pair in black. On Amazon, I see they are having a winter coat/jacket sale too. "Max, do you need a new winter coat?"
Max: Yeah. I want to get a pink one.
Me: Um...what? Did you say pink?
Max: Yeah. Pink. You got a problem with that?!
Me: No, no. I just wanted to be sure I heard you correctly. Are you sure you want a pink coat?
Max: Is there something wrong with a boy wearing pink, Mom? Are you being sexist? Colors are for everyone. I can wear pink if I want to.
Me: Oh I agree! I'm happy to get you a pink coat, if that's what you really want. I just worry that other kids might give you a hard time about it. I think you should be able to wear any color you like. But there are still too many people stuck in the mindset that "pink is for girls."
Max: I want to be a pretty pretty princess. And I don't care what other people think. I want a new shirt too. One that sparkles. Boys should be allowed to wear pink AND sparkles.
Me [now pretty sure he is messing with me, but he seems dead serious]: OK. Let's see what Amazon has...
We find a pretty coat in a pinky-purple shade and he says YES! Add that one to the cart! I'm wavering. It has faux fur around the hood. Then I spot a cool looking Under Armour hoodie in pink and black. "Oooh! Look Max. Pink and it's Under Armour too!" That gets him off on a tangent and he finally settles on a hoodie with matching pants in lovely shade of aqua. I'm thinking we've dodged a bullet, but no.
Max: OK. Now go back to the page with that coat. I still want to be a pretty pretty princess. I can totally pull it off, Mom. Why are girls clothes so much cooler than boys? Most boy stuff is ugly. Oooh! What's that! *points to the screen*
Me: Uh. It's a lace shrug.
Max: See? Do they have stuff like that for boys? No.
Me: Well... I might be able to find you a cute bolero jacket or something...
Max: OK! I want one of those. With sparkles. Mom? Am I gender fluid? I want to show everyone...I want to...everyone can wear what ever they want. It's ok.
I nod and smile. I get it. He wants to break the mold. Be outside the fashion box. Trendsetter, if you will. He might not have all the buzz words down (and don't ask me where he got the term "gender fluid" from...I suspect that's from his big brother who is constantly accusing him of being and acting "gay". I know that's a teen boy thing and it's how all his friends talk. But I still get disappointed when I hear it. I just wish other parents would discourage that nonsense the way we do. "That's so gay!" is like the worst insult in the world to them. They, almost all those boys, are so homophobic at this age. Their hormones are out of control and they are just figuring things out, but GAY is not the worst thing in the world. *grumbles*
Anywho, Max finally cracked a grin and told me he was messing me on the whole pretty pretty princess thing. He didn't really want the pink coat. But he'd totally wear it if I got it for him. Just because. And he'd be proud about it too.
Now I have to find him jeans with holes and something sparkly to wear. He WAS serious about that part. *grin*
Posted by Becky at 5:48 PM
Monday, November 23, 2015
I am very late for my update on Max @ 9 and a bit early for my update on Tyler @ 14, but here we go.
I'm so proud of the kind and gentle soul Max is becoming. He loves his friends and family, is not ashamed to kiss and hug his Mommy, and loves to wear shorts - even on the coldest of days. He has 6-pack abs and a burning desire for play-dates every day of the week. He loves to play catch with his Nerf football; especially with his Dad and big brother. His fondest desire waffles between a kitten of his very own and Pokemon cards. *snort* Every dime he saves is almost instantly spent on those goofy cards. He has 2 albums full and ziploc bags and tins stuffed with more.
My only source of sadness with my boy is the up and down nature of his relationship with his big brother. I relish the times they pal around together...taking walks down to the school fields and playground, biking, or playing catch. But those moments are too few. Most of the time it's the teen pushing his little brother's buttons until a fight breaks out. He takes perverse pleasure in making Max cry. *sigh* I really pray it's a phase and the boys will one day be the best of friends, but being nearly 5 years apart in age is a tough hurdle to overcome. I should know. My little brother is 5 years younger and the gulf between us is vast.
I just wish he wouldn't use his powers of intimidation for evil. I hear from his teacher that he is actually very good with the younger special needs kids at his school. Patient and helpful. I'm pleased he is able to maintain a calm and patient demeanor at school. It's taken a lot of work and maturing to reach this point. Tyler feels ready to return to a mainstream school environment, but there is red tape we have to work through to achieve this goal. At home, however, I think Tyler takes his pent up frustration and anger out on his little brother. He teases and goads unmercifully at times and it makes my heart hurt for Max. I know home is Tyler's "safe space" where he can unload and unwind. but it's hard on us at times. I pray his level of maturity continues to grow (and his sense of humor too.)
Tyler has discovered the joy of internet trolling. There are certain groups and topics he just loves to verbally attack...feminists (sigh), the fat acceptance movement (sigh), gender equality (sigh), terrorism, and gamergate. He basks in the flame wars he incites and just can't resist poking the bear at every opportunity. The kid loves to argue. He is drawn to controversy ("Mom! Vote for Donald Trump! He's a genius! You agree, right?!" *gag*) For years I've told him he'd make a great criminal defense attorney, and that tongue-in-cheek comment seems to have taken root. He frequently talks about becoming a lawyer. We will do everything in our power to help him achieve his goals. We hope to have him mainstreamed in at least a couple of classes before the year ends in the hopes that this will ease his transition to high school next year. High school. HIGH SCHOOL. Yeah. I'm just letting the terror wash over me for the moment. *breathe* *breathe*
Back to my new-and-improved, more independent boy. He leaves the house frequently to hang with friends or walk to the store. YES! and oh shit. So far, this year, he broke 4 bones in his foot horsing around with friends and broke his little finger taking a spill off his bike. We've added an orthopedist to our laundry list of doctors now. Thankfully, Tyler now sees the wisdom in taking his calcium supplements. No more chewables, however. He can swallow pills like a BOSS. Seriously, the kid will take his ADHD med, sleep med and, like, 4 vitamin supplements and swallow them ALL at once. Sometimes without any liquid. *gag* I can barely manage one pill at a time.
Really, I am over the moon that Tyler is able to maintain his friendships. I can only guess that his buddies are exceptionally understanding and patient or they are just as surly and ornery as he is and birds of a feather...yadda yadda. *wink* Unfortunately, the head of his school's child study team has taken this new-found ability to socialize as further proof that his autism diagnosis is incorrect (in her opinion) and he needs to be re-evaluated. Followers of my blog know the struggles we've had with that school district over the years. Mrs. W made up her mind when he was in 3rd grade that Tyler was "emotionally disturbed" and all his problems were just evidence of poor parenting and the school treated him as such. It took years of testing and multiple doctors confirming each other's findings to finally get the accommodations he needed. But many in the school still treat him based on Mrs. W's opinion and NOT his IEP or doctor's recommendations. She is still on a mission to prove us and the doctors' wrong. She even made Tyler's new therapist's jaw drop at the garbage that comes out of her mouth. She drops psychiatric and medical buzz words into her conversation but, he says, she has NO IDEA what they really mean. Clueless. And terrifying that someone so clueless is in charge of all the special needs kids from pre-k to 8th grade. Yes, I am a little angry.
Despite these hurdles, Tyler is still making remarkable progress. I just wish he could see it. He is proud of the progress he'd made, physically. But emotionally and with school, he is deeply frustrated and depressed. He doesn't have confidence in his ability to learn outside a special needs environment. He thinks he's been held back at the pace of "stupid" for too long and has fallen hopelessly behind, academically. I am hopefully that high school will be a fresh start and he can put these awkward middle-school years behind him. He just needs to TRY. I know he can do it!
I love my boys with a white hot motherly passion and want the world for them. These teen years tho...they just may kill me. I am as hands off as I can be with my older boy. He needs to make some mistakes and learn some hard lessons in the coming years. But I'll have his back, when ever he will let me. *grin* Pray for wisdom and strength. We're all going to need it.
Posted by Becky at 1:47 PM