Not Your Father's Puritan

I came to school in a Halloween costume today. I'm dressed as a Puritan. That's right, I'm a lesbian Puritan, pictured here with my pet cat.



Keep your smart-mouthed comments to yourself.

Bathtub Freedom

When JT first broke his leg, he gleefully believed that he could go the next two months without a bath. I put the kibosh on such fun, of course. But it must be said that bathing with a cast is below average on the fun-o-meter. For starters, all washing must be supervised. The cast goes in a giant plastic bag and then I use the detachable shower head to wash and rinse the boy. I wouldn’t say that it was enjoyable for anyone involved. And, given the limitations, once he broke his leg we went to washing twice a week.

This was a huge bummer for me because for at least two years now, come daily bath time I’ve been in the habit of tossing JT in the shower with a bar of soap (and instructions to use it) and then doing some chores upstairs while he washes. I could change the sheets, fold and put away laundry, lay out clothes for school….it was a veritable cavalcade of mama-fun. Every so often, I’d be caught up on chores and (god forbid) I could take ten minutes to read a book while the boy washed off the grime he had accumulated.

Now that the boy is in an air cast, he can be bathed more often and more easily. The air cast can be removed and the child can be fully submerged in the bubble-filled tub. And, with his legs now fully submerged, he can play to his heart’s content while I resume my exciting upstairs-at-bath-time life.

We know how to live at Sassafras House.

Angry Mob

The boy and I stopped by the local Halloween store this afternoon to secure some face paint for his cat costume. As we strolled the store, admiring headless ghosts and bloody hand stumps, we came across a devil's pitchfork.

The child was smitten, and held it up, announcing, "I could carry this around and be an angry mob."

Obviously, I bought the pitchfork.

After homework was complete and a snack had been secured, I came downstairs ready to work out only to find that JT was an angry mob of one. The sign on the pitchfork reads, "We Want Candy."

Good thing that Halloween is around the corner.

Real Life Conversations with JT

The backstory: I’m helping with homework. Phonics is on the agenda and we are reviewing short and long vowel sounds. I’m confused about which words are compound words. It’s a temporary condition, my confusion, but the boy seizes on my weakness.

Mama: Just a minute, honey, I need to think.

JT: Are you saying you don’t know what a compound word is? AND YOU CALL YOURSELF A TEACHER?

Mama: I teach history and government, we don’t really talk about compound words.

JT: Well I hope not, since you don’t know what they are.

Exposed for the fraud that I am.

Stink, Stank, Stunk

An update on the journey that began eight weeks ago last night, when JT took his first trip to the Emergency Room at our local hospital.

There are many challenges involved in life when your child has a cast on his leg. But none are as challenging as the incredibly funky smell emanating from that cast. At four weeks of age, the big red cast was stinky. “Stink, stank, stunk,” I would think as I opened the door to JT’s bedroom each morning (thanks Dr. Suess). And driving around in the car with the funky smelling cast riding shotgun was less than enjoyable.



Yesterday, eight weeks out from the original leg break, we headed to the orthopedist to get things checked out. JT was reluctant to participate in the fun because his leg has been immobile for the past four weeks and it’s working fine for him. He saw no reason to change up the arrangement. Removing the cast meant stretching muscles that had been still for days on end. Not fun, as we learned the last time we went through this process.

But removal was in order and though my boy expressly announced his objections (crying and screaming loud enough to startle several of his fellow patients), the cast came off and x-rays were made. The leg was nasty yucky ----- hairy, and covered in an unpleasant coating of boy funk and grime. The smell was other-wordly: like sweat and grime allowed to ripen.



“You’ll want to wash that. Soon,” Dr. T suggested. And then she told us that things are looking good. The x-ray shows all sorts of fuzzy bone growth. Good news. An air cast, rising to just below the knee is our next step (pun intended). He’ll be able to have a much greater range of mobility (which will take some getting used to). And we can see his (very hairy) knee for the first time in 8 weeks.



By the end of the night, he was already starting to appreciate the new range of movement. And the air cast looks cool ----- like he’s the bionic boy. As for me, I’m just happy that the stink is gone.

Real Life Conversations at Prep School: Fighting Back

The backstory: It is college application season here at my school. I’m an advisor to seniors and so my homeroom discussion yesterday was filled with conversations about college applications. The students are at various stages of accomplishment with these applications. Some have submitted already; others are in the process of filling out the paperwork. At least one of my advisees has already signed on the dotted line at his chosen school. And at least one has his head firmly buried in the sand. In most instances, anxiety abounds.

The adults in their world – myself included – look at these young men and women and see in them their many virtues and accomplishments. They are smart, creative, kind, talented in all sorts of things. I am 100% confident that all of them will be admitted to a college where they will thrive. I believe in these kids and I know that they all have the potential to make the world a better place.

But my confidence in them is sometimes lost in the fog of the application process. They are filled with visions of their own inadequacy; worried about rejection letters clogging their in box. This frustrates me because in this, the last year before they head off into the world, I’d prefer to be in the business of celebrating their virtues and repairing their vices, not worrying about what college X thinks about them. Sometimes I want to boldly shout: IF THAT COLLEGE SAYS NO TO YOU, THEN IT’S THEIR LOSS, NOT YOURS. SCREW ‘EM.

But I hold my tongue and diplomatically remind them that there are many colleges out there and many roads to happiness. All of this made yesterday’s real life conversation at prep school that much more rewarding.

Me (speaking to L and J, two of my students): How are things?

J: I finished my application to First Choice College. Now I’ve got to start on the others. I’m tired of writing about myself.

L: I was filling out an application last night. The question was, “why do you want to attend Name Brand University?” and I’d had enough and I just wanted to write. “ You know, you’re not really that special.”

At that we all burst into laughter. These kids are going to be just fine.

Singing the Computer Blues

When I was in graduate school I had a professor, a smart man named Professor B, who seemed unfazed by the indignity of life. I always had the feeling that nothing would cause him to freak out. This was a deeply comforting characteristic in a professor. And it very much reminds me of one of the computer guys at my school, a young man named W, who listens to your problem and then solves it with great ease. And then, when you thank him profusely, he nods sagely and solves the next problem in his stack.

I have a Mac laptop computer provided by my school and I love it. I’d call it my second brain if the truth weren’t that the computer is really my first brain. I’d be lost without the little gem. So this weekend, when it engaged in some dubious behavior, I indulged myself in a little panic. Then I dropped the problem in W’s lap on Monday morning.

W did his level best but by Tuesday it was clear that the problem wasn’t easily solved. This morning my computer had to be loaded up and mailed to Apple, where one hopes they have their own W waiting to solve the problem.

W, recognizing that me sans laptop was likely to cause a fiery inferno of weeping woman, quickly hooked me up with a loaner. That means no pictures on the blog (because the picture file is on my real computer) and some other computing adjustments (oh how I miss my bookmarks) until my brain wings its way back from Apple-land. But the loaner is a welcome savior from the insanity of no computer at all.

21st Century Boy

I've been a parent for nearly 8 years. Prior to that, I did a lot of time with the preschool set and if those years taught me one thing, it's that I love children but don't always love children's music.

Though there are some notable exceptions, I generally have found children's music to be tiresome. So I've always introduced the children in my life to adult music that is appropriate for them. No AC/DC singing about the "Highway to Hell" but plenty of other good stuff.

JT and I listen to CDs of music that I make on my computer. Between my own collection and the stuff at iTunes, I've burned plenty of good music into the boy's brain. It's something that we share and enjoy together. This past weekend, I collected a bunch of Eric Clapton songs together onto a CD and this morning we listened to those songs on the way to school. After song four, JT said, "These all sound like the same guy is singing."

"It is the same guy," I answered, "his name is Eric Clapton."

And as Clapton played the guitar in the background an astonished JT said, "Wow. I didn't know you could have a whole CD with the same guy on it."

Real Life Conversations with JT: Truth Avoidance Edition

JT and I stopped by Target today so that I could secure a timer for brushing his teeth (don't ask) and a few other things as well. It was my second trip to Target in two days and I was annoyed with myself for having forgotten some things.

But at least JT and I got to share a warm mother-son moment, while he looked at this box of goods that I had thrown in the cart.



JT: Oh.

Mama (warily): Oh what?

JT: I've seen ads for that on TV and I wondered what it was for. But now I know what it's for.

Mama (even more wary): What's it for?

JT: For when you work out. See, there's a girl exercising on the box. It's for girls when they work out.

Mama (relieved): Exactly. That's exactly what it's for.

Life as I Know It

The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is "My first act as Queen......."

I have no idea what to write. Those of you who know me as a control freak par excellence are now pulling your jaw up off the floor. The notion that I have no idea what to do when given charge of the world is somewhat surprising. World peace; no more hungry sick children; safety and a comfy bed for everyone....these are all laudable goals that come to mind. But I haven't been able to figure out how I would get this done. Then there is the fact that I'm working on not being overwhelmed by the things that I cannot control. So.

In the meantime, things in the tiny fiefdom that is Sassafras House have been changing and I decided to write about that instead.

I haven't written much about this, largely because it seemed whiny to complain about my difficulties when my seven year old is managing a broken leg. And he's managing it incredibly well ---- the boy has been a trooper, rarely complaining, and generally managing his temporary handicap with incredible grace. So to whine about how his broken leg has inconvenienced me seemed like being a jackass.

Since we moved to this house two years ago, the playroom has been JT's haven. That has allowed me to roam the first floor in peace. Sometimes he'd watch TV downstairs, but mostly he'd play upstairs. My living room was free from the detritus of childhood (read: no tiny Playmobil figures under foot) and it was quiet (meaning I listened to NPR) while I went about my cooking, cleaning, reading, and writing. I am a pretty high energy person and I work with high energy teenagers, so the quiet is important to me. It allows me to relax and rejuvenate. On weekend mornings, JT would quietly head to his playroom when he woke up. I would hear him up there and then enjoy a little extra sleep, knowing that he was happily playing. Toys and games arranged in the playroom could stay out for weeks on end, because the door to the room could be shut and I didn't have to see the playroom chaos. It was a happy arrangement. And it helped to facilitate our mutual independence.

But one of the side effects of a broken leg was that JT couldn't get around easily. And he was afraid; preferring to be by my side. I love the boy to distraction but that by my side deal was sometimes overwhelming. At first, he couldn't really get to the attic and I didn't want him two floors away, unable to easily navigate the stairs. And he was also adjusting to his own limited independence ----- needing help to do EVERYTHING. The poor child couldn't even get himself a cup of water to drink. And don't get me started on going to the bathroom.

I realized that our newly circumscribed existence was temporary, but it was sometimes exhausting. From the moment JT woke up in the morning until he went to bed at night, he accompanied me. Running errands with a child on crutches is just not easily managed, so I saved those chores for the Sunday afternoons that he visited my ex. He's a chatty little thing (like his mama) and our constant togetherness could be overwhelming. The quiet in my home at 8:30 pm, after he went to sleep, felt just luxurious. But by then I was often so tired myself that I couldn't stay up long enough to appreciate it.

When JT got the walking cast three weeks ago, he slowly began to expand his world again. It started with the ability to walk around the house and step-by-step, he's become more independent. He can walk short distances at school and at home (and, among other things, that means he can carry his own backpack again). He can get a drink of water and he can once again help with some of the chores around the house. We've been able to go to Target for short trips. We went to the mall on Friday night. And this weekend, he once again reclaimed the playroom as his own zone.

The impetus for his triumphant playroom return was some new toys ----- cowboys and Indians with a great need to engage in a long-term epic battle ----- and he wanted to leave them sitting out. That's playroom approved. So on Saturday morning I headed upstairs to organize the heap and clutter.

It was a giant mess.



A cataclysmic disaster.



But when the Mama cleaning tsunami was done, the chaos was reigned in.



And Sassafras House is peaceful once again.