November 1st

On the first of each month, I'm taking pictures of and writing about the big tree in my backyard.

To judge from the grass, many of the tree's leaves have fallen.



But when you look up into the branches, you see a wholly different picture. A tree this old is slow to lose its leaves. Though some have turned gold and fallen, many green leaves remain. It looks like I will be raking for at least a few more weeks. But that's okay. I like the way that the tree slowly prepares for the coming winter, as if to remind me, "hey, what's the hurry?"

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.