Countdown to Christmas

A friend gave us this advent calendar quite a few years ago. It’s super cute, but the little socks are just that: little. One year, I resolved to give Bub something cute each day, but the biggest thing that can be inserted into the socks must be about the diameter of a Wh0pper. It’s hard to find gifts that skinny. Then, in a year where she was particularly down, I found inspirational quotes and the like. She wasn’t terribly impressed since she is even LESS “kum-bye-ah” than I am. Since then, we pretty much gave up on it until last year when I wrote special messages for the boys each day.

This year, I included candy with the messages. Oh, it was much more exciting this year, although the boys quickly learned that there aren’t a lot of skinny candies. They got bored with the suckers by Christmas. Also this year, however, were messages for activities to be enjoyed. Not only did I tell them how much I like this behavior or that action, I also let each of them pick a movie to rent or where we would go out to eat dinner or have a night at the movies.

In addition to the advent calendar, we also had a hand-written countdown of “cool things to do.” We did this out of desperation because it turns out that five-year-olds do NOT really like to listen, get along, comply, eat, act nicely, or do anything that a parent wants them to do. (I get it. It’s all about testing the boundaries, growing up, learning who they are, blah, blah, blah. It’s also really frustrating.) So, each day, we would pick a behavior to focus on like “no yelling,” or “use nice words,” or “LISTEN!” This did work with some success although it did make it easier to tattle on one another.

Giggles

I just had to include these photos of Bub and Meatball sitting in the chair. Well, they were sitting before these pictures were taken. Then, she started tickling him, and they laughed and giggled and tickled and giggled and tickled and laughed for about 20 minutes. When they were finally done, both of them had tears streaming from their eyes. Thank goodness for moments like these so that we can overlook those not-so-giggly moments that all kids have.

Hey, Teacher!

The boys’ school is awesome. It really is. They stress organizational skills at every grade level including K! Each student is given a “docket” in which there are various colored folders. Red = homework. Blue = completed work to be left at home. Yellow = reading list. Etc. There is also a learning plan for every elementary student. The lesson plan is spelled out for every day of the week. This makes it so much easier for kids to know what to work on and for parents to know what to look for. If the learning plan says that there is homework, then that corresponding bit of information had better be in the red folder! Parents MUST sign the learning plan every single day. This keeps us involved and up-to-date. Plus, if you have a sick student, you know exactly which lessons to ask the teacher for.

I love it. Granted, I’ve never had any other experiences as a parent, so this may be commonplace. However, I don’t think so.

Anyway, when I was going through Meatball’s blue folder a few days ago, I found these lovely pictures. May I stress the LOVE part of lovely? It seems that he really wants his teachers to know that he considers them special.

As you can see in this picture, he is on the left, and “Mis Taller” (Miss Taylor) is on the right – surrounded by hearts, of course.

In this picture, “Ms. Dy” (Mrs. Dye) is on the left, and he can be found on the right actually holding a heart. Presumably, his stick figure is going to give the heart to her stick figure.

With the exception of a few angry temper tantrums, this is how he is all of the time. They both are, actually, but he just likes to express it by drawing and writing. He is constantly making notes to us – on napkins, P0st-It notes, notebook paper, printer paper, white boards, chalk boards, windows with condensation. He’s such a love.

University of Utah v. Wright State

I received four tickets to a basketball game for my alma mater, the University of Utah. Bub was sick, so it was just me and the boys enjoying the night. Almost immediately after we walked in, we were asked by someone involved with the event if the boys would like to go down to courtside during the national anthem and introduction of the team. Um, YES!

I don’t think that the boys really understood what they would be doing and why, but it was fun to be with other kids right at the edge of the court. After all, both teams were there and warming up and seemed very big and cool. Oh, and the Ute mascot, Swoop, was also on the court. Mascots are always fun to be around with the constant anticipation that s/he might come over and give out high-fives or noogies or hugs or just generally look in your direction.

I got a few pictures of the starting players as they were introduced and high-fived the kids, but they were going so fast that most of them are blurry. Too bad.

During halftime, two spectators were allowed on the court to play a game of basketball tic tac toe. One of them ended up breaking his leg – big time. The other person won a t-shirt. Of the two, I think that the t-shirt guy definitely got the better end of the bargain.

The boys were very good for the game, although the first half definitely held their attention better than the second half. We spent much of the second half doing math – as in who has the most points, who is going to get to 50 first, how many points until we get to 55, and the like. The Utes beat Wright State, and most of our family had a fun night out.

Shooting in Newtown, CT

(I wrote this a while ago, and have debated for a month whether or not to publish it.)

Another shooting happened today at a school in Newton, Connecticut. Senseless and tragic. Words that will be thrown around for days as politicians and people on both sides of the gun control debate yammer on and on with no change, no action. Just a lot of words. I don’t think that the horrific loss of these precious little lives will change the discourse, the laws, the way we express anger, the way we treat those around us who are mentally unstable. In short, I think that these tiny children’s lives will have been in vain. That’s just where I am right now.

Today, a mother had to identify the body of her little girl. A father sits outside a surgical room wondering if his son will come out alive. A brother’s heart is breaking because the last conversation he had with his sister this morning in the car was one where he teased her. A sister cries because she will never get to eat Saturday morning pancakes with her brother again. Presents will sit unopened under many, many Connecticut Christmas trees. Santa will have fewer stockings to fill. Next week, a mom will find a favorite t-shirt in the laundry basket that will never be worn again, and a dad will step on a toy train that will never be played with again. A grandma will never get to shower her grandson with kisses again, and a grandpa will never be allowed to sit and share another ice cream cone with his granddaughter.

When I first heard about all of this mess, I thought, like we all do, what if that was me? What if that was my child? What would I do? How would I carry on? How do people recover? These are awful realities to be faced with. So many families are dealing with these questions right now. My heart is truly breaking for them right now. It’s thoughts like these that prompt us all to go home and hug our kids a bit tighter and longer tonight. These are the things that will be on so many parents’ minds when they choose not to lose their temper at the dinner table when the kids are getting a bit rowdy tonight.

It would be awful, yes. I can’t even imagine. I try to imagine, but my brain will only go so far. I can’t really, honestly put myself in the shoes of those grieving parents right now. I just can’t.

When stuff like this has happened in the past, It has been difficult, sure. Pre-kids, I was saddened. I cried. Right? Now that I have kids, these kinds of events (and so many others) have impacted me in a completely different way. However, this one was even closer to home than the others. My understanding is that these children were in first grade. They were still babies, maybe not in diapers and cooing, but babies nonetheless. My own children are in kindergarten. Oh. My. Holy. Hell.

And, in the past, I have selfishly thought about myself. I think that we all do this. What if this child was mine? What would I do? Etc. I think that this is normal. But this time, because the kids were so close in age to my own, I thought about this in an entirely different (for me) way.

How would my kids react if this happened to THEM? Not me. Not “what if I lost my child,” but “what would my child do” and “how would my child feel” in that split second when they faced hate and evil and death.

It literally brought me to tears for the remainder of the day. It was all I could do to stay at my desk – with lots of tissues at hand – for much of the day. It was hard to talk in the evening without sobbing. We did not have the TV on any of the regular channels on purpose. We watched holiday movies and ate leftover Chinese food and did the boys’ homework – all of these things made me cry. I had to keep excusing myself so that I could get my shit together. (I cry in front of the boys when appropriate, but doing so on this particular day would mean that I would have to explain why, and we hadn’t yet decided what we would say to them.)

I think that I’ve stated before that we are pretty careful about what the boys watch. We’re not over the top, but we’re careful. They’ve seen some PG movies and occasionally they will see a bit of violence on TV when we have been surprised by it or can’t change the channel fast enough. But, we try not to watch the news with them around, and we won’t let them watch violent or scary movies. So, Star Wars? Harry Potter? Too much. Nuh-uh. Not yet. They were both scared during the bear fight scene in the Disney movie “Brave,” for heaven’s sake. Winnie the Pooh is still magical, and Pocoyo cracks us up. Hell – we even restrict Looney Tunes because they start imitating the characters!

So, my point is that they are still very innocent.

As an adult who could, conceivably, be staring at the barrel of a gun someday, I would be able to understand that evil exists in the world. I might even be able to assign it to a category before being shot: mental illness, PTSD, sheer anger, domestic violence. I would have the understanding that I am mortal and that I could die. Right? I will die – someday – and I know what death means. I would understand that I could slowly bleed to death or go instantly. I might even summon up some courage to act against the attacker or maybe just some courage to die without screaming and wailing. I might not understand the reasons behind it, but I would understand the finality of it.

My boys would not.
These 20 other children likely did not.
So, what really stuck in my mind and my heart and has troubled me for days is this: what went through the minds of those innocent, beautiful, pure children? How did they feel as they died?
This is a horrible thought, I know.

Some of the children, mercifully, died instantly, but that doesn’t negate the fear and confusion that they had as the gunman stormed into their classrooms. Some of the children, I’m guessing, must have died a bit more slowly. They did not have a parent’s hand to hold as they slipped away. They didn’t have anyone to hold them close as they struggled for air to fill their lungs.

As a grown up, I hope that someone is there when I die – just to be there and comfort me – but I understand that I might die alone. Fine. Not ideal, but ok. I can deal with this because I understand death.

But those poor little babies….. They didn’t understand any part of what happened, and they didn’t have anyone there to tell them that they would be all right.

I guess this is where a belief in a god comes in handy.
I’m an agnostic. Can’t prove that there is a god, but can’t prove that there isn’t.
At times like this, I can hope.

We decided not to tell the boys anything about the tragedy. We continue to avoid the news. If they ask us, we will have an appropriate (meaning vague) discussion with them. They just aren’t ready for that particular reality.

But really, are any of us?

(The flag at my place of employment lowered in respect for the lives lost.)

Show What You Know

Every Wednesday at the boys’ school, one grade is invited to show what they know – what they have recently learned. Basically, it’s reciting a poem or singing a song or something like that. Here are the boys’ classes singing the Christopher Columbus song as well as the Seven Continents and something else. Unfortunately, they were seated on separate sides of the group, and all of the parents were at the back of the gym. Therefore, pictures are basically awful, but who could pass up something so sweet? Peanut is second from the left on the top row, and Meatball is on the right side of the top row next to the girl with the black hair (that's August, and he has a crush on her).

The Old Gang

And, by “old,” I mean MY AGE, not Bub’s. Bwah-ha-ha-ha!

At the end of November, we had a chance to get a bunch of friends together – some hadn’t seen each other for about 20 years. Things sure have changed.

Pre-teens were in attendance with people whom I once knew as teenagers. Babies (the grandbaby of two of those once-teens, for heaven’s sake), pre-schoolers, new loves, old flames, high school buddies, bar pals, new friends, and great food. It was an awesome night.

We were originally slated to host this little shin-dig, but Bub was sick for the whole week leading up to it. The choice was made to move the venue – last minute – to Mer’s house. Bless her – she did an awesome job – and bless her sweetheart who had just had foot surgery a few days before. I was waiting the entire time for someone to smack into her poor foot, but everyone (even the little people) managed to avoid it. Whew!

Friends were in attendance from Phoenix and Chowchilla and here in the valley for a pre-Thanksgiving feast. We brought the turkey (my first - brined, even!) and a delish cheesecake (because everything Bub does is yummy). Everything was pot-luck, and it was an awesome spread. Even Leen’s dessert mistake was fantastic! (Dessert mistake? That’s what you get when you follow two different recipes. Like Rachel’s trifle on that episode of Friends, but without the beef and peas…)

The kids had a BLAST. For the most part, there was always someone similar in age, so everyone had someone to play with.

It’s too bad that O. had to leave early because I think that she and S. could have had a beauty contest. And, regardless of what Vasey. says, S. didn’t display one moment of diva-ness.

Electronics for the bigger kids, of course.

Trains and kittens were also big hits.

Since Mer doesn’t have kids, she was worried about having enough for them to do, so I made sure that the kids could sufficiently destroy the kitchen floor by baking some cherry cupcakes, making frosting, and providing sprinkles. I’m guessing that the hostesses were sweeping up sprinkles for days.

The grownups sat around and laughed about the “good old days.” I’m only 42. How is it possible that I even use that phrase? There were a couple of tears choked back when we talked about the loss of baby A. There were good natured arguments about what really happened on that 3-wheeler at Flaming Gorge. There were introductions of some newbies and the ensuing welcoming of them into our lives. There were questions about who/what/where/when/why/how with Jod, Di, Sweets, Cass, Bren, TC, Chandler, and so many more. We missed those girls who couldn’t be there, but we held them in our hearts and only made fun of them a little bit. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

We were once such a close knit group. My girlfriend (at the time) and I used to spend almost every evening with at least two of these wonderful then-girls-now-women. Never did I think that some of us would be parents (Beck, Jod). Never did I think that one of us would eat meat ever again (Di). I always knew that some of us would be parents, and it’s so fun to see that play out – although not always in the ways that we expected.

We talked about the loves that we have had over the years. We commiserated over the losses that we have endured – of friends, of parents, of pets, of relationships, of jobs. We talked about the various times when some of us have felt like we’re going hyena-laughing, straight-jacket, bat-shit crazy. We swapped birthing stories. We bragged about our kids. We told stories of Vegas, and Mt. Pleasant, and the apartments on 13th, and Alaska, and the house off of 33rd, and Arizona. We talked about work and shared experiences of being a police officer, a librarian, a truck driver, a process manager, a cook, a mechanic, a computer geek. We looked at old photo albums and wondered how the hell we got so old because, honestly, none of us FEEL that old….

Seriously, we can’t possibly be that old, can we?

They don’t understand some of my decisions, and in fact, some have been very vocal about the mistakes that they feel I have made or (they feel) am still making. In all honesty, I don’t understand every choice that each of them has made, either. Whether it’s to take back someone who abused or cheated, or the best way to end a relationship, or a career change, or some parenting decisions, or you-seriously-wore-that-shirt-on-purpose… The thing is, I don’t HAVE to understand all of that stuff to love these women (and John) with all of my heart. They have always been there for me, and if I needed anything I would be hard pressed to choose whether to call on them or a blood relative.

I adore them.

These women shaped my life in ways that I can never explain, and I will never be able to repay them for the friendship that they showed to me 20+ years ago and still show to me today. They helped me muster up the courage to come out to my family. They saw me through a rocky relationship. They almost got me arrested for sharing my pitcher of beer at the bowling alley. They gave advice on carrying twins. They danced and sang and partied with me. They cried with me. They cried because of me. They supported me. They cleaned up me up after I partied too hard. They made mistakes that hurt me. They made amends. They shared their food, their cars (literally), their good and bad fortune. They welcomed me and accepted me when others did not.

They loved me. We loved each other.

We still do.