Things To Do Today

Laundry

Send birthday card

Get honey from farmers' market

....destroy world with world-destroying robot??

Ah, the chalkboard. It first appeared in my blog at its purchase, two and a half years ago, and it's seen a lot of use...in fact, last year I painted over it with chalkboard paint, changing its classic school green to black, but restoring its writeability after one of the kids decided white crayon would work just as well and ruined the surface. However, since our move last summer I had yet to put it up in a good high-traffic location. Finally, I had some free time yesterday and decided to hang it up near the recycling bins, where I could keep a daily reminder list of things to do that I would see often. Only took me a year! And the comedy opportunites began again immediately.

My child hates art class, shuns crayons, and can only be coaxed to spend his time drawing somewhere around Day 3 of a total blackout, when he's run through every other non-electric entertainment available including "watch Mom's plants grow". Yet he can never seem to resist the siren call of the chalkboard.

The funny thing is, he asked me what to draw. I said a puppy. No really, the conversation went something like this:

Duncan (watching me write my to-do list): Can I draw something on the chalkboard? I'll draw something for you. Go ahead. You tell me what to draw, and I will draw that for you, whatever you want.

Me: Okay, a puppy!

Duncan: Ugh, no.

Me (resigned anticipation): Robot with a laser?

Duncan: OKAY!!

I went off to cook dinner, and later in the evening, sure enough, there he was. My robot with a laser, just under "get honey from farmer's market". And I do have to say, he's a pretty swell robot. I mean come ON. He's not only got a laser, but "power of destroying worlds", an alternate laser charger, a laser drainer (ha, ha!), and rocket shoes. Then, because destroying worlds totally needs a great soundtrack, he's all set to go with a boombox arm handily installed. And yes, he's saying "Die, butthole!" in the picture.

But I'm pretty sure a daughter would have drawn me that puppy. With a rainbow.

We're Gonna Need a Bigger Brick

When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me that I was growing up too fast. She also used to tell me she was going to tie a brick to my head so that I wouldn't grow anymore. As I grew even older and taller, she'd lament that she hadn't used the bricks, telling me she was going to order me to fail all my classes in school so that I would never graduate and move away. Through all her sentimental protestations, I simply rolled my eyes.

Then before I knew it, I was a grownup, then a wife, then a mother. My own son was born, and by the time he was a preschooler I was telling him the same thing. Well, not the bricks - that was my mother's thing. No, my approach was more hands-on.

"You're growing too fast!" I'd say. "I'm going to squish you so you stay little." I would then put my hands on top of his head and press down, lightly of course, but making a big show of effort and plenty of "hurrrrggghhhh!" sound effects. Giggling, he'd crouch down, and I'd let go in triumph.

Moments later, he'd pop back up as though spring-loaded. "NOPE, I'M STILL GROWING!" he'd squeal delightedly, while I pouted and stomped my foot.

Folks, I've been more than usually sentimental about it this year. Maybe it's because he turned the big 1-0. Double digits. Out of elementary school and on to intermediate school. And while I know I've been watching this happen every day, seen every one of those years from birth to ten pass before my eyes, it still feels like he's grown up behind my back somehow. He makes me laugh often now, not in a "Kids Say the Darndest Things" kind of way, but with real wit, intention, and a keen sense of satire and comic timing. We have conversations these days that are less mother/little kid and more conversations that I would have with anyone, talks about beliefs and politics and day-to-day stuff.

Anyway. I was running errands today, all the little here and there mini-quests that I've been putting off. I finished up at the post office - just around the corner from Duncan's new school - around the same time that school was letting out. So I was driving home past the school during the mass exodus of wave after wave of children. Waiting at the traffic light, I looked off to my left and sure enough, I saw my little man.

I wasn't there to pick him up. He was unaware of my presence. And sitting alone in my car at that moment I had this weird feeling like I was looking through a window into his private, increasingly independent world, his world outside that didn't include me. He was just walking down the street, confident of his own way, bookbag slung over his shoulder, chatting and laughing with friends on his way home. And suddenly I had something in my eye, because dammit, he looked so grown up. Not my little one, but a pre-teen, all Wonder Years and stuff. The light changed, and I drove on without alerting him.

Mom, you were right. We all grow up too fast. I rolled my eyes at your sentimentality, just as I'm pretty sure Duncan now rolls his eyes at mine. I'd say I can't wait until he has a child of his own and understands it himself, but you know what? I can. I really can.

Surgery Day

Whups, it's been a while since I updated! Well school is out and summer is here, so I've had the boy underfoot more often, and I've been trying to get caught up on a lot of projects and get my house more organized. The biggest event of the last few weeks was this: Last week, my baby had surgery. He had his tonsils and adenoids out, wooo!

Poor guy has had problems with them for years, and certainly as long as he can remember. Tonsillectomy as an option has been on my mind for quite some time, but his pediatrician would never commit to recommending it. He always said that Duncan didn't get quite enough infections per year to warrant it, we should try longer-term antibiotics, yada yada. Surgery is a pretty major thing, no matter how routine the procedure, and without the backup of his medical provider I was very hesitant to commit. But when my poor baby got yet another case of strep, complete with fever, inability to eat, and utter tearful misery, I'd had enough. I went ahead and scheduled him for just after school let out.

It's always been a simple procedure, but I was still amazed. Most of the time went into getting down to the Children's Hospital early, getting processed, and meeting with the anesthesiologist, the surgeon, and the nurses who'd be looking out for him.

My worst moment - having to part ways at the OR door. They let me walk alongside the gurney until they reached the operating room, at which point they told me to say goodbye and go check in to the waiting room. I felt a fleeting moment of panic as they wheeled him in, like I wanted to grab him back and forget the whole thing.

My most amusing moment - I'd brought a book, I'd brought a Nintendo DS, but knowing he was in surgery, I instead did the only thing I had the attention span for...I put some meditation music in my mp3 player, sat crosslegged in a chair in the waiting room, and just started meditating, figuring he'd be in at least half an hour. So after about 15 minutes, I became aware that the person next to me was giggling uncertainly, and then someone tapped my hand, and presto! the surgeon was standing over me with a bemused expression, not sure whether to disturb me. I blurted out, "Already?"

So the surgeon, this ENT specialist who'd told me in consultation that Duncan was "borderline, could go either way, totally my decision" yada yada, told me the surgery had gone just fine and that Duncan's tonsils were actually quite large, his adenoids were scarred, and they were definitely obstructive. I actually felt so relieved to be vindicated, hell, I'd have done this long ago if a doctor had recommended it instead of letting me agonize over whether I was jumping the gun.

No great YouTube material or anything after surgery...the nurse told me she'd never seen a kid come out of anesthesia so quickly and smoothly. Apparently he'd told the first nurse that talked to him when he woke up that he was "bored". When I was allowed to see him he just sipped water and told me about how weird anesthesia had felt, that he had forgotten who he was for a moment before he went out, and occasionally sticking his tongue out and telling me things like "one side of my tongue feels bigger than the other" and "my leg feels funny". Once his IV fluids ran out, they took out the IV, let him get dressed, and gave him a sick bag for the ride home just in case.

Recuperating, tonsil-free!

He did get sick right after we got home; post-anesthesia and a long car drive just don't mix. But once that was out of his system he immediately began asking for food, and has made a very quick and reasonably comfortable recovery.

Givin' it Laldy!

as the Scots say, meaning 'doing something with gusto'.

Apparently, my bonnie bairn has been studying his heritage in school, and it was to culminate in a day of Show and Tell (they didn't call it show and tell, of course....ten-year-olds do not have Show and Tell.) But I got a letter home saying that he was supposed to bring in something from his heritage, be it a costume, musical instrument, food, or even just a photograph. I think that last one was added as an "out" for those (like me) who might panic over this. Due date: Tuesday. Paper was brought home by Duncan Disorderly: Friday.

What to do? 'Kilt' sprang immediately to mind, but I do NOT sew, and the one time about 10 years ago that I had read written instructions on how to wrap a great kilt, I couldn't picture what was being explained. 'Haggis' also sprung to mind, but only fleetingly, and largely for amusement.

"If you bring food, please make sure to bring enough for the whole class to try," said the notice. I gave myself the giggles picturing the faces of his classmates on that one. "An cut you up wi' ready sleight, trenching your gushing entrails bright, like ony ditch; and then, O what glorious sight, warm-reekin, rich!* ...and I brought enough for EVERYONE!"

Ah, but the internet! Bless it. Ten years ago I'd never heard of YouTube...these days, you can find just about anything on it. Visual step-by-step instructions made it suddenly so easy, and after acquiring a few yards of appropriately plaid material from a bin of clearance fabrics, I managed to drape my bewildered little man (generally) correctly on the first try. For good measure, I also tried my hand at treacle scones, and while I'm sure they will appreciate it more than haggis, it may be a dubious improvement. I am not a great baker by any means, and I did scorch them a bit on the bottom. Oh well.

The kilt, with apologies to the Scottish community for my amateur job:

Pleating by hand down the middle.

Wrapping it around...

Off the floor, and so much fabric still!

The final look.  Yay, my pleats!

Of course I showed the hubby, whose comment was "Wrong tartan burns!"

"Yes dear," I said. "Next time he has a school project with 3 days' notice, I'll be sure to order our tartan from overseas at about 40 pounds sterling per meter."

Not.

* Address to a Haggis, by Bobby Burns