Ride 'er 'til She Bucks Ya

My on fire streak lasted four days. Cleaned the hall closet top to bottom. Cleaned the pantry - put like with like, what a concept. Cleaned the laundry room. Filled my car and went to Goodwill, did the same thing the next day. Made a dent in the basement (am giving myself all year to plug away on that purging project), but did get some of the chaos under control.

Went to bed last night feeling like, "Wow! My life is so manageable! I can totally do this! Look! I can run the show, get everyone where they need to be, and tend to more than the superficial cleaning of this home! I have it all figured out!"

But then today I woke up and the streak was clearly over. Whatever it was that was working, was not. Back to the spinning of the wheels. Back to the never stop moving but never get anything done routine that I know so well. Back to "normal."

At least now I know a streak is possible, it's not predictable, you can't put it on your calendar and plan for it. You just have to strike while the iron is hot (the latest expression I taught Rojo). You have to ride that bull until she bucks 'ya.

Then get back up and do what you can to hang on.


* Photo from http://eckrothrodeobulls.com

Love it When that Happens

Know how most of the time it feels like you're swimming upstream? Spinning your wheels? Banging your head against the wall? Everything takes twice as long as it should and is needlessly frustrating and complicated? Just me?

Know how every once in awhile you have a day where the opposite is true? The stars line up and everything just clicks along? Had one of those blue moon days yesterday. Thought I had a day to dread: mammogram, LensCrafters, a whole list of Must Dos that I was not looking forward to.

Got to my mammogram early, they got me in early, whole process took just a few minutes and was as painless and simple as that procedure is capable of being. Arrived home with time I hadn't counted on, so took Rojo's bike into be fixed. When I asked if the three things I needed could all be done that day, they gave me the, "We'll see what we can do," answer with the not-bloody-likely look. They called an hour later and were done. $49.95 total, parts and labor, and his bike is good as new. Plus he has a rockin' kick stand now.

When we'd taken a recent day trip to the beach, I'd tossed Rojo's glasses in the beach bag when he needed his sunglasses. Scratched the hell out of them. I (briefly) considered making him look through (badly) scratched lenses as opposed to my having to deal with a trip to LensCrafters and spend another $200 replacing the lenses we just got in March.

Got to LensCrafters and they asked if I'd happened to buy the Protection Plan when I got the glasses. Rang a bell. Turns out that yes, I did buy the plan (love when I surprise myself with my own foresight).  "Well, then, that will only be $25 to replace them, not $199 like it would be without the plan."

"Yea!" I said.

The kind woman punched in a bunch of numbers and soon the computer screen we were both looking at said, "Balance Due: -$17.50."

"Does that mean I have a credit of $17.50?" I asked.

"That's weird," the woman said, "I've never seen that before. Let me call my manager."

She did just that, and yes, as a matter of fact, LensCrafters owed me $17.50 to get new lenses.

Still don't know how that is possible, but took the money and ran.

Now Rojo is stylin' in his scratch-free lenses, I am $17.50 richer, and have a renewed sense that life doesn't have to be as hard as I make it out to be, if only I allow that to be true.

Loving People with Less

A friend of mine just started a new blog that I want to point you towards, Loving People with Less.

I think you'll be inspired!

love. * Photo from www.baptisttwentyone.com/

An Interview with Michelle O'Neil

Those of you that read this blog know I love. Michelle O'Neil. I love Michelle and everything about Michelle. She is my human. I don't have heros, I have certain humans that I wholly admire for their amazing ability to be human. She is a shining example of such a human. She is a wonderful wife, mother, friend and writer. Her writing speaks to me in a way few other writer's words do.


I have had the privilege of journeying through with Michelle on her memoir-writing path since 2006. I even got to read a much earlier draft of this book, which has come so far and is such an example of what stick-to-it-iveness and skill can do!


Friends, I bring you an interview with writer Michelle O'Neil:

1) Why did you decide to write your story as memoir?

I played with the idea of fictionalizing it, but no matter how I tried, it just didn't feel right. One of the themes running through Daughter of the Drunk at the Bar was this fear of being found out, and trying to hide. Having to pretend what was happening in our home wasn't really happening. Shame. I think writing and publishing my story as fiction felt like more hiding. Hiding is no longer tolerable to me.

2) How did you know what the framework would be?

Initially, I wrote a really long, everything but the kitchen sink, get it all out version, (you now Carrie, you read it…poor thing) and then spent a very long time whittling away at it. As I was writing, I would remember songs, TV shows, fashion trends and memories came flooding back along with the scenes. I had tons of material.  

3) How did you decide which episodes to include, and which ones to exclude?

Once I figured out what my point really was, it was easy. My point, was to cultivate empathy for kids growing up in dysfunctional homes. To humanize them. Not to feel sorry for them, per se, because there is a tenacity there, but to open up what might be going on for them, their rich inner worlds, so they might not be written off by teachers and other adults in their communities. Small actions on the part of healthy adults had a profound impact on the trajectory of my life. I wanted people to know it doesn't take much to profoundly help a kid from a troubled home. Sometimes just inviting them over for a meal can teach them skills which will serve them well.

So once I was clear on that, it was easy to figure out what to keep. Not necessarily easy to cut, because you get attached to your scenes but you've got to do it!

4) How is your family reacting to the publication?

For a very long time in our family, I believe I was seen as "overdramatic" for taking a hard stance against my father. He was not invited to my wedding, we were estranged, etc. Reading my book has helped others in my family better understand the reasons for my decisions around him. My sister was often out of the house and did not experience as much of our father's dysfunction as I did. She was off living an adult life while I was still in the thick of it. And there was a lot she had just blocked out. My brother, being a boy, had a completely different experience. Both are dealing with our father in their own way right now, but I feel loved and supported by them. 

My mother has always been very supportive of my writing and doing whatever it is I need to facilitate my own healing. She is not sure she's ever going to read Daughter of the Drunk at the Bar, and I support her decision not to, if that's what she chooses.  

My young brothers are from a different time period, a different world! I'm not sure the story even interests them that much and as of yet, I don't think they've read it.  

5) When will you have your kids read it, if ever?

For a long time, I didn't even let my husband read my manuscript. I had this fear it would be too painful for my loved ones to bear. The thought of my children one day reading it paralyzed me and made me unsure about  going forward with it. Children of dysfunction often feel they are "too much" or a burden.

Something shifted when I talked with a therapist about it. She assured me my husband was a grown man, and he could take it, and sharing my story was important for our relationship. She was right.

I feel certain my children will one day read it, (we've agreed to revisit the issue when each is at least fifteen) and I'm confident they will not be devastated by it, but proud of their mom, for breaking the cycle so they might lead happy healthy lives. 

6) What has surprised you from the whole process?

With technology today, it is much easier than I thought it would be to independently publish. Gone are the days of having to order a thousand hard copies to sit in your garage and mock you. With print on demand there is very little upfront cost. Of course if you don't want your book to suck you should invest in good editors.

7) What would be your advice to someone just starting to write memoir?

Have a writing practice. Make time every day to write (or almost every day). Write everything. Especially that scene you'd rather not. Eat good food and drink pure water, and sleep. And step away from the computer and exercise. If you are just starting, just write. Don't worry if it is good. Don't share it with many people while it's new and tender. Go to writing workshops and find friends like Carrie Wilson Link, Jenny Rough and Courtney Sheinmel to have in your corner. Seriously.

8) What do you know now, that you wished you'd known then?

I know now, that my writing, whether brilliant or sucky, does not determine my value as a person. If I'd really known that in the beginning, I'd have taken myself less seriously and had a lot more fun. While I am always learning and striving to be a better writer, life is supposed to be fun.

Thanks so much, Carrie!

Love.

Daughter of the Drunk at the Bar is available in paperback on Amazon or in ebook form on Smashwords. 

Today is my Hopeful Parents day - see you over there! Thanks!

With Ease

Night number two of the reunion was super fun, too. Got to talk to some of the people I didn't the night before, and go a little deeper with those that I had. Really nice.

There were unexpected connections, small world stories, then just before I was leaving (after being there six hours), someone came up to me and said, "Oh, you're leaving, darn, I really wanted to talk to you." So, of course I stayed another half hour and was glad I did. He said, "I just wanted to tell you how much I liked your dad. I had him as a business law teacher, and now I'm a lawyer practicing business law."

On the way down to Eugene I stopped and saw really old family friends, spent a couple hours with my "twin" (born on the same day), her older sister and elderly parents. They knew my parents before they were married - knew my dad before he was even dating my mom. Both my twin and I have dad's with the same name, born four days apart. More than a coincidence, don't you think?

These two experiences book ending my weekend were nice extras. Wasn't expecting to go to my reunion and get stories about my dad that made me smile, made me soften, made me know him and appreciate him in a way I don't always.

Then, right before my two buddies and I parted for the weekend, one of them told us about her time with an intuitive healer. The woman asked if she'd been using a belt sander. As a matter of fact, yes, she had. The healer said, "Did you sand with ease?" As a matter of fact, no, she had not. "Do everything with ease. No matter what you're doing, cooking, sanding, laundry, talking, resting, washing dishes, driving, do it all with ease. Say to yourself, 'I am cooking with ease.' Add 'At ease' to the end of everything.

Like that better than "mindfulness" or "with presence." So, I said goodbye to my friends with ease. I drove home (in lots of traffic) with ease. I greeted my family, took Rojo out for frozen yogurt, and didn't unpack until today. With ease.

All day today I've found myself narrating what I'm doing. "I'm going to Trader Joe's with ease." "I'm parking with ease." "I'm putting things away with ease," etc.

And so I offer those helpful words to you, with ease.

love.

Reunited, and It Feels So Good

Having a ball at my 30th high school reunion. Last night a bunch of us (30?) gathered at a bar that we had virtually to ourselves, outdoor seating, and enjoyed a lovely summer evening getting caught up on each other.

In just a few minutes my two high school buddies and I are meeting to do it all again tonight - this time at a restaurant, with appetizers, dinner, the whole 9-yards.

Something so neat (and slightly weird) about being in a group where everyone is exactly the same age. Only time that happens anymore, and that is only every ten years. School is like that, isn't it? We put kids into homogenous groupings according to age, and then we break it further down into abilities, interest, college bound-ness, and the like. I was in education for years, I get it. But life is kind of like that, too, much as we may spend large amounts of time with a wide-variety of people, we tend to group ourselves according to what we have in common - our shared interests, skills and lives.

The great thing about a 30th reunion, is that everyone is so over themselves. We were all commenting on how much more fun it was than the 10-year, where we all had our heads up our you-know-where, thinking we were it on a stick with all our 28-year-old know-everything-ness.

Twenty years later we've all been humbled. We now know how little we know about most things, and what we do know, we know. And don't need a committee to agree. We are comfortable with our knowing and unknowing in a way that only a few hard knocks can provide. Nobody gets to 48 unscathed. Some might present as though they did, but if you talk to them for more than five minutes, you quickly learn that is simply not the case.

STM's advice to me before I packed up the CR-V and drove the two-hours south, was simply this: "Everyone wants everyone else to be happy and well. That's all we want for each other at this point. And to be at peace."

Amen.



 * Photo from Zazzle.com

Happy Birthday!

Kathleen is 50 today! Happy birthday, Kathleen! Does she, or does she not, make 50 look HOT? I know! C'mon, could she be any more beautiful? And that's just her outside!

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and this one certainly is. There she is right behind me, gentle hand on the shoulder. Guiding. Listening. Being present. Loving. We're starting our lucky thirteenth year of walking/talking/living side-by-side.

If we are judged by the company we keep, please, judge me! If I am but a fraction of the "company" that she is, I'll be happy!

Let us all raise our glass to friends that keep us sane. Friends that never say, "I know, you already told me that." Friends that forgive. Friends that root and cheer and champion our dreams. Friends that help raise our children. Friends that are friends with our other friends. Friends that don't believe in scarcity. Friends that make sense of the nonsense and add joy to the joyous!

Love, love, LOVE!

Passed Up

It's official: I am the shortest one in the family. Just in the last week Rojo has passed me up, not by much, but enough. Considering that he is STM, Jr. in a million different ways, I'm sure he'll eventually be way, way taller than me.

Growing taller is not the only thing that Rojo's been doing this summer. I cannot believe the difference in him even since his birthday just less than a month ago. He is more responsible. He is more independent. He has better behavior. He is extra thoughtful and has good manners, especially when texting.

Yesterday he texted from the school to say he was going up to the neighborhood grocery store. "Do you need anything?" he asked. "I'll be back in 15 minutes. Love you. Bye." Actually, it's all in caps when he texts, just like when he types and prints, and come to think of it, speaks. He's an all caps type of person.

Our behavioral/developmental pediatrician has been after me for months, to get him to go up to that store just a few blocks away, get whatever is on a short list, and come back. Yesterday he initiated the whole thing all on his own. There's a lesson in there somewhere.

Not only am I now looking up to him, I am really looking up to him.

Age of Wisdom

Woohoo is getting all four wisdom teeth out tomorrow. Long story short, we went to a dentist and two oral surgeons before deciding to move forward. She will have major drugs and the whole thing will be over in less than an hour. We won't even go there with the out-of-pocket cost (no dental insurance) and why it's fine for some people to charge $2,000 an hour. Believe me, I've gone there, and it's a black hole. So, instead of a family vacation, she gets her wisdom teeth out. Could be worse. Could be a lot worse. Could be unimaginably worse.

Was reading up on the procedure and all the things we need to know for the days following. Turns out the third set of molars are nicknamed wisdom teeth because they usually develop in late adolescents - the age of wisdom.

Trying to remember that Woohoo is indeed in late adolescents. She is balanced. Hard working - been working 30-hours/week all summer and making good choices with her time off. No complaints.

Still. If it were up to me, she'd already have her two books read that she needs to have read by September 6th, ("But Mom, that's like a whole month from now.") She'd have her "common ap." sketched out for college. She'd have a rough draft of her personal essay. She'd have a master list of colleges and their respective admission deadlines and criteria. She'd be registered for the ACTs and SATs. She'd be boning up on the books I bought her for that very reason.

In essence, she'd be an anxious wreck.

But she's not. She's chill. She's full of laughter. She's got nice friends and they do fun/safe/appropriate things together. "Mom, I'm not there yet. I'll get there," she says when my own anxiety can't be suppressed another minute.

I have to remember that her road to college is not mine. She will end up where she ends up because that's where she needs and wants to end up. It will be fine. It will be better than fine. It might not be what I would have chosen for her, but this is but one of many future such crossroads.

Indeed, she is ready. She knows herself. She always does what needs to be done.

And she is wise.

*http://www.a-w-i-p.com/media/blogs/spiritual-matters

What Kind of Mother...

Ever since Rojo turned 15 and got a cell phone, he's discovered a whole new independence. Kathleen also gave him a bike no one was using at their house, and of course he did his usual buck-buck-buck-embrace dance he always does, just like he did with the cell phone.

"I don't want a cell phone. I don't want to learn to text."

"I don't want a new bike. I will ride my old bike. I am not getting a new bike."

Blah, blah, blah and so it went for months until we slowly but surely won him over. Now he's a boy on a bike with a cell phone ALL the time. At times he's a naughty boy texting WHILE riding his bike, but he knows the wrath that shall be upon him if he's caught one more time doing that.

He has taken to riding over to the nearby school several times a day and seeing who's there. Sometimes there are friends, usually there are strangers, whom, to Rojo, are simply friends he hasn't made yet. He is big on talking to all the people throwing the ball for their dogs to catch. Flicka must have had all that trained out of her, because she does not like to run after a ball more than once. Rojo could throw it a hundred times and has discovered the joys of a Chuckit. He's become something of a regular, and can tell you everyone's name, their dog's name, which dogs are good and which ones are rambunctious, which ones listen to his commands and which ones need him to "train" them.

Some of the people he talks to over there I know, too. Some, I do not. There was a day I would have had lots of judgment about a mom that sends her special needs child out on his own, to do whatever it is he is doing. There may be some of that going on - probably is. And here's the thing: I no longer care (too much).

I'll tell you what kind of mother lets her now 15-year-old special needs son "wander" the neighborhood. One that is three doors down. One that comes by often to observe. One that has her cell phone attached to her at all times. One that trusts her son has guardian angels. One that believes in the goodness of her community. One that believes in the goodness of most humans. One that believes her son is an excellent judge of character. One that is ready to let him spread his wings just a little bit. One that is tired of being with him every second of every day.

That's who.

New Marys

SUPER BIG MARY

SVELTE MARY

TINY MARY

Top 10 Things to Do Rather Than Finish Your Manuscript

10. Clean the garage that hasn't been cleaned in almost 8 years.

9. While you're in there, sweep.

8. Once you've swept, time to hose everything down.

7. Don't actually remove anything, just hose it all - it'll eventually dry.

6. Take all the things that are now wet, that you've decided you don't need, and immediately load them into your car to go to Goodwill.

5. Ditto with the recycling.

4. Stop what you're doing and drive to both Goodwill and the recycling center.

3. Come home and not really be in the mood to finish anymore.

2. Finish anyway.

1. Start in on the outdoor toy box.

Definition of Insanity

Wasn't it Einstein that said the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results? Yea. About that. After 30+ years of being told by experts and having physical proof that I am dairy intolerant, I am going to make a concerted effort to kick the habit. I am sure I would feel better kicking gluten, processed foods, caffeine, alcohol, etc, also, HOWEVER, I am going to start with the obvious culprit and just see what happens when I try to remove it from my diet.

Here's the deal. I had my one and only "cup" (read: giant mug) of coffee this morning, black. Tasted just find. Liked it, in fact, just didn't scratch the itch, though, you know? Like a whole different drink. Not a bad one, just not the one I've come to rely on. And, I fully expected to feel like a whole new woman five minutes after skipping the cream. I don't know where people got the idea that I am patient, I am simply not. That's why it's just one big cosmic joke that I was given one of the most annoying people on the planet to spend my days/months/years/lifetimes with.

Took all my Starbucks Double Shots that lined the pantry and fridge, put them in a used shopping bag and dumped them off at Nancy's house this morning before I could change my mind. They are just one more example of something I crave, fantasize about, look at my watch to see if it's too late in the day to have, basically go nuts over, and then feel crummy for hours after consuming. Then the next day I go through the same torment all over again.

"You've got to break the loop," STM said. "One day at a time it. Don't think about never having another one again, just don't have one today."

The (annoying) voice of reason.

Woohoo woke up this morning, first words out of her mouth (after lying and saying, "I'm up, I'm UP!" when clearly she was not), was, "How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb?"

"I don't know, " I said.

"Zero. First the lightbulb has to want to change."

This ol "lightbulb" is ready to make one change.

Eating Like a Caveman

I'm not a dieter, and by the grace of God have not had to "diet" for the sake of weight loss. However, seems like everyone I know is changing theirs, changing their kids', changing their spouses, trying to get healthy. Some seem extreme: no gluten, no dairy, no soy, no egg, no sugar, no to most nuts, no, no, no.

I've been thinking about seeing an acupuncturist for a chronic health issue. Thought I'd get stuck with a few needles, perhaps a few different times, and be cured. "She's going to put you on the Paleo Diet probably," said my friend that recommended one to me.

"No! I want needles! Maybe some herbs! Not a diet! I already know I'd feel better if I ate better, but I simply do not have the energy (or desire) to radically change the way we eat!"

"Carrie, I am telling you, I had 17 symptoms and within 30 days 15 were gone and two were managed. I'm not hungry, it feels like someone finally pulled the cotton from my head, I'm going to the grocery store without a list, I have energy, I'm pain-free..." on and on she went.

I believe her 100%. Yet, I still want no part of it.

A Must Read

My friend, Michelle O'Neil, is an indie publisher, check it out: Daughter of the Drunk at the Bar. I had the pleasure of being a super early reader, as well as a recent reader. The book rocks, quite frankly. You will love it. You will laugh. You will gasp. You will cry. You will rage. You will cheer. You will have more empathy and compassion. You will not be sorry.

love.

Yes, Yes and More Yes

Yes, Rojo had the same two friends stop by yesterday, unexpectedly, that came by a few weeks ago.

Yes, he was a jerk to them, again.

Yes, it was because he had money in his pocket and was planning on waiting outside for the ice cream truck, and their arrival threw a wrench into his plans.

Yes, I have tried to teach him to behave appropriately, despite frustrations and changes of plans.

Yes, he could have easily hung out with them while waiting for the ice cream truck.

Yes, I pointed that out.

Yes, he remained jerk-like.

Yes, I sent him to his room.

Yes, he went, but not before throwing his bike on the ground and his helmet across the driveway.

Yes, I took his cell phone.

Yes, I told him Flicka could not hang out with him while he spent 35 minutes in his room.

Yes, I told him if the ice cream truck did come, he would not be buying any.

Yes, that was what broke him.

Yes, I felt terrible.

Yes, he is eating out of the palm of my hand, today.

Yes, everyone that asks me how my summer is going gets to hear this story in excruciating detail.

Scarcity Mentality

The same (rebel) priest that recently held the Mary Magdalene retreat, has done many other amazing things in his career. He has done a lot in education, been a principal, started a school for kids with learning differences, on and on the impressive list goes.

Actually, he was once a principal in the Catholic school where I started teaching, several years before I got there. He created a set of five rules by which the school would operate. Kids. Teachers. Staff. Parents. Everyone. I learned them almost 25 years ago, but of course, fail to use them most days. I'm convinced they are the keys to happiness. I did blog about these on my old blog, but I realize that was many moons ago, so here they are in summary:

1) No Scarcity: "I agree to act on my belief that there is enough of what we all need if we cooperate."

2) Equal Rights: "I agree to respect your rights as a person, as equal to mine." Everyone has an equal responsibility to cooperate.

3) No Power Plays: "I agree not to use power plays to get what I want." Power plays - hitting, yelling withdrawing, slamming doors, threatening, staying angry, refusing to talk, refusing to cooperate, etc.

4) No Rescues: "I will not do for you anything that makes me angry."

5) No Secrets: "I will tell you what I am feeling, especially when I am feeling angry or afraid."

  
For whatever reason, the one that trips me up the most is No Scarcity. I do have a real fear that there is simply not enough. Not enough time. Not enough energy. Not enough of anything, really, simply put, everything is scarce. I know that's not true, but I believe it's true.

When I am all in a tizzy (too many times to count), if I slow myself down enough to get at what's under the tizzy, it's a belief in scarcity. I need to hurry because there isn't enough time. I need to do it because there aren't enough people to do it. I need to do it today because tomorrow there won't be enough time/energy/etc.

I am going "back in" with these rules, and while I don't pretend I'll ever master them, I'm going to spend some time with each one until I am at least thinking that way more often than not. Good thing there's no scarcity of time!



* Sanskrit for abundance

Outage

We've had the weirdest summer, only a handful of days over 80 (and none over 85) and many in the 60's. Sunday it rained so hard you would have thought it was January. Even knocked the power out for a couple of hours.

Just when the power went out STM was getting ready to take Rojo over to visit his parents, and give me a break. I was going to go to the grocery store(s), get started on dinner, do laundry, catch up on e-mail, and about 100 other things I planned to pack into the 2-hours they'd be gone.

They left, and I went to open my garage to get my car out, and of course, could not. Couldn't do the laundry. Couldn't cook the dinner. Couldn't get on the Internet. Couldn't vacuum. Couldn't iron. Couldn't do anything on the list.

Walked around aimlessly for a few minutes before deciding the outage was a huge gift. The gift of not being able to do anything except rest. Crawled into bed and had a great a nap. When I woke up the power was back on. I pretended it wasn't and went back to bed.

 Note to self: Don't wait for the power to go out to restore mine.


* Photo from Wikipedia

I am at Hopeful Parents today. : )

Only Way Out

I am one of the very worst when it comes to asking for help. I loved this post for that reason. I would have definitely been the one that walked aimlessly forever because I refused to believe I needed help and/or it was simply impossible. Rojo would have raised his hand in 2 seconds and said, "That's it for me."


* Photo from http://rcvane.com

FIFTEEN

Our boy is fifteen today. Fifteen. Don't know how that happened. The days go by slowly, yet somehow the years fly by.

Could he have been any cuter? I remember holding him in my arms for the very first time just after he was born and thinking, He's handsome. And at fifteen he's a pure lady killer. Dimples to die for, nice teeth, twinkly blue eyes, sandy blond hair with natural blond highlights, gorgeous hands, tall, slender (alright, skiiiiiinnny).

The boy that couldn't, then wouldn't, converse, is Mr. Social now. He is my dad at his best, all over again. It's got to be pure DNA or some encounter in the In Between, because they never met, but Rojo has many of the same mannerisms as my dad did, and it makes me smile every time I see or hear them.

Now Rojo rides his bike over to the neighborhood school just down the street from our house (you can actually see it from our house), all by himself. It started with me telling him to ride on down and I'd follow with Flicka. He would beat us by five minutes, and that would be all the time he'd need to find or make a friend. By the time I got there he had the full 411. "Mom, I just met a boy named Garrett. He is five. He.... " blah, blah, blah.

Now I've got him riding his bike down there without me. He rides in circles around the black top and chats people up if they're there, or just sings and raises his arms in praise if they aren't. If he's still there after fifteen minutes I walk on down and check it out. Sometimes it's painful to watch, not that he's doing anything wrong or that anyone is being less than kind - the opposite. People are exceedingly kind and patient, and some seem to actually be enjoying themselves. I forget that in small doses he can be delightful. He is just so not 15 when I observe, and as long as I've been at this, that still sweeps me at the knees at unexpected times.

We told him for his birthday we'd get him a cell phone and teach him to text. "No, I do not want a cell phone," he protested, as expected. That's why we started the soft sell months ago, warming him up to the idea. We want him to have a phone for safety reasons, and for my convenience when I pick him up from school in the fall, since it's not as cut and dried as it's been for the past nine years. We also want him to be able to ask for help from his tribe, should the need arise.

Got the phone a few days ago - walked into Verizon and explained the situation. Got the perfect sales person that didn't try to sell me a bunch of stuff I didn't need, but did get me sold on the need for insurance and an extra hard carrying case to withstand dropping. The phone has pretty big keys and "flips," which was all that Rojo insisted upon. "Mom, make sure my phone flips. I want a flip phone. Make sure it does not slide, like yours, make sure you turn it this way (horizontally) and it just boom, flips right up." Got him just the perfect one - way nicer than the cheap-o one I have, but what are you going to do?

Knew he'd be obsessed about getting the phone all day if we didn't give it to him 2 seconds after he woke up, so that's just what we did. Doesn't everyone have their family birthday parties at 6:15 AM? Woohoo had to be up any way to go to work, so it was perfect. By 6:30 I'd received four texts from him. By 8:15 I'd received over 20. He is an awesome texter. Remembers to say, "please" and "thank you." Remembers to say, "goodbye." Remembers to say, "I love you." I do realize that 2 hours do not a trend make, but I'm very encouraged.

I had pre-programmed all his tribe into the phone before he opened it, and before wrapping it I'd sent everyone a text letting them know what his number is and warning them they'd be hearing from him on Thursday. He did not disappoint.

Then the nicest thing evolved organically this morning, his three favorite tribe members: Kathleen, Nancy and her husband, Tom, all let me know they'd like to come by after he gets done at work. As it turns out they are all free at the same time and so we are all going to get frozen yogurt and celebrate our favorite boy.

It's cliche to say it takes a village to raise a child, but that doesn't make it any less true.

Here's to Rojo's village, which happens to be mine.

Here's to texting.

Here's to Rojo.

It All Boils Down To These

I went to a mini-retreat on Mary Magdalene - one of the most misunderstood women in history, if you ask me. The information was fascinating, various myths were debunked (of course she was not a prostitute), and it was just overall enlightening. The retreat was led by a Catholic priest - but a rebel one. He encouraged all of the women in the room to challenge the church, to make history, to go ahead and speak the truth without any hope of being honored, in fact, content knowing the opposite would most likely be true.

All that was utterly compelling and invigorating to me, however, what he said about Jesus' teachings being universal, was the coolest. He once did a conference with every different faith represented, Wiccans, Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Protestants, Catholics, Baptists, Buddhists, you-name-it. He asked each person to list all the tenants of their faith. What do they believe in? What are the teachings? What are they about? People scribbled and scribbled, filling their notebook paper up on both sides, and some asking for another sheet.

"Now circle the top six things - the six things that everything else on the list boils down to." They, without exception, circled the same six things: Peace, Justice, Compassion, Forgiveness, Healing and.... Love.



* http://www.reconciliationday.net

FROM WHERE I SIT

Not enough has been made about Rojo's summer "job," working in a preschool four blocks from our house. He rides his bike there, I just text the teacher, Sandy, and say, "He's on his way," and she texts me, "He's here." Then for four lovely hours each of us does what we do best: he works with kids three to five-years-old, and I do anything other than talk about the ice cream truck.

We have been dragging my friend Nancy along with us for frozen yogurt each day. Nancy is the one with the swing in her backyard, and the husband that brings me beer. I finally turned to Nancy one day and said, "People must think I exaggerate about how much he talks about the ice cream truck. Do I?" She, in her soft-spoken Nancy way just said, "Not so much." She is way too kind to say, "He never *&^%$#@ shuts up about it!"

So, for four hours each day, M-F, Rojo gets to spread his wings, be the one in charge, be the one that is kind, patient and thoughtful, be the one that is helpful, be THE guy. He is relishing it, and he's already telling me that that's what he wants to do for his job when he finishes high school in four (frighteningly short) years. Of course, I don't have to tell you, those wheels are already fully in motion.

Which brings me back to The List, as in, The List of What I Do Well. Everywhere I look my friends are doing all kinds of things I couldn't begin to do, and part of my most recent funk, was the inferiority complex I had going, because the things they do well, it just seems like I should be able to do well, too, but the fact of the matter is, I don't.

Had a little pow-wow with Mary recently, and she said, "I've asked you to do one extraordinary thing. That's all you need to do. You could do 100 ordinary things well (and you suck at all of them), but I'm not asking you to do any of them."

Terrry (Toeless) called the other day. Everyone needs at least one Terry in their life - the Truth Teller. One who can show you your dark side while you belly laugh the entire time. She dared to utter all the ugly things running through my mind about all kinds of things. One by one she gave voice to them and I could hear how utterly ridiculous they sounded, while also hearing the true wounds that created the less than optimal reactions in the first place. I gave her an inch and she took a mile, in the best way possible. I complained that Kathleen had rightfully been offered the job of her dreams, and Terry said wonderful things like, "How DARE she?" "You wouldn't have done that to her!" and my favorite, "Nobody would even hire you!" All things at some level I believed to be true, but once brought into the light, saw to be only tiny truths, with much larger (healthier) truths underneath them.

"Nobody's telling me to get a job. I don't even want a job, but I don't want to be unemployable!" I complained. "I cannot get settled with that. Why can't I just complete the processing of that, and move ON?" knowing instantly what the real answer to that is. I have a job. I have a 24/7 job, fifteen years in the exact same job, as a matter of fact, with no raise, very little change in responsibilities, no end in sight. No hope of retirement.

However, there are great benefits. I get to spend hours on my front porch each day rocking in a cute white double rocker, with the beverage of my choice. I sit there while people walk by all day, point, smile, and say things like, "What a great place to sit!" and even this, "You look like you're at such peace." Rojo rides his "ice cream truck" back and forth singing the same song over and over, but I'm getting him to go all the way around the block now, and yesterday, he made a several block loop giving me a full 5:05 period of peace (yes, my task includes timing him on the stopwatch feature of my phone). This is progress. Rome wasn't built in a day, and Rojo will not be independent tomorrow, but we are moving in the right direction.

One World

I am in one of my Poor Carrie moods, and no good can really come from blogging when I'm in this mood, because it will pass, and you've all heard it before anyway, and so, instead, I bring you a "new" blog. It's not new, it's a year old, but I'm late in bringing it to your attention, and I'm sorry about that, because it is absolutely 100% fab.

Michaela is my friend Kathleen's daughter, a 21-year-old almost senior in college. This summer she is the activities director at a camp for seriously ill children, The Painted Turtle.

She recently posted a beautiful piece called One World that did much to help me recover from the Poor Carrie Syndrome.

Checking the Box

Going to my 30th high school reunion in August. Thirty years. Sounds like a big number. Been doing the math since the 20th and knew that 2011 would mark thirty, and kept my ear to the ground for details of the reunion as they emerged - knew I'd want to go and see everyone.

Only kept in close touch with two friends, and we'll be staying together in a hotel for the weekend, which in and of itself will be worth the trip. We are three very different people that might not ever find each other now, but because we found each other when we were 14 (actually, one was only 13), we are forever found.

Had to write a check for $40 for the night of the actual reunion, there is an unofficial come-who-may night beforehand, too. Undoubtedly that one will be more fun - the more thrown together the better, if you ask me.

Got new checks - first time I've had those 2-parters and I'm left with the copies underneath. Not sure just what I'll do with them, never had a need for them before and now I know I'll feel compelled to somehow store them (in plastic totes in my basement), like all the other junk I don't know what to do with. On each duplicate is a little "Track Your Expenses" portion, with neat and tidy categories from which to choose. Kind of having fun doing that, just to see where my money actually goes. Feel super noble when I get to mark "Charities," feel responsible when marking "Education" or "Utilities," and feel lazy when marking "Other."

When it came time to mark the check for $40, I decided on "Entertainment." Could have called it "Travel," could have called it any number of things, but really, I'm going there to laugh about old times, learn about everyone since the last time we gathered, maybe cry a little, too. I'm going there to have an experience I cannot have by staying home. I'm going to have fun. I'm going because it's time to form union. Again. Re-union.

You Raised Me Up, Thank You

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened."

 Dr. Seuss

We said goodbye to our beloved priest today. Tomorrow there will be a new priest, and I hear he's great. I am feeling a little like the step-child that doesn't want to like the new "dad" just because the mom does. He's going to have to win me over.

We moved to this neighborhood just days before Rojo was born and just days before this priest came to this parish. And Rojo left the school just days before this priest leaves, too. You don't think that's an accident, right? 

The priest did a Mass this school year where he used the Josh Groban lyrics and talked about the importance of raising each other up - not tearing each other down. Then he demonstrated by having the eighth grade boys lift him up. It was powerful. I tear up each time I look at my photo from that day. I tear up each time I say goodbye to this priest (and I've been dragging it out - it's been three goodbyes so far). I tear up each time I think of how I wouldn't have reconciled so many powerful and persistent inner struggles had it not been for this man - a man who 100% gets it. A man who preaches on a God of love. A God that does not want our sacrifices - only our heart. A God that forgives. A God that heals. A God that does not "give" us our struggles, but the grace by which to handle them. A man who lives his life like the God he shares with us.

It's fair to say I would not have found a church home at all had it not been for this man. It's fair to say that he has shown me what can be right about "organized religion" and the power of a faith-based community. It's fair to say this man has inspired hundreds and hundreds of people in his 15-years in this parish. It's fair to say his legacy will live on and on and on, because we've been raised up. And up we will stay.

Listening and Hearing

I have a blissful hour to myself and am in a coffee shop listening to good music and trying to loose myself in the comforts of my laptop. Around me are students with highlighters, people with books, friends talking, people having business meetings. Then over in the corner is a foursome, two men, two women, all grey haired, having coffee. They are all using sign language.

Although I don't know their story (and am dying to), I'm so distracted by them I can hardly enjoy my sinfully delicious beverage. What I am most struck by is how only one of them "speaks" at a time. The other three "listen" with rapt attention. There are lots of nods and smiles, even silent laughs. Can you imagine how different the hearing world would be if people stopped interrupting each other? We are so used to it we don't even get annoyed when it happens to us - we accept it as "normal" to be asked a question and then not have the opportunity to answer without being interrupted, particularly if we're in a group of more two.

This is a particular pet peeve of STM's and so I am extra aware of how badly most people listen. We hear but we don't listen. These people don't hear but they do listen. They must hear so much more that way.

* Photo from http://www.lifeprint.com

Top 10 Things I Need to Record Myself Saying and Then Re-Play in a Continuous Loop

10. Wash your hands.

 9. With soap.

 8. No, not on top of the clean dishes in the drying rack.

 7. See how the sink is divided in two? See how that half has clean dishes?

 6. Other side.

 5. Let me see and smell your hands.

 4. Go wash them again.

 3. Now dry them.

 2. Hang up the towel.

 1. Try again.





Photo from http://iweb.rachaelraystore.com

Yes, Continued

Yes, my Visa was declined today.

Yes, there was a message on the phone from Visa suspecting fraudulent use.

Yes, the fraud was a false alarm.

Yes, STM made a super big purchase for business, in an attempt to get our air miles up there so we can get the hell out of here.

Yes, we looked on line recently for places to go/stay for our 20th anniversary in a few months, and anything that said, "Family friendly" got the big N-O.

Yes, STM actually said, "I don't want to spend my vacation with a bunch of typicals."

Yes, that made me laugh so hard I spit out my (second) beer.

Yes, while on the land line with Visa I called STM on my cell phone to verify his charge.

Yes, while I had one phone on each ear, the ice cream truck came by and Rojo needed money right that second.

Yes, I walked out to the front yard with both phones on my ears, and watched the ice cream truck transaction.

Yes, while in my front yard a friend and neighbor drove by and waved, and I almost waved back before I remembered I was holding up not one, but two telephones.

Yes

Yes, we're only into this "vacation" one week and I'm already loopy.

Yes, I've already dropped an F-bomb.

Yes, Rojo laughed.

Yes, it was not directed at him and the miracle is that it's the first one I've ever dropped (within his earshot).

Yes, my exact words were, "This is *&^%$#@ brutal."

Yes, I was referring to the traffic combined with his ice cream songs combined with the incessant questions, combined with my own need to pee. Right. That. Minute.

Yes, we paid back the $5.00 we borrowed from the snow cone man yesterday.

Yes, we bought four more today - three for Rojo and one for me (bubblegum).

Yes, thirteen more days until he starts his "job."

Yes, I already have a coffee date with a friend scheduled for the very first day.


* Photo from http://www.legaljuice.com/

Personal Trainer

Rojo has me on some wild bike riding frenzy. Out of nowhere he wants to go everywhere via bike, which is great, right? Except I don't have an actual bike. Sure, we have bikes, we have two for 6'2" STM, we have a discarded purple one for the formally 4'10" Woohoo, and we have his really old and really small red one. Kathleen brought over a bigger bike for Rojo that they weren't using anymore, and I've been riding that one, except I'm always a mile away before I remember I was supposed to pump up the tires. And raise the seat. And learn how to shift the gears (should be easy, but for some reason it's over my head).

So, we on our misfit bikes have headed out each of the last three days and had an adventure. We've ridden to 7-11 and bought our glazed donuts, water bottle, and Starbucks Double Shot with Cream and then ridden to the park for a "picnic." We've ridden to the park, gone in, out, around and through the park and back again. And today we rode to a really far park where they sell the snow cones. Remember the snow cones from last summer? Yea, well, so does Rojo, so do I, and as luck would have it, Joey, the snow cone man, remembers us, too.

"We opened yesterday, I thought I'd see you first thing!" he said when we showed up today. He asked if I wanted to buy the Buy 10 Get One Free deal, but I told him I hadn't brought enough money. "That's okay," he said, "Just pay me tomorrow, I know you'll be here!" Then he proceeded to give me my 10 tokens and went ahead and gave us our free snow cone.

Rojo proceeded to eat three snow cones, just enough to "fuel" him for the return trip home. I was d-r-a-g-g-i-n-g, and complaining, and quite possibly shouting out things like, "This is brutal!" "I'm dying here!" and "My legs are jelly!" All of which just served to make him ride all the faster and basically leave me in the dust for one hot and sweaty mile after mile.

If only I had a personal trainer that got me to drink smoothies and eat lots of leafy green vegetables instead of highly processed, overly caffeinated things, well, then, I wouldn't have Rojo, would I?

Dear Hallmark:

Really? It's 2011 and my choices of Father's Day card themes are limited to: golf, BBQ, fishing and home repairs? That's it? Let me tell you something: I have had two fathers, any number of father figures, and one husband who is a father, and they simply do not fit into any of your tidy (and oh, so stereotypical) categories.

While it's true that in his hey day my father-in-law could fix anything, that's not what made him a great father. And while it's true that my husband likes to golf, he seldom does. Why? Because he's too busy fathering. And while it's true my father was a father, he did none of the above, nor did he wear a tie (another favorite theme). And while he may have been a giant pain-in-the-ass, he also taught me a lot for which I am grateful. He did not father in any traditional sense, but he fathered. He was card-worthy.

Where are the cards that thank the men in our life for going to 1,001 appointments to behavioral/developmental pediatricians? Changing diapers for thirteen years straight? Teaching a teenager to ride a bike? Taking someone to Home Depot every weekend for a decade, to count fork lifts?  Making garlic toast every morning at 6:00 AM for years? Sacrificing vacations, new cars, clothes, recreation, "fun" so that their children could have the best education possible?

I guess that puts them in the World's Best Dad category, but that rubs me the wrong way, too. Stepping up and parenting the kids you are given does not make you the "best." It makes you a parent.

I'm over at Hopeful Parents today - see you there!

love.

Top 10 Expressions of the Day

Things are cuckoo around here, totally out-of-control with Rojo's graduation and the 1,001 details surrounding that event and subsequent events, plus Woohoo is getting ready to leave on a three-week trip out of the country, and, and, and. Rojo is really into expressions right now, as in every 10 minutes asking me, "Do you have an expression for me?" So, here's my list of what I say to him at any given time, or multiple times a day, as the case may be:

10. I'd forget my head if it weren't screwed on

 9.  I'm betwixt and between

 8. I'm burning the candle at both ends

 7. I don't know if I'm coming or going

 6. I'm running around like a chicken with my head cut off

 5. I'm one bubble short of plumb

 4.  That knife cuts both ways

 3.  I'm nuttier than a fruitcake

 2. I'm barely keeping my head above water

 1. One day at a time


Photo from http://www.buffalostate.edu

Angel

Back in January I did a post called Team Orange. That post remains one of my most "hit" posts of all time, and not because it was eloquent. It is because the lives that this woman touched were many, and the post got forwarded, put on Facebook by various people, etc., and it sort of rippled - just like her vast love.

I'm sad to say that this incredible woman died very early Wednesday morning. I met her only a handful of times and I can hardly pull myself together. An e-mail went out asking that we place a flower in the orange ribbons that still line street after street in this neighborhood. Needless to say, there are flowers everywhere.

This week, as we all knew her time was near, you'd see people wearing orange, sporting orange headbands, bracelets, you-name it. Each time I saw it I smiled, teared up and felt moved to my core. Truly, this woman's heroic fight with cancer and ultimate surrender and loss to it, brought this community together like nothing I've ever seen. Until all this, I under-appreciated orange. Now I can't look at it without seeing it's beauty - it's perfect blend of two primary colors: red and yellow, it's very Middle Way-ness. I see it everywhere I look, and I find that so comforting, like she is everywhere, and I believe that to be true.

I don't know how you begin to convince three small children that her 42-year-life was anything but cut short, and that her death was not tragic. For them, it was and is. For her husband, parents, siblings, family and  huge circle of friends, the loss is unimaginable. So, too, have been the gifts, though. One of her closest friends and I ran into each other in the grocery store Tuesday, and talked about this. She died just like she lived: generously, kindly, compassionately, courageously. She was a teacher.

She was an an angel when she "lived" and she is most certainly one now - one whose name we know. Long may her lessons live.

Agape

Rojo's 8th grade class went on a retreat today. Most of these kids have been together since kindergarten. To say they know each other well is an understatement. In fact, they played a "How Well Do You Know Each Other?" game, and it was a 3-way tie between 3 of the 4 teams (my team lost, but let's not dwell). They are more siblings than anything, and if you ask me, you just can't put a price on that. I do believe they'd go to the ends of the earth for each other, and some of them already are, and some will be called to, and all will respond.

It's always a mixed blessing to be with Rojo and his whole class. I am simultaneously bombarded by the fact that he is anything but typical (can you say, "Sore thumb?") and the fact that he is 100% accepted, put up with beyond belief, and embraced.

Earlier in the day each kid drew a name of one of their classmates. They were then asked to write in their journals, how this classmate had been a gift to them, and to others. At the end of the day Rojo's Resource Room teacher, Liz, (who, thank GOD came at the last minute and who saved the day multiple times), led the group in what she called an agape meal: bread, grapes, grape juice and a toasting to each other's gifts. She explained that agape means love - but a certain kind of love, unconditional, the kind that God has for us and that we're called to have for one another.

Liz demonstrated how the whole thing would work, she would pick someone to start, they'd read what they'd written about the person whose name they'd chosen, then the person who'd just been read about would read, and so on, until each kid had read, and each kid had been bathed in agape. But before she picked a kid to begin, she said beautiful things about both J. and Rojo, "her" two students. She talked about the fun things she and J. had done together this year, and all the other wonderful things about J., of which they are innumerable. To Rojo she said, "Thank you for teaching me everything I needed to know about teaching special ed," Of course that got my tears flowing - especially since this is not her first rodeo.

Then later both of Rojo's truest and bluest friends, the two that have been there through thick and thin since kindergarten, the two that have held doors and zipped zippers, flushed toilets and buckled belts, come over to play and brought their friends, and the two that most recently baptized him, they both spoke. One had actually drawn his name (no accidents) and one shared lovely things about the person he'd drawn, then felt compelled to also comment on Rojo.

Agape.







* Photo from http://www.agape-loves.com

Banana Popsicles

The box said banana. We picked that particular assortment of Popsicles because it had banana - Rojo's favorite flavor. Yet, when he packed a bunch into his red thermal lunch box Bungee corded to his bike with the Blue Ice, I lost all track of that. The "ice cream man" doot doot dooted, "Do Your Ears Hang Low?" up and down the sidewalk in front of our house, with me standing on the front porch waving wildly and shouting, "Ice cream! Ice cream! I want ice cream!"

He obliged, pulled over, and asked, "What kind?"

"I'll take a lemon, please," I answered, already tasting that perfect sweet and tart taste on my tongue.

He handed me the one that clearly was yellow inside and I tore off the wrapper, popped it into my mouth and said, "Ew! This is banana!"

Of course it was banana. No way in the world for it to possibly be lemon. None.

Yet I really wanted it to be lemon. Because it was yellow, because it was a Popsicle, because it was what  I'd somehow decided it was what I needed, wanted, and yes, deserved, I just felt totally cheated out of my lemon Popsicle.

The banana had done me wrong.

I hated that banana Popsicle and everything about it, until I finally pulled my head out and saw the metaphor for life: nothing wrong with a banana Popsicle. It's just not lemon. Nobody promised me lemon. Lemon is not better or worse, just different. It's lemon. Being mad at banana because it's not lemon is as silly as all the other things I'm mad about just because they aren't what I wanted or expected them to be. Time to embrace all the bananas in my life.

Losing the Map

Some of the things I'm sure are just brilliant that I write, go over like a lead balloon, while others that I don't plan out, or necessarily feel inspired to write at all, seem to really hit some magic nail on the head.

Here's what I've come to understand about my own writing process - when it's working, I don't even know where I'm going with something until I get there. The best parts of my memoir, favorite blog posts, even letters or e-mails I write, it's all the same thing: I just get started and somewhere along the way I make a turn towards "something." Sometimes there is a lot of editing to take out all the meandering, and other times, boom, there it is - surprising me more than anyone.

My new (ish) favorite thing to do is go to Starbucks, get all caffed up and just start with a blank "page." I wonder what I'm going to say? I think to myself. On a good day I change the title three times, because where I think I am is not where I am, and where I am going is not where I'm going, and where I end up is not where I thought I'd end up.

Perhaps life is not meant to be planned out in excruciating detail, but rather, allowed to unfold.


* Photo from http://www.istockphoto.com/

Triggered

Yesterday was one of those days where almost everyone I came into contact with said or did something that triggered me. Could have been one tiny little misplaced word like "best." Could have been something as simple as someone saying no to my (really great, brilliant, super helpful and perfect) suggestion. Could have been someone telling me I was confusing them, as opposed to them saying they were simply confused.

Turns out I was doing some triggering of my own. Things I said in jest dropped deeper than I'd intended. I guess you just never know what's going to trigger you, and when you're going to do the triggering.

It does beg the question, however, how careful must we be to watch out for that sort of thing? I am all about sensitivity, or so I think, until someone busts me on my own actions. Then again, I think I do some of my best work totally uncut. Pulling a Dr. Phil, if you will, calling it like I see it.

Even when someone says, "I need advice... " or "Tell me what you think..." or worse yet, "Tell me the truth..." it can, and often is, dicey to do so. Maybe that's why we have professionals - maybe the answer is to just shut up and listen and not offer anything back whatsoever - let those that are hired to do so, do so.

I don't know, what do you think? Tell me the truth.


Photo from http://farm1.static.flickr.com

Ice Cream Truck

Those of you that have followed this blog for five years know, Rojo has a "thing" for the ice cream truck. And by "thing" I don't mean obsession. I don't mean fascination. I don't mean extreme interest verging on perseveration. No, I mean "thing" as in there-is-no-word-in-the-English-language for such long-term preoccupation. That's the kind of "thing," I'm talking about.

He plays ice cream truck songs on his keyboard.

He plays ice cream truck songs on our piano. Loudly. Both hands. Pedals, too. Starts at 6:00 AM and goes (on and off) to 8:00 PM on the weekends and "holidays."

He plays ice cream truck songs on YouTube. His favorite one (I couldn't find it when I looked, because I just knew you'd want to check it out), includes a woman's voice saying (weirdly), "Hellllllll-O!" He replays that one for hours. Hours. Then he goes around the house/yard/neighborhood/grocery store imitating it to perfection for days. Days. Let's go ahead and make that weeks.

He hums/taps/kicks/sings/shouts ice cream truck songs every unmedicated moment of every day between March and October.

Here it is June 1st and we've yet to see our first ice cream truck of the season. I think the 23 days of cold rain in May might have had something to do with it. I think the $4/gallon price of gas may have something to do with it. I think the $1 - $2 ice cream sales that are few and far between are part of the problem.

Never fear, Rojo holds out great hope that the ice cream truck is going to start coming soon, and we are ready. Our money is by the door. We are home each day during probable ice cream truck hours. We have our minds made up and orders selected in our heads. Ready, we are.

In a desperate attempt to take matters into his own hands I've helped him strap on an old thermal lunch bag on to his bike, and we put a freezer pack and a few random popsicles in there and "sell" them to anyone that will "buy" them - people at the park that we know or at least sort of know, neighbors, friends and relatives.

Had another one of my car without brakes dreams this week. Was telling Kathleen about it on our walk, "That's an out-of-control dream," she said.

"Right, but the thing is, I don't feel that way," I answered. Then she proceeded to point out all the big transitions right around the corner, and while I might not be conscious of feeling out of control, I certainly AM out of control, just like everyone else. I'm not in control over how Rojo does in his new high school, despite the measures taken (by me and by the much larger community) to ensure his success and well-being. I'm not in control over Woohoo's SAT scores, finals, college applications, acceptances or final decision.

I'm not in control over much, as it turns out, but I can be in full control over whether or not I choose to let the ice cream truck "thing" be a problem or not. I choose not.