You Know You Are In a Bit of a Rut . . .

When a trip to the gynecologist sounds like a relaxing afternoon. . . .

What Do You Want to Happen By the End of the Day?

My friend Matt shared this link on Facebook, and wow, I am glad he did. It is nice to wake up in the morning and have something shake you up a little, and make you think about whether today is going to happen to you, or you are going to happen to today.


Fifty People, One Question: Restored from Benjamin Reece on Vimeo.

My answer: I wish that at the end of the day, everyone in the world would be true to themselves, to who and what they truly are; That we would all be comfortable in our own skin, and respectful of what other people are, too.

And of course . . . world peace.

Call Me Tipper

Yesterday, Tiller and I dropped Rollie off at school, then headed for the gym. We were coming through Oakhurst and were on 2nd Ave. We stopped at the four-way stop at Oakview. This intersection is across a two-lane street (Oakview) which has a grassy median in the middle. So, when you are crossing on 2nd, you go across one lane of traffic, then there is an area that cuts between the grassy median, and then you cross the other lane of Oakview. We were the first car there, then two other cars pulled up: One at the Stop to our left, and one at the Stop directly across from us. There was no one at the Stop sign to our right. We began to cross and as I reached the beginning of the middle of the intersection, a truck (Ford F150-sized, I'd say) came blowing through his Stop sign on my right. He was going about 40-45 miles and hour and didn't even slow for his Stop sign. I slammed on my brakes, and skidded a few feet in the median section, coming to a stop only a few feet from where the truck passed. I sat on the horn, taught Tiller how to give the bird, and then started shaking. If we had been one second faster, the truck would have hit the front, right side of my van. Another two seconds, and it would have t-boned us on Tiller's side of the van. Either way, it would have fucked us up, if not killing her.

I spent the next hour or two just thinking about the tenuousness of our existence on this earth, the preciousness of a baby girl, and how quickly the rug can be pulled out from under us, control completely out of our reach. I was FREAKED. Today, I am not so shaky and wigged out, but still kind of scared and angry when I think about it.

Anyway, we picked up Rollie from school and found out that he has been acting out in class. He is hitting, kicking, pushing, and won't stay in line. They also informed me that Rollie was the most difficult child in the class. Great. Just what a conscientious mother wants to hear. Sure, the teacher added that it was most likely his age - he is the youngest child in his class, and he is within a week of the birthday "grade cutoff" in the state of Georgia.

We have been seeing some of the same behavior at home. Todd and I have been at our wits' ends (albeit, our wits don't encompass that much distance) trying to figure out the origin and the solution. Along with this more physical behavior, he has been saying things like,

"I wanna be first."

"I win."

"I wanna be in front."

"You are a joke!"

Rollie continues to bump and cut in front of us. Not a big deal for us, as I know who is going to win if we have a Rollie/Daddy collision; A little bit bigger deal when wobbly, only-walking-for-a-few-months Tiller is the one being bumped and cut off. We have tried taking away privileges and toys. We have tried consistent time-outs. We have, on occasion, tried spanking for extremely blatant and strong physical behavior. Nothing has worked.

He has also been asking us repeatedly "Mama, why do cars bump?" We would answer, "It is not nice to bump." We had long conversations about how good cars do not bump, and that bad cars bump, and that we will not accept the behavior. In one ear and out the other. He still asked about why they do it, as if I am capable of explaining good and evil?

It became obvious to me after talking to the teachers yesterday, and giving good thought to his behavior at home. It is the influence of that seemingly-innocuous, Oscar-nominated movie "Cars." His favorite movie. The one he once watched three consecutive times in one day while sick on the couch. The one that is going to break his heart, because we are not letting him watch it anymore.

Yep, it seems that Rollie is questioning us about the behavior, because he can't watch the movie and tell that some of the cars are good, and some are bad. He is not capable yet of drawing that line between acceptable and non-acceptable behavior. And so it begins: We have now censored what he watches to the extent that we are not allowing him to watch something that he wants to watch. As I type, he is laying on the couch watching that little PBS pussy, Caillou. Sigh.

Wow. Call me Tipper.

I Don't Know What to Say

That's why I haven't written anything this week. See, I mostly write about what I know: The little things my kids do every day that drive me crazy, or make me laugh, or make me cry; the things that make me angry about this world; the things that scare me about the future; A book or movie I enjoyed; Fun trips and events.

All of that stuff seems unbelievably small and inconsequential in the face of the death of a child. A close friend of mine lost her nephew to bacterial meningitis this past week. A mother and father lost the center of their world. A child lost a brother he will never know, much less remember. Anything I write here, even the most irrelevant little tidbit, like what shape pasta Rollie and Tiller ate for dinner, will be something that the child's family will never be able to write about him again.

So, i have spent these last few days talking, and hugging, and kissing a little bit more than usual. I have been more forgiving, and more patient, and more lenient, and more indulgent; I have cherished.

Why don't I do this every day? I should do this every day for the rest of my life.