The Po Show

That Empty Nest Thing Has Its Positives

So Ross has been working like the proverbial dog for the last several weeks, going in on weekends, at his desk before 7:00AM everyday, working 13 hour days. Today he has a physical scheduled for 4:00, so he decided to take the whole day off. We were to have a date day: go out to lunch, do some stuff around the house, spend some "quality time" ;), go to Target (yes, I know it's pretty sad when a date includes Target, but I was THRILLED at the thought of us getting to walk around Target by ourselves!). We have never, ever gotten a day together while the kids were in school. I've been looking forward to it eagerly for a week, ever since he decided he could swing taking the day off.

You see where this is going, right? Tessa woke up this morning, immediately asked for a throat lozenge, couldn't eat breakfast. She said her stomach hurt, and she felt terrible. No fever, but she is just not one to fake being sick, so I let her stay home. Sigh, so much for the date day. We did leave her watching Scooby Doo in the living room as we went in the bedroom and watched a couple of back episodes of Californication that have been piling up on the DVR. It's hard to watch all of our shows when Matthew doesn't fall asleep till 10:30 or so every night.

Now Ross is at Target by himself, and he'll pick up some lunch for us on the way home. I'm in the living room with Tessa, as she watches Tom and Jerry from the couch.

I am so bummed.

Hello Again

Hmmm, I don't remember the last time I went nine days without posting. Do I have nothing to say? Or am I just feeling tired and funky? Or what?

I had a physical last Tues., for the first time in 4 years. Apparently I am given a clean bill of health. No glucose problems (I've been wondering when the specter of Type II diabetes may rear its ugly head in my life), cholesterol great, bloodwork in general all clear. I had the singular experience of being asked to pee into a narrow TEST TUBE for the first time, which was a bit of a trick. No cup to use, just a test tube. The woman who was in the lab before me had been a little overzealous in filling her test tube, and she couldn't get the stopper on. The tech was telling her, nicely but a bit frantically, "Here, just put it in the rack! No, no, you'll splash it! Just let me take care of it." Ewww.

While in the examination room, I did have to go through the whole, "So do you work outside the home?" thang with the doctor. That's always fun. I have my pat speech about being a SAHM, and how I haven't been able to go back to work because my son has Aspergers and has a lot of issues. She was sympathetic ("That must be so hard"), then continued to ask me, "So do you have any hobbies? What do you do for yourself?" I'm always tempted to say, "No, no, I just sit around on my ass all day! No hobbies, no mind, I'm an IDIOT!!!!" :p I blabbered something about being a writer, and when she asked me what kind of writing I did, I lamely said, "Well, I have a blog." O.M.G.

So maybe that's why I haven't posted in nine days. Now that I've told someone that this blog is what I "do," well, that's way too much pressure. Self-imposed, of course, which is the highest quality pressure of all.

This is a True Story

This SOUNDS like an urban legend, but it's actually a true story:

Some volunteers were canvassing a rural area, in the Appalacians, and they knocked on the door of a house. A woman answered and they asked her who she was voting for. She hesitated and said she didn't think they had made up their minds yet, so she walked back into the house to ask her husband.

The canvassers heard a male voice call out, "We're voting for the nigger!"

The woman returned to the door with a big smile on her face, seemingly relieved to be able to answer their question, and repeated, "We're voting for the nigger!"

Wow. Purely aside from the shock of hearing how casually some people use the N word around complete strangers, the take-away message from this story appears to be: if THESE people are voting for Obama, this one must be in the bag.

I have spent the last couple of years, during all the inundation of election coverage (I swear there was an article on the front page of the NYT *every single day* regarding the race, when the election was still over two years away!), trying very hard not to get my hopes up. I was literally devastated in 2004 (I was bitterly disappointed in 2000, but I was so blown away in 2004 by Bush's re-election that I swear I still have not recovered). So I have not wanted to get too elated by all the signs of a Democratic victory. But maybe it's time to start icing that champagne.

On a side note, advance word on the Obama campaign's disclosure for contributions received during the month of September indicate that the figure is in excess of ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILLION dollars! In one month! I think I'm not the only one who has been bitterly disappointed by the last two elections, and wants to help put this one FIRMLY in the bag. But this kind of makes me want to cry, because I can't help but wonder what would have happened in 2000 if the Democratic Party had been better organized for the Gore campaign, and had gotten these kind of huge contributions. All the evil and stupidity that might have been averted. Yes, I know that Florida was a crime and a travesty, but it never should have gotten to the point where the race was so close that that mattered.

Well, we're here now, and things are looking pretty damn good, and that's the truth.

What's Really Important

The other night, Ross and I went to Parents' Night at Matthew's school. It went great and it was nice to meet the other parents in the class. Since the kids in this school come from all over the county (and other counties as well; some come all the way from the city), there aren't many opportunities to do so.

But I wanted to recount the story of a conversation that took place while we were gone. We left the kids with our friends who live near Matthew's school, who are very long-time friends from our UCLA days. We actually knew Preston before he was with Jill, as he was in Ross' cohort in Poli Sci. We went to their wedding in Kansas City (along with Matthew, who was 13 months at the time). They have two boys between my kids in age and a baby girl who's just over a year old.

When we got back to their house, Preston told us that the three boys had been sitting at the table together, and his two had asked Matthew why he was now going to school near where they live. Matthew answered that he was going to a new school this year, but didn't give any reasons as to why. They asked, "So, your new school, is it better...or worse?"

"It's better than my old school," Matthew immediately answered. But then he paused and said, "But at my old school, there were SEVEN VENDING MACHINES." The other boys were duly impressed. Then Matthew went on to describe, in great detail, what was available in each of the vending machines.

The funniest part of that? He never once, in his four years at that school, ever actually BOUGHT anything from the vending machines. But I guess that does not diminish their cachet in any way.

Civic Duty

Today I had to report for jury duty. It's kind of strange, in that I am 42 years old, I am an American citizen, I speak English, I have never been convicted of a felony, and I have never served on jury duty. I've gotten notices before, back when we lived in CA, but I always managed to get myself excused, first because I was a full-time student and then because I had babies. Six months ago I got my Westchester County notice (ironically enough, exactly 2 weeks after Ross got one, and I totally jinxed myself by saying how I really hoped I wouldn't get one too). We both requested our one and only allowed postponement (as I hoped that somehow we would move out of the county before the six months were up, so we wouldn't have to go in. The lengths I will go to not to have to do jury duty!).

Last month Ross got sat on a grand jury, which put his whole life in an uproar (especially since he was swamped with projects and I was going to Vegas for four days that week). He served his 9 days and was relieved that he was now "jury duty proof" for six years. He was told that some people request the grand jury, so that they get the six year immunity rather than the regular four years. My summons was for this week, which didn't start till Tuesday because of Columbus Day (one of the best things about NY, we get ALL the holidays!). I called into the automated recording on Monday night and my number was not in the range of people who had to report in the morning. Nor did I have to go in on Wednesday. I felt lucky, like I was going to come out of this unscathed. So of course we came home at 9:45 last night after Matthew's school Parents' Night and the recording told me that my run of luck was over.

Today I went in at 8:30 (which meant that Ross had to manipulate his schedule so he could go into work late and thus could drop me and Tessa off and put Matthew on his bus). Ross kept telling me I'd be out quickly today. After a preliminary presentation by the administrative court representative, it seemed clear that that would not be the case (the case, get it???). They had two civil cases and a criminal case, and they were trying hard to get the jurors all chosen today (the attorneys don't like to do juror interviews on Fridays, a guy sitting near me said). They put all of our juror cards into a bingo-machine-like spinner (how's that for advanced technology?) and started drawing out cards and putting them into three groups. The first two groups got called for the civil cases and they marched upstairs. It was *nerve-wracking*, waiting for each name to be called, like a reverse lottery. Everyone hoping their name *wouldn't* be called. So the last grouping was going to be the criminal cases, for which they needed twice as many jurors and alternates as the civil cases, and which of course probably was going to be a much longer time commitment. They gave us short break, which turned into a long break, and then they called the names. I said to a person sitting next to me that it was like being in school and waiting to hear the names of which kids were in trouble and had to go to the principal's office. And after all that build-up and suspense, they ended up calling the names of all the people left in the room!

And then we waited. We were told that the judge wasn't ready for us yet and that he was in conference with the attorneys. ("Settle! Settle!," I whispered loudly under my breath.) We were told to take a 10 minute break. An hour later, we were still waiting.

Then a clerk walked into the room and smiled and said, "Good news. They've dismissed the case." You never saw so many happy people. We had to wait awhile longer for them to give us each a form that stated that we had served our term of duty and didn't have to return for another six years (apparently they recently changed the rules, so that you get six years' immunity for county jury duty service as well). I called Ross and he was like, "I was there for 9 days and you're out in 3 hours???" But I told him he should be happy, since it meant he didn't have to rush back to pick up Tessa from school.

So there, I fulfilled my civic obligation. There really aren't many official civic obligations, the administrative judge who addressed us at the beginning of the morning reminded us. You have to obey the law, pay your taxes, and very occasionally report for jury duty. I guess I got off pretty light.

In a way I feel like it's sort of a shame, since, knowing what I know about human beings, I'd probably make a better juror than a large percentage of people (not that I'm so great, but just because I'm not an idiot). But as long as I have children to get off to school in the morning and greet in the afternoon, and there's no one else who can easily do that for me, I will gladly shirk my duty when given the officially sanctioned opportunity. I'll gladly sit on a jury and soberly consider the evidence before me, when I'm free of the domestic duties that loom large in my life right now.

My Children Don't Care About Leaves

I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that my kids don't give a crap about fall leaves changing. I go over the moon over all the reds and oranges and yellows BURSTING out of the trees like FIRE. Having grown up in CA, it's still such a shock and thrill to see the colors explode every fall.

I continuously go, "OH LOOK! Look at the beautiful leaves!" as we drive by. Tessa occasionally humors me and goes, "Ooooo, pretty!" in a distracted way. Matthew just ignores me.

A couple of years ago we drove up to Litchfield, CT, reported to have excellent leafing. We went too late in the season, though, and leaves were pretty much over up there. We stopped in the cute little town and had lunch, then drove home in a long and circuitous fashion. The kids were kind of annoyed by the time we got back.

Matthew looked at the brown, crunched up leaves molding on the lawn in the backyard and said disgustedly, "Look at all these leaves! Why did we have to go all the way over there?"

I keep talking about us going somewhere for the weekend to see leaves, and they are all, "Yeah, yeah, whatever." This is the last weekend before the season really peaks, and I don't think we're going. It's going to be cold, and they are so not into it, and I don't want to get all excited myself and then frustrated because they don't care. There are some "experiences" I do push on them, like visiting art museums, because I think they are wonderful opportunities that they will appreciate later in life, but making a fuss over colored leaves is not a battle I find worthwhile.

So I'll just look at the pretty maple leaves in my own neighborhood, and leave it at that.

Wiseguy

Or girl, in this case.

Tessa came and sat on my lap this evening, all 51 inches and 65 pounds of her, and I held her horizontally in my arms. Her head was cradled in the crook of my arm, just like it was when she was a baby, and I gazed down at her beautiful face.

I was overcome by my longing for her to be a baby again. "Don't grow up. Don't grow up. Please don't grow up," I breathed into her silky hair.

She sat up and chuckled at me. "Mom, it's the way of nature," she said.

Blown away as usual by her phrasing, I replied with chagrin, "I know. I know."

As if to console me, she said, "There are some things you just can't change." I know this, but not as well as she knows it. How did I give birth to someone so very much wiser than myself?

Settling In

Thanks Leila for asking about how Matthew is doing :). I've wanted to update for awhile, but it's been hard because, well, I just don't have a lot of information straight from the source. I meet with Matthew's therapist once a week (this is a required part of the program, which is fine with me. I mean, MORE free therapy is simply amazing) and she has reported that he's doing great. His teachers all say he's transitioning beautifully, and it's a mark of the type of environment at this school that they understand that for him, some minor outbursts and some reluctance to participate *is* transitioning beautifully. As opposed to his third grade teacher, who told me he was having a rough start because he refused to do a writing assignment the second week of school. ("No," I wanted to tell her, "his hitting someone or throwing a chair would signal a rough start!").

But I don't have a lot of details, because Matthew just won't talk about school. I have some second-hand anecdotes, which are nice, but when I ask him even the most basic questions about school, he won't answer. "What's one thing you studied in class today?" or "Can you give me an example of a game you played today?" are met with silence. He presses his lips together (can't get much more clear than that) and just looks at me. I'm not pushing it, and I'm not worried.

Yesterday I did get a nice tidbit. I had to drive him to school (new bus driver in the morning, who apparently showed up 10 minutes earlier than I'd been expecting and didn't honk so we didn't realize he was out there waiting) and I tried to engage Matthew in a little school convo. After some prodding about "Can you tell me ANYTHING about how school is going??," he finally offered, "It wasn't going so well at first, but it's better now."

After some more verbal dancing (Me: "Can you tell me one thing that improved?" Him: "What do you mean?" Me: "You said that things are better now than they were before, so that seems to mean that things have improved. What's one thing that has improved?"), he finally said, "Well, about my getting upset about things."

I asked, "So you're getting upset less than before?"

"Yes," he answered. So that's great, that's why he's there.

Today I went to the school's "mother's group," which is a support group held weekly. It was really nice to share with other moms who understand, and really upsetting to hear other people's stories. These moms all have kids who've been through a lot, some of them hospitalized and/or arrested along the way. It was appalling to hear how many were just so let down by their schools and school districts, their kids put through so much suffering that just wasn't necessary. I said it was really terrible that everything had to go to hell before people did the right thing, which is what I've been saying all along about us. But man, our story is lightweight compared to some.

Anyway, so that's the deal for now. All I know is that Matthew's therapist says that when she sees him in the halls, he's smiling. I'll settle for that for now.

How Exactly Does Crap Feel?

It is a strange expression. I mean, I guess *looking* like crap is a bad thing, though usually when we say that we just look tired and haggard, rather than brown and lumpy, but what does it mean to *feel* like crap?

I don't know, but I definitely feel badly. Sunday night I got these stabbing pains in my stomach and I had to promise I'd go to Urgent Care if they weren't better by the next day. On Monday they turned to soreness and bloat, and then later in the evening to seismic-level cramps. Ahh, "just" PMS. Big reason to really hate those double X chromosomes.

Last night it all culminated in an honest-to-goodness migraine. Just recently I've been having headaches that I think qualify as migraines, as opposed to the sort-of-cluster-but-not-exactly headaches I've had all my life. Total nausea, aversion to light and sound, ready to chop off my head just to make it stop hurting. Part of the problem seemed to be sinus-related, so I took Mucinex and Sudaphed on top of a handful of ibuprofen. Ummm, I'd forgotten that I recently seem to have become sensitive to pseudoephedrine (which I've taken and LOVED for decades, so much more than that sorry phenylephrine), that it makes my heart palpate and makes me feel speedy in a decisively bad way. Sooo, on top of feeling like, well, crap, I couldn't fall asleep.

Today Tessa is home from school, having gotten two days off for Rosh Hashanah (as opposed to Matthew, who only got yesterday off. Now THAT was a fun explanation!). We had an appointment to go to Matthew's school, to introduce Tessa to the campus and have a little informal family therapy. So crawling back into bed wasn't an option. I made it through the meeting and driving without throwing up, which I consider a personal triumph.

And now I'm going to crash on the couch and curse this poor broke-down body. Crappiness, take me away.