My Son and My Dad

Today he is 17. Wow.




Pop-Pop and Preston - born on March 24th, 55 years apart.




Each one goofy in his own way.




I love 'em both. Very much.

Gabe Should Consider a New Workout Routine

He's fine. Bruised and sore leg, but he's bearing weight OK.





Males respond so differently to traumatic situations than females do. Here's what happened today at our house, following Gabe's adventures at the Y with his school mates.

Mom and Savannah were just relieved that Gabe is OK, and both chuckled at the vision of people scurrying out of the building due to Gabe's Gym Faux Pas.

Synopsis delivered to Bucky and Preston:
Gabe fell at the Y today. Down the stairs. He pulled the fire alarm and the building had to be evacuated.

Bucky's response: "Alright, GABE!!" - round of raucous laughter

Preston's response: "Gabe set off the fire alarm??!?? Alright, GABE!!" - second wave of laughter

Dad saw the bruise when he came home from work. He asked me what happened. I told him.
Dad's response: "Alright, GABE!!" - 3rd round on the house

Imagine the testosterone if these three blokes would have actually been involved!!

Seatbelts Required

Our children have known for years that Mom and Dad will not be supplying a car for their 16th birthday. They've been told since early childhood that the age at which they're allowed to get their license depends on their behavior in the years prior to reaching driving age. Driving is considered a privilege, prior to adulthood, in our home. (Call us crazy, but if a teenager is slamming doors when they're angry at a sibling for borrowing a treasured article of clothing without permission, I highly doubt it's in the public's best interest to hand over the keys to the Mercedes to the petulant tyke. Ok, it's not a Mercedes, and the boys are past the tyke stage, but go with me on this one...) There's just much to be said about self-control.


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The kids have also been aware that, as the parental units (the apparent popular way to refer to one's parents these days) see driving privileges as a prize to be earned, the prize-winner would be contributing the required funds to attain the aforementioned prize. Definition: Mom and Dad aren't paying for the permit, classes, license, car, gas, repairs or insurance. If we needed the boys to drive, rules might be different, but convenience is the only reason I see them needing to drive for me, and that just isn't a big enough need.

Anyone who knows the boys at all can attest to the differences in their personalities. Preston is like his Dad - he enjoys his alone time. Bucky is like his Mom - he needs social contact frequently. Preston's pretty good at saving money. Bucky can save money temporarily. Preston likes to weigh the pros and cons. Bucky likes to figure it out as he goes.

Preston sees no purpose in spending all the money to get his license now, when he doesn't need to drive and has no car. His theory is "Why should I spend money when my parents take me wherever I need to go?" - that theory is fine, for now, because he doesn't need to go very far. Of course, once he actually needs to get a job, that will change, but his theory is workable for the time being.

Bucky, on the other hand...



...is not content to wait till he's 18 to get his license. The first step accomplished, he now holds his permit. Cost - $22.00



It will take him a while to save the money for classes. Last time I checked, the cost was over $300.00 and he's broke right now. He'll have plenty of time for practicing. With Dad.

There Comes a Time...

When no matter how darn cute the little ones are...



with all their paraphernalia...




that seems to have...




no end in sight...




and some of which...



you just get plain sick of seeing, to be perfectly honest...



that ya just hafta take a break! The big kids love the little kids, but there is a definite difference of opinion when it comes to what the older kids find amusing vs. what the younger ones find amusing.

You can get amazing deals on hotels at priceline dot com. We take advantage of the bidding option a couple times a year, and manage to stay at super-nice hotels quite inexpensively.

One of the other foster moms offered to provide respite care for Baby T. and Mister D. got to spend the weekend with his older siblings at their home. Gabe camped out with Kim and Chass, with cousin Emily covering the sleeping hours. This gave Tom and I the chance to spend time with Savannah, Bucky and Preston having fun in Toledo.

















Savannah prepares for a belly-smacker.




Bucky wasn't allowed to take his cell phone, but he still managed a quick call back home to his friend Jarrod...he can't liiiiiiiiiive without talking to Jarrod, for some reason...




Preston was not at all happy with the results of the game on Saturday. I was! Go Bucks!! Sorry, Preston. Go play for the Wolverines - I will be the biggest, idiot fan that team has ever seen. I promise. Remember you said you wouldn't admit I'm your mother? That's how big of a fan I will be for you! But not unless you play for them. Until then, I am a Buckeye.




We spent the weekend eating less-than-perfectly-healthy food, watching football, cruising the mall, and watching people - all without smelling like baby milk!

I'll Take Mine Drug-Free

Stubbornness doesn't have to be seen as a character flaw. In our house, we see it as a sign of brilliance. The key to it becoming brilliance is another great trait - patience. Therein lies the problem for Preston and Mom.






He isn't joking. Seriously.




He's 16 - he has better things to do with his time, obviously.




Just today, I threatened to take his door off it's hinges if he doesn't clean up this mess. He peered quizzically at me, most likely pondering if my brain had sunk into my abdominal cavity, as I attempted to explain why I would be better able to monitor his housekeeping skills if I could actually see into his domain. Fortunately, he's slim, so it's easy for him to squeeze through the small opening, formerly known as a doorway, created by the monstrous pile of laundry and jumbled shoes preventing a proper entrance.




But - upon closer observation, it appears that somewhere along the line, the boy has developed an appreciation for books! Books! BOOKS!!!




Can this be the same child who, just 4 years ago, was nearly saddled with a diagnosis of ADHD by an educated, credentialed child psychiatrist?




Could this Specialist have been wrong, in her 15 minute first-time (and only) interview, to suggest potent stimulants to control his curiosity and lack of focused motivation? We thought so - so we walked out and shortly after, pulled Preston from the parochial school he'd been attending.




He couldn't read well. He hated it. He struggled. He failed tests. He worked with intervention teachers. Day after day after day...until we brought him home. He still struggled with reading. But he reeeeaaally wanted to watch Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. First, though, we told him he had to read the books. I honestly didn't think he'd ever get to watch the movies. I think I had visions of him numbering the days on his calendar till his 18th birthday, so he could Do What He Wants To Do - and celebrate by having a LOTR and HP marathon! We started letting him chose the books he wanted to read for school work. Soon, the history books were disappearing from our shelves and relocating to Preston's floor. He started handing me lists of books he wanted me to pick up at the library for him. He put BOOKS on his Christmas lists! The History Channel became one of his favorites. His artwork began reflecting medieval weapons, suits of armor, and castles. He began working on his own stories. He started developing his own characters. He started designing his own Middle Earth maps and languages.


He got to watch the movies.




I have tried to read Tolkien. Failed miserably. Just. Not. My. Style. I love to read. I hate to WORK to read! I had no clue that he wrote so many books! If Preston runs out of J.R.R. Tolkien's works, his son Christopher has written more in a similar genre.



This is what I find now when I go to Preston's room.



My children have to do nothing...but BE...to make me proud to be their mother.



And I am so proud he's my son.

Recently Overheard or Seen

I have a very hard time - OK, it's next to impossible for me to put on a front when I'm really thinking about the stupidity level of whatever/whomever I'm dealing with at the moment. I have learned that it is truly best if I RUUUUUUUUUN as fast as I can away from the situation, because otherwise I will wind up in very hot water.

Last week, I was (not surprisingly) sputtering about a conversation I'd had with someone and (not surprisingly) I was irritated. Last straw. Flabbergasted. Disgusted. Sitting on my hands so I don't punch someone. That kind of conversation. I was relaying this conversation to Tom, and also relaying (as if he doesn't actually know what I'm thinking!) what I was actually thinking.

His response...

"When diplomacy fails, it's good to be married to you."



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This week, following our wonderful election process, Tom and I ran into an acquaintance at the library. This guy and I have been debating politics for a year. We weren't in the library for a minute before we got wound up. The librarians, having been witness to our scuffles in the past months, laughed and told us that guns aren't allowed there, and neither is patron harassment. This goof dared to tell me I wasted my vote, because I didn't vote for McCain. (As he did, to keep Obama out of office - yeah, we see how THAT turned out!)

When Tom went to work yesterday, he was talking with this guy's wife (who works with Tom) about our library discourse.

"If your husband and my wife have many more political discussions, one of them is gonna wind up dead."

Her response...

"Oh please, let it be my husband."

Hey! The guy isn't all bad! He let us borrow his truck to bring home a fridge!


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A neighbor stopped by last night. Bucky inhaled his taco salad and disappeared out the door. The minute he closed the door behind him, it opened again and in walked little Abby and her Mama, Crystal. Little Mister D. was happy to see Abby.

Later when Bucky came back in the house, he was standing staring into the kitchen cupboards because apparently the taco salad had worn off - it had been an entire hour, after all! We were sitting at the table, having a nice after-dinner conversation, and Crystal happened to say "I have a yard that needs raked."

Bucky's response...

"I have a wallet that needs filled."


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Savannah is so disgusted about the election results that she can't speak. Her solution?

Tonight, she raked the front yard. Then she dug around in our shed and found 2 large Ron Paul signs and 1 small one, and stuck them up in our front yard.

This empowered her so much, she took her rake and broom and cleaned up the very nasty neighbor's yard as well. (They don't like us. Not a bit. We don't really care. We ain't movin'!)

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Gabe has been working very hard at school. Everyone is trying to get him to use some basic modified sign language.

He can sign "Candy" and "Ball" fairly well. He waves goodbye to me every morning when he heads out the door to school.

One night last week, he was sitting in his wheelchair waiting for us to finish eating dinner. I noticed his hand was on his throat. (sign for thirsty) We asked him if he wanted some water. Tom gave him a drink, and the whole time he was drinking, he kept his hand on his throat. Eventually he turned his head away from the cup. When Tom tried to get him to drink more, he jerked his head to the side (always his cue that he's done). But this time, he also flung his hand away from his throat. He followed this with his hilarious guffaw/evil giggle.

Yeah for Gabe!!!



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Preston is quite quiet most of the time. He is a deep thinker, and often prefers to be alone. I don't get it! Tom does.

He decided to go to youth group tonight. When I picked him up, he told me...

"I talked to a couple people. That's pretty good for me. I'm not very social."



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Little Mister D. is developing into a very well-rounded boy. He's most assuredly into the "Why?" and "NO!" stages. Recently, after flinging crayons all over the place, he was told by Dad to pick up the flung crayons.

"NO! YOU pick up cwayons!"

Dad - heading toward D. with a determined look on his serious face...

D.'s response...

rush..rush...rush as fast as those short little legs can rush in cute little jeans to pick up the cwayons...

Target the Witness

So, here's a couple of recent conversation topics with which I have challenges.

One:
An acquaintance who has two elementary age children made a comment about these children inviting friends from school to their church - "They're doing their best. School is a mission field in itself."

Choke - swallow...OK, the whole mission field thing just bothers me! I never have been able to comprehend sending a 5 year old to do spiritual battle with an atheist 52 year old playground supervisor! And don't point out "A little child shall lead them" - I'm not convinced that applies to public schooling!

Two:
People not understanding that having a "quiver full" of children, as referenced in the Bible, doesn't necessarily mean producing children at every available ovulation opportunity. I learned something from Preston this week. (Preston learned this from a non-traditional approach to schooling, not a boring textbook.) A "quiver" can hold different numbers of arrows, depending on what purpose the arrows will serve. For instance, apparently hunters had good enough aim that they only needed a couple of arrows. Warriors carried several more. Conclusion drawn? A man who was providing food for his family wouldn't have as many weapons as a man who was protecting his family, tribe, or nation. Hrm...

The doctor is in and open to discussion.....

It Really Wasn't Very Windy

Birthdays are pretty much a big deal around here. For Preston's 16th birthday, we kept asking him what he wanted to do. He wanted to go paint balling. Mind you, he has no paintball equipment, and his birthday is in March, a typically cold time of year in Ohio. So we tried to sway him with the idea of a train ride...We kept saying things like "Hey, how 'bout a trip to the zoo, and we'll have the train engineer take you on a longer ride? We can pay extra, and he'll take you off the regular route." Although he wasn't much impressed, when we gave him the tickets to take Amtrak to Chicago, his interest level perked up. We hopped on board, after the obligatory delayed arrival of the Lake Shore Express, and spent 3 days firmly planting blisters on the soles of our feet, downtown Chicago.








After a very kind Some-Kind-of-Order Monk/Priest helped us figure out the bus route to the Museum of Science and Industry, Preston discovered his disfigurement wasn't just his imagination.











When we were in Orlando 2 years ago, we wanted to visit the Medieval Times Dinner Theatre, but for various reasons including the $350 cost for family tickets, not to mention having to deal with a grumpy father-in-law who totally didn't appreciate Florida (he's 70, for Pete's sake!! Isn't that required???!?) - (THAT's a whole other story in itself - suffice to say, there will be no more vacations with father-in-law!) ...we decided to save the knights and damsels in distress for another time.








The perfect time seemed to be Preston's birthday! I think the most expensive part of our trip was the train/cab rides to Schaumburg! Preston decided he'd like to work here.







Strolling the streets of Chicago, we had lunch (any sandwich, chips and a pickle = $4.19) at Potbelly Pig, or Potbelly Stove, or something like that. Maybe it was Beergut Delight. My very favorite picture of the whole trip, I think.






Somebody told us the Lego store was in Nordstroms. What they didn't tell us was that the Nordstrom sign was rather small, compared to other shops. We walked from South Michigan to the opposite north end of the Magnificent Mile and halfway back, before we located this obscure shopping center. Did I mention the blisters on my feet?






We hunted all over for Ed Debevic's diner. When we found it, there was a busload of what appeared to be prom-goers waiting for entrance. We quickly ducked into Hard Rock, where the guy seated one table over looked very much like Bob Seger. He even was wearing a Bob Seger t-shirt. Tom thought maybe that was his way of being incognito. (When I try to go incognito, it usually has something to do with leopard print leggings and rhinestone sunglasses, but Bob would look silly dressed like that. Elton John, on the other hand...)






When the kids were little, Tom was the resident cake decorator, and I must say, he did a right smart job usually. However, as Preston has grown older, he's adopted the position of being a Wolverines fan, and Tom gets Artist Block with that whole concept, so Preston now decorates his own cake.

Annoying Little Creatures

This is Francesca Monet. All 10 pounds of her. She's a miniature Dachshund, chocolate dapple, with one blue eye and one brownish eye. (I tried to get Tom to see a doctor about having a particular minor surgical procedure reversed, resulting in a 10 pounder of another variety, but my speech(es) weren't convincing enough. He saw a dog breeder instead.) I digress.

We call her Frannie.

She's mine, and she thinks Preston is hers.

She guards our house from strangers, scary dogs, newspaper delivery boys, and our teenager's friends.

She also keeps the cats from escaping outside when we open our front door. She watches the cats, and when they get near the door, she tackles them. If one of them manages to slip through, she chases them down and corners them until we can get to them.

Yesterday, Preston took her out, and a strange cat was in our yard. She tried to chase it up on our porch. We have lots of squirrels and rabbits in our yard. She does not attempt to make rodents part of our family. Her fetish is strictly feline in nature.

Last summer, she spent some time at the cousin's country home, with our kids. The cousins are inundated with all sorts of cats of varying intelligence levels and stages of fetal development. (Is an unborn kitten a fetus, or is that term reserved for use in referring to unborn babies living in a world where humans see precious life as tissue easily discarded for convenience' sake?)

When I called to see how our kids were faring, Preston told me, "Mom! Frannie is so stupid! Every time I take her out to go to the bathroom, she starts running around like a chicken with her head cut off, herding all these cats into the house!"

I chose to see that as one very astute canine, not an obsessive-compulsive pet who needs mental therapy.

Please note:
Our cats chase bats.
Our dog chases the cats.
And you've probably never read a post that successfully combined psychotic animals and pro-life issues in one fell swoop.

Life is more fun with variety.

Humor is free.

Firstborn

Despite the fact that my almost-16 year old son insists on wearing these horrid colors, I think I'll keep him.

The grocery bill is huge, my patience is often lacking, and he's aware that the magic age of 16 doesn't equal the magic appearance of a driver's license.

He's matured in many areas, and still needs encouragement in others.

His self-confidence reveals itself more frequently.

We butt heads more often than I care to admit.

(Sometimes he's right.)

His knowledge fascinates, and often confuses, me.

His desire for God is evident.

He is strong, compassionate, stubborn, smart, creative, shy, contemplative, impulsive, and talented.

I am proud to be his mom.