Up On The Airplane

Several weeks ago we flew to Cozumel for a family vacation. In the past we've always taken cruises, but this would be the first time that the boys have flown anywhere. We thought it would be best to let them know early on so they could get used to the idea.

Kohai being Kohai immediately honed in on all the plane crashes and possible terrorist hijackings if we flew.  So we spent some time calming his fears, explaining that flying is about the safest modes of transportation and the likelihood of terrorists hijacking the plane on it's way to Cozumel was pretty much nil. Do terrorist go on vacations?

Anyway, with his mind at ease about crashing and hijackings he then moved on to the drug cartels in Mexico. Okay, Buddy, let's rein in that imagination and no more CNN for a while.

Kohai's reading material for the flight. I was impressed with his choice. He loves Star Wars and he thought the Shakespeare aspect was cool. The pug is mine, kind of a surrogate since we couldn't bring them on the trip.

The day of our trip finally arrived and after all the lines, waiting and rummaging through suitcases, we were finally boarding the plane. Hubs and Senpai were a couple of rows in front of us. Kohai wanted the middle seat so I had the window. Both boys were excited and a little reticent.

As we waited for everyone to board, I tried to explain what was going on to Kohai and what it would feel like when we take off. I told him it's a lot like riding a roller coaster. Not sure if that helped him, but I figured it had to be better than not knowing.

Finally everyone had boarded, suitcases were stowed, the attendants were making last minute preparations while we started to taxi to the runway and then there was the announcement from the captain.

The Captain: Well folks it looks like we're going to have to go back to the terminal. We've got a switch that's not turning on and needs to be looked at before we take off. Technicians will be on board and will have it fixed in about 15-20 minutes.

It's not like they could back the plane up into the terminal, so the captain had to go down the runway and turnaround. This is where Kohai had his first mini freak-out.

Kohai: Mom, where are we going?! Don't they need to fix the switch?? Aren't they going to fix the switch?!?

Me: Yes, Baby, they're going to fix it. They just need to turn around and go back to the terminal, it will be okay.

Kohai: Okay ...

Finally, the switch was fixed and we were on our way! The plane made it's way to the runway to wait our turn to take off.

Me: See, it's not so bad. In a minute you'll feel the engines and then we'll start moving forward and it'll be like riding a roller coaster as we go up. If you want, you can hold my hand.

He declined my offer. So there we sat waiting our turn to get on the runway while my son started grabbing at his chest, al a Fred Sanford, and hyperventilating.

Me: Kohai, calm down. Slow the breathing down it will be okay.

Suddenly we feel the engines roar and he reaches over to grab my hand in a death grip. The last time my youngest son willing held my hand in public was when he was just a little boy. I firmly held on to his hand for reassurance. At the precise moment when the front of the plane lifted off the ground, he let go of my hand long enough to cross himself, twice. We're not Catholic, but I guess he figured it couldn't hurt.

We made our ascent and I started pointing out the houses and highway from the window. Thinking I'd lighten the mood, I did my best Heimlich impression from A Bug's Life.

Me: (in a German accent) From way up here, you all look like little ants!

Kohai: Mom, that's not funny ... hey, there's Six Flags!

I let go of his hand for a moment and pointed out the baseball field and immediately he reached up to put his hand back in mine. He held on until the plane leveled off, relaxing little by little.

Me: See, that wasn't so bad was it? I think in a few minutes the attendants will come around with soft drinks.

Kohai: Yeah, I was a little nervous, but I'm okay now. I think I'll read my book.

Side Note: While in Cozumel, Kohai had come across what he thought were some pretty cool necklaces. Turned out they were rosaries. As I mentioned before, we're not Catholic, but I had a feeling that if he had known what they were for, he might have asked for one as extra insurance for the flight back.

The flight back home. They're pros now.

My Moment of Zen

Post Workout Hair

We went out to dinner after the workout last night and as we left the restaurant I noticed my reflection in the car window. I turned to my eldest son and asked, "Why didn't anyone tell me that I looked like the crazy cat-lady?" He replied, "I thought that was the look you were going for."

The Advocate

Kohai and Mrs. F at the 8th Grade Graduation Reception.

Everyone has that favorite teacher in the course of their academic life. The one teacher that was able to reach you, explained things in a way that you actually got it, who would go to bat for you and give you that much needed kick in the pants when they knew you could do better. The one teacher that went above and beyond for you because they cared. I know that I've had my share of those special folks and I'm glad that Kohai had his, Mrs. F: teacher, counselor, caseworker and fierce advocate.

When Kohai started middle school, both the Hubs and I were anxious. We were so afraid that he would be singled out as the weird kid like in elementary. Thankfully though the Hubs had the brilliant idea of meeting what most people perceive as Kohai's so called weirdness head on. We had him introduce himself to his teachers and classmates to explain that he was autistic.

I think the first time he introduced himself was to Mrs. F and her sixth grade math class. It worked like a charm and from the beginning Mrs. F has been there, helping him, pushing him, keeping on him to stay on task, slow down, read and think through the problem. She never cut him any slack because she knew he could do it. And he can. From that point on they had forged a special bond.

In seventh grade Kohai was lucky enough to have Mrs. F again, but as an English teacher and in the eighth grade she became his caseworker and biggest advocate. Each year since Kohai had been diagnosed the school district pulls together a committee of teachers, counselors and us, the parents, to discuss an individual education program. Mrs. F has always been there for Kohai, planning out goals to help him with his strengths and weaknesses.

The last meeting we had I really thought that my heart would just burst with thankfulness that Kohai had someone like Mrs. F. Here was this woman with a family and children of her own, other children she was caseworker to, telling us, through tears in her eyes and a fierceness in her voice that rang with finality, that our son would be moving on to high school with no problem.

He is smart kid, he knows this stuff and I don't care what the standardized testing say. They don't know how to test Kohai. He will not be defined by a test.

And he won't, not with teachers like Mrs. F.

The Freshman

His Last Performance

Lookin' sharp, my friend.

Last night Kohai gave his last orchestra performance of his eighth grade career. The school year is winding to a close, that means award ceremonies, end-of-year performances, yearbooks, class picnics and that anticipation of summer being right around the corner.

Anticipation.

The boys are excited, only two weeks more then freedom from the shackles of learning and then on to the long, slow, lazy vistas of sleeping in, video game marathons and eating us out of house and home. Like we'd let them play video games all day, believe me, there will be a chore list, much to their chagrin.

A face in the crowd.

Since the day each of them had moved from Kindergarten to the first grade and so on, I've never really looked forward to the end of school. Don't get me wrong, I've always enjoyed the summer and spending time with the boys. But with each grade level they achieve it seems like I lose a small piece of them and myself to time and growing up. My little boys are no longer, they've grown into young men.

Strings.

I hate the fact that when I look into the faces of my young men that I can barely discern the boy and even the baby they once were. Sometimes when I squint my eyes and let them go out of focus, when everything gets all soft and fuzzy, then right around the edges I can kind of make out the faces of my once little boys. All too soon it will be much harder to find those little boys in their ever maturing faces. As for those babies, I think they may be lost to me forever, only to be seen in my memory and photographs.

C-E-L-L-O

So here I am again facing another school year ending and my sons growing up. It's hard to believe that in two weeks Senpai will officially be a junior and Kohai a freshman. I guess there's really no use in fighting the inevitable, I'm opening my eyes and focusing on the faces of my young men. I'll have plenty of time later to remember the boys and babies they once were.

15 Minutes or Until Hot

Always follow heating instructions. Rules to live by.

"We're out of peanut butter," Kohai tells me for the third time Friday morning as I'm walking through the living room to the kitchen. They have this bad habit of informing me when we are out of something when I can do nothing about it at the time. Mom, we're out of shampoo (yelled from the shower); Mom, I'm out of clean underwear (just as I'm about to leave for work); Mom, we're out of toothpaste (as we are running late for church); Mom ... well, you get the picture. The conundrum that morning was what were the boys going to have for breakfast?

Kohai: What are we going to do for breakfast?

Me: You can still have your waffles, just put syrup on them instead of peanut butter. I also bought you guys those croissant breakfast sandwiches with ham and cheese. I got the croissant instead of the biscuit because I know you don't like the artificial butter taste.

Senpai:  You know I won't eat those.

Me: I know, it has ham.

Sometimes it's tricky buying food for the boys. Senpai has this aversion to lunchmeat, it's a texture thing that manifested itself when he was just a little boy. Kohai on the other hand is my adventurer, he'll try almost anything, but when he comes across a food he doesn't like, he very rarely revisits.

Kohai: Okay I'll make one of those then.

Me: Be sure to read the instructions carefully.

We've been working on getting the boys familiar with things in the kitchen. Letting them cook using the microwave and oven; teaching them to properly load, run and unload the dishwasher, etc. You know, basic skills for living. Heck, they've taken a class in middle school to learn this stuff. Back when I was a girl it was called Home Economics and like any good daughter of a feminist, I took art instead. Anyway, Kohai sets up his breakfast croissant and comes back to the living room.

Senpai: Did you wrap it in a paper towel before you put it in the microwave?

Kohai: No, it didn't say to.

Me: How long did you put it in for?

Kohai: 15 minutes.

Me: Really? 15 minutes?

Kohai: Yeah.

About seven minutes in there's this loud pop from the kitchen. It's the croissant breakfast sandwich, burned to a crisp and smoking. I grab an oven mitt and try to take it out of the microwave. That popping sound? It was the plate cracking in half. The only reason is stayed together was that the burnt cheese acted like a bonding agent. Honestly, I'm surprised it didn't burst into flames inside the microwave. Our house smelled of badly burnt toast.

Me: Did you read the directions carefully, Buddy?

Kohai: Yes, it said 15 minutes.

Me: Are you sure? Where's the box?

Kohai: In the trash.

Me: Buddy, it says to heat for 60 seconds. Where does it say 15 minutes?

Kohai: See it's right here, heat for 15 minutes in the .... oooh, in the oven.

Yeah, the oven ... kids, gotta love 'em.

A Good Mom

Kohai's stab at sewing in his skills for living class. Not bad. And that's Yoda if you couldn't tell.

For the past several days the students in our district have been taking their standardized tests. I'm not sure what the acronym for these tests are, they seem to change from year to year, but anyway ... testing has occurred and when there is testing the students are requested to only bring their lunch on those days. Backpacks can stay home. So, Kohai hops in the car this morning with only his lunchbox.

Me: I thought testing was over?

Kohai: Nope, we're supposed to be taking math today.

Me: Okay.

I didn't think anything of it so I dropped him off and made my way to the office. I pulled into the parking garage and stopped the engine when my phone rang. It was Kohai.

Kohai: Hey, Mom, yeah, well remember when I said that we were taking math tests today? Well, I was wrong, we're not. Can you bring me my backpack? I'm really sorry, I thought we were still testing.

Me: That's okay, I just got to the office and it's going to take me about 20 minutes to get back home.

Kohai: Thanks, Mom.

So I fought the southbound traffic that was heading towards Dallas for 25 minutes to pick up Kohai's backpack and violin and dropped it off at his school. The receptionist at the front desk was frankly surprised that I would do such a thing for my son.

Receptionist: You're a good mom.

Me: I think any mom would do the same. It's what we're supposed to do, right?

As mothers we go above and beyond to help our kids succeed. Even if it means running back home to grab a forgotten backpack and violin.

Going to the Chapel

Saturday my brother-in-law got hitched. The Hubs and the boys were a part of the wedding party, and I had the luxury of just being a member of the wedding. The ceremony was beautiful and it was officiated by the bride's minister brother. It was heartfelt and very emotional, there wasn't a dry eye in the chapel. I'm so happy for my brother-in-law and my new sister-in-law. Here's a few pictures from the day.

The church.

Elegantly simple.

This part had me in tears, when the brother asked of his father "who gives this woman to be wed?" He was in tears too.

Pretty maids all in a row.

The Mr. & Mrs.

Very elegant table decor.

Off to the honeymoon.

What all the most fashionable groomsmen are wearing this season.

My Dog Sees Dead People

He's a little derp, but we love him.

Pugs are weird, lovable little creatures. Just look at that smushed in face and the big buggy eyes, weird looking right? Not only do they look funny but they're peculiar animals. I've never known a dog that would just pick up any old thing off the floor and eat it. Seriously, they're like goats or two year olds, they will put anything in their mouths.

And I mean it, ANYTHING. I'm not talking just little bits of food either, I'm talking legos, string, paper, dust bunnies, you name it and if it's small enough they're ready to hork it down. Heaven help you if they find a stray dryer sheet, that's their crack cocaine, and you gotta be quick to snatch it out of their little maws. Sure, the dryer sheet will give them fresh breath and all, but take it from me, in the end it does not come out well.

I could go on about their depraved proclivities toward dryer sheets and the gastric disturbances that stem from such a vice, but I'm going to tell you a story about our littlest pug, Short Round. On a crisp predawn morning while I was in the kitchen manufacturing coffee, breakfast and lunches, I heard Shorty growling in the solarium. Oh, man, he's got a small animal trapped.

We live at the end of a cul-de-sac that butts up against a small wooded creek and culvert. When the weather gets cold, small animals will find their way toward homes looking for warmth. We've had our share of mice and rats in the past looking for a dry, warm spot to bed down. I was thankful I left the light off in the solarium, and with some reluctance made my way to the door.

What I saw was not the scene I had imagined. There was Shorty with his hackles up, growling and staring down his own reflection in the glass door. Weirdo. I opened the door and watched as he bolted past me to the entrance of our living room. The hair on his back stood on end and he walked slowly into the room, all the while growling. There was no one in the room, mind you.

As I stood in the doorway looking around the room for the reason of Shorty's aggression, I started to remember that scene in Poltergeist, you know when the dog stops, sits and barks at no one in the room. And then I flashed back to all those A Haunting shows on Destination America that I sometimes watch (okay, fine, I always watch) when I'm home sick, where the dog growls, snarls and barks when there's no one in the room. Okaaaaay.

I'm not going to lie, I was a little bit creeped out. Shorty's never done this before, but then again, he's not the brightest animal ever. He's kind of a derp, you could say that he's a few fries short of a Happy Meal, but he's adorable and we love him. Anyway, the growling, snarling and barking continue for a few more minutes then he just turns and runs into the kitchen.

With a look of bemusement on my face, I follow Shorty into the kitchen where he's intently sniffing the floor. He turns around and it's like he's seeing me for the first time. With his little ears flapping in the wind, he runs to me and sits down to receive his morning pet. It was as if nothing had happened.

There are times that I do wonder if my dog sees dead people, then I remember what a derp Shorty is and just think ... Weirdo.

My Moment of Zen

Here's the deal, at the beginning of each school year I take the school calendar and input all the closings in my phone calendar. The last day of school for the Christmas break was December 19th and the boys weren't supposed to go back until January 7th. At least that's what I thought until I came home from work last night to find out that the boys should have been in school. Oops.

I could have sworn that they were supposed to go back on January 7th, I just didn't pull that date out of my backside! So I'm either guilty of unintentionally contributing to the delinquency of minors, or of being a totally awesome mom. I'm going with being a totally awesome mom. I am trying to be more positive after all.

You're more than welcome boys for the extra day.