The Negligent Mommy

Holy Crap!

I have a six year old!

Of course, I've had one of those before, but now he is a very handsome eight-year-old!

All of which makes me old-old-old!

My kid on race relations

Wednesday, November 5, 2008:

Andy:  "Mommy, I'm tired of white people being President all the time."

Me:  "Well, kiddo, that problem has been solved."

Andy:  "I know.  Yay, Obama!"

*******

This morning, listening to NPR on the way to school:

A:    "Mommy, who's that Mama Africa they're talking about?"

Me:    "She was a singer from South Africa.  You know, for many, many years she couldn't live in her own country."

A:    "Why not?"

Me:    "Because she had brown skin, and the people with white skin who were in charge didn't like the things she sang about.  So they told her she couldn't go home."

A (vehemently):    "That's so STUPID!" 

The kind of day that makes the other days worthwhile.

So this morning, Andy announced that he planned to serve in the altar at church, instead of standing with me in the choir complaining about his legs hurting and running off to the bathroom every five minutes.  Then Owen announced that he was going to be with me "and stand in the choir and not sing," instead of perusing monster truck books and refusing to stand during the important bits.*  And then--here's the really crazy part--they actually did those things (Owen even gave another singer a hug when she sneezed).  And then we all had a nice lunch together at coffee hour. 

And then Owen went to a party and Andy played with his friends from down the block.

And then we all went to a nice dinner (where, while waiting for our food, Andy practiced his cursive and Owen did a word search) and to Barnes & Noble, where each picked out a book and spent the entire ride home reading them.

I think my kids may have been replaced by alien pod-children.

And I have to tell you, I'm cool with that.

*Orthodox Christians stand to worship to the extent we are able, but at a minimum, barring serious illness or disability, during certain portions of the service, such as the Gospel reading.

First day of school!

I still think it's a crime to start school before labor day, but what are ya gonna do, eh?

Well, crap.

Andy and Owen have decided that they don't like sharing a room anymore.  Well, not so much Owen, mostly Andy, who finds it difficult to sleep when his little brother is having a party in the upper bunk until at least 11:00.  Go figure.

This poses a bit of a problem, as my home office (which used to be downstairs in the space that would be a dining room if we were normal people) is in Owen's old room.  Let's get one thing straight here, people:  I like my office.  I like having a place where I can go and do some of the million things I do and when I reach for a stapler or a paper clip, it's there where I expect it to be.

I really don't like the idea of putting the office back downstairs.  For one thing, we have the house on the market, and that just looks bad.  For another, I have other uses for that room, like for a piano and a big table (which will suspiciously resemble a dining table) for sewing projects and large puzzles.  (Because we are seeing no signs that the house is going to sell, like, ever.  Long story.)  Of course, there is the fact that a downstairs office is much closer to coffee.  And if the house isn't going to sell anyway, who cares if there's a desk in the dining room.

Anyway, enough of my whining.  Thing One needs sleep, which he can't have with his brother hanging around, so back to separate rooms it is.  Good thing it's a three day weekend, because there is much painting to be done.

Lucy, we hardly knew ye.

Lucy the Border Collie has moved on to greener pastures.

Andy, it turns out, is violently allergic to dog hair.  The doctor did a full allergy panel on him, and the child is allergic to practically nothing else--a couple of trees, mold and dust mites (who isn't?) and dog hair.  Not even dog dander, which they test separately.  Just dog hair.  To the tune of having lung function of only 24%, even after a week on Albuterol.  That's pretty damn allergic, dear readers.

So, I sent the above glamour shot around by email, and within 20 minutes I had seven people lined up who wanted her.  She now lives with a family that includes a 9 year old, a 3 year old, a golden retriever, and two cats, and I am informed that she is blissfully happy.  And Andy can breathe again, which makes me blissfully happy, even though I miss my Lucy.

We may, in a few years, take a shot with one of those so-called "hypo-allergenic" dogs.  I'm particularly enamored of Schnoodles.  But we'll see.

Just for you, Patti!

Patti tagged me for a meme, and then said that I probably don't have time to do it, which, as any pathologically overcommitted person knows, is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.  But before I get to that, I'd like to request a little finger-crossing.

Andy may be allergic to Lucy.  The first night we had her at home, he started coughing.  The second night, he was coughing and wheezing so hard that he was weeping in misery.  I'm not one to get all hysterical over the little illnesses of childhood, but this was one of those things when I just wanted to wrap him up in my arms as though he were an infant.  Instead, I tossed him in the shower, thinking that if the problem were the dog, we could wash of the dander and hopefully relieved the symptoms. Post shower, no more coughing until the following morning.

So we go to the doctor, who surprises us by saying she thinks its bronchitis, and sends us home with some antibiotics and an inhaler.  Andy takes the antibiotics and uses the inhaler, and things settle for a bit, although he's still coughing.  And starting yesterday, the cough just kept getting worse, until Chuck calls me this afternoon and I can hear Andy in the background coughing and crying and wailing things like "I want my Mommy!" and "I don't want to die!"  Back into the shower he goes, and it settled the cough a little bit, but he's still quite wheezy and miserable.

We see the allergist tomorrow, for a test for reaction to the dog if nothing else.  Andy is going to be crushed if we have to find a new home for Lucy (I'm not sending her back to the pound, which is not a no-kill shelter.)  So please with the crossing of the fingers, okay?  Thanks.

Okay, now on to Patti's meme....

Where were you 10 years ago?  Chuck and I had just recently celebrated our first wedding anniversary.  We were living in our first house and I was utterly bewildered by our first yard/garden (the house has changed, but the bewilderment has not).  It was a stage of my life during which I was pretty content just to *be*--no ambitious career climbing, no immediate plans to have kids, not even much in the way of house renovations.

Five things on your to do list for today.  I'm answering this with my "to do" list for Tuesday, June 10.

(1) Vote (primary day!)
(2) Pick up homeowners association mail
(3) Land the big client I've been wooing for a week
(4) Play with Lucy (and, um, yeah, the kids, I realize upon reading this over just before posting)
(5) Pick some green beans from the garden

Snack foods I like.  I'm not sure there are any snack food I don't like, but a few of my favorites are plain roasted almonds, apple slices with natural peanut butter, yogurt, lattes, and of course chocolate.  Oh, and homemade bread toasted and slathered with butter.

If I were a billionaire.  I'd pay my debts and those of all my family members and friends, and buy houses for those that don't currently own them.  Then I'd build my Parish a kick-ass new church.  Then I'd go around looking for problems that can be solved by the flinging of money, and fling money at them.

Places I've lived.  Not very many, actually.  Tempe, Arizona (birth to age 3); Bellevue, WA (3-9); Olympia, WA (9-college); Walla Walla, WA (college), Washington DC (law school); Orangeburg, SC (clerkship); Greenville SC (post law school-current).

Okay, tags .... That's number (6) on my to do list for tomorrw.  Stay tuned ....

Look, Ma!

I'm a graduate!

In which I wonder how Mormons and Baptists manage bedtime.

Because I swear, there are nights when a nice glass of pinot grigio seems like the only alternative to beating my children senseless.

Snow Day!