Road Rage

To the man behind me in the right-hand turn lane at the red light who repeatedly honked his horn, encouraging me to either turn onto a street that was already filled with cars or cut off an approaching car to turn when that same street that was slightly less filled with cars and while I was also right next to a police car - thank you for giving me the opportunity to explain to my children what a jerk is. It is always helpful to have concrete examples when you're trying to explain such an abstract concept.

And thank you also for pulling up next to me once we had both safely and legally turned onto that street and screaming at me from behind your closed window. I thoroughly enjoyed the 30 minute conversation I had to have with my 3 year old, trying to convince her that The Jerk wasn't going to come and hurt her, while alternately agreeing with her that you should go to jail.

Thanks a lot, asshole.

The thing

Here's the thing They don't tell you about parenting. Certainly not in any of the books you read. Of course, if They did tell you, you wouldn't believe them.

Here's the thing They don't tell you about parenting: it will rip your fucking heart out.

A few days ago, Rory told me that he wanted to invent a machine that would let you stay one age for your whole life. The age he chose was 5, when he was in kindergarten only half-day, when he got to stay with us the rest of the time.

School is not going well. My quirky boy is not fitting in so well. School does not play to his strengths - the ability to entertain oneself for hours while imagining the science you'll do when you grow up is not really conducive to the learning. Instead, his inability to catch or hit a ball, his extreme dislike for the sound of children singing, his slow and methodical approach to tasks, an approach that must not be upset, are making it hard for him to learn, hard for him to be like the other children. He is having a hard time.

And to write it all out, to put those quirks into words, or even to say them aloud like I did today to an occupational therapist, it seems obvious, doesn't it? Something is wrong. He needs help. And he is getting help.

But here's the part that rips my heart out - and I know it shouldn't but it does - I didn't realize any of this last month, last year, 3 years ago when he developed an irrational fear of heights, 4 years ago when my once fearless boy stopped hurtling himself through life and became more sedate. He was talking, I thought, and hugging, and loving, and learning, and and and. And I missed it. And how hard has school been for him because I didn't see it?

If I could choose a time for him to be forever, for us to be together forever, I would have chosen when he was 3. Before. Before the things that started happening that I didn't see. Before when my heart lived in him and was safe.

Proof of Life

It's possible that someone drank a little too much sparkling apple juice on New Year's Eve. Maybe.

What, I was totally cleaning my room.



This, right here, is why she doesn't get to wear dresses very often.

* Apologies for absence. We have obviously been alive, but I am feeling haunted since the trial ended.

And this is why I hate Christmas*

Brigit: My penis hurts.
Me: That would be a trick.
Brigit: It hurts.
Me: Do you want me to look?
Brigit: No.

(Time passes, passes mostly in a fog of cold medicine and napping, which I hate, the napping not the cold medicine. The cold medicine is pretty and has good hair.)

Brigit: My bum hurts.
Me: Ok, it's time to have a look.

Do you know what I found in her pull-up? A Christmas tree needle. A fake Christmas tree needle. This never happens in April. (Ok, so in April, we find real pine needles but whatever.)

*I don't really hate Christmas. I kind of hate Christmas away from family after having 2 Christmases in a row with the sisters and cousins and grandparents. This year, I have my children calling me the most boring mom ever. Because I was, you know napping. See above re: time passing.

The State of Washington vs. Naveed Haq

On July 28, 2006, Naveed Haq held a loaded gun to the back of a 14-year old girl and forced his way into the Jewish Federation of Greater Seattle. Once inside, he shot 6 women, wounding 5, Carol Goldman, Layla Bush, Cheryl Stumbo, and Dayna Klein, and killing 1, Pamela Waechter.

Mr. Haq, then age 30, had a long history mental illness and has been diagnosed alternately with Bipolar Type I with Psychotic Features or Schizoaffective Disorder with Mood Components.

The facts of what happened on that summer day in Seattle are not in question. Mr. Haq surrendered to police within 12 minutes of entering the Jewish Federation. The question for the jury was whether or not Mr Haq was sane at the time of the shooting. If he had the psychological wherewithal to understand what he was doing. If he was, under the laws of the state of Washington, guilty of the crimes with which he was charged or if he was, instead, not guilty by reason of insanity.

On December 15, 2009, the jury found Mr. Haq guilty on all counts. I was on that jury.

In the days and weeks to come, I will have more to say about this, but on this day, today, this is enough.

Rory Story

When Rory was my only child, I used to save up his funny stories to share with family. This was well before my blog days, so sadly most of these stories are lost to the dark recesses of my brain. However, this kid, he gives good material.

Rory: Mom! Guess what!
Me: What?
Rory: I found the best chocolate!
Me: Where?
Rory: On the counter! It was great! And it had white inside it!
Me: Mint?
Rory: Yeah! Mint! It was great!
Me: I know, it was MINE.

Brigit on the subject of why she should take a bath

Brigit: Mooooommy, if I don't take a bath, my booboo is going to get extinct!
Tyler: Extinct or stinky?
Brigit: It's going to get dirty and then it's going to diiiiieeeee.