Highs and Lows

Yesterday Sam competed in an academic fair. His category was spelling. You may remember he participated in the poetry competition last year. I could write about how I had many conversations with him about practicing or how I lectured him a couple of times on why he should practice. But I'd rather just say ... he won.

He spent the morning at the nearby high school taking the spelling test and we all piled into the school's auditorium in the afternoon for the awards ceremony, a ceremony that had no order or organization whatsoever. They jumped from first grade spelling to fifth grade poetry to third grade math, and of course, Sam's category was last. The auditorium was nearly empty, the stragglers were taking down the balloons. And then they announced Sam's category. Sixth place, tie. Fourth place, another student from Sam's school. Third place, another student from Sam's school. Second place. And then, first place ... Sam Romine. To be honest I didn't even hear his last name. As I have said before there are things the kids do every day that make me proud. Sam's compassion for a sick Abby last week, for example. But seeing Sam's beaming grin was a highlight.

And then this morning I got up before the kids, took a shower, made some tea and headed out to get the paper when I noticed ... a cat in the street. And yes, it was my cat. About the same time I started down the driveway my very kind neighbor Monty walked into the street and picked up the cat. "Monty, don't tell me that's Phineas." Yes, it was.

Sometime early this morning Phineas was hit by a car in front of our house. From what I saw, he wasn't banged up so my hope is that whatever happened happened quick. Monty and our neighbors Blackie and Cathey Ann buried him in the side yard this morning.

Jake and Sam were initially upset. Abby, well, she's four. But as I explained to them this morning, the sadness will pass. And it did, for them.

But, damn it, I'm a mess. He was a great cat. Sweet, patient, cuddly. He'd just recovered from the tail incident. He was only a year old.

Years ago, before the kids, one of my cats died unexpectedly and my vet sent me a sympathy card. I've always remembered the verse. If you are not a pet lover (bless your shriveled little black heart), you may find this melodramatic. But if you have ever owned a pet that has blessed you with its love, loyalty and gratitude, you'll forgive the melodrama.

Grieve not,
nor speak of me with tears,
but laugh and talk of me
as if I were beside you.
Twas heaven here with you,
I loved you so.

I will miss you Phineas.

Day 6

Last Saturday morning Sam woke up queasy. He had eaten an early dinner the night before so I, thinking his blood sugar was low, forced him to eat some toast and juice. Toast and juice that came up several times over the next couple of hours.

Fast forward to Sunday afternoon. About the time Sam started feeling better, Jake was befelled by a headache and fever, which triggered his asthma. By Monday he was really puny, puny enough to sleep from 11 a.m. Monday to 7 a.m. Tuesday, which was about the time I got sick (and Bryon left town on a business trip of course.)

Conveniently, the boys didn't have school Monday or Tuesday but the very mention of school on Wednesday brought Jake to tears, and when Sam woke up with a sore throat and Abby woke up with a fever, I threw in the towel.

By this evening I thought we were all improving and then Abby started vomiting. I honestly can't remember the last time she was sick with anything. Tonight's turn of events threw her. She was confused (she thought she needed to throw up in the bathtub), apologetic ("tell Daddy I'm so sorry") and embarrassed ("Jesus doesn't like you to throw up.") Hopefully she'll get a good night's sleep. I could use one too, but tonight I think I'll be sleeping with one ear and one eye open.

Paradoxes

I do not hide the fact that I don't support our governor, Rick Perry. He was recently elected to an unprecedented fourth term here in Texas, proof that our slipshod educational system is finally taking its toll.

Today the Dallas Morning News printed excerpts of Perry's inaugural address given during the inaugural celebration, which sadly was pared down to only one gala ball.

In his inaugural address Perry stressed the challenges presented by our state's budget shortfall but said Texas will support "the frail, the young, the elderly and those who suffer abuse." He said his final budget will protect those whose "needs are greater than the resources at their disposal."

Here is where Perry and his speechwriters need to pause and look up "paradox" in the dictionary because, despite his dedication to our state's poor, huddled masses, he proposes to cut public school funding and remedial reading programs, eliminate funding for teacher merit pay, cut financial aid, close community colleges, decrease overall Medicaid spending, close facilities for the mentally disabled, withhold community-based treatments for the mentally ill, cut child abuse prevention funds and vocational rehabilitation programs for the deaf, blind and disabled, and eliminate legal services for the poor.

Last I checked kids in public schools and remedial reading programs are the young. College students seeking financial aid are the very definition of those whose needs are greater than their resources. Children who have been subjected to physical and mental abuse are by definition "those who suffer abuse." Blind, deaf and mentally disabled citizens are part of our state's "frail" population.

Believe it or not, I am not a bleeding heart liberal. I find it hard to accept that a convicted murderer serving a life sentence has access to better health care and educational resources than many of the kids in my neighborhood. I'm not sure that an illegal immigrant should be able to go to nearby Parkland for free medical care but my friend Achlee can't afford prenatal checkups.

But I also find it interesting that our state's $203 million Emerging Technology Fund, which invests in high-tech start ups, awards a large percentage of those funds to Perry's campaign donors. Or that we spend hundreds of millions to pretty up our highways. Or that we allocated tens of millions to a Superbowl "trust fund."

Maybe it's simply that our politicians are out of touch. Maybe those who flippantly approve these cuts should be forced to send their kids to the public schools in their districts. Maybe they should be forced to sit in Parkland's ER for a day before getting treated for chest pains. Perhaps they should have to tell their son that despite his good grades he can only go to a local community college (unless you live in Odessa or west of Fort Worth).

I wish I had a solution. I wish someone had a solution. I certainly don't think Rick Perry does.

Halfway

When Sam turned 9 in December my mom reminded me that in just as many years he'll be 18.

18.

Driving. Considering college. Maybe dating.

Which brings me to, coincidentally, my nephew Tyler. Today is his 18th birthday. I only know what I know about Tyler from my mom and my sister, his mother. Tyler's a smart kid, athletic. Tall in a way you can never anticipate when your son is a child. He also has spectacular taste in music. And he is hard on his mom. A mom who wants nothing but success and comfort for him. A mom who happens to be extremely patient, kind, funny and smart.

I suppose it's a natural progression - for a teenager to become disenchanted with his parents, his family. Otherwise, he might never leave. But the further I get from my teenage years and the closer I get to, uh, the non-teenage years, the more it seems that the last place an 18-year-old boy needs to be is in a college, far away from home.

After all, is there anything more confused, confusing, dumb, smart and confident as an 18-year-old boy? All those qualities meld into a creature that doesn't want to listen to anybody, lest someone tell them they aren't prepared, aren't ready.

I think the crux of the impasse is that at 18 you just don't know what you don't know. And there are those of us who think it is our job (and as moms, it kind of is) to introduce you to what you don't know with as little nagging and preaching as possible. Believe it or not, we don't like to nag or preach. But we also don't want you to make mistakes or get hurt. And if along the way you find something we say interesting or savvy, well, that would be good too.

But if you take away only one thing, please know that we all love you.

And we are freaked out that you are 18.

All Things Bright and Beautiful

January 9 was Abby's fourth birthday.

I would like to say she woke up to her favorite breakfast, with her family around her, singing Happy Birthday, indulging her and hanging on her every word.

But Sam spent the night at a friend's, Jake woke up crabby (and a little jealous I think), we needed groceries, Bryon slept in and I, admittedly, spent an inappropriate amount of time bemoaning the fact that we didn't provide a better celebration.

When the pelting rain turned to snow our afternoon commitments were cancelled so I was able to get some balloons, cupcakes and lots of pink paper and ribbon. Late in the evening we gathered around the table, sang Happy Birthday and she opened her presents.

As with most things Abby was pleased, but her enjoyment made me feel guilty; I just didn't feel that our lackluster celebration was worthy of her.

So, Abby, if you read this one day ... Don't be fooled. Your dad and I and your brothers - yes, those gross, silly, restless boys - think you hung the moon. Not a day goes by that you don't surprise, amuse and bewitch us. You are the 13th bagel, the cherry on top, the three-day weekend.

Expect the Unexpected

After Sam's bath last night he retired to the living room and I went to clean up his mess. In the bathtub was a toy pistol, binoculars, a ball of red yarn and a pair of underpants.

The mind reels.

Commitments

This morning Abby and I cut through the church's sanctuary to get to her classroom.

"Look. The trees and decorations are gone," I told her.

"Yep. The holidays are over," she said.

And boy are they. I know we are fortunate to have off the time that we do over the holidays but sometimes that January wallop doesn't seem worth it. In the next three weeks we have one church potluck dinner, Abby's birthday, a science project, two School of Rock performances, four rehearsals, four music lessons, one Spelling Bee, the Dallas Bar Association Inaugural Dinner, two Adventure Guides camp outs and one Science Fair project.

I hate to wish my time away but I'm already looking forward to February.

Backstories

So, here in all the glorious, gory details are two of my holiday stories - the two that pushed my holiday spirit to the ground and kicked dirt in its face.

First, Christmas Eve. In the past we have stored the surprise Christmas gifts (i.e. Santa's gifts) in our neighbor's garage. But this year, our neighbors were travelling quite a bit during the holidays so we opted for our storage unit. Very convenient, we thought. Drop the goods off on the way home from shopping, we thought. The kids will never sneak a peek of toys in the trunk or one of us hurrying across the backyard with an armful of Toys R Us bags, we thought.

So after Christmas Eve service, we eat, the kids play and when they finally go to bed I go to the storage unit to get the presents. How sneaky! How deft! I am giddy. Until ... I turn the corner of our storage unit and it is padlocked. I stared at that padlock for a good 60 seconds, really trying to make sure that what I saw was what I saw. And then, on this most silent and holy night, I threw down my keys and yelled the mother of curse words. Then I panicked. I jiggled the lock. I twisted it, I tried my own set of keys (why I don't know). I drove to the manager's office. Closed. I drove home.

Luckily, thankfully, earlier in the year we bought bolt cutters to cut an old lock in our garage. Through wild gestures and whispering I explained to Bryon what was happening. He grabbed the bolt cutters, we sped to the storage unit and broke into our own unit. I spent the rest of the evening convinced the police were on their way.

On to Christmas morning. I had put the previous night's events behind me, the kids were enjoying their presents, the adults were drinking coffee, eating pastries, relaxing. Bryon started fixing our traditional Christmas morning breakfast. I started clearing out paper, moving boxes and toys, making beds. Phineas the Cat was sleeping soundly on Abby's bed so I gently scooped him up to pull the comforter under him. That's when I saw the blood. And then I noticed his tail was nearly severed about halfway down. It looked like a red shoestring connecting two parts of perfectly intact tail. My mom and I took him to the emergency clinic. Several hours later he emerged, hopped up on morphine, with a fancy e-collar and a three-inch tail.

So here I am, a couple of weeks later, no worse for the wear, really. At least it will be a Christmas I'll never forget.

Resolve

Yes, I am making new year's resolutions. No, I don't expect to follow all of them. I could simply say I want to be better - I think that summarizes this list - but that could be hard to measure so in no particular order, I want to:

1. Get exercising again. I started last year and actually felt really good. I was more awake, refreshed, limber, rested. But as it happens, I dropped off toward the end of the year. My goal is to be able to run Dallas' Turkey Trot next Thanksgiving.

2. Start sewing. This is always on my list. I'm not sure what I'm waiting for. My sewing machine and a couple hundred dollars worth of fabric and supplies sits in the corner mocking me.

3. Be less snarky. I'm awfully cynical and a middle-aged cynic is not as much fun as a young one. And now I've noticed that my kids tend to be cynical and snarky. This is not something I want to pass on. My penchant for trivia or spelling prowess, maybe, but not my cynicism.

4. Use less laundry detergent. Yes, this is a goal. Do you measure your laundry detergent? I didn't, until recently, when I realized I use about three times as much as I need with each load.

5. Drink less wine. Let's just say that if I drink even one glass of wine I wake up oogy. It's not worth it. Instead of reaching for a glass of wine when I'm stressed I'm going to drink a glass of water and run around the block. That or eat a bag of Fritos.

5. Watch more TV. Good TV, that is. I spend a silly amount of time online reading gossip and coveting homes I'll never own. Instead I'm going to watch TV. I've heard a lot about this show called 30 Rock. (Kidding, sort of.)

6. Buy less, experience more. We (I) buy the kids a lot of junk. This year I am going to buy them less and introduce them to more. Local museums, the theatre. I want to take Sam to some concerts. I want to visit the Trinity River Audubon Center. And this year, a family vacation.

7. Get financially fit. Hi, my name is Ann and I'm a shopaholic. I really am. I am that person who shops because I'm sad, because I'm happy, because I deserve it, because I'm mad at you, because the kids drive me crazy. This year, that will stop.

So here I go. Onward and upward.