"She's just running with it!"

Thus said LMNOB's teacher in the Monday folder, after explaining their new reading unit on questioning and making inferences on the texts they are reading.

Recently the class read this book (which I have never read but we may just have to borrow it from the library because Amazon makes it sound so appealing. Yes, I do know it is their job to SELL the books, but still!). Also in the Monday folder was a little worksheet they had done with the book and the concept of making inferences.

The handwriting on the wall, er, worksheet was precious.

Name: LMNOB MeYer (like seriously, the y was proportionately ginormous)

Title: G.T. (then, because she seemed to have suspected that that might possibly not be descriptive enough, "Grandfather Twilight.")

Questioning Web:
I wonder - what he will do tomorrow and what will happen to the moon pearl

(FYI - the web looks like a spider, with the "web" the circle in the center and several "legs" off to the side where she had to get answers to her question from other classmates)

M says:
he mite die.

O says:
do same thing
he'll take down the first pearl.

B says:
take it down and put it in the treasure chest.

Then, forget little legs, the rest fills up the entire left side and bottom of the page.

I (LMNOB) say:
In the mornig he'll eat oatmeal then read then he'll pick up his kitten and go for a walk then he'll go back home and get the pearl and walk agian and let go to the other moon pearl and that one will fall into the sea and G.T. will want to get it so he will swim and find a mermaid with the pearl and he will fall in Love with her and he will mary her and he will become a merman!

Below, the teacher wrote:
Wow, what an imagination! :)

No kidding.

Edited to Add: Wednesday at the school's Volunteer Appreciation Breakfast, LMNOB's teacher added to this story.

"Did you see the bottom, that she'd written over?"

"Oh, no, I completely lost that - so what was the deal?"

"Well it said, 'which of these is the best inference?' you know, based on clues in the story and all, right?"

Nod

"So I asked her to answer it and she goes, 'Mine, of course!'"

We all chuckled and the teacher went on, "Which, yeah, she was right, but the 'of course,' just cracked me up!"

Besides being a proud mother of a future novelist, might I entertain ya'll with a few of my observations:

1.) My girl knows the value of a healthy breakfast - Gotta keep old Grandfather Twilight regular, after all!

2.) Speaking of running, hon, let's talk about run-on sentences, a'ight? Also, totally non-related save for the running reference, LMNOB was totally stoked that she came in as the 2nd girl when her class ran the mile last week, and 4th overall! I was too - as I was always the fat kid who couldn't complete the mile. Additionally, she ran 2.5 miles of a 5 mile hike (those are so not my genetics btw) last weekend. She is showing a natural talent and endurance for running and we are nurturing it, baby! Hell, maybe it will inspire me to go out and run with her?

3.) It is no small potato that the BOY changes HIS LIFESTYLE for the GIRL - LMNOB has been a feminist longer than I have, always objecting to the general "he" and/or gender bias in "career" storybooks. Nevertheless, I am so glad that she is marching to her own beat on that path.

4.) Inferences are no more than educated assumptions, aided by clues, patterns, etc. While helpful, I see with LMNOB's imagination that we may need to talk about how inferences are more appropriate for literature than say, IRL situations. I can just see her with her future husband now:

"You've come home late three nights in a row, quit kissing me, and I just know that you had to have found a gorgeous woodland sprite to take my place!"

Yeah....................




© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Hashing it Out

Tonight, Charlie Brown asks me of our increasingly insolent son, "What is Punkinhead's deal with me lately?"

"Uhm, honestly?"

Nods, albeit a bit reluctantly.

"Well...you've been a bit harsh lately. To everyone. And, you know, it is really hard to teach a child, particularly a boy child, to respect his mama when Daddy treats her like dog crap in front of others and behind closed doors. And then, he thinks, 'If I don't need to respect Mama, I don't need to respect Daddy either.'"

From there it went like this:

I got teary. I feel unappreciated, overwhelmed, and not supported. I am resentful that he plays on the weekend while I find myself working. Of the home and parenting variety.

He got yell-y.

Which made me shouty and teary.

But we got it off our chests.

It being we both are feeling a lack of respect. Among other things.

Then he shared with me an inside story about a conversation he'd had with our group leaders about letting an outsider into our group (per the request of an older male friend at church) and they responded in a way that really surprised me, because these are people that I tend to see as more godly than myself, at least lately.

And suddenly, it didn't seem so bad that he'd wanted to air real frustrations, shared by the entire group re: a legitimately frustrating person who had been alluded to, but not named, last night.

"Hey, by the way, what was her deal yesterday anyway?"

And I proceeded to give him the low-down of the painfully awkward discussion between this person and I.

Then I went upstairs to pee.

Came back down and he was doing the dishes.

Without me having to ask.

That was the [moist, best-of both-worlds-marble] cake.

"I'm sorry for fighting with you."

That was the triple fudge icing.

And how sweet it is when he actually gets it.



© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

I've Always Loved Matchbox 20....

Because they capture my insanity and all-too-clear awareness of it.

Consider this an apt dedication to Charlie Brown today:



Let's just say that last night we had a bit of a public tiff. Nothing major, just a little Charlie Brown drama. He came into a conversation late, proceeded to interrupt with a gossiping spirit and judgment, I wanted to stay clear of that realm and I cut him off in front of everyone.

Which you know, a woman cutting off her husband in public is a huge no-no to a traditionalist male with fragile ego syndrome.

And his pride got hurt, so he stormed off in a huff. (The kids were already loaded and we had taken separate cars).

It was only slightly embarrassing, as I had attempted to curtail his tantrum. To no avail.

So I was left with the group of church friends with a silent shrug: Welcome to my world, ya'll.

I'd planned on going out with DSW afterward and so I did.

When I got home he was asleep.

This morning, I called to apologize for cutting him off like I had - I knew that he has issues with that and it was disrespectful, but I wanted him to know I was trying to keep the conversation above board, that he'd started into it out of context.

I got told that it was the way I cut him off.

I reminded him that I had said, "Let's not go there" like 3 times before I waved my hand at him, and if he would just show some respect and restraint it could have been avoided entirely. Instead what happened happened and I was left, in a situation no different than the one he'd perceived me putting him in: publicly humiliated.

Did I get an apology for that?

No.

And that really pisses me off.




© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Spring Morning

This post inspired by my all time favorite Jewel song:


Ok...you got me. They are all my favorites. I love Jewel. Did I ever tell ya'll that I sang her at my highschool pops concert, when she was new?

The Sun all too cheerfully peers in through my blinds this morning.

I, not yet ready for wakefulness, resist, turning over on my side and hiding my face from her charms beneath my plush comforter.

Angry at this rebuff, She directs her more intense arms of brilliant white gold light to penetrate through my window. They do, carrying her indignant message. “I give you Spring, dammit! You’re Supposed to wake up and relate your soul’s beautiful awakening and rejuvenation to the one going on outside! You’re Supposed to enjoy this – why aren’t you enjoying this?”

Yes, folks, Spring has sprung.

And despite arriving after one of Colorado’s Longest. Winters. Ever. I’m just not twitterpated with the gloriousness of the Sun’s presentations of Herself; nor with her accessories of green, delicate buds, and rich soils.

I fear Spring has become a Supposed to Season for me.

I am now Supposed to have arms worthy of short sleeves, legs worthy of skirts and capris.

Instead I am carrying an obscene amount of winter weight; the results of my body’s desperate attempts to increase serotonin to my depressed brain.

I am Supposed to garb myself in cute, springy clothes.

Instead I have no clothes that fit. (Even if I did, they aren’t clean, see below)

I am Supposed to find respite from depression and strength in the Sun’s now extended hours.

Instead, I find myself still wondering why there aren’t more hours in a day, and just how am I supposed to enjoy the Sun when I still have the obligations of indoors beckoning to me? The fog is leaving me, but now the disgust at the outcomes produced by my lack of motivation hits and the futility of catching up looms. So now I am left only more mindful of the consequences of Winter, but no more motivated to cure them.

I am Supposed to be awed by the miracle of Life.

Instead I feel trapped by the very obvious fact that it keeps moving forward. Can’t time just stand still for a moment? Can’t I just get caught up?

I am Supposed to instinctively desire closeness from my mate. It is the season of fertility after all.

Instead I am dreaming of time away. In solitude. I grow resentful that the burden of catch-up rests solely upon me, as he would never dream of fixing the chaos – he just doesn’t know where to begin. And I do?

I am Supposed to want to be active and eat fresh foods.

Instead lethargy and carbs abound. Thank goodness for coffee.

I am Supposed to be able to pull it together, plant seeds of hope in my mind and watch them bloom.

And though I know there to be solace in positivity and exercise, it seems like a great big hurdle to jump.

---written 4/21/08

Edited to add….Since writing this I have:

Jaunted about on a 90 minute walk (yesterday) in the Sun (She has since retaliated against my morning snubs by brandishing me with a pink countenance)

Seen a -3 change in lbs on the Mo[u]rning Scale Report

Resumed St. John’s Wort (consistently…I’ve concluded that 3 doses spread over 6 mos is not effective) and Omega-3 Supplement

Done the dishes (for the first time in about a week – this morning)

Gone to bed “early” (10:30 – can’t go earlier on a consistent basis)

Wished daily that I could break away from being a Negative Nellie

Gone to (and participated in) LMNOB’s first aquatic OT session…and realized how blessed we are. Repeat on Wednesday.

Begun drinking Yogi Detox tea in the mornings.

Realized that I still just need to get away and find some peace, clarity, serenity….

Any bloggy friends up for a bloggy girls road trip?



© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

The fuse has been lit

Monday night, upon arriving home after 9 pm and seeing LMNOB asleep, ON THE COUCH, and Punkinhead, STILL AWAKE, dishes to the ceiling, papers EVERYWHERE, filthy floors and more, I asked Charlie Brown if LMNOB had done her Monday Math.

In his shirking-responsibility-defiance voice, a voice that I am oh too well acquainted with, "No - you didn't tell me to!"

Oh. My. ___________________

"Well, hon, she's been doing Monday Math for oh, seven months now? I didn't think you would need to be told. I assume they didn't get baths?"

Correct.

"Why aren't they in their beds - it's after 9."

"Because, Heather, they find it a little hard to go to sleep without seeing you."

Oh thanks for playing the guilt card. Yes I know, and I've been totally overcompensating for it and now they're just BRATS!

Which, ok whatever. It was what he said next that just sent me over the edge:

"Cut me some slack. I've had to pick them up and be with them 4 out of 5 nights last week," (two of those nights by the way were just pick-up, not a late night for me) "I'm tired."

"Man, I'm really sorry. Sucks having to be a parent, doesn't it?" I said with exaggerated empathy. "Welcome to my world, dear."

*******************************************
Last night we're looking at bills and paychecks and determined that thanks to a new truck payment, we are going to have to be a little creative.

So we make a 2 wk menu plan, grocery list and go to the grocer's.

$200 later we drove home.

After I got the kids to bed, I sat down in the kitchen to put away the goods Charlie Brown had unloaded.

After about 1/2 an hour, and him in the living room watching tv, I started singing, "All by myyyyyyyseeeeeelf....Don't wanna be....alll by myyyyyseeeeelllllf, anymore..."

I know what you must be thinking, "Dang she's turned into a passive aggressive bitch."

Not really, just a pissed off mama who is trying to do too much because her hubs does too little.

Charlie Brown came in and helped me clean and reorg the fridge so that we could put all of our perishable nutrient bounties in the temperature preserving treasure chest.

Then he went and sat back down.

While I continued to work.

*******************************

I sense a division of labor smack-down coming on.




© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

I've Got the Blahs

Where hast my motivation gone?

Alas! Alas! I cannot find it.

Not hither, not thither.

And thus no work gets done, my brain goes numb,

And fatty carbs help me mind it.

Crappy prose, I know.

But it captures life for me for the past several weeks.

I'm just not motivated to do ANYthing. Hiding from God, myself, and work.

Eating to medicate.

I stepped on the scale this morning and I'm in a new weight class.

I have to stop this pattern.

But that would require motivation.

© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Blink with Me

Perhaps I ought to elaborate on the title there.

Becky's son J is autistic. On the days that J is in his own world, Becky has described his behavior as "blinky" or "blinking out."

LMNOB had a brief, albeit frustrating, sensory meltdown at church today. Upon drop-off to bible class, she did her trademark clingy freak-out. I was tender but firm, quiet but loud and clear, and when it became apparent that her behavior was a ginormous distraction, I pulled her out. And headed to the ladies room, our routine set wherein I try to help LMNOB regain her shit she seems to all too frequently lose.

Upon leaving, the Sunday school teacher tried (but failed miserably) to help, "Bye LMNOB, it's too bad you're not going to be in class today."

LMNOB heard, "Wa-wa-wa Wa-wa-wa-wa."

I heard, "Thanks for disrupting our class. Again. You do know she's gonna have to learn to separate from you sometime, right?"

I know, it is probably not at all what she intended, she was probably just trying to back a mama up, but it hit me completely wrong.

We made our way into the bathroom, a public venue that makes for a completely awkward scene when people walk in upon a tantruming LMNOB while I am begging and pleading for her to just do a wall push-up or some other kind of "body work." And let me just say, it's not that we're secretive about LMNOB's needs, it's just that so many people do NOT get it.

Also, this was after the previous day's long drawn out battles with selfish, bratty kids - in a moment of extreme battle fatigue, I broke down in tears at that last "But, Mooooooooooooooom!" before bed. "Clearly if my kids think it is ok to act like this, I am not a great mom," I ranted. Clearly, it was a moment of hysteria, but still, it pops out from time to time, ya know? This morning, I was not fully recovered and went into today's battle in an already fragile state.

Dear Lord, I just need some respite!

LMNOB wanted to hang on me - my neck and back are bearing the brunt of this oft-made request. The grandmother of one of LMNOB's classmates came in and went into a stall. I held LMNOB up so that she could hang from one of the stalls.

"Ahhhhhhhh...."

"That feel alright?"

"Mmmmhmmm."

Out came Grandma. She spoke to LMNOB, with a kind smile, about her hair, school, etc. She turned to me with a knowing look and said, "She's under-sensitive, right?"

Surprised, I responded, "Yeah, they call her a sensory seeker because she is under-stimulated. In MOST things, though, not all."

Grandma noted that one of the hardest things is that the issues aren't always consistent, then related that her 4 y/o grandson (one of the triplet sibs of LMNOB's classmate - yeah, and I think I have it rough, I know) had recently been ID'd with sensory integration problems, but he was on the over-sensitive, "defensive" end of the spectrum. As a result he's often an angry, wild, and defiant little boy.

Grandma said that it just upsets her when people give looks at her daughter and son-in-law when her grandson is acting out, that people assume that these parents are just not good disciplinarians, and the kids are just spoiled.

She went on, "If people would just read the many books that are out, they'd know there is much more to the picture than that!"

I could have kissed her. Like, a full on makeout session, but ya know such risque' behavior is frowned upon at church.

Respite AND Validation? Love you Lord, I do.

In the meantime, LMNOB was soaking all of this up. Hearing that other kids have sensory issues is as much (or more) validating to her as it is for me.

After Grandma left, LMNOB hung another time and did some pushes against the sink counter.

And then she went into her class with no problem.



© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

East Meets West

The other day I was blog-surfing and found a blog with a corner banner on it that intrigued me.

So I did what any other curious cat would do and clicked it. Which took me here.

And as I clicked through the site, and other explanatory links on it, I felt a kindred spirit well up through cyberspace and whisper to my heart, "Namaste'."

So, maybe I'm the first to take a NYC phenomenon out West, but I'm doing it. You'll see the revolution button permanently on my sidebar, and I'm also taking Krystyn's HopeNotes and going to post them around with love.

In the meantime, dear internets, it has come to my attention that I managed to forget posting a bulletin article I put together for my church here...I think it is fitting with this idea of a Hope Revolution:

I will never forget the last day of my Child Pscyhopathology and Exceptionality class at CSU. At the front of the room stood my professor, telling a heart-wrenching story about working with a boy who had been horribly abused. I sat in the room, newly pregnant and bawling, as this man stood before us with tears in his eyes, face screwed up, explaining that sometimes the hardest part of working with kids [in "the system"], "is not knowing if you told the truth when you told a kid that ‘everything would work out.’"

Later, I would discover that this haunting phenomenon occurs in any realm of social work, not just with kids. Very rarely do social workers get to see the start to finish in the lives of those whom we’ve intervened.

Similarly, many of us are sowers of seeds. Unlike shepherds, who are given time to spend every day watching over their flocks, nurturing, protecting, and leading them; God provides those of us who are sowers with opportunities to scatter the seeds of His love. Sometimes these opportunities arrive with time to prepare the soil, but often things happen so quickly, we can do little more than throw the seeds out in faith, pray for roots to take place, and find ourselves being presented with new opportunities. Like a social worker, a sower doesn’t always get to see the harvest of these efforts. In those instances, we must embrace the adage heard at 12 Step groups across the globe: “Let go and Let God.”

I haven’t done direct services work for about 4 years now, but still God hands me opportunities, and He’s impressed upon my heart that my role in the Kingdom is that of a sower. Recently, He blessed me by sharing a glimpse at the harvest with me.

Last month*, I’d taken a day off from work, frantically cleaning my house before my in-laws came to visit. As I emptied a basket of papers, one fell on the floor. I picked it up and started to toss it in the recycle bin when I saw the name and phone number scrawled across it out of the corner of my eye: Jean A, Golden.

Jason, I thought. I wonder how he’s doing?

[the following is context, in the event you are a new reader and/or you choose not to follow the links]

Jason is a man who crossed our family’s path one cold night in October, just outside of JAX. He’s an alcoholic. That night he’d found himself homeless, and drunk beyond all possibility of finding shelter. We put him up in a motel that night, and I offered to get him the help he would need for the subsequent days, provided he would follow through. He’d had me call his mother, Jean, just to let her know he was ok. Unfortunately, Jason chose to drink the next night and I had to uphold my stance that I would not continue helping him if he wasn’t willing to do some of the leg work. A few days later he’d called me to thank me for the help we’d given him. He’d ended up going to detox and later to a residential treatment program in Denver.

In January, I got yet another call from Jason. Now sober, he was calling to tell me he’d been “working his steps,” that he realized just how much we’d done for him in very little time together, and that he was forever grateful.

So here I was in February, looking at his mother’s phone number. Coincidence? Probably not, I decided. So I called Jean. And got voice-mail.

Maybe you should just hang up. It’s kind of strange, you know?

Beeeep.

“Uh, hi, Jean. This is Heather Meyer in NOCO Town. We talked this fall after my family met Jason. Anyway, funny story, I just came across your number and felt compelled to call and check in with you, see how Jason’s doing. I wish you all the best.”

Within minutes my phone rang.

It was Jean.

She was not the same defeated mother I had talked to in October. She sounded hopeful, as she told me that Jason had completed the in-patient part of his treatment – a milestone which had previously remained elusive in his attempts at sobriety.

She continued, proudly rattling on that he’d found a church, was faithfully attending AA, and most miraculous of all, he and his brother were working together after a decade of estrangement!

I could hear her choke up on the other line, “Heather, you and your family have been an answered prayer. My son has come home in every sense of the word.”

Humbly, I corrected her. "Jean, I was only a vehicle through which God could answer your prayers. I had no idea that something so small would amount to such a huge victory."

Praise be to God! And thanks to all of you who joined us in praying for Jason this fall.

*February....I wrote this in March, but the conversation took place in February



© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

Who Could Ask for Anything More???

It's Friday.

It's Date Night.

It's WARM, finally spring has made an entrance in Colorado.

So I am going to get all Virile Va-freaking-Voom Vixen, right! now! and hope that is the perfect storm, :wink:.



© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

A Whole 'Nother Realm

Note...if you are here via the BlogHer headline, great - thanks for stopping by. But this post is relatively lame - better suited for my regulars. For a more entertaining post, check this one out.

I am pleased to note that despite the initial disaster, known as Realm, we have completed painting Punkinhead's room.

I think it turned out pretty cute, for the kid not having decent bedroom furnishings (dresser is in the closet, the bed is good, but the shelves are all rather chintzy).

His response was super cute: "This is MY room??????"

Our nods.

"Heeeheheheeh!!! Yeah, woohoo!"

Oh boy, if you only knew....

Relief indeed. You'll notice Charlie Brown's beer on the Sterilite drawers. Yeah. We needed it.

© 2008 Ramblings of a Red-Headed Step-Child. All Rights Reserved

The Business Sector CAN Make a Difference in Social Issues

I just received an e-mail with a link to an article MSNBC is running online.

 

Quizno’s Founder Fights Homelessness
The founder of the Denver-based Quizno’s restaurant chain and his wife are starting a business-minded group to help raise money for cities fighting homelessness.

The first project of Richard and Cheryl Schaden's America's Road Home, announced Thursday, will revolve around marketing a film about homelessness, "Where God Left His Shoes." A restaurant in Denver could follow, with proceeds going toward America's Road Home.

…

Michael Stoops, executive director of the National Coalition for the Homeless, welcomed the private-sector help.

He said the effort to fight homelessness hasn't had many high-profile boosters since Comic Relief in the 1980s. His group has been trying to get public officials, including the presidential hopefuls, to agree to live on the streets for 48 hours to draw attention to the issue.

"We really need whoever, I don't care if it's a Democrat or a Republican, we need people who have more influence than you or I to mobilize and lead the way," Stoops said.

…

Schaden said fighting homelessness is important to him because both he and his wife have had relatives who have ended up on the streets. One of the relatives had had medical problems while another lost a job and was too embarrassed to let the rest of the family know, he said.
"What it tells you is that anybody can end up there," Schaden said. "With a volatile economy it can happen pretty quickly."

 

Go read the full article.  Then go tell Quizno’s how much you love ‘em and buy a sandwich.  ‘Mmmm Toasty.