In Which Translation Occurs (Sort Of)

Lilymania needs an update. Bad. I thought I'd go out and find a cool new template to celebrate three years here in the blogosphere. (Three years!) Of course I managed to find the perfect template - on a technical blogging page that's all in SPANISH. (I have always wanted to learn Spanish, but so far all I've managed to get is a little Russian, some French, and a smattering of Italian and Latin. The last two help a teeny bit with the Spanish but not nearly enough to translate a page about widgets and templates!) Then I noticed a handy dandy translator button off in the margin. (You see where this is going, right?) Who is in charge of this stuff?!! Here is a sample of what I got:

I think ofreceros free, as always, several designs of pagination so that you prune to unload them and to install them without problems… You have a little patience.

One forgot to me. . . You can see a sample working in the main page of my blog, right under the entrances or posts, you puncture Here.

Errr, yeah. That was helpful. (Not.) I particularly like the pruning to unload and the instruction to "puncture here". You have a little patience indeed! Well, I'm out of patience, friends. For the nonce, Lilymania remains the same. Oh - and Bet and I are off to Philly tomorrow to see Madonna in concert. Chances are I won't be blogging until we get back. (Shall I say "so much for NaBlo" once more? :P ) Peace.

Chaos And The Squid Of Provocation

Last night, as we were trying to get supper* on the table, Chaos and Mayhem had a crazy loud dispute over the word - and I'm going to have to spell it the way it sounded when Chaos said it - provok-shun. Mayhem (correctly, but irritatingly in the way only little brothers know how to do) maintained that it was not a word. Chaos said impatiently, "Of course it's a word. Provoke, provok-shun. What else would it be? So there are these giant squids who attack without any provokshun..." Not to be distracted by the actual story Chaos was trying to tell, Mayhem steered the argument back to the word - and they ended up bringing the ruckus to Bet and me. Naturally we offered the word "provocation" which Chaos pronounced "illogical" on the spot. Be that as it may... Mayhem tried to gloat; Chaos tried (half-heartedly) to keep arguing but he really wanted to get back to the squid story; Bet and I tried not to laugh (or be grossed out). Chaos went on to describe the squid whose head/body was bigger than Mayhem, whose tentacles were longer than Bug, and who had teeth (in the suckers on its tentacles) "more sharper" than knives. Ay yi yi. More sharper? WHO is this child? Bet said, "Are you sure he's your kid?" (Thoughtful pause while I reminded myself that not only had I seen his red-headed little self emerge from my body lo, those many years ago - but I, Lilymane, had in fact said, "there was police cordons and heavy 70's cars parked on the side of the road..." on local television this very week.) "Yep. He's my kid." I love him to bits. Even if doesn't think so as he complains that no one ever listens to his stories, everyone always argues with him, and people are forever correcting him. And making him do chores. And sending him to his room without the least, little bit of provokshun.

Peace.

*Supper, by the way, was Shepherd's Pie - three variations (meat, vegetarian, chicken) and salad - NO SEAFOOD. Nothing to instigate a discussion of giant, razor-toothed squids rampaging for no reason. In case you wondered.

Tummy Report: Writhing

Note to self: NEVER, EVER, (for any reason under the sun) agree to be on television again. I haven't even seen the interview but reading the transcript and the online description of the interview? AGONY. I'd love to think they misquoted me (grammar mistakes, leaving key words out, etc) but chances are it's even worse in the live action version. The script says that what has haunted me the most (since I was supposed to be with her the day she was kidnapped) is that if I had been with her that day maybe something awful would have happened to me too - but that's not the part that haunts me!! Well it's a part of it - but the bigger part is if I hadn't been sick - if I had been able to be with her - would we have been too big of a target - would she be alive today - would my presence mean that she would have been safe? THAT'S the part that is haunting. And when the interviewer said the "stories" would be on two nights in a row - I thought that she meant my part was one of a couple of bits they were doing and I'd have to watch both nights to catch it. Turns out my part stretches over two nights. I'm on twice. Egad. I don't regret my impulse to tell the side of the story where the "victim" is still a little girl who never set out to be an icon or milestone. I just wish I'd been more articulate. Bleck. ANYWAY.
**Edited to add: ok, having now seen the the video, the subject/verb agreement (or lack thereof) was all mine (but I think I switched ideas mid sentence) and thankfully, the other two sentences which sounded so moronic in transcript actually make more sense with my pauses, facial expressions, and hand motions. Still. Never again.

On the B List of nauseating factors: I realize I am paying my attorney to play lawyer games. I just don't want her playing them with me. Today I have to finish up my portion of the "discovery" process. You know what I've discovered? I hate this.

On the brighter side of things (aka things that don't make my stomach hurt): Chaos gave me a big hug this morning and told me he loved me. Often I get that response when I buy Totino' pizza rolls or agree to let them do something silly (like have a special supper where we watch "Men In Tights" ) but this time there was no prompt. I gave him a big squeeze back and said, "Wow. I needed that." He said, "Yeah, I know." And we listened to Rob Zombie at max volume all the way to school.

Brighter thing 2: I was telling Chaos something about the weather forecast today and he asked, "What did you just say about devil monkeys?" Uh, nothing. I would have laughed it off except twice this weekend Bet misheard me say something about monkeys. Once she thought I said something about "adventure monkey" and then "monkey time" - which makes me wonder what on earth I'm saying that sounds like I am monkey obsessed! (I promise you I do not often willingly talk about monkeys. They gross me out - poo flinging, screechy, little beasts that they are.)

As much as I would like to blog more - I have to go gather, copy, and mail documents and then I have to wade through emails with attached Tapioca sludge (<--emails that made me ill the FIRST time I had to read them so I can't imagine today will be any better.) You know I'm dreading my day when the idea of doing laundry instead sounds like heaven! Peace to the people.

Tongue Tied

Bet and I got to have lunch together yesterday. Since she is a school teacher this is highly unusual. It only happened because the "all day" training off campus turned out to be only "some of the day." Most times for lunch, Bet has to try to get a few bites in between answering math questions (on days she doesn't have lunch duty) and (on days she does) keeping the craziness of the seventh graders in the cafeteria to a minimum. Not only did we have a chance to spend some unexpected time together, but we found a fantastic sandwich place. All organic, natural, handmade yumminess. I had bacon, gruyere, and cremini mushrooms grilled on sourdough toast. We played our favorite game and talked. It felt sinful and decadent to have such fun in the middle of the day. And that was apparent because when I was trying to say something about avoiding the "lunch rush", what I said instead was "runch lush." It made us laugh. Instead of being part of the lunch rush, we were indeed part of the runch lush. Isn't "lush" a fantastic word? Lush - rich, abundant. (Not sure what to do with the nonsensical word "runch." It's fun to say and makes me laugh - even without a real meaning.) I treasure times like yesterday - stolen moments, thoroughly enjoyed. I'm looking forward to our next runch lush. Peace.

One Pathetic Old Jerkwad, Two Fantastic New Words

If I were to give you the full Tapioca Report - you'd never read my blog again. My ex is nauseating. "He doesn't READ!" I say to Bet. ("He never does," she says back.) "He refuses to give me the insurance information," I gripe. ("So you let the lawyers handle that. That's why you pay them the big bucks," she reminds me.) "He doesn't make any sense!" I wail. ("He's not going to," she answers.) "He lies. LIES! And about stupid stuff - stuff that a two year old could check and catch him out on!!" (Bet: This is new? No.) "His actions and his words do NOT match up." (Bet: Again, this is new? No.) "I'm not missing something am I? This crap doesn't make sense does it? Is there something wrong with me that I don't understand this?!!" (Bet: The only thing wrong with you is that you keep expecting him to be rational. He's not going to be. It's not you. You've run this by me, Linus, C is for Coffee and Salsa Man, your mother, your attorneys and probably six other people. No one thinks he is making sense. No one. He's not going to. That is why they call it "crazymaking".) She is so patient! All of you are sooo patient. I have been trying to figure out why it shakes me so deeply when my ex is so blatantly off the deep end. I don't have a great answer except that if making logistical arrangements is this incredibly difficult and stupid with him then what hope is there ever of finding a healthy way to address complicated issues?! (Bet: None. There is no hope of that. You can't change him. You can't make him listen or pay attention or give you coherent answers to questions. You have to give up hoping his side of the equation will ever balance again. Sorry.) Sucks. She's right. I know she's right. But it still sucks.

ANYWAY - on a more fun note. I've been reading during the wee sma's when I can't sleep (see above) and I've found two new words! I love learning new words!! Sheri Tepper and CJ Cherryh - I thank you for introducing me to: horripilating and divagation. I have a decent enough vocabulary (I rock on free rice!) thanks to Orgel in high school (25 words a week, cumulative so that the second week we were responsible for fifty - up through the senior year monster 1,000 word exam.) It's fun to find words that didn't make that list, though. It's especially interesting to find them in context. My secret dweebiness is not so secret now, I suppose.

I hope to be able to get back into blogging every day and talking less about the bane of my existence. It could happen.
Peace.

Why God Invented Uncles

As a Christmas surprise, Unky Dunky took Chaos to an all-ages death rock, goth billy, metal something or other show at a local (and supposedly very hip ) venue. I immediately feel the need to explain that Chaos not only had done all of his regular homework, but had spent four hours at a friend's on Saturday working on a project that isn't due until after the holidays, AND that I'd made him take a nap before going to a late concert on a school night. (Can you tell how defensive I feel about every parenting decision I make? Gah. The court stuff is wearing me OUT!)

Chaos had a fantastic time. "It was pretty awesome," he said this morning in the car. He told me all about what I first thought were the Coughing Cats but turned out to be the Koffin Kats. There were also the Necrosomethingorothers and the Chop Tops (Pops? Cops? Hops? - I don't know.) It was great to hear all about it even if I didn't quite get all of the names. I love how much my fifteen year talks to me, though if he makes me crazy when he says things like, "There was this drummer who spun his drumstick around and hit the syllable over and over." Syllable? "You mean cymbal?" "Yeah, you know." (I do know, but why oh why doesn't he know? Why does he say things like this? He reads like a fiend and does exceptionally well on standardized tests but I can't help wondering if he has some bizarre language disease.)

Chaos then said, "I'm pissed about my bandana though." ?? He launched into details about how the new Koffin Kats bandana Duncan had gotten him was stiff. Chaos wanted it to look worn, not brand new, so he'd rinsed it and hung it to dry. This morning it was still too starched feeling so he rinsed it again and threw it in the dryer. I offered to wash it in the machine for him this morning. Silly mama. The point is to get to show it off at school today, of course. I got home from dropping him off and got a call from Duncan. I thanked him again for being a fantastic uncle. We are lucky to have such a wonderful village. What do people without hip uncles do? I am glad my kids get to do cool things in safe ways. Dunc said, "No problem. Loved it. By the way, how's his eye?" ?? "I was worried at first he wasn't having a good time because he was just standing there, but then he asked me if you had to be 18 to mosh. His face lit up and he jumped right in when I told him you didn't have to be. He got elbowed and we thought he might have a shiner. Is it bad?" Gack. Ok - so make that relatively safe ways. Chaos didn't have a black eye (that I saw). I'm sure he wished he did. I've thought about the scrapbook page I could make if I were that kind of mom: My Child's First Mosh Pit. I might do it anyway, because we haven't added anything to his Rehearsal Dinner Box in a while.
Peace.

If Angst And Ennui Had A Love Child

You know those days when you're hungry but don't want to or can't decide what to eat? I need a word for that feeling. Maybe not one that revolves around food though, but one that describes the urge or impulse to do something that is thwarted by the equally strong and opposite pull caused by unwillingness or inability to figure it out. Stymied is too strong, depression too permanent, blah too formless. Stress and lethargy are factors. Miasma, irritation, lassitude, dread, compression, implosion and funk are all part of it, but they're bit parts - not the starring role. I want a descriptor for a feeling that makes you want to pace but robs you of the energy to do more than mope. I need a concrete label for this vague sense of enervating dissatisfaction.

Today, I am full on wallowing in whatever this feeling is. I have it about eating and also about blogging. I keep standing in front of the open refrigerator without moving until my indecision makes the heat in the kitchen kick on. I want to blog. I "need" to blog. I don't see the value of anything I have to blog about. I have the feeling about running. I want to run, need to run, can't figure out how to tumble into my shoes and go. Too many variables about weather, route, and timing. I've been looking forward to football all week but at the moment could care less. At the exact same time that I have three different thoughts about what today's games mean and who's playing and what my fantasy team's stats are - I have this "why bother" attitude about even finding out where the remote is or what channel the games are on. My skin feels too tight like I might burst, but my brain feels soggy, my thoughts are drowned. I imagine this is what being on uppers and downers simultaneously feels like. (Thankfully I don't know, I can only surmise.)

The most oomph I can muster is to fret about what to call this crappy state of being. Is it even an actual emotion? I want to name it, pigeon-hole it, have power and dominion over it. If I had a name for it, I feel half-heartedly convinced I would be able to banish it. I wish there were a recipe process for building words. Some languages just let you keep adding on syllables and root words until it means what you want it to mean. I guess if AT&T can push cell phone service in Philawarepragacago, then I should be able to make up my own word for how I feel today. But laziness and uptight perfectionism are allied in preventing me from even the semblance of an attempt. Fuck it. <--That's eloquent, eh? I may not be able to come up with a name for this feeling, but I've got a two-word, easy to remember motto for it! My hope for you, dear web friends, is that you need neither name nor motto and can just enjoy your day. (Root for the Titans for me in case I can't my poop in a group to watch the game, ok?)
Peace.

It's NA-BLO-PO-MO!

Linus just asked me how many posts I've made for Blog-O-Plamm-O. (I was laughing and snorting too much to point out that he could read my blog and count for himself!)

And What If We'd Said Rubens Instead?

Two more tidbits from the San Diego trip:
Thing 1) On Sunday we sat around recovering from the busy events and watching football. I mostly bonded with Lisa's husband and sons over this because LT, her daughter Meg, and her friend Rose weren't particularly interested in it. By the third game (classic NFC rivalry: Eagles vs Cowboys!) I think Rose was ready to scream. But boredom often presages some great creative endeavors. She and LT started watching the people watching the game rather than the game itself. LT, Rose, Meg and I were piled up on a feather mattress on the floor - brushing each other's hair, giving back rubs and commenting about all kinds of things about the game besides the plays. Not catty things - but we talked about things like the announcers (I LOVE Madden and Michaels) and the Philadelphia fans (who are ridiculously quick to boo their teams!). Contrast that to LT's husband Rob and her two sons (ages 17 and 21). The boys were all sitting at least four feet away from each other doing separate and silent things like reading the paper, playing PSP, and searching for internet connection while watching the game. Earlier during the exciting game the guys and I had all been on the couch watching intently and talking a lot and exclusively about the play(er)s, coaches, teams, philosophy of positions like Tight End etc., but by the third game when we had all mostly worn out our football jones - there was a definite slide back to the mars/venus ends of the spectrum. Very interesting.

Thing 2) When the family stuff was getting a leetle overwhelming (Saturday night?), LT and her 18 year old daughter Meg slipped away from it and into the room that Rose and I were sharing. We talked girl talk. It was fun to have Meg there - beautiful, adult, compassionate, quirky Meg. She's right at that cusp where she's welcome and valued in adult circles but can still sit at the Thanksgiving kids' table if she wants to. I'd been in her car earlier with two daughters of a friend and a young cousin. The thirteen year olds were all adoring of Meg because she's a fabulous illustrator and an expert in manga. Their conversation veered into the weird as they discussed which anime boy they had "dibs" on if he ever became human. (It took me a while to cotton on to the fact that they were talking about Bleach, not bleach. I'm quick that way.) Anime boys are the updated Prince Charming archetype; this generation's version of the old Teen Beat idols like Scott Baio and Shaun Cassidy. With a difference. The unattainable celebrity boys of my generation were at least - um, real to a certain degree. They were at the core - human beings even if their press was over the top. I overheard Meg use the words "tasty, male flesh" to describe fugiyachimoogu (or somebody like that) and I thought, "Tasty? Tasty how? What could he taste like? Paper?" I'm ok with all of that though. I like that the girls are taking their time dreaming about unreal boys. I like that they're spending their time building friendships not drama prone romances. It was fantastic to see how comfortable Meg is in her own skin - how easily she navigated between being the new girl in her mother's circle of friends and being the older, wiser, cool cousin. The gate between girlhood and womanhood used to have everything to do with marriage and babies and now it doesn't. Some girls get lost in nowoman's land - but LT has been such a good mom and helped Meg find her own transition. I loved getting to be a part of the circle.

Thing 2b) I just remembered one more bit to share. We were lounging about discussing unwanted curves in our figures. I will never be able to see this picture again without thinking of my dear friend and her daughter. Rose and I were cheering LT up with references to womanly figures in history and Meg misheard us. Meg heard "pot of jelly". Much hilarity ensued, including the words, "Repeat after me. 'I'm proud of my jiggly butt.' " (And if you do not know Foamy then follow the link and click on Jiggly Butt. You will be disturbed but amused, I promise.)

Peace.

Conversation About Conversation

It's been an interesting week for conversation here in Lilyville. What do I say? What don't I say? How do I say what I mean? What are the kids saying? What do they mean by it? After more unpleasantness whereby my ex told me that the letter from his attorney threatening to try to take my parenting rights away was a "compromise" - I decided I needed to tell my kids that there was more going on than whether they wanted to live here or there. I've thought about every single word I've said. I strive to make sure I give as much accurate information to the kids as possible with as little emotional stress as possible. It's hard work - especially knowing how little Mr. Tapioca Head thinks before he speaks (or sends me email.) After talking to my lawyer (who sounds just like Terri Gross from Fresh Air!), I decided that my response to the threats is to follow the protocol in our divorce documents. I'm going to try to go to mediation over this issue even though I'm fairly sure it will be as useless as it was for the previous issues. I'm going to ask for more conversation.

As much as I don't think mediation has a snowball's chance in h-e-double hockey sticks of succeeding in this case, I have come to realize that deep down I have a surprising amount of faith in words as a means to resolve problems. Aside from the fact that our document REQUIRES the attempt, I want to try one last time to talk through our parenting disagreements. The talking turns out to be important to me. I lie awake thinking of what was said, what needs to be said. I find comfort in the idea that the mediation process is out there (and required as a first step) in this "battle" over what's best for my children. I pay very close attention to what my guys are saying and what they're not. I've been re-reading emails and processing what's said there. I've thought about why I choose certain words and what the emotional connotation is of the words that are being hurled at me. The more I've thought about the words, the communication process - the more centered and hopeful I've felt. I see (hear, think about) words differently than I have before. It's a bit like when you take an art class and the teacher shows you how to look at the world in terms of light and shadow, line and hue - instead of the way you're used to seeing things. On some days I've thought about one word over and over until it begins to sound bizarre and mean nothing. Other days I've turned over phrases and instructions, interested to see how sometimes clarity arrives out of the blue. I don't know that it will amount to anything concrete - but I have to be fully me as I wade through this crap. Being fully me means being aware and intentional and committed to the communication process for as long as possible.

And it's not just the legal stuff that's got me thinking about language and communication. It is exciting to live in a new place. It is amazing to me how much the "cultural dialect" changes just moving one state over! My kids seem to be dealing with the newness remarkably well. They're finding friends - many of whom are newcomers too. With the university so close, there is always a large and diverse transient aspect to the community. In my kids' schools, one fifth of the students are "new kids" which definitely takes the stigma away. My kids have new friends from Russia, San Francisco, Birmingham (the one in Alabama AND the one in England), and Boston. In addition to new friends from new places, the kids are navigating new schools - each with its own lingo. The primary wing, the kiss and go circle, the cafe, the Seven Aces - all of these are new and important labels my kids had to decipher on the fly.

I'm not as good at deciphering as they are. I had lunch with Havoc yesterday. Havoc's new buddies Tommy and Ben were pointing out the kids in the class and telling me everyone's names. Ben was born here and Tommy, though a transplant, moved from New England a whole year ago and is quite the expert now. Tommy is diligently passing his hard won knowledge on to Havoc, and by extension to me. He took it on himself to make sure I learned about everyone in Ms. A's third grade class. The row we were sitting on had an Erin (from England - been here a week), a Sophie, a Brandon (from LA), a Zin yu (from here), a Noemi, and a Zoe. It was hard to hear over the din so Tommy had to repeat some of the names a couple of times for me. One name in particular was hard for me to understand - Themeena? He said it again and again - finally getting out of his seat and coming around the table (which is against the rules) to say clearly right into my ear, "She's THE MEAN ONE - Havoc needs to stay away from her. She thumps people." I couldn't help but laugh. (And of course I told Havoc that if that girl ever thought about thumping him, he was to talk to a teacher immediately.) I never did learn her real name.

To add yet another current to the communication stream - this week we've gone from zero to four foreign languages being studied in our household. Chaos is taking German, the Princessa Latin, Mayhem and Havoc both French, and Bug (who is coming back on Saturday to live with us permanently!) is studying Japanese with Linus. Havoc came home yesterday and announced, "La fenetre!" as he pointed to a window. And "la poubelle" as he threw his snack wrapper in the trash can. Chaos can count (to 9) and say (most of) the alphabet in German. We are quite the melting pot family. We're cross contaminating each other with all of our separate new experiences. I love it. I love that it's deepening and enlivening our family tongue.

I think all families develop a pidgin to some extent. Families have nicknames, inside jokes, and funny references to family events that might be hard for outsiders to follow or understand. The patter changes with the ebb and flow of shared experiences. Our family patois is rich and has roots in Harry Potter, Dungeons and Dragons, sci-fi books, and unusual board games. Recently we have all watched (over and over) the stand up comedian Eddie Izzard's show "Dress To Kill". (He's an actor in films like Mystery Men and Ocean's 13 - but it's his stand up that we love.) He is bilingual and did an encore of his show in French. In the show itself he has several bits about studying languages. His comedy seems to magically fit our family's ethos right now. (Although it's not really a family values kind of gig. It's definitely pushing things to have Havoc watch it - just so you know. I semi-justify it to myself by talking to him about the inappropriate bits. I also console myself with the fact that no matter what I did, his big brothers would quote it to him - so I may as well not leave him out.) If you had been at our supper table last night you would have heard an amazing array of out-of-context Eddie Izzard punchlines like "Of which there are five'', "Were you surprised? I was surprised!", "The City - uhhuhh", "Cake or Death?" and "Love all this!" We were in stitches. You probably would have smiled and nodded and looked for the closest way out.

The laughter helped. Everyone had a line to throw in and everyone laughed. Laughing together helped open everyone up to talk about their days. It helped us feel closer to each other. It just helped everything. I wanted to bottle a bit of it to save for a rainy day. While laughter can't be bottled, it occurs to me that one of the great thing about words is that they can be shared, remembered, saved, and used to evoke past good times. I think the next time one of my kids is gloomy, I'll offer them "Cake or Death?" (I think sharing a real smile is worth possibly having to explain myself to the family court judge!)
Peace.

Alternative Playground Equipment

Today Havoc was trying to explain the rules of some game to me. The game involves two guys on a tater totter. :D I wish I hadn't laughed because then I had to explain that it's really called a teeter totter. Gone are the days of "calipippers", "belbows", and "Mommy, can I sit by next to you?" I miss the childish slips and word confusions - except, of course, when Chaos does them. What is still cute at 8 isn't remotely cute at almost 15. Which is good, really.

In other news - we are definitely moving. The job offer from the world's most perfect company offering to pay Sweet Hubby the world's most perfect salary for doing the thing he most wants to do hasn't quite been extended yet - but we're moving anyway. I believe with all my heart the job will come through. Jobs here are not coming through - except for ones that are steps backwards on the professional path. Even a lateral move to a job in our new City of Choice is preferable to backpedaling here. I think this horrendous experience has been a jolt. We've made compromises for security and now that security has been ripped away. It's scary. Definitely that. But also energizing and exciting to think of the possibilites. Now that we've given up on here, it's been wonderful to think of choosing a new community. The community we've picked is great - the schools are doing cool things - and we have some friends and a few family members there already.

Mr. Tapioca Head is not only being accepting - but he's being encouraging. In fact, today he talked with me about when to tell the kids even knowing the job offer is not nailed down yet. He advocated for sooner rather than later - although we both agreed that it's either soon (like the next few days!) or we wait until after the kids get out of school (May 24th.) There are cases to be made for both scenarios. If we tell them now, then they have a few weeks to adjust to the idea before exams and they get to spend this time with their friends. It's all moving fast - but it needs to.

***Interrupted and now I have to add:
We've decided to tell the children TONIGHT that we're moving.
***
Wish us luck?
Peace.

In Medias Res

Tonight Havoc got on the phone with his dad. (I usually shoo the kids into their bedroom to talk to their dad so they have some quiet and protected talk space - but tonight the kids were everywhere with friends over and I was trying to get them fed and make sure they talked to their dad before game. Shooing Havoc out of the family room was low on my priority list as I was trying to make supper.) Anyway I hear Havoc's end of the conversation and I can picture my ex's puzzled facial expression throughout the whole thing.

Clearly dad asked something along the lines of "What did you do today?"
What I hear Havoc say (even though I know differently) is, "I made my first nude sculpture for dinner tonight and..."
Pause.
"Food. You know, food?"
Pause.
"Food sculpture. To eat. I got to eat my invention for dinner and..."
Pause.
"What kind of invention? A food invention with a face. The kind you eat and we stuck the eyes.."
Pause.
"It was a head. You know, with a face? We cut out the eyes. Only the knife was sharp so I ...."
Pause.
"A head." Pause. "No, mom was there. And we used fruit snacks for the pupils and toothpicks and cut a mouth and..."
Pause.
"An apple. We started with an apple, dad. I wanted to do something fun for dinner so I made a face on an apple with other fruit and fruit snacks and I named him Bob. Anyway, the Yogos hair fell on the floor when we tried to show..."

A starting point! We (finally) find the starting point for his story! You'd think he'd begin to understand that people need a leetle bit of background before the barrage of details, but Havoc is continually perplexed as to why people don't understand what he's talking about.
Peace.

He's Cute And All, But Yikes!

We took Chaos out one afternoon recently to celebrate his being registered for all honors classes next year. After getting a fun and unexpected snack out with us, he decided to give Mayhem the bag of Doritos he'd been hoarding. (Apparently Mayhem had loaned him headphones when Chaos lost his or some such good turn.) Chaos walked up to Mayhem, handed him the coveted bag of chips and said, "Hey, thanks for the headphones, man. Here's some condensation."
"Condensation?! You mean 'compensation'?!!" I asked. (Sweet Hubby was busy choking and spluttering - caught between laughter and horror.)
Chaos' standard response? "Yeah. Whatever. Mayhem knows what I meant." (Mayhem was, by this time, in the other room already chowing on the chips.)

I don't see a bright future for my son in Human Resources if he goes around handing out condensation packages, do you? Wouldn't you worry if this were your child?

Peace.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off To The M.D. We Go

Just about the time I thought I'd get to be a "stay home" mom again, it turns out that I'm a "take everyone to the doctor" mom. January sounded pretty freaking far away when I was trying to get appointments with specialists for my kids back in November. Back then I was settling for any appointments I could get and didn't quite notice that my New Year's resolution should have been to win the lottery to cover January's co-pays. Ahem. To return to the part where I am so lovingly and attentively making sure my children's medical/therapeutic needs are being met (and completely ignoring the fact that I already missed one dental follow up - crap - and have had to reschedule that for March)...

This week Chaos finally got in with a counselor whom I adore. (I, being the very smart mom that I am, did NOT tell Chaos how wonderful I thought this therapist was until AFTER Chaos told me he was "okay".) It was a little weird to sit there with Dr. H asking me and Sweet Hubby all about Chaos while Chaos was right there - but that was part of the deal. We told the doctor what we thought Chaos thought and what we thought Chaos felt about this and that. Then Chaos got to meet with the counselor - probably to snicker over how off the mark we were. Chaos was in rare form after the session. He was in a good mood because we weren't making him go back to school. They all get one "mental health day" a semester and Chaos wanted to take his - on what better day than his first session with a mental health professional. It was also the last day before Bug had to go back to California so the two of them had big game playing plans all mapped out. I asked Chaos how he thought the session went - and he said that it was okay. "I mean, it could be worse. You all could make me do all sorts of stuff that would be way worse. I mean, like, I'm glad you're not all uppity-tight and make me go to bible school or something." Uppity-tight? Sweet Hubby and I cracked up. Later Chaos was telling us about a new author he has discovered (Harry Turtledove) who writes alternative historical fiction. Chaos was going on and on about soldiers and the Pot-o-matic. It made no sense. We got him to spell Pot-o-matic and it turns out he was talking about the Potomac. The very next sentence he came out with had the word "beige" in it - maybe describing uniforms? I don't remember exactly because it took us a bit to decipher what "bee juh" meant. We really need to show him how to use the Merriam Webster site that has pronunciation audio files! He was in a great mood all day though and laughed with us about it all.

Then yesterday I took Havoc for an hours long screening for ADD. I have been really reluctant to do this. More than one (or even two or three) teachers have suggested it in the past few years, but I haven't wanted to have my kid labeled and then written off with a Ritalin Rx. Havoc's father (Mr. Tapioca Head) has been even more reluctant. To the point that he told me that not only did he not want me to take Havoc for the screening, but that if Havoc was diagnosed as ADD that he would "forbid" any medication and "insist" on a second opinion with a doctor of his choosing. That totally pissed me off but didn't stop me. I have been about at wit's end with Havoc. We have organized and organized and organized the boy - but no matter how many times we clean out his locker and backpack, no matter how many check lists we make, no matter how much we look at his school planner - every system we come up with falls apart the minute I'm not checking every single step. I hate being a nag - and I particularly despair when I fulfill my role as nagging organizational overseer for months only to think that it's time for Havoc to have internalized some small bit of it and come to find out that once again, no, he's not internalized any of it. The doctor we saw was fantastic. He was so easy to talk to. Havoc did most of the talking - and together they looked at Havoc's hand and checked his eyesight. (We have appointments with specialists for both of those areas of concern next week) and they talked and talked and talked about Havoc's patterns at school and at home. I'd had to fill out this detailed packet that covered lots of ground - the thing started with my pregnancy and his birth! The teacher who has been the most concerned also filled out a packet and sent it in. We'd been there almost two hours and the doctor started telling me about vitamin supplements (zinc and essential fatty acids) that he thought could help out. Then he recommended a book about organizational strategies. I said, "Oh, so you don't think Havoc has ADD?" And the man about choked trying not to laugh at me. He glanced over at Havoc who was busy fiddling with his hands, tapping his feet, and shaking his leg from having to sit and do nothing but talk for so long in a small room. The doctor said, "Oh no. He is definitely ADD. But that's only a way to get a handle on his brain style." He then went on to tell Havoc that human brains are incredibly responsive to human experience. He said that it would probably take Havoc a LOT longer to instill a habit, but that when he did it would stick. He explained that Havoc had very bad paper handling habits and that was what we needed to work on most. He said the supplements would help make some things clearer and they could make it easier for Havoc to stick to the routines - but that Havoc still had to do all the work of finding a routine or system that he thought could work for him and then Havoc had to be the one to do it, consistently for a very long time. The doctor said I did need to help Havoc but he told both me and Havoc what the limits of that help should look like. It was a really great appointment. It just took most of the whole day.

And next week looks to be taken up too. Havoc has two specialist appointments and then on Thursday I'm back in court. I got a notice today that there is a certified letter at the post office for me. I know it's from Mr. Tapioca Head because he's the only one in my whole life who has sent me certified mail - and it's never good. My stomach hurts just thinking about it. I don't have a clue as to what it could actually be - but I'm sure it's about court crap. Bleck.

So my dear internets, my presence in the blogosphere may continue to be spotty through next week, but I'll be back here and at your blogs as soon as I can!! Peace.

What I Meant to Say... (Day 2)

Well - after asking VBGF for the score of the Stenglers game (because my brain apparently couldn't decide which to say first Bengals or Steelers) I realized that I'm still articulizing today. I've noticed that many writers I have heard speak in public actually suck at it. I've been writing like a mad thing for nearly a week which I think is wonderful but I'm beginning to worry about the long term side effects!
The weather here has been entirely too cold and wet to even think about running so I've been living in my cozy little office/quilt studio. I've been quilting (in my head) and writing (in real life.) For about a year those two were reversed. It is a refreshing change, but I realize that when I quilt, I talk to my project. (Oh please let other people do this too. Really it doesn't feel crazy when I do it!) I just chivvy this little corner there. I try different swatches of color on and ask my piece what it thinks. I have a long (and one-sided) conversation with my quilt in progress. When I write I am completely silent. My voice is crackly when my writing time's up. My brain is still locked into the form and picture of the words and my mouth doesn't move as quickly as my hands in delivering the words. This is the best explanation I can offer of my recent trend towards verbalating. In layman's terms - I think I've sprained my brain. Help!