I am NOT raising Satan's spawn... I am NOT raising the next Ted Bundy... I am just raising an underachiever

I think my kids are turning out pretty good. They are fairly respectful to adults, they show compassion to people less fortunate than they, they haven't killed any little furry animals for fun... But every once in a while, I feel entirely inadequate and that my children are doomed because I have irreparably screwed them up. If I dole out the wrong punishment are they going to turn into serial killers right before my eyes? How did Mama John Wayne Gacy and Mama Ted Bundy feel when their kids brought home sucky report cards? Did they look into their little boys' eyes and know that F in math was going to spiral into future butchery?

I'm being WAAAAAAAY melodramatic, but this week has seemed so ruinous (parenting-wise) and a conversation with Hayden today has me scratching my head and fearing for my son's soul. How do I parent this child? I do NOT understand what makes him tick. His motivators are the antithesis of mine.

It all began with his progress report that he tried not to show us this week. Despite last semester's grades of mostly A's and B's, he has now decided his favorite letter is "F." As in, "What the F, Hayden?" And apparently this is a new thing... Looking at his daily grades, he seems to have excelled until the month of March, which I guess was the month that he decided his career as an academic was at an end.

When Wayne met with his math teacher, I think the teacher was surprised with how much structure was implemented in our home: Hayden has to show us his assignments as soon as he walks in the door, he sits at a specific place at the kitchen table until he is finished, he has to show us his work when he is finished, there is no X-box during the work week, and we don't even have T.V. so his distractions are minimal. I think all of the teacher's assumptions about Hayden's parents were shattered by this conversation. I think he envisioned a single mom, curlers in her hair, using her welfare check to buy tall-forties and cigarettes at the local liquor store. "Hayden! Quit scribbling over there while Momma's tryin' to nurse this hangover!" "But mother, I must do my homework or I will get an F in math." "Math, Schmath! All you's need to know is how much sales tax the government's gonna tack on to my carton of Marlboros!"

And then it became all too clear to us and the teacher that it wasn't the environment that was the problem, it was this child's will that was impeding him. When Hayden has the will to work hard, he does so with all his might. When he does not wish to work, there are no carrots to dangle that are nearly enticing enough, and no punishments that can be handed down that will be nearly threatening enough. He just wants what he wants when he wants it. He is Instant-Gratification-Boy.

So the hammer came down. All the weekend privileges of video games were suspended. Visits with friends were severely limited. And then this conversation today came up...

"Mommy and Daddy, I don't think these punishments are going to work."

"But Hayden, we have given you incentives, too... and they don't work either. When you don't do the things you are supposed to do, you end up with consequences. The major consequence of this is that you will have to work extra hard to bring your grades up. And if you choose not to do so, the consequence may be repeating a class or a grade and then you will have to do this same work that you are trying so hard to avoid... all over again."

"I know, but rewards won't work, and neither will punishments."

"Then what will work?"

"I don't know. Somebody just needs to make me do it."

*Insert screeching vinyl record noise here*

What was that, Hayden? Somebody needs to make you do it? Somebody needs to compel you to choose the right? That sounds a little like Satan to me. Do you choose to give up your agency and your ability to make choices for yourself... just to make it easier on you because self-discipline is hard?

Ummmm. No. That is not an option. Hayden, governing yourself is difficult. It is one of our lifelong pursuits as human beings. But nobody is going to do it for you. I mean, if you continue down a path to pursue this extremely rigid way of life, I'm sure the military or prison could offer you such a life, but it is my hope as a mother that you will have more options than that. I wish for you to understand that the natural consequences for underachieving are simple: You lose options. You lose the ability to choose, because some of your original choices will be closed off to you.

How does one convey this to an 11 year old with the attention span of a flea and the self-discipline of a monkey? I don't know!!! Somehow as a child, I had this inherent fear of feeling bad for not meeting my responsibilities and this inherent reward for completing them. It felt great when I achieved something and terrible when I failed. That was it! There was no magic formula to get me to do my school work... It was very simple! How do I instill this into a child who doesn't give a rat's ass if he's failed, and thinks Legos are more exciting than the intrinsic value of accomplishment?

I know Hayden is far from the next Ted Bundy. I KNOW this! But sometimes I am completely at a loss to know why Heavenly Father has entrusted me with this strong-willed young man and baffled as to how He thinks I am going to pull this one off. How can I properly instruct this foreign personality? I just don't know yet. I only hope something clicks between us within the next 7 or 8 years I have Hayden in my home.

When It Rains, It Pours (and sometimes it pours out of places it oughtn't)

I feel badly for my sister-in-law, who wrote a gut-wrenching expose about the "Cough Syrup Incident of '09" on her blog. In it, she describes the frustrations that go along with trying to convince toddlers to partake of nasty medicines to help them feel better, but having to convince their heightened gustatory senses that if they just muscle past that first HORRID taste, everything will be A-Okay. It sucks.

I'm writing this post in an effort to commiserate with her as I describe the wretched "Diarrhea Incident of '96." If you are squeamish about bodily functions, turn back now... Do not pass Go... Run for the hills... You are advised not to proceed. But, if laughing at someone's abject misery, despite the mention of excrement at multiple moments throughout the telling of the story, join me in my humiliation and feel free to laugh at my expense.


It all goes back to the days of Nathan as a toddler.

He was a cute little guy, but certainly had strong opinions about things. When he was feeling crappy, he was particularly stubborn. When he was about one and a half years old, we were working as assistant managers at Midway Estates, and he had caught a particularly virulent flu bug that winter--the symptoms of which involved non-stop liquid poop that would shoot violently out of his bum with hurricane force. Did I mention, it would not stop? Not for anything in the world. I tried the B.R.A.T diet (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast) to try to plug him up. I tried to keep him from moving, because if he was jostled at all, "SPLOOSH!" out shot the next detonation. Over the course of the afternoon and into the evening, he had systematically exploded his intestinal contents on every stitch of clothing he owned, every piece of clothing I owned, every piece of bedding, every towel, gone through an entire case of diapers, had a butt as red as a baboon's, and was in dire need of fluids. And did I mention, he didn't want to drink any fluids because he was stubborn and cranky. A frantic call to the pediatrician that night assured me that if I couldn't get so many cc's of clear liquids into my son by morning, he was destined for the E.R.

So all night long, I kept him out on the couch (with what really amounted to a tarp underneath him), and woke him up every 15 minutes to give him droppers-full of water. He hated me, but I knew it was for his own good. I stayed up with him the entire night, and in between hydrating the poor kid, I did laundry ALL NIGHT LONG. From sundown to sunrise, I just kept those machines full... and since I had the key to the laundry room, I was able to do upwards of 8 loads at a time.

By the time the sun came up, I had filled my entire living room floor with a Matterhorn-sized heap of clean laundry, and I had successfully gotten enough fluids into my poor dehydrated son to stave off the dreaded hospital visit. An ounce here, an ounce there, and Nathan was miraculously chipper and agreeable. He had apparently forgiven me for disturbing his sleep. That morning, his little head perked up from the waterproof bedding on the couch, he flashed his winning smile, and climbed down from his perch... right over to the pile of warm, inviting laundry, where he toddled right to the very peak of clean, fresh linens... where his bowels unleashed their final paroxysm on top of the ENTIRE heap in one, final, projectile explosion...

...And I cried. I cried huge, raking sobs. I buried my face in the floor and could not stop for an indeterminate amount of time. Pleading prayers for God's tender mercies poured from my soul. And then I looked at my bewildered little boy, with foul-smelling excrement oozing down his thighs, diaper rash burning beneath his Pampers... And then I wiped away my tears, put on the bravest face I could muster, and started all over again.

So, here's to you, Diana... and to all the mothers out there who can share your misery in one way or another. We feel your pain. I hope Avery feels better soon!

Tuba-riffic!

Tonight was Hayden's tuba debut. We adopted this modest brass instrument into the family in September. We've tried shoving pillows down the bell to suppress its mighty resonating din, but The Tuba's very determined master has declared, "It changes the sound." (Ummmmmm. I hate to tell you this, Kiddo, but that's kind of the point. In this case change=bearable volume.) So, in order to spare the neighbors from bleeding eardrums and psychological breakdowns, Hayden has requested to stay late after school and rehearse afterward in the band room on a regular basis. Therefore, we had no idea what sort of noises would be emitted from his new friend tonight. Would it sound like a dying bull as it had just a few short months ago? Would he even be able to hoist it into place? It's almost bigger than he is!

Well, there were no dying animal noises... An occasional squawk like somebody stepping on a farm animal's tail, but not nearly as bad as I suspected. He did a great job, and it was one of the least painful Middle School band concerts I've ever attended.
Here he is in all his glory:

Can you see the one I was keeping my eye on? See him way back there in the back row? Barely able to see over the music stand?


And, yes... He was actually quite adept at carrying it, despite the obvious size discrepancy.

Congrats, Buddy!

To The Great Ones of Parenting

For those of you that don't know, my children are geniuses... At least that's what the grandparents think.

Well, I thought so too when my Kindergartener started reading my Biology textbooks and could succinctly explain to me what the differences between polyp and sessile cnidarians were. Or when Nathan spelled the words "myocardial infarction" a few months after he got bored with "Hop on Pop."

People used to say, "How did you do it?" "How come you have such miraculously intelligent children?" I would chuckle silently to myself because I knew the real secret: They liked T.V. and poop jokes.

I did read to my kids a lot. But I also found other teachers to help me out. For instance, I would often let Steve from "Blue's Clues" read to the kids via Closed Captioning. When you live in a small apartment, and your husband is hard of hearing, those annoying little words that scroll across the screen when you're watching a loud movie can be quite handy. They are also handy when your toddler is plopped down in front of The Tube while Mommy is performing her slumlord duties. I didn't really think anything of it, until one day Nathan said, "Mommy, can you turn the words off the T.V.? I can't stop reading them and I want to watch the show." "Why, of course not, Nathan. They are doing my job for me so I can artfully neglect you while I collect rent."

The other mechanism by which I fed my kids' intellect (can you call it that?) is by letting them read as many "Captain Underpants" books as they could get their little paws on. Earlier tonight, they were reminiscing about the amazing exploits of Dav Pilke's characters: "Do you remember the time when Deputy Doo Doo turned into poo and then somebody stepped on him and he was flat?" *giggle, giggle, giggle* "Do you remember when he got into a nuclear power plant and mutated into a giant turd? and then Captain Underpants saved the day by attacking him with toilet paper?" *hee hee hee*
Emily Dickinson, eat your heart out.

So, yes... My kids are very smart. But I owe a big debt of gratitude to the great ones that aided me in my parenting. Thank you, Super Diaper Baby and Deputy Doo Doo. Thank you, Blue and Steve. May my children carry on your legacy throughout the remainder of their lives.

They're doing a pretty good job already, doncha think?

Nothing Like Waiting 'Till the Last Minute

"Hey, Mommy! Guess what? Tomorrow is the International Day festival at school, and we're performing a song."

"Great Hayden. What time?"

"I don't know. Let me dig out this flyer that has been getting smashed in my bookbag for the last week and a half and I'll tell you... Oh, and by the way, I have to have a costume that shows my family's heritage or I can't perform with the group."

"Hold on! What was that last part?!?"

"We all have to wear costumes that show the place where our family is from."

"I don't think we have anything like that, Hayden."

"Then we have to make one. YOU CAN SEW!"

"Let's see, Hayden. You're part German, so I could just whip up some lederhosen, and I'm sure we have a beer stein laying around somewhere. OR we could go the more modern route, since my great grandfather came to America to escape the Third Reich and just stick a swastika on your arm... Though I'm pretty sure THAT wouldn't be well recieved...

"You are also part Swedish, so we could dress you in a bikini and say you are from the Swedish bikini team."

"Moooo-oooom!!!"

"Or how 'bout this, Hayden? Since Daddy just found out he's 1/16 Native American, we could dress you up in a stereotypical feather headdress and offend all the rabid P.C. Southern Californians that banned the celebration of Thanksgiving at public schools for such garb last year."

"Whatever."

~~~~~

Given the options, we thought the bloodthirsty Vikings were representative enough of our culture and heritage. What is a child of Northern European ancestry to do?

37 different countries were represented. Though I became a little nervous when they started passing the microphone around to have the kids say something in their country's native tongue. The only thing Hayden knows in Swedish is "ludefisk."

Much tastier that ludefisk: Hayden shows his best Viking manners as he plows through one of the treats from the Mexican food stand.

Nathan needed to jump into the act.

~~~~~

Tickets to buy tasty international cuisine in support of the local PTA: $20

Duct Tape/ Milk Carton/ Shopping Bag Viking Costume: $2.5o

Reconnecting with your savage roots: Priceless

My Widdle Boy Is All Growd Up

Nathan hit a mark of epic proportions this week. After months of stretching himself and trying to eek out a few extra millimeters when standing back to back with me, he is FINALLY taller than his Ma.

Congratulations, Son. (Thank goodness!) You did it!!! And, for the past few years, you did it all on your own, without any growth hormone injections. Truly an accomplishment.

But just to make sure you don't get any delusions of grandeur, and just to make sure you still know who's the boss, I had a GREAT time kicking your butt during our boxing tournaments on the Wii this weekend.

...Twice.

What Now?!?

Biproducts of Raising Children While Trying To Study A Lot of Random Stuff

I get a lot of questions about how I ever managed to get my biochemistry and DDS degrees while raising kids. First of all, it really doesn't seem that weird to me because I've never really known any different, so I can't really imagine it any other way. Secondly, I am a chronic multitasker.

When I first started back at school and I was still managing apartments to pay the bills, I was considered a full-time employee, a full-time student, and a full-time mom. To illustrate the many hats I had to juggle, I recall an experience that highlighted all the ways I was being stretched:

I was sitting in my office, which happened to be attached to my apartment. It was the first of the month, so there was a lot of traffic coming and going as people came in to pay the rent. I was also trying to study for a midterm exam I had coming up. Hayden was still in diapers, and Nathan was in kindergarten.

So I'm sitting in the office with a biology book on my lap, my shoulder holding a phone to my ear as I was talking to a prospective applicant, another tenant sits waiting on the couch for me to complete my phone conversation, I'm cutting an apple for the boys' afternoon snack with my right hand, Hayden clings to my ankle begging for said snack, and I'm cradling a baby hummingbird in my left hand because Nathan had just rescued it after it had been pushed out of its nest (did I mention I'm a humanitarian, too... *barf*).

I remember that day very vividly because it was my life, personified: Every limb occupied with a different task, trying not to drop the ball in any respect.

Usually, however, life was not so crazy. I actually enjoyed some of my conversations with the boys as they watched me study for various classes about physics, chemistry, and especially anatomy. Sometimes I would even take them to class with me. My boys have both attended lectures at a four year university. Ask them about the time we calculated rotational velocity in physics class. They thought it was a hoot! (They actually did, as the demonstration involved my professor "rotating" a hockey puck through the wall of the auditorium with a formidable slap shot.)

One time, while studying about the brain, Nathan came in and sat next to me as I studied the images carefully, trying to compartmentalize all the various regions and functions of the human "noodle." The cerebellum caught his eye, as its texture and shape look a bit out of the ordinary, comparative to the squiggly grey matter that comprises most of the brain. So I took the time to explain a little bit about it, pointed to its general region on the back of his head, and that was that...

Or so I thought.

Weeks later, as I was helping him wash his hair in the bathtub he points to the same region I had demonstrated to him while conversing about cranial anatomy, and says, "Mommy, don't forget to wash my cerebellum!"

My studies of anatomy were not lost on my (then) three year old Hayden, either. He came to sit with me as I studied about the inner ear. A picture of the cochlea was particularly fascinating to him, as the organ looks like a snail. I explained to him that the cochlea helps us to hear. I then proceeded to explain to him the semi-circular canals, which give us the capability of balancing and, when spun around too much, give us the sensation of dizziness. I figured my toddler was just humoring me, trying to find some time to cuddle with mom, and all the while he was listening to "blah blah blah."

Nope.

Once again, my words came back to me at the oddest of times. Hayden, performing one of his favorite past times, spins himself into oblivion, loses his balance, falls dizzily to the floor, looks up at me and says, "Oh mommy! My cochlea is so messed up!"

So there's proof: Our kids DO listen to us every now and then. You just never know what's going to sink in and make a big impression.

According to My Children

If you asked them, my kids would likely say I reminded them of these stellar motivators:

I beg to differ...

The Little Pituitary That Could

When Nathan was a toddler, he stopped growing. I'm not exaggerating. He flat out STOPPED growing. We had this Winnie the Pooh growth chart on his closet door, which had all these little marks with dates on it... except all the marks were on top of each other, and we were running out of room on that one spot for the dates. When I took him to his pediatrician, he would say, "Don't worry. You're short. Your husband is short. Sure, his growth doesn't even track on the chart, but statistically speaking, he's right where he ought to be."

Right.

So I put up with that answer for a couple of years, and then found out (through the amazing insights of a pediatric dentist), that all we needed to discover if there was anything pathologically wrong was a wrist x-ray. That would tell us his bone age, and we could decide from those results if further inquiry was necessary to determine the source of the problem. (If there actually was one. Which I was pretty sure there was, despite my lazy doctor's opinion.)

So I went back to the dolt of a pediatrician and demanded a wrist x-ray. Reluctantly, he agreed. Lo and behold, our 5 year old had the bone age of a 2 1/2 year old. "Okay Dr. Smarty Pants. Now what?"

So we were referred to an endocrinologist and several blood tests, MRIs, and consultations later, we had a diagnosis of Growth Hormone Deficiency (GHD) for Nate.

Treatment for GHD? Daily injections of synthetic growth hormone... to the tune of about $50,000/year, which our insurance company did not like to pay. So, after about a year and a half on the stuff, and six or seven inches of growth later, he was no longer eligible to receive the treatment.

Bummer. He was left to drop off the charts again.

But don't feel bad for Nathan. Oh no! It seems his pituitary has a mind of its own these days. It seems to have forgotten that it doesn't work properly.

In the past year, his clothes have apparently all shrunk. His voice, which used to sound like mine, has suddenly begun to echo his father's deep, resonating tone. And the rage... Oh! the hormonal rage... Yup. Nathan seems to be growing as quickly as he did during those first few months of treatment (4 1/2 inches in 6 months! ...It was like watching Gumby stretch!)

But after all that hard work getting him diagnosed (a process that took about a year, and was actually the motivation for my return to higher education), I actually said these words the other day as he pointed out another pair of jeans he can no longer fit into:

"Nathan! Stop Growing! We can't afford you any more!"

...Definitely one of my prouder parenting moments.

Nato Potato

We officially own a teenager now.

With all that's been going on lately, the poor kid hardly got any recognition on his B-day. (His birthday was on the 8th, which was the last day of the boards, and a night when I came home exhausted, curled into the fetal position, and cried softly to myself as I fell asleep on the couch at 6:00 p.m.). Wayne got him birthday pie because Nate is a cake snob. So around 7:00 we lit the candles, sang the birthday song, and then I passed out again, still on the couch. The only thing he asked for was to go see "Kung Fu Panda". We took him the next night, and it was HYSTERICAL, by the way! But I still feel like the kid was gypped. So Nate, this is my lame attempt at making up for your lame birthday. Hayden and I are going out this afternoon to get you a real present, and here is a little bit of gushing from your Ma:

Nathan is a great guy. And I use the word guy, rather than "kid" intentionally. He's not much of a kid anymore. He's grown so much over this past year (all by himself...no growth hormone injections needed). His voice has changed. His attitude has changed (*clenched teeth*). His smell has changed... But he is still a good guy to the core. He loves his family dearly, and we have a great understanding of one another. He has a strong personality and leadership qualities. I love you tremendously, Nate! Now, my son, use your powers for good. And never join the dark side.

I wuv you, my Widdle Punum!

One of my Favorite Mother's Day Moments

When Nathan was around 5 or 6 years old, he took it upon himself to join in on the tried and true Mother's Day tradition of bringing Mom breakfast in bed. Wayne had purchased yummy food to be cooked that morning, but he was apparently too slow for Nathan. At the crack of dawn (and I mean at the butt crack of dawn... It was E A R L Y!), Nathan comes in with a breakfast tray, brown liquid sloshed all over, a neatly folded napkin already absorbing the stray chocolate beverage. A tall glass, brimming with chunky, frothy fluid sits proudly on the tray. He says to me, beaming, "Mommy, I made you a Slim Fast with EXTRA chocolate in it!" How can one turn down such enthusiasm? I chewed that Slim Fast with complete disregard for the gourmet ingredients that sat unused in the fridge. This breakfast in bed was straight from the heart and the first of many from my very own son.

This morning, I sit like a princess locked away in her tower: certain that I will be allowed out of my bedchamber once my little princes release me with their heartfelt creations. I can smell the aromas of another homemade masterpiece wafting from the downstairs kitchen. I can hear the clinking of cutlery and the slam of the microwave door as I sit in anticipation. What are my boys creating today?

To my Moms

Happy Mothers' Day to my moms. I am who I am because of these remarkable women:

To my wonderful mother, Linda Henry... I am someone who cares very deeply for her family because of your example. I learned how to empathise and serve because I watched you doing the very same. All that is tender in me, I learned from you.

I am also a big-time goofball... wholly because I watched you break loose publicly on so many occasions (much to my utter humiliation as a teenager). I learned to find joy in life because you fostered that in me. Thank you, Mom. I love my life, and that is due to the undying optimism that you instilled in my very nature. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

To my wonderful step-mom, Jeanette Berger... There is so much of me that has learned to be tenacious and strong because of your influence. I have an enduring spirit and am willing to stick my neck out because of you. You have encouraged those traits in me, and I would not be able to do the things I do without them. It is hard for me to imagine what my life would be like, had you not entered my life in my preteen years. You are a remarkable woman who I am lucky to love. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

And last (but certainly not least): my "Other Mother," Lynne Van Cleave. You have been an influence for almost half of my life. To you, who raised my favorite person in the whole world: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You have shown me perseverance and loyalty. You love your family so very deeply, and your devotion is astounding.
I am a lucky woman, indeed. All of these remarkable women, like a kaleidoscope, add color and sparkle in my life. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I love you all so much. Happy Mothers' Day!

It Started Out as Such a Lovely Day

Today was the mock boards at school. Since my patient's cavities and calculus are precious to me these days with the regional boards fast approaching, I declined to participate and save the good stuff for the actual boards. So I took the day off instead.

It began all well and good: a hike with Wayne in China camp, a picnic by the marina, and I was REALLY excited about surprising Hayden by picking him up from school.

When I got there, however, he came up behind me after having been in the principal's office. I could tell he was choking back tears. He wasn't in trouble, but was AGAIN the victim of another bully attack. One of his classmates and former friends (we'll call him J) came up behind him while he was reading and started squeezing him until he couldn't breathe. This is the second attack by J, who has just returned to school from a suspension due to a previous assault on Hayden. The poor kid has been through enough! Two other girls got suspended about a month ago: One for feeding Hayden an apple that she had put in a toilet, and the other for pulling his pants down on the playground. WHAT GIVES???

I can't begin to imagine what is not to like about Hayden. I can only surmise that it is due to the fact that he is so little and kids live the law of the jungle (little animals!). His principal was very supportive and assures us that J is not to touch Hayden again. J's parents were totally mortified and snuck out the back door of the principal's office rather than pass us as we waited in the lobby.

I just hope and pray that Hayden doesn't walk into his new school with a target on his back due to his genetic misfortune. I also hope that whatever angst is causing J to act out in this way does not transfer to some other victim once Hayden has moved away from his grasp.

MARS ATTACKS!

Yesterday was a red-letter day for Nathan. Since he was about two years old, he has been terrified of the martians from the Tim Burton movie, "Mars Attacks!" When he was still a toddler, he happened to walk into the room as Wayne, my mom and I were watching the movie, and as soon as the martian ambassador emerged from the space ship, he let out a girly scream that rivaled Mariah Carey. That was it... A full-on phobia was born. We tried to expose him to the green, brainy, lidless creatures on other occasions, but to no avail. He was terrified each time to the point where he would be frozen solid in panic. While we tried to assure him that the movie was a comedy, he could not get past the terror of his first glimpse. Last night, however, I blindsided him. Nathan had a friend spending the night, dinner was cooking, and newly arrived from the Netflix queue: Mars Attacks! He swore he would hate me forever. He swore he would be humiliated and find himself bawling in front of his friend. I persisted, knowing if he could get through the first encounter, he would see the humor inherent in the movie and be cured.

Again, the martian ambassador emerges from his flying saucer... his coarse voice barks the incoherent greetings of his planet, motions to the American general the "International Sign of the Donut," Nathan is gripping his brother and mother as though his life depended on it...heart beating like a drum. And then it came: Laughter. Hysterical laughter. Nathan was cured. The movie concluded with Nathan saying, "I don't hate you anymore. It was funny." Congratulations, Nate. You faced the biggest fear of your life, thus far.

Hayden's Field Trip to Sacramento

Hayden's fourth grade class is studying California history this year. As a treat, he got to go to Sacramento to see Sutter's Fort and the Railroad museum in Old Sac. Since I was on break, I got to be one of the field trip chaperones. We had a great time!

Above is his fabulous teacher, Miss O'Donnel. Below is the whole brood.

Below: Colonel Sanders made an appearance as a trapper.

Above: Preparing for the cannon shot.

Left: Our carpool group poses by the covered wagon.

This was Hayden's choice of souvenirs. A bottle of "gen-u-ine" GOLD!!! He kept saying, "I can't believe how rich I am for just seven dollars!"

The Railroad museum was so cool! I wish I had been able to take the boys when they were toddlers. This would have been a dream come true for them at that age. Even now, the trains were quite impressive.

There's a funny story that goes along with the above picture. As the field trip drew to a close, I decided to treat the kids in my carpool to ice cream. Some of the other kids were coming out of the museum across the street and saw us, saying, "You guys are so lucky!" Hayden's SHOUTED response was, "That's because my mom is SO pretty!" ...????... Que? Apparently "pretty" in Hayden's book means cool. *Whatever.* I'll take either compliment.
He told me later that his favorite part of the trip was that I came with him. Believe me, Buddy, if I had more opportunities to do so, I'd be there every time! I had a blast too.

I Didn't Want to be a Dentist This Weekend

Just about every weekend lately has been taken up with dental stuff. Even my visit to my Dad's barbeque about a month ago turned into an assist at his office in a trauma case. So today was just devoted to my kids and errands.

After finishing most of our stops, I attempted to make ONE more. We were right next to Costco and, though I didn't need that many things I thought "I'm already here. Why not?" And then for a brief moment I felt very sure and urgently that I ought not try. Ever the pragmatist, I chose to ignore the prompting and proceed to get the enticingly great deal on eggs that awaited me inside the wherehouse. DUMB IDEA!!!

No sooner had we approached the threshold of Costco when "BAM!!!" Hayden pushed the cart into Nathan's foot, which sent the handle straight into Hayen's front tooth (#8 for all you dental nerds). There were several obvious cracks in the tooth but no pulp exposure, bleeding from the socket, a fat lip, and a wiggly tooth. My uncle Eric met me at his office in downtown San Rafael and let me take an x-ray. Nothing alarming, but we will have to be cautious and he may need a root canal someday. Hayden is fine, though a little sore.

Here I am trying to see the cracks by shining a light through the tooth. (Not very visible in the picture...and, yes I keep gloves in my house...even to examine my kids.)

So there goes my dental-free weekend. I guess I better get used to it. Pediatrics is all about the weekend trauma.

Moral of the story:
Don't ignore the Spirit or you may get your face bashed in!

How is it that my mom did not throttle me on a regular basis?

Did you ever have the experience when you were growing up and acting particularly snotty as a teenager, where your mom or dad cursed you with this sentiment, "I hope you have a kid just like you when you grow up!" Well... karma sucks, because I am now raising ME...only with testosterone! After going 10 rounds with Nathan today, it finally hit me how much I must have put my own poor mother through. I just keep telling myself: Somehow, I survived. Let's hope Nathan makes it, too.

An interview with a Vampire...I mean... A Grumpy Teenager (same thing)

Mom: What makes your moods so vile?

Nathan: I hate the world!!!

Mom: Is there anything that doesn't make you sulk?

Nathan: Video games, so I can let off some steam blowing up things. Oh, and I forgot: PIE and llamas.

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/llama

Mom: Why does your voice sound like a dying moose?

Nathan: Leave me alone! I just want to be all normal!

Mom: Who are your heroes?

Nathan: Neil Armstrong (first man on the moon), Invader Zim (shortest conquerer of Earth), Ms. Pellegrini (my core teacher and the most efficient sucker of one's lifeforce I have ever encountered), and my cousin Caleb (the most perservering kid I've ever met).

Mom: What would you do if you could change one thing in the world?

Nathan: I would make all school food edible. For example, hot dogs would not come prepackaged in their buns. They would not be soaked in chili until they were best eaten with a straw. Instead, we would have a condiment bar and soft fluffy buns in which to deposit our freshly cooked Hebrew Nationals.

Mom: What is one thing about you that would surprise our devoted readers?

Nathan: As crazy as it sounds, kids at school actually like me for my size.