LM and his Best Friend “W”

The Trumpet Player

Concentrating

Looking for Mom and Dad

(It was a great first concert!!)

Last night I went to pottery class to pick up my finished pots. Charlie and his daughter were both there and as we waited for our instructor to arrive we both gazed anxiously into the kiln. It was evident that a pot had melted (which struck us as odd at this point in the firings) and we both prayed that it didn’t affect any of our other pieces. (I should say, Charlie prayed and paced and worried and stressed and I just casually hoped it hadn’t hurt anything but for all I knew it was my pot that had melted!) As it turns out, for all the times Charlie came in on his own, one of those times he used a low-fire clay and it melted during the high-fire firing. I was much relieved that it wasn’t one of mine because it had adhered to one of his nicer pots and run over onto three of his others. WHEW!!

Charlie had 12 pieces that he had made. By my standards they were beautiful. Some of the bowls were truly amazing to me. From big to small he really showed his abilities. The glaze on several of them was particularly stunning as well. Charlie, however, was so struck by the melted pot and the glaze on a few of his pieces that didn’t fire well that he was solemn and quiet and withdrawn while we excitedly looked over the pieces and I packed mine up to take home. Charlie went on and on about how this or that one was supposed to be a gift, or about how he had created that one on a particularly bad day (he’s going through a divorce) and had wanted it to be symbolic of his recovery. He was really emotionally tied to these pieces and heartbroken when they weren’t what he had imagined them to be.

I stopped packing and told Charlie how envious I was of his abilities. How beautiful his bowls were. I picked up a couple and made specific comments on each. I told him how proud he should be of the pieces he was taking home. That part of the enjoying each piece is knowing the risks that you take when you create and fire them. When they turn out well, it’s almost as much out of your control as anything. Although one of his deep plates wasn’t useable for food (because of cracked glazing) it would make a beautiful bowl to force bulbs in. I told him so. He gave me the plate. I gave it back. I complimented him on it’s beauty even if it wasn’t useable in the way he had intentioned.

He would hear none of this.

We finally just tried to change the subject. Charlie asked if I would be taking the class again. I (again) reiterated that it was too costly for me to repeat at this time and that if I chose to spend money on a hobby, I’d probably invest it in a class of a different theme. Photography, perhaps. Maybe sketching. Something new to try. He was forlorn. Truly. Our instructor shared that she wasn’t sure when another class would be offered. This studio really needs a class of at least 5 or 6 to make it worthwhile and so far they just don’t have that interest.

Charlie was devastated. He NEEDS this, he said. He just finally got back to doing pottery after 29 years and with all that’s going on in his life he NEEDS this. Our teacher tried to suggest other ways to enjoy the hobby without having to be at this studio – ways to create at home and just pay for firing time in the kiln. He was broke, he said, as it is he’s scrounging for food money. He went on and on as if someone had just told him his own mother was dying.

The entire time this is going on, his daughter sat at the table right next to her dad. She is LM’s age and attends the same school. She had made a cookie-jar bear that had turned out very well. My heart just went out to her as she listened with a burdened heart to all that her dad was laying out on the table.

Charlie spent hours and hours in the studio. He molded pot after pot after pot. He threw away more forms than he kept. He worked them for hours at a time until he was as satisfied as he could get. In glazing even, he was meticulous about what and where and how much and just which color balance he wanted. All this time, his heavy heart has been pouring itself into clay when his daughter is sitting right next to him. She needs his time, his attention and his love. She needs to be molded and formed, taught and guided. She is going through a transition as well and needs to know that she is safe and beautiful and adored. At some point, I hope Charlie will lift his eyes from the pottery wheel and see the beautiful, freckled face of his daughter standing there, waiting to love him.

I learned a lot during this class. A little bit was even about clay.

If you have not yet seen Sarah Maclachlan’s video for “World on Fire” do so as soon as you possibly can. It says more than I can convey. There is a part in all of this that we can choose to play.

I’m not such a good sport about Mother’s Day. I admit it. I send cards. I make a couple phone calls, but all in all I’d rather the day just pass right by. Despite being a mother myself, or maybe even more because of it, Mother’s Day is a day that points out the absence of my mom.

My brother, G, called from Georgia earlier in the weekend to ask what my plans were for the day. Truth was, I had no plans. LM was at his dad’s and despite my ability to have him home with me, I didn’t see the point. Any celebration for the day would be instigated by me. Any meal cooked or eaten out would be prepared or paid for by me. Any shopping for gifts would be done by me. Any activities at all that we wished to do, I would have to drive, plan, feed, decide and execute. You’ll forgive me for taking a raincheck on the whole celebration. A low-key, quiet day at home alone seemed like a better option.

Today, just a short while ago, I went to pick up LM for his ortho appointment. He came running out of his classroom with his lunch and money in his hand. He says, “We’re going to Olive Garden tonight!” Caught completely off guard, I said, “What? Says who?” He said, “I do!” I said, “Okay, who’s paying for dinner out?!” He said, “I am!” I said, “You don’t have money to spend on dinner!” He smiled a knowing smile and said, “Uncle G sent it to me so I could take you out to dinner for Mother’s Day!”

G had not only conjured up this plan with LM but had gone so far as to call my sister to get my ex husband’s phone number to get J to give LM the money (while G sends a check to reimburse him) so LM could take me to dinner tonight.

Thanks, G. You made my Mother’s Day special. Mom would be so proud.

Looking across the living room at the beige tint to the carpet I realized an important fact: my carpets used to be blue. These very same carpets had been vacuumed and steam cleaned a week ago now resembled the sandy beaches of the jersey shore more than my living room. One vacuum bag full of fur and dirt, three thorough cleanings with the steam cleaner and dirt is still coming out of the carpet.

The bark park is henceforth off limits.

He came out of his room in khaki’s and a red plaid short-sleeved button down.

“Do I look okay, Mom?”

“LM, you have never ever asked me that before.”

“Mom, I have never played in front of a room full of adults before.”

I have played in band concerts from fifth grade through high school. This was my first time to be the parent. My little fourth-grade trumpet player smiled when he saw us in the audience. He waved before they started playing. He mouthed the words, “this is my favorite song” before “Resolution”. He smiled when I gave him a thumbs up. Later, when the band was done and we watched LM’s bestest friend, W, sing in the chorus, LM pointed out the girl that W likes. He smiled and gave W the thumbs-up sign. W got the giggles.

Afterwards I went over to say “hi” to W’s parents. They laughed at how close W and LM are. We took pictures of the two of them together. LM told W he “totally ROCKED!” W just laughed.

Keeping up with a tradition my dad started, “every good band concert deserves DQ ice cream” we headed off for blizzards. Not missing a moment to extend my list of compliments on the evening’s concert, LM and I decided the best adjective for the event was “galactic”. (In sci-fi terms, I guess that means “incredible!”)

Before heading to bed, I reiterated how wonderful the concert was, how proud I was of my little trumpeter and how great he sounded tonight. LM gave me a hug and said, “thanks for being such a great support, Mom.”

Thanks for making me so proud, LM. I will never forget tonight.

And thus begins the slow but continuous drain on my bank account that will only in a very small way prepare me for the quick and thorough drain that I like to call “college”. LM officially had his first orthodontics appointment this morning. They start out small, tiny little spacers in his molars to make room for the metal rings they’ll install on Monday. Within two weeks, LM will officially proclaim me The Meanest Mother on Earth when the inevitable torturous expanders are put in place.

To summarize, I chose Orthodontist #1. To be honest, I had no clue how to choose between the two. It was like comparing apples to a VW beetle. In order to choose what I felt was the best “method” I would have had to have been an orthodontist. This idea was dismissed only when I realized that med school will in fact cost more than this procedure, if only by $1.99. I chose instead based on how the doc reached his verdict on his preferred method. Doc #1 took molds and x-rays, took them home with him and spent time looking at them. He drew very mathematical looking lines and figures and angles on them and then discussed his overall thoughts in a half hour consultation. Doc #2 looked at the x-rays and molds that Doc #1 had taken, looked into LM’s mouth for a few moments, wrote a few things down and asked both of us what was our overall goal for orthodontics (straight teeth? Isn’t that the right answer?!) He didn’t draw anything mathematical, although Doc #2 did have a clever computer program that showed us visualizations of what was amok in LM’s mouth. So, due to the perception that Doc #1 put actual time and energy into his plan I chose him. Well that and he costs perhaps $800 less. There is that. And Doc #2 kept us waiting for over a half hour for our consultation. There is that, too.

LM has been in the loop from the get-go. He is well aware of what the process will entail and exactly what will happen at each appointment. He knows that May 31st is going to be a very.bad.day.indeed and that for the next 3-5 days after that he will want to strangle me in my sleep. He has also been made aware that this is costing me my left arm and an unborn child to be determined at a later date and that if he does not wear his retainer after all is said and done I will indeed strangle HIM in his sleep. I think we’ve reached an agreement.

I have also kept the ex apprised of all options and decisions. While he hasn’t offered any worthwhile input and certainly I shouldn’t have expected (nor did I receive) any sort of opinion from his camp he did declare himself in “sticker shock” still yet today and wasn’t sure how he would come up with his share of the down payment due on the 31st. Considering this portion is the cheaper of the two processes LM will go through (the actual braces could total three times what these expanders are costing us) I didn’t realize this would be such a problem. I offered to cover the down payment and he offered to then cover the monthly charges. His part will come out to being more than mine (which he knows) so I readily agreed. I hope that this is not an indicator of how ill-prepared he will be for college expenses when that time comes, but I should begin to brace myself for that eventual reality I’m sure.

For now, wish us straight teeth in record time and pray to the Tylenol gods that LM doesn’t have to suffer much. If you think about it, remind me on the 31st that I do this out of love for LM and his beautiful smile as I’m sure I’ll be feeling extremely bad about the pain I’m causing him. I am, after all, the one responsible for turning the expanders each night and causing him great pain. Maybe we should have gone with the Volkswagen.

Shhh…the red sox are playing the Yankees. They crushed them last night, I’m hoping for a similar game tonight. Even better, Chris Berman is announcing the game!! Ahhh…Amazing Race and Lost are just going to have to wait until the game is over.

From where I sat on the park bench under the old oak tree, she was stunning. Taller than I am and half the size she stood with her legs crossed one over the other in a perfect sense of balance and poise. She smiled and laughed, comfortably talking with the strangers around her. Nothing artificial about her looks, she was an advertisement for natural beauty. Hair pulled back in a rough pony tail, little make-up, an old beige corduroy fitted jacket over jeans. Nothing external could claim ownership of the elegance and grace she exuded. She asked a question with genuine interest and listened with intent at the reply. When she called to her husband, pulling him away from the group he was talking with, he came over and shared a laugh at something only they understood. He touched her arm before walking away.

I wonder, when she closes her eyes at night, what do her demons say?

Last night after getting LM off to bed, I turned on a Comedy Central special with Bill Engvall that I had DVR’ed over the weekend. (If you don’t recognize the name, he’s the guy on the Blue Collar Comedy Tour that does the “Here’s Your Sign” skits.) 45 minutes into the show I hit pause to make a bathroom run, still chuckling over Bill’s jokes about understanding women, topless steakhouses and his son’s first “hands-on” exam by a doctor when I hear laughter rolling out of LM’s room.

“I thought you were asleep!!”

“Oh my gosh, Mom, that is some funny stuff!!”

Again, in case you missed it the first time, my mail can be forwarded to “Amy, c/o The Devil Himself, Burning Hell, 66666.”