O Christmas Tree O Christmas Tree

Tree is up, lit and decorated. It looks beautiful. Garland adorns the deck and the stairwell. Christmas decorations are placed throughout the house and Martina sang all afternoon. Ahhh….Christmas is coming! No presents under the tree until we see how Gabe handles the whole thing.

Tonight is movie night. We’ll be watching Madagascar and enjoying homemade pizza again. A tradition in its own right.

I hope you are enjoying your Saturday as much as we are enjoying ours!

Tomorrow we are braving the Closet Of Death to get out the Christmas decorations. Despite having my shopping done and cards in the mail, the spirit of Christmas has still thus far eluded me. Tomorrow, however, I will dig out the Christmas music and try my best to get into the spirit of it all.

I love music. I do. And I love Christmas music. Mostly. I just really hate made-up Christmas songs sung my famous singers who ought to stick to lip-syncing on SNL. I like traditional Christmas music. But it seems that on every CD they have to stick some comical Santa-ish song just to be fun and cute and original. I don’t want original.

All that said, a few years ago I discovered what would quickly become my all-time favorite Christmas CD. There isn’t a single, solitary hokey song on the whole thing. Martina McBride’s “White Christmas”. I know, she’s “country”. I love country music, but I understand that many people don’t. Please know that there is absolutely nothing about her amazing voice or the incredible traditional songs that would ever make you say “um, sweetums, cuhd ya pass me dat der banjo?”

What do you listen to around the holidays? What are your favorite songs? Do you have a favorite CD that you play over and over endlessly?

I forgot today. I really did. Even in the midst of the tears it took me awhile to remember it. He seemed far more emotional than was warranted for the events he was telling me about. Until I remembered. Fourth grade is hard. It really is. I don’t mean that sarcastically, I know it’s hard to tell in typed words. Here I sat, with LM sobbing and sobbing because we had an altercation and he was just crying far more than seemed appropriate.

We sat down to talk and he immediately declares the whole day as bad. Not just the evening where we had an issue, but the. whole. day.

They played basketball in gym and his team couldn’t even score one basket. LM is the furthest thing from an athletic child. He has no interest in it, and so very little ability follows. But here he was upset at his whole team not being able to put together ONE shot at the basket that would go in. I kept saying, “it’s only a game, honey, it’s only PE” he kept saying, “I know, Mom, I kept telling myself that…” but still he sobbed.

I had forgotten how high the hoops are when you are nine. I had forgotten how big the ball is, and how heavy it seems to bounce and pass. The whole game seems awkward when you’re that age, and ‘team work’ is something you hear but nothing anyone knows how to actually do well, not in PE.

And then he had lied to me. Lying is a crime punishable by death or near-death-torture in my house. Okay, no, not really, but he KNOWS I have huge issues with it, mainly because he is allowed to be home for bits of time alone and such things and I HAVE to be able to trust him. He truly is a great kid, a very moral child, but every once in awhile, he feels the need to lie. His lies aren’t even manipulative. He doesn’t tell me he lost his lunch money so I give him more and he actually buys comic books with the cash. His lies are more along the “I already practiced trumpet, did my homework and vacuumed the stairs, can I read?” when in fact, I learned tonight, that neither the trumpet practice nor the chore had actually been done. All he wanted to do was read.

It’s hard (and I mean HARD) to punish a child for reading, believe me. But Jacob reads for hours a day. It is not as if he never has time, or isn’t allowed, or never has new books. When we talked later, we established that having done the things he was supposed to do, he would have had nearly 4 hours to read tonight and almost any night if he so chooses.

But it’s hard to be nine. It’s hard to go practice your trumpet or vacuum the stairs when there’s a new Star Wars book that you’ve gotten half way into and it’s just begging to be finished. It really is a hard choice.

I had forgotten how hard those things can be.

Privileges were revoked, stern words were said, conversations were held, hugs were given, kisses and “I love you’s” exchanged and a compromise reached to salvage the privilege of Movie Night this week.

Being single, I sometimes forget that just because I’m the only adult in the house, it doesn’t mean I’m the only one who has had a bad day. LM is an easy going, laid back, great kid. He doesn’t get riled up often. Today was a very bad, no good, rotten to the core day. I hope I remember it for a long while to come so that I might always give him the same latitude I would want afforded to me on my very bad days. It doesn’t make it okay to lie, but it certainly helps to remember how small things can trigger a lot when the world has piled it on. Even in fourth grade.

Tomorrow will surely be better, if for no other reason than it’s not a PE day, it’s an Art day. That might make all the difference.

I had almost given up. I had nearly given in. My Christmas cards were going to win this year. It would be the first year in over 20 that I wasn’t able to come up with some creative, catchy, thematic, homemade original card/picture/letter to send to my friends and fam. I nearly admitted defeat.

I had made cards over the holiday weekend. I wasn’t happy with them at all, but I had spent hours cutting and stamping and coloring and gluing and hating every second of it. I had tried a couple of rough drafts at a letter but nothing came from them. I had helped my brother write his (which he never does) and I thought for certain it had sapped all my creativity and now I would be left with none for my own.

So last night I was sitting on the floor with my puppy who seemed ill and I was watching football and chatting with G on messenger and I was complaining about not having my card idea. They are ALWAYS in the mail by December 1st and it was really getting close. I watched the Colts, I talked to G. I cheered for the Steelers, I responded to G. And it finally hit me….football.

G wasn’t too excited about the idea initially but today I improved greatly upon the rough notion that existed in my head last night and he threw in a few great lines that helped it even more.

I stopped at the craft store on my way home from work and invest FAR more money than you can imagine in MORE supplies to make NEW cards that will go with the football theme. LM and I worked on them tonight and they’re crafty but cute. The letter will get polished and printed tomorrow, the picture will be taken tomorrow night and duplicated at nauseum on Thursday and then the cards will be stuffed, sealed, stamped and mailed. ON TIME!!

THE DID NOT BEAT ME!!!

(Note to anyone out there toying with the idea of stepping it up a notch and doing more than just signing their store-bought cards this year: DO NOT DO IT. Once you start, you can’t stop. Relatives write and say how much they look forward to your cards every year. Grandparents show you the box where they have saved each and every one. Complete strangers on the street say, “ooooh you’re the one…”)

Oh, and if you were thinking that I was going to show you what the cards look like or copy the letter here for you to read YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING!! December 1st they are released. Not a moment sooner. You’ll have to stand in line outside the door until then.

On a completely different note, I need some advice from any dog-owners out there. I live in an upstairs condo. I have to physically take my dog out when he needs to go which means I need shoes in this kind of weather. It would be oh-so-handy for said shoes to live at the bottom of the stairs on the mat where the mud and grime can drip off instead of tracking up my stairs, but poocherooski here thinks he needs to chew on my shoes if I leave them when I go to work. I have tried spraying them with bitter spray. I have tried moving them up the stairs but in an open-faced cabinet. I don’t know what to do!! I need shoes in a convenient spot down there, but he EATS them. I dare not say how many shoes he has eaten for fear of proving how much of a slow-learner I am. I just keep thinking he’ll quit. But he doesn’t. He never ever chews them when I’m home. But he knows he has done something wrong as the moment I come home, he’ll peek at me at the top of the stairs and then run into the living room. HELP!!

Last night I stopped by the Verizon Wireless store and visited with the technical service dude. I had brought my cell phone in about a month ago – the screen had a bad habit of freezing up each time someone called, so my brother might call at 10am and at 2pm the phone would still declare “G is calling!” They uploaded new software at the time, but over the last week or so it has regressed to its old ways again. The guy working tech support was nice, looked up my account and said they’d just replace the phone. Told me to hang on for a moment which I thought meant I’d have some paperwork to sign, but the next thing I know he’s handing me a brand new phone, just like my old one and he’s converted all my contacts and such into the new one. Good to go, he says! WOW!

Later, I logged onto Verizon.com to renew my wireless dsl service. They were offering me another year at the same price I had paid this year, which was fine with me (no increase is a rarity, it seems) and so I wanted to just log on and seal the deal. When I did, I found out that staying at my same price actually got me more speed at this point. OR I could stay at the same speed I have now and save $15 a month! Yep! Do that!

All I have to say is that Verizon impressed me. And in the customer service realm it seems like I spend more time pissed off than I do impressed, so well done Verizon. Good customer service. Un. Believe. Able.

They can send me a few bucks for the free advertisement now.

Last week, a woman called to place an ad in the newsletter I publish. She’s a psychotherapist and wanted to get her contact information into a business card-sized ad. I offered my assistance and in so doing found myself roped into a lengthy conversation. She specializes in bi-polar and depression therapy but when I asked if she wanted that listed on the ad she adamantly declined saying, “then you get all these suicidal people and they need you 24/7.” Well, yeah. So she asks me, “What do you think people turn to therapy for nowadays?” Um…isn’t SHE the therapist? And is she implying I should BE in therapy? So I say, “I guess from my experience and the friends that I know that have pursued counseling, it’s mainly for marital help.” “Oh yes!” She says, “Marital help!” and I swear I could hear her taking notes. (Is the thought of doing marital counseling a new one to her?) She says, “Did you find your marital counseling to be successful?” Is she looking for me to become a client? Is this not a bit too personal of a question? I try to avoid actually answering by saying, “It depends on how you measure success, I suppose.” “What do you mean?” she says. I say, “Well, it didn’t save the marriage, but it helped me to see that it wasn’t a marriage that could be saved.” “Oh! Why couldn’t it…” and before she can say another word I tell her I have the layout of her ad finished and I’ll email it right over, if she has any further questions, please let me know.

Today, a woman at my office asked me about my Thanksgiving. I said I had enjoyed a quiet, peaceful weekend. She asked if I had my son for the holiday and I explained that no, he was with his father. She asked, “Is your ex husband good with your son?” I answer dismissively, “yes, he’s a good dad” hoping we can be done with the topic, but no, she continues. “Is he remarried?” Well, that’s an interesting question considering the circumstances, so I say, “He’s involved with someone, yes.” I turn back to my desk hoping she seriously drops the subject at this point. But, no, I was not to be so lucky. She says, “Does she have kids?” Well, she is a HE, but “yes” was my only answer. “Does she try to be a mom to your son?” Well, since he’s a DAD, “No, not at all.” “Oh, that’s good….my ex’s wife thinks she’s the grandmother of our kids! Can you imagine?” Well, step-grandmother, yes. My step-mom is a grandmother to my kids, but I shake my head in the politically correct way and say, “No, I can’t imagine!” And off she trots, happy with herself.

I have been out on a date with a new guy before, (imagine that!) and at some point the conversation will turn to why I’m divorced (naturally). I remember one guy seemed to be stunned that I am so amicable with my ex. He finally said that he didn’t understand why I was divorced if I could be such good friends with him. So I explained. He seriously slapped the table and shouted, “he is NOT!!! No freaking way! You are making this up!” Dude, if I could make it up, I promise it’d be better than that.

I have been known, when prodded in a less innocent manner by a less pleasant individual to simply state “My ex husband is gay” and just lay it out there for all its awkwardness (for the person asking, I’m over it -mostly ). But in normal conversation I guess I try to just bite my tongue. It would just be too much of a topic for the situation, I suppose. I realize it’s not common enough for people to be careful about what they say, but I’m not certain of how I’m supposed to respond anymore. I’m not one who is prone to lie, but I have also been known to be too blunt in some cases, so I try to hold my tongue and not make people choke when I reply. I really don’t want to be standing there with their jaw on the floor as I try to explain that it’s all really okay and it’s not that big of a deal or something to help them recover.

We live in such an interesting world anymore where assumptions are more often wrong than right. There seems to be nothing “safe” left to say. And yet, as I can recognize that none of these people, or any of the many many others I’ve encountered have meant any harm, it doesn’t make the situation any easier on my part. I feel like I’m continually trying to make the asker more comfortable, to save them from unforeseen pain and embarrassment, and yet, I was the one who was in the wretched position to begin with. I was the one who had to battle to come to terms with all of it, full of pain and embarrassment.

Maybe I just need a witty retort that would save us both from continuing the conversation. I just find myself on emotional eggshells at any hint of the topic that I can’t be clever about it anymore. That and some days it doesn’t feel very funny.

I wonder how LM will answer when put in similar situations. I know right now he answers with the innocence of a child who doesn’t understand the reaction he might get to his unique situation, but that will change. All too soon that will change.

I know that homosexuality in America is ‘every day’ enough to be on prime time TV (not to say that I think that makes it “right” but I’m not forging that argument here today) but in my town, in LM’s elementary school, in my circle of friends, family, co-workers, I do not know one single soul who has gay ex spouse. My situation isn’t responded to as commonplace, it’s the sort of situation that gets you a free flight to the Jerry Springer show. For years I have been able to handle the innocent questions about my “mom and dad” from someone who doesn’t know my mom passed away a dozen years ago. They don’t know, I understand that. But somehow, to explain that she passed away is simply understood. It’s a normal situation. It’s not so out of the blue that it leaves the person speechless. I don’t know how to handle these questions with such ease.

The good: when I balanced my checkbook tonight to pay bills I discovered a math error in the thereabouts of $250 in my own favor. WOOHOOO!! (How I missed it to begin with, I’ll never know).

The bad: still haven’t heard back on my interview. Not hearing can’t be good news.

The ugly: my puppy puked. eeeeewwwwwwwww

Last night as I was watching football an IM popped up on my computer from my Little Man. He was in Pittsburgh with his dad and had logged onto the computer to play one of his games. We got to chat back and forth for a little bit and then he wanted to play chess through messenger with me. I’m very rusty at the game, I learned it to teach him a number of years ago when a friend of mine suggested that LM might love to play it, and now LM plays far more often than I do. But we played a couple of games and it just touched my soul. He is so smart, and so gifted and just ‘gets’ this stuff. I need a cheat sheet to remember how the rook can move and what the bishop can do and even then I’m making horrible choices. At one point, he types, “Move the queen, Mom. The queen.” I about died laughing. He’s trying to help his poor mom be a better chess player. He’s NINE.

Today he called on his way home to say he and his dad had just been in a car accident. Everyone was okay, but it shook him up and shook me up, too. I miss him so. Sometimes being a mom is harder than I ever imagined.

He’ll be home on Tuesday. One more day.

P.S. extra credit points for anyone who knows what movie the title is from. (LM would know!)