At a Loss

My eldest son has had several "reaction paper" assignments to do for his health class this year. In the past, he had trouble coming up with ideas and topics for writing assignments because he is very literal and does not perceive himself as very creative. Lately he's been surprising me, and possibly himself. For instance, a few weeks ago he wrote about his recollection of and his reaction to a diabetic episode his father experienced -- too much insulin, not enough food, brain doesn't work, actions of said diabetic are unpredictable and possibly wild.

Earlier this week, he'd commented that his next reaction paper would describe his anticipation of going to my aunt and uncle's house for Thanksgiving, a tradition that dates back to my own childhood some forty blah blah years ago. All my kids love it. In my own mind, I thought, okay, he's going to describe the yummy food and the board games and the kickoff of holiday cartoons. And then I forgot about it temporarily.

Yesterday he brought it up again as I was visiting him in his room to say goodnight. He mentioned that he's going to describe how he never has felt that things were right again on Thanksgiving since my cousin's daughter passed away four years ago June. Whoa. I felt as though I'd been slapped across the face. He'd never said anything about this. I never knew he'd been thinking about it. He was eleven at the time of her passing.

I told him that he was absolutely correct; things were not "right" at all, and couldn't be. But it hurts a little bit less each year. Still feeling the lump in my throat, I also told him that I've observed his writing topics becoming more meaningful and emotional and real in the grown up sense. Gave him a long look. Didn't say I was exceptionally proud but I think he knew it.

Bare

Our 13 year old son spends a lot of time in his teen cave with the door closed. His bedroom often looks like a tornado touched down in there. Truth be told, he does a lot of stuff which we parents don't appreciate, such as taking the ink refills out of ballpoint pens and shooting them at targets using rubber band catapults...or wolfing down crackers and shoving the wrappers in drawers...or making spears out of paper and masking tape...or downloading inappropriate apps onto his iPod Touch...the list goes on.

We wouldn't much mind if he were doing some reading or homework in there...but unfortunately he seems to have fallen off the homework wagon recently, with parent-teacher conferences looming. Sigh. Things have been a bit tense in the house at times because of that, but last night we reached a crescendo. We'd taken delivery of a new clothes dryer a week ago, and a few days later I found ink all over the inside of it. Why? You guessed it. Two ballpoint pen refills in the lint trap. I'd given my charming son the "do not ever remove the ink from a pen again if you know what's good for you" speech. Well, let's go back to last night. Said charming son was discovered in the basement, pilfering pens from the school supply drawer, and removing the ink refills from them. When asked the reason, he said he had nothing better to do. Uh oh. Enter Robo Dad.

I'd heard tell that my father-in-law had taken the door off the hinges of one of his kids' rooms during my husband's childhood because he had a similar "vein popping out of forehead" moment. Guess what Robo Dad did last night. Son was not happy at all. First he balled up in a corner and took a nap while the rest of us were eating dinner. Then he came out and ate leftovers and stared into his plate or at the floor the entire time. By 10pm he'd sort of turned into a human being again, but he complained that he wasn't comfortable in his bed. Why? He wanted to know which lights we were leaving on in the kitchen at night, and he wanted specific ones to be left on. Huh?

This kid's room is painted jungle green (his request, possibly in part to annoy his grandmother, LOL). It's pretty dark in there at night except for the LED of two alarm clocks and a small night light on the dresser in the far corner of the room. Instead of looking at a dark door, he instead would have been looking into the kitchen/living room areas which have moonlight coming in through the rear windows of the house. More light. Less privacy. Does he feel that he shuts out demons at night when he shuts the bedroom door? Is there safety in knowing that he's all alone under his blanket?

I guess it's uncomfortable on principle alone when routine is forcibly disrupted. I left the house before he got up this morning so I'll have to wait until tonight to see how he's doing. I've no idea how long it will be before the door returns. Stay tuned for the next episode of Robo Dad.

Dig in Those Heels

I'm about 1/3 of the way through Wayne Dyer's audiobook about dumping excuses from your life. Although I don't subscribe to the religious parts, a lot of it does make sense, particularly about taking control of one's own path. It's odd because it completely aligns with the post I wrote about victimhood before I began to listen to this book.

I'm thinking mostly of two people. One is a relative who's in a truly miserable situation but has gotten into a pattern of inertia because the alternative is going to be the equivalent of the jump into the cold, deep pool and the swim against the current. The other is the friend who was recently widowed and must summon her strength and courage to make her way without her partner. Here are some quotes I've recently heard that sum up my feelings on the matter.

I believe that every person is born with talent. Maya Angelou

Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions. Dalai Lama

A man is but the products of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes. Mohandas Gandhi

Be miserable. Or motivate yourself. Whatever has to be done, it's always your choice. Wayne Dyer

The Victim

On Monday, a dear friend will be burying her husband of 10+ years, a sweet sweet man in his young 50's whose body was laid to waste by lymphoma. This was the second marriage for my friend, and I am happy for her that she was able to jump on the merry go round the second time and find joy.

I feel little patience and sympathy at the moment for those people who choose to sit and watch life pass by them, citing many excuses. Too tired, too scared, too sick, too ugly, too fat, not smart enough, not creative enough, too good for the rest of the world, not living in the right place, not educated enough, not experienced enough, too shy, too poor. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Histories of successful people contain countless unsuccessful attempts prior to finding the right stuff. But they were out there doing something, and kept at it. Some people who are not doing anything are lucky enough to be extended a helping hand or to be thrown a life preserver to prevent disaster. Pride takes over and stops some of these people from accepting help. So they stay where they are. But then, in my mind, people who refuse to act are making a plan of action called inertia. So this is what they wanted: nothing more than what they have.

I felt physically ill this morning when I got the news of my friend's husband's passing. He was pursuing a wonderful life with a wonderful woman. And then that life was taken from him. It also makes me physically ill to see others play the victim card. They feel it gives them a valid reason NOT to be pursuing a life because of various fears and anxieties. I hope they don't have major regrets when their lives are taken from them on that future day. It's all a shame.

Go and make your life worth the time it takes to live it.

Sights of the Season

Enjoy these Halloween pix we snapped around the neighborhood while trick or treating!

The first one was a creative assortment of ghoulish treats, or so it seemed. The "brain" was really a head of cauliflower with red food coloring. The "midget fingers" were hot dog halves.