Mid-CenturyModernMoms

Loosening the Strings

Last week was an exercise in Mom loosening the strings tieing down Abe.  He's 19 yo now, but he's my special needs baby and I worry that he doesn't have the skills to compete out in the big bad world.

Last week was school vacation week, but Mom had to work (of course).  But there were some things that Abe needed to do during that time.  So instead of me running myself ragged or burning vacation time, I let him (made him?) go to some appointments by himself.

The first was his yearly physical.  His doctor is at a big hospital and I didn't want him driving down there in hte traffic mess of Marathon Monday in Massachusetts.  So I printed out directions of how he should walk to the trolley line and then what transfers he needed to do to get to the hospital, and tell him when he needed to leave.  I did ask him if he wanted me to meet him there, but he said no.  You think that giving him explicit directions on how to go to someplace that he had never gotten to by himself before was too much?  Abe didn't think so.  If I hadn't given him the directions, he probably wouldn't have even set off on the journey. 

The only glitch in the process was that he didn't know the co-pay amount, and for some reason neither did the secretary checking him in; so they'll bill me.

Then there was the "Accepted Students Day" at MB Community College, where he is going to attend next year.  There was a program for all of the students that the school had accepted (and probably hadn't accepted back) to introduce them to the facilities, etc.  I was in the second day of an all day meeting, so I couldn't go with him (parents were invited).  This being the first time that he drove to the school, I once again got him directions and gave him the timing that he needed to get there on time.  But that was it.  And he had a good time there and now is more comfortable with the idea of attending any college. He came away with a rough knowledge of the building and a sense that this wasn't going to be too overwhelming for him.

And to top it off, I gave him a task to perform at the end of it.  He needed to swing by the old house and put away the trash cans.  Would he remember?  Yes, he did.  And that was even after he went on an errand of his own after the MBCC event (he had even asked if he could).  And then I called him up in the afternoon to get him to take Rosie to pick up her baseball tickets for Sunday's game.

I'm so proud.  I'm also feeling much better about him going to college.  He just needs a bit of extra preparation and then he's able to do it.

So the last meeting was one I did with him- for the disability services office at his new school.  But I did my best to let him talk and he even filled out the forms.  And after that, he is MUCH more confident about going to college.

A job well done is on the menu

Seven years of wedded bliss.

And so we celebrated -- in an appropriate manner, I thought. Z-man made a reservation for us for dinner at the restaurant where he works.

I was excited about it because I had never eaten there before, even though it is very close to our house and he has worked in the kitchen there for almost a year.

He offered up a description of all the specials in advance, giving us a clue to what we would find (Northern Italian cuisine), and told us what he recommended. Then he asked what we wanted for dessert.

Creme brulee was the winning choice, and he toddled off to work. We followed an hour later, arriving on time for our 7 p.m. reservation.

"Oh, you're Z-man's parents!" the owner greeted us when we arrived. "He told me you were coming in!"

We smiled and followed him to our table. "We love our Z-man," the owner told us.

 I smiled.

 As we began to look at the menu hungrily, a woman appeared at our table.

"Hi, I'm Sarah. I'll be taking care of you tonight," she said.

"Wonderful," I said, and Z-man popped into view at her side.

"Sarah is my favorite," he said.

"He is my favorite too," she answered. "I just love him. And how do you know Z-man?"

Z-man and I spoke simultaneously.

"I birthed him," I said.

 "She birthed me," he said.

And we both laughed

Yes, we are sick like that. In tune with each other. Don't forget, this is the boy whose two-year culinary school absence cut me like a knife.

Z slipped back into the kitchen, leaving us with his favorite waitress.

And so we ordered. Sarah nodded approvingly and, when she brought Wonderhubby another iced tea, informed us that Z-man approved of our choices as well.

We approved of our selections as well. It was delicious, topped off by two creme brulees that were to die for -- made by my boy.

But what was most delicious of all was the number of people who came by our table or stopped us on our way out to tell us how much they absolutely adore my son and what a lovely young man he is.

My work here is done.

Crossposted at From the Planet of Janet

And then I fell over from the shock

Sometimes I wonder where I went wrong.

And then sometimes -- in the most unusual ways -- I find out where I went right.

As I have talked about before, I am currently embroiled in a clash of the titans with Roo. She is champing at the bit to be a woman of independent means. I am holding on to my baby girl with all my might and trying to keep her from growing up TOO fast for her own good.

It's a difficult push-me-pull-you world we live in, the Roo and me, and it tends to make me a little focused on the struggle, rather than the successes.

So imagine my surprise -- my PLEASANT surprise -- when my son Z-man sent me a text message Friday morning.

It was a simple text, signifying nothing, and yet signifying EVERYTHING.

Thursday night -- LATE Thursday night -- Z and several of his friends took off for Coachella, a huge music festival that took over the polo fields in the Inland Empire of California this past weekend.

He's a big boy now. The world considers him a legal adult, and he'll be 21 in a couple of months. So for him to take off for three days of music -- Woodstock style -- is something that I cannot forbid. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't worry.

So I was the cool mom and waved goodbye, telling him only to be careful as they took off for parts unknown.

The next morning -- early the next morning, in fact -- that text came:

"We're all settled in out here. Wish me luck."

Excuse me, but did you get that? My almost-21-year-old son texted me to let me know that he had arrived and was settled in at the festival.

I blinked a few times, and texted him back: "Have fun ... and be careful."

And he answered: "I will."

This story gets even better because on Saturday, while Wonderhubby and I were out running errands, my phone rang in my pocket.

Z-man's ringtone.

"Hello?" I answered, a little hesitantly.

"Hi, just checking in. Letting you know that I'm ok and we're having an amazing time ..."

The rest of what he said is a blur. He was calling to let me know he was ok!

I didn't think this could be topped until Sunday, when he texted me again, not only to tell me how great the music had been but also to tell me approximately when he would be home (sometime today).

I still have the texts on my phone. I'm sure I will leave them there for a long time, as testament to the moment when my son figured out that no matter how grown up you think you are, your mommy will still -- and always -- worry about you.

Crossposted at From the Planet of Janet

Extra Responsibilities

This is Ora reporting for our dear Margalit, who once again has taken a turn for the worse and is in the hospital.  Yuk!!

So Ora has extra responsibilities.  Why?  Because I am Margalit's health care proxy.  And by the way, everyone is really worried about the Boy and the Girl.

What? You don't have a health care proxy?

You simply must take care of this at once- especially if you are single.  A spouse is assumed to be able to make medical decisions for you in cases of emergency, but what if you don't have a spouse (or worse, you do but you don't want him/her making your medical decisions!)

It's a simple form.  Margalit and I did ours through a lawyer, but you can easily download a copy for your state off of the web and get it signed and notarized.  Make sure that you tell the person you've picked what you've done, because they don't have to sign the form.

But in Margalit's case, the hospital (her standard one) was very concerned about the Boy since he was just recently released from a hospitalization to change his meds and we are all worried that he won't take the meds and won't go to his day program (he's started down that road already).

And, of course, the girl is very upset too.

And poor Ora is trying to manage all the stuff going on in her life, run to the hospital every day, check on the Boy and the Girl and juggle calls to and from the hospital. 

Rosie, though, always comes through in an emergency.  She received the first phone call from the hospital looking for me and gave them my cell number.  She offered to give up going to one of her drivers' ed classes to ease up on running around time.

The first night it seemed on the dire side for Margalit, but she is much better now.  The seizure didn't cause too many lasting effects- but she needed to be in the hospital anyway to deal with her congestive heart failure.  I think that she'll be there for a while.

Meanwhile, Ora is trying to juggle better.

What's good for the gander is good for the goose

The Roo-girl once told me that I was tougher on her than I ever was on her older brothers.

That I yell more. That I'm stricter. That I never got all over the boys for stuff I get all over her about.

When Roo got in my face about this, I reminded her that when the bigger boys were her age, she was too little to remember. Her oldest brother is just over 13 years older than she is, after all!

I mentioned this conversation to her brother Z-man yesterday.

And he fell on the floor laughing.

Apparently, despite my advancing age and decreasing hormones, I'm relieved to know that I'm pretty consistent in the parenting department.

High on Z's list of things he hated as a teen but has filed away for use later (much MUCH later when he thinks he would actually like to have children!), is "the complete plan."

Yes, you may go to the mall with your friend -- when I have a complete plan. Who is going? Who is taking you there? Who is picking you up? Is it me? What time? And if your plans change, I expect an as-soon-as-possible phone call to let me know.

I view this as self-preservation in a way. Because not only does/did it force my kids to think ahead, but it makes/made them attempt to be considerate of their mother.

Because it is/was likely that one of the drivers IS/WAS going to be me, and the idea of going out to pick up a child at 10 p.m. at the movies might or might not be convenient on any given day.

Especially these given days. As I have fewer underage children to concern myself with, I tend to make plans for myself and my husband.

Imagine the nerve of us parents actually having a life!!!

Also these days, what I love the best about having adult children is having an adult conversation with my almost-21-year-old son about the way I raised him and the value he now sees in some of the things he despised when he was a teen.

"Oh, I totally get it," he said to me when we talked about "the complete plan" yesterday. "And it was the right thing to do."

YESSSSSSS!

poetry slam?

I have to admit, I've never heard the term...until last week.  Jen sent me a text telling me "Joe and I are going into the city for his poetry slam."  I consider mysefl a sophisticated New Yorker and a patron of the arts, not to mention that I majored in English back in the day, but I had to google "poetry slam".

(OMG, the 21st century is creeping into my vocabulary.  I didn't look it up, I "googled" it.)

Anyhow, it seems that a poetry slam is a contest, where poets are given a set amount of time to recite their works and judges are randomly selected from the audience.  I suppose it's somewhat avant garde ...

Until recently I wouldn't have imagined that this type of entertainment would appeal to Jen.  Or that the boy she's going with (a young man she's known since middle school) would turn out to be one of the poets.

Or, for that matter, that Jen would choose "English" as a major. Education majors must double major in a subject area, and she chose English as her subject.

If Jen's 9th grade English teacher heard that Jen was voluntarily going to any event involving poetry, the teacher  might actually keel over from the shock.

Oh, the irony of it all.

Jen hated 9th grade English.  Or, more specifically, she hated her 9th grade English teacher.  Tuned the teacher out completely.  Didn't pay attention in class, didn't do assignments, didn't study for tests.  with predictable results.  At the time she didn't grasp that her behavior was self-defeating, that she was hurting herself and not the teacher by her lack of concern for the curriculum.  Instead of going to travel camp that summer, she found herself behind a desk with a literature book in front of her.... managed to walk out of summer school with an "A" in the class...

My, how things have changed.

When you can't predict the problem

My son has a friend with Aspergers. He has other problems too, but Aspergers is the one that is blamed for his behavior when it leans perilously over the edge of normality. Since this friend T is over 19 years old, he doesn't recieve any services for his issues because our state has cut mental health care to the bone and beyond. As is, Department of Mental Health? Gone.

Anyhow, yesterday afternoon I got a phone call from T's mom, and she was not a happy camper. Seems T has stolen her checkbook and wrote out a bunch of checks he tried to cash. And he convinced my daughter and her boyfriend to drive him into the "ghetto" to various western union stores to try and cash said checks. Now the Mom didn't know about the driving part. She had no clue as to how her son went all over Cambridge and Boston when she started investigating. And she called me because T threw my son under the bus and blamed him for the whole thing.

Except, my son is dysgraphic and doesn't know cursive. He can't even sign his OWN signature, never mind make out a check. I asked about the handwriting and she said that T implied that my daughter had written out the checks. But she can't STAND T and she isn't a moron and knows about banking. No way would she have taken part in this.

Am I ticked that this kid blamed both of my kids for this crime? Well, yes, but he has apergers and a lot of his issues are not understanding rules and regulations. Which is why he is NOT allowed on our property anymore. No way would I let him in the house.

After talking at length to both of my kids, I got the whole story. Of course, my son lied for his friend, but when confronted with what his sister said, he came clean. And now he's ticked off at T (thank goodness) and realizes that T isn't a good friend. So there is that!

But what I got out of this whole experience was how sad this poor mom was. She knows her kid is in trouble and yet there is nothing she can do about it because help costs hundreds of thousands of dollars and only Dr Phil can afford it. That's why those families go on his show and bare their souls. I honestly don't know when it became OK to just stop caring for our mentally ill chilcfen. Oh, I"m lying. I do know. Ronald Reagan decided that government didn't need to care for the mentally ill anymore. His government decided that families should take care of thes children, except it's just too hard. To live in conflict every day of your life his so stressful, and as your kids get older thay also get more creative about self-medicating. Not a good situation.

I wish I could help T's mom, but the truth is, my hands are so full with my own son, currently in the hospital again, that I can't really reach out to her. If I could, I would. 

Summer Work

Now that Abe has gotten at least one (but only one) college acceptance, is the time to turn our thoughts to what he is going to do over the summer.

Option One (his preferred choice): sit inside at home all day and play computer and video games

Option Two: get a job

I pick option Two.

But what job?

He probably only has 6 weeks at home full time (maybe 7-8 depending on when classes and orientation start).  And do I want him to have a job during the school year?

And how much work should Mom put in to this effort?

The simple solution is to have him work for our friend and handyman, L.  Abe has often worked for L in the past.  But this is dependent on L having the contracts, as well as enough work to take on an extra helper.  But that's lined up and now I don't have to think about it.

But the other day, I was talking to Abe at school and I guess that his therapist had brought this very idea up for discussion.

This is what they came up with, subject to approval by the school.

(Hold your horses, don't ask yet why a job for a High School graduate is subject to approval by the high school!)

First a little bit of background info:  In the two summers that Abe has been at the FLC boarding school, we has opted into electives about working in the garden.

So the possible idea is that Abe be a gardener for the school over the summer.  While living at home.  And getting paid.  And starting work at 7 am.

Only the 7 am threw Abe.  But I reminded him that I get up for work at 6 am anyway and he'd just have to get up a few minutes earlier to eat, take his meds and brush his teeth.  Before driving 45 minutes to work (which is something that lots of people do around here).

So it's a possibility.  And it's not one that Mom set up.  Wow.

And then there were two

Another little birdie has flown the coop.

It has been a little more than four years since we had a kid move out permanently. (Z-man's two-year college career doesn't really count since he always intended to come back -- and so he has.)

Yes, J-bear has moved out.

It came as kind of a surprise to me (and to her father as well). She apparently announced to him (and a day later, he announced to me) that she was going to rent a room in another city, walking distance from her job.

Twenty-four hours after I heard it, there was a pickup truck in our driveway, with her mattress and other large items in the bed.

Well, thanks for the advance notice. I guess what she REALLY meant was that she had ALREADY rented a room in another city and was halfway moved in by now.

Truth be told, she had been somewhat of a stealth bomber these days.

I sometimes saw her car parked on the street. Sometimes there was a light on in her room, visible under the closed door. But mostly, she slipped in and out of the house unheard and unseen.

Wonderhubby offered me a guilt-inducing reason: "She is afraid you're going to get on her case again about WHO SHE IS."

Thanks, dude.

Again, truth be told, I don't give a rat's hind end "WHO SHE IS." She can be whoever she wants to be. I only cared that her increasingly butch appearance be tempered for my parents' 60th anniversary extravaganza among "polite society" this summer. An opinion that her father shares equally.

Otherwise, she can do whatever the hell she wants. I have opinions about who ALL my children are, but they're all adults (except for Roo, of course), and my opinion plus $4 will get you a vanilla latte at Starbucks.

I'll have mine with no foam, please.

 

Sophomore Speech

 

There's a new terror in my house.  Rosie is combining her worst fear of writing (composition) with her new fear of public speaking in a rite of passage called

 

The SOPHOMORE SPEECH.

 

Every kid in the 10th grade has to write a paper on a topic that means something to them and then present it (by memory) to his or her English class.  The lucky (or unlucky??) few that are deemed the best go on to some sort of semi-finals and present the speech in front of ever larger numbers of people.

 

Rosie had a very firm idea that she wanted to write about teenage self-image and how other kids affect that image by their actions.  After looking at three libraries, she finally found a book on that topic to guide her in this speech.

 

So the research and writing was coming along, but then they  needed to hand in the outline.  And the teachers were working with them on their presentation skills.

 

This is the girl who normally is very out-going and might I say, enthusiastically vocal?  But I remember, at her Bat Mitzvah, all of a sudden, no one could hear her even with the microphone  right in front of her face.  But I chalked it up to the Bat Mitzvah itself and not public speaking.

 

I was probably wrong.  It definitely was the public aspect of it that was (and is) freaking her out.

 

But the English classes took them through a process to help them develop this skill.  Last week, the kids all had to stand up and present one sentence from their talk to the class.  Rosie said that she was absolutely terrified, but when she stood up and concentrated on remembering the line, she was fine because she was working so hard at remembering what she was going to say.

 

 

All of the feed-back that I got (from her) about the actual presentation of the full speech was that it went....  She didn't think that she did that well, but neither did she think that she did badly.  The kids are graded both on the presentation, as well as the actual report.  Let's just say that English and writing are not her strong points (although they could be if she wanted to invest a little effort). 

 

But the hard part is over and it's on to the next challenge.