26 for Life

"You can't be 53. I'm only 27."

"I hear you're considering Accounting."

"Who are you?"

It is a comfortable spot. Elvis, the cat sits near me. The music is playing. I have an abundance of books, and some knitting beckoning me. The teenagers are downstairs, happy to be free for a while on a Friday night before an exciting, but hectic Saturday. Hubby has the big tv going in his kingdom. All is right with the world. But really it's not, as the world has been tilted on its axis for some time, and the end of the tilt is not in sight.

Yesterday, I read an article. Seth Rogen testified before members of Congress regarding Alzheimer's, and dementia. No disease has a barrier stopping at the wealthy or connected, and certainly Alzheimer's, and dementia are not exceptions. One quote stood out, "so few people share their personal stories". (Seth Rogen Testifies, ABC News)

Here are the conversations involving the quotes above:
Last weekend:
Daddy - "Who are you?"
Me - "I'm Evelyn, your daughter."
Daddy - "You're my daughter? How long have I known you?"
Me - "Well, I'm 53 so I would say all 53 of my years."
Daddy - "You can't be 53. I'm only 27."
Me - "OK. I'm 26."
Daddy - "That's better."
Me - "Works for me."

October:
Daddy - " I hear you're thinking of East Carolina."
Me - "Sure, I'm thinking of East Carolina."
Daddy - "I hear you're considering Accounting."
Me - "Yes sir. I bet if I go to East Carolina, major in Accounting, and get a degree, I could make good money, meet the love of my life, have a couple of kids, and a nice house."
Daddy - "That sounds like a good life."
Me - "Yes, Daddy, it does, doesn't it?"
(Since I actually graduated from East Carolina University with an accounting degree in May of 1985, obviously I was in high school here.)

Every family touched by this has stories - some of faith, some of loss, some of blessings, and some of tragedy. We have been blessed that my brothers, and I have pulled together as a team. Some families are not able to work it out. Resources, and faith are strained, and relationships go with them. There simply has to be a way. As for me, I will continue to be whatever age Daddy needs me to be until he forgets me completely, and then I will pray, and cry even harder.

“Those with dementia are still people and they still have stories and they still have character and they are all individuals and they are all unique. And they just need to be interacted with on a human level.”

- Carey Mulligan

Entourage?? Anytime You Want...

So I've just returned from a trip to Florida as part of my eighth grader's entourage - at least that's what it felt like. I believe officially I was considered to be a chaperone. The eighth grade has a trip to Florida every year. It's earned based on conduct, and dang it, he's a well-behaved kid therefore there was no way to get out of it. We rode a charter bus, and we did Universal Studios, Islands of Adventure, Sea World, and Aquatica. It feels like I'm missing something in there - oh, yeah - sleep. Sleep is what I'm missing. In all fairness, I don't remember it being listed on the itinerary anyway.
It was a fun trip though I'm not really an amusement park kinda gal. Museums, architecture, historical stuff - that stuff turns me on. Roller coasters - not really. I already know how it feels to be scared senseless, I've been in hospitals before, and bulimia does not interest me especially with the prices these parks charge for food. So I did exactly one at the Harry Potter world stuff. It would probably rate a wimponus spell, but I survived which was important. I really enjoyed Sea World the best - shows and animals. Plus I had been to Sea World as a little girl. I have the most adorable bracelet with little dolphins on it and I found the old home movies not long ago. May I say that ponytails and Peter Pan collars quite suited me.
But here's the deal. I spent a fair amount of time alone. Thanks to the proliferation of cell phones, my son and his four friends were able to be in constant contact with me and they are all taller than me and the school approves of their going off without you as long as all numbers have been exchanged and you have plans for meeting up. So I would sit in Starbucks (there are only so many times I was interested in walking around stuff I didn't want to do) and read. They would text me. I would meet up with them, distribute money, pick up what they wanted me to carry, get my instructions and move on. See - entourage member - the one without a lot of power, but a ton of interest in being included.
But here's the point - I wouldn't trade it for anything. I got to see how our son and his friends interact. At times I could see the children they were - laughing and feeding seagulls and pigeons with such delight and abandonment, wearing silly hats and stuff. And at times I could see the men they are becoming - holding the door for people, showing good manners, disapproving of how some people were acting. They are good kids and I know just how fast time flies. Our son had his fourteenth birthday while on the trip. Which can't be possible since my profile picture shows me holding this adorable toddler. In the blink of an eye he'll be gone to college, but I'll always get to hold on to the memories. And for that I'll gladly be a member of the entourage.

And That's the Way of Life

Some days you wake up and you just know what you want to write about. And some days you wake up with TOO many ideas swirling around your head almost like the leaves. Do I write about the obnoxious landscaper next door who has decided that the leaves in that yard are labeled as mine and as such deserve to come back home? Maybe I should write about the funny "American Idol" comment made by my younger teen while watching it. Or I can write about the incredible improvement at assignment completion we've seen from the older son since the famous 'no Xbox for you' incident of 2011. Then there is my trip last weekend to the parents and the bittersweetness of it all or watching our older son walk into his school wearing his junior ROTC uniform and the wonder of how he got that old. I know I could get empathy for the fact that hubby is taking a vacation day today, and bless his heart, he really believes that my days are so open ended that I can accompany him anywhere to do anything his heart desires with no impact on my schedule...


The idea of writing today is sorta the way life is...there's the good, the bad, and the ugly all mixed in with the huh, the why's, the why not's. So maybe I'll just expand on a couple of things:


American Idol - it's our one and only reality show. The teens are musically inclined (they've been in band since 5th grade and there's no end in sight). My home state of North Carolina continues to do me proud. There've been several contestants, and even winners (Scotty, Fantasia, Clay Aiken, Chris Daughtry are a few), and the other night three more moved through. Prompting the following comment from the 13 year old, "So are you the ONLY North Carolinian who can't sing?" For the record, my Momma can't sing either so I am in FINE company. So there. Oh, and I totally recognize that while he did NOT get his ability to sing on key and play an instrument from me, that snarky, sarcastic sense of humor...oh, I KNOW where THAT came from.


The Xbox incident, well, I wrote about that in "Possum Momma Lives". And it worked. The child brought home straight A's (which was NOT the point, but he won't understand that until probably his 40's), and he is doing a MUCH better job with keeping straight his requirements. All it takes is the ability to unplug and to tune out the whining...incredible parenting skills which are totally underrated.


I'll touch on my parents and the ROTC uniform when I feel ready for a cry. Because that's how life is - you touch on what you're ready for, and you work your way through the other...while accompanying hubby to Best Buy and sneaking glances at your own to-do list.

A Jolt to Joe, Heard Round the World

There are four of us, thus the 4gaby.com name. But of the four, I’m the sports freak. And because I watch and follow football, particularly college football, I’ve been dismayed at the news as it has come out of Penn State regarding an alleged pedophile. There are so many angles to this story – did he, didn’t he, what is alleged, who knew what, what is your duty by law, what is your moral duty – but as the mother of two teenage boys, I find two very simple answers – NEVER HURT A CHILD, and REPORT IT IF YOU SEE IT.

Our sons have been active in the following: Boy Scouts, school band, marching band, tee ball, cross country, church youth group, field trips, and class trips. Every single one of these has had male chaperones. Every single one of these has had “opportunities.” Last year I went through three background checks in the space of a month. One for church so I could teach Sunday School and chaperone, one for school so I could ride the activity bus and go on overnight field trips, and one for Boy Scouts since I am on the parents’ council and help with the scout board of reviews. I passed each check with flying colors since speeding tickets were not the issue. And the reality is that there are pedophiles out there who would pass the same background checks, no problem—because they haven’t been caught yet.

I believe the reason this story has resonated so deeply with so many of us is it hits hard at one of our deepest fears – the inability to protect our children. We can institute background checks, and put measures in place such as the Boy Scouts requirement that I always have another leader present and never be left alone with any Scout other than my own son, and still we fail. The Penn State story illustrates that we can fail miserably, and lives have been irrevocably ruined as a result.

So much of what is written has focused on Penn State, its coaches and administrators. They are an easier target in some ways than the pedophile himself, and his “charity.” We often don’t know how to address evil, but we love to address stupidity, and while the coaches and administrators may be intelligent, their actions and inaction belied that intelligence.

I would expect any adult who saw something that made them question how someone was acting toward any child to have the, yes, I AM going to say it, the BALLS to stand up and say something. I don’t really care why or where your legal obligation falls.

Why can’t we recognize right and wrong anymore and just stand up for it? What has happened to make us so incapable? Have we become so afraid of each other that we walk away rather than become involved? How can we prevent this in the future?

What to Do?

Play dates, schools, sports, and just about any other situations where children interact, are a battlefield. Oh, who am I kidding! Let's just admit, dealing with children, at times, sucks. A battlefield is an understatement; it is more like going into a combat zone, holding nothing more than piece of paper that says, "Parent in Charge."

So what do you do if a child, other than your own, behaves badly in your presence?

Do you tell them off / correct them yourself?

Should you tell their parents?

Should you keep quiet - it is not your business after all?

Do you do all of the above?

Perhaps you have an alternative solution of your own, but one thing is common to all of us. The route you take will depend upon the deed done. I, for one, do not tell other people's children off, I suppose it is just my thing. However, I do rely on the adults to take charge and deal with the situation, if it is severe enough to warrant it.

So, then the question to be asked is, "What does severe enough mean to you?" This is also a minefield, which has many possible answers, depending upon your own view.

There is no rulebook, apart from the laws enforced by the police. Should be easy, should it not? No, I am afraid to say that it is far from easy.

I have found that some parents have a magical view of their children. They are adamant their offspring are always the innocent party, even when proven guilty. To be honest, they would make perfect defense attorneys, and I for one am fed up with battling this issue. They defend with great passion; they throw metaphorical stones at their opponent's imaginary glass houses. They fight a great fight, scrambling to keep the reputation of their children intact, no matter what has occurred.

Quite right, you may say. Parents are their children's advocate after all. However, I think it is also our duty, as parents, to act responsibly and to show children how to deal with their mistakes in a grown-up approach. We need to show them how to take responsibility for their actions and understand the consequences, not jump in and have the attitude, 'he who shouts loudest wins.' I have found perfectly lovely people turn into monstrous beings over their children.

This week a group of children did something wrong at my house. Some facts I know as I witnessed it, some I didn't. A couple of them helped to try to minimize the damage that the others had done, but for the main perpetrators, they ran away. I suspect hoping that I would not report it to their parents.

I am not a squealer, but I could not over look this. Respectfully, I felt, I inquired as to the names of the children and I sent emails to the parents of those who helped and those who I suspected were in the wrong. What ensued was very shocking. My neighborhood became a hive of busy bee parents, ringing, mailing, and scoring points over the other's children.

In the end, with my patience worn thin, and regretting reporting the incident, I posted on Facebook my view. I did not intend on a war, I was just informing parents of an action that really needed attention. I would expect someone to do that for me if it was my child. No one was rude; in fact, they were all perfectly nice. However, being NICE and being NICE FOR AN ULTERIOR MOTIVE are two different things.

The misdemeanor, in the chaos, seemed forgotten. The focus had moved, and I hoped that my post would bring those parents involved back to reality. We are all on the same side, we are not enemies, we are comrade in arms, bringing up our children, hopefully to be decent human beings.

Following is my post. It may not win me any favors, but I sincerely hope it was the right thing to do.

"Ok, going to stick my neck out here and hope for the best. If a child does something wrong (including my own) I would want to hear about it .This is not war! Couldn't we just tell them the lesson to be learned, even if it wasn't them, but part of the group they happen to be in? Sorry but it had to be said!"

What would you have done? I would love to hear, maybe we can learn from each other. You know, parents sticking together for the greater good!

Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday to You…

Today is our oldest son’s FIFTEENTH birthday. How the devil did that happen? How can my darling baby boy possibly be old enough for a driver’s permit and all that entails? Now I’m not gonna sit here and blow some smoke at you and pretend it’s all been roses raising the child. He’s one hardheaded, determined, questioning personality who gets to hit up against his equally stubborn, determined, and demanding Momma (genetics, I hear you calling my name – or put another way, when my Momma said, “you’ll understand one day”, I think she was cursing, err blessing my future progeny). We’ve had a ride including getting correct diagnoses of a couple of conditions. And honestly I wouldn’t trade a single moment.

My older son and my goddaughter go for a "ride".

My children have taught me to love with a deepness and unselfishness that I never knew I was capable of. I have gotten up in the middle of the night and rushed to an ER. I have been insulted and questioned and blamed. I have also been cuddled and kissed and reached for, and there is nothing like parenthood to put all the crap of life totally in perspective. 

Jackie Kennedy once said, “If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do matters very much.” Well, at only 15, we still have miles to go. But my clarinet playing, tender-hearted, Xbox-adoring, stubborn son who is such an individual and already quite comfortable in his own skin makes me proud. Happy Birthday, my baby…and you can’t have my keys yet.

No Bon-Bons For YOU!

Well I got me one of those comments again. Why do some parents think it’s ok to comment on your child in a negative light? Does it make them feel better about themselves as a parent to put down your child and therefore you? Then I think, well maybe I’m just taking it the wrong way. Maybe it was meant to help. Problem is that the other parents have no way of knowing that I’ve heard comments and been “helped” since the child was born.

True story – after an unplanned C-section (I have one of those childbirth stories that some women love to tell pregnant women and send them running in horror. I try to refrain.), I lay alone in the recovery room with my brand new baby (hubby had gone to eat – it had been a loooong time – still not sharing details though) when I heard the mother and grandmother in the next curtain comment, “She’s gonna have a hard time with that young’un.” They then continued to discuss what a good baby they had. Suddenly I had been thrust into the good kid/bad kid lottery and I obviously had lost.

When I wrote the essay, “ADHD and Me: It’s All About the Bon-Bons”, I barely touched on the comments I’ve received. I mentioned one school administrator, but there is more…much more. I’ve had teachers complain to me about behaviors which are such classic ADHD signs, I wonder if they bothered to read the emails where I discussed his umm, ADHD or listened when I spoke directly to them. Perhaps they were having ahem, focus issues. I know teachers and administrators are overburdened, but I’m trying to be one of those communicative parents they say they want without flying my Harrier to hover over (the helicopter does not have enough power, sorry). It would help if they listened to my communications, without feeling the need to fire a surface to air missile at my parenting. I had a teacher tell me how irritating she found his inability to be completely prepared and not be the last one walking out of the class every single time they went somewhere. She then proceeded to ask me if that drove me crazy and comment about how she wouldn’t be able to handle it at home, and thank goodness her little preciouses weren’t like my son. A little painful you think… how about the fact that she did this, IN FRONT OF SEVERAL OTHER MOTHERS, when I was at the school volunteering. Now we all know that only a truly lousy Mom gives up her day of eating bon-bons for sitting at some school taking care of a bunch of kids (and there was only one that I went through that horrific childbirth with.) Yeah, that felt great! Still love that one.  For every great, understanding helpful teacher…there’s been, well, the you name ‘em type.

But the comments that always wound the deepest are the ones from the other parents. I’m just as involved as you are. I try to help my child and guide my child just as you do. But it doesn’t work the same way with a kid with ADHD. How about a little compassion, empathy, kindness or if that fails… just shut the he!! up. You think my kid is excessively shy because I’ve made him that way. Did it ever occur to you that the kid can hear? That maybe through all these years he’s heard your little comments so he just doesn’t try? To his credit he assures me that he really doesn’t care what you think. To my discredit, I do. So if you don’t know what you are talking about, please just go buy some bon-bons and eat them. But you won’t be getting any from me. And please, am I the only one who has the different kid and has to constantly hear about it? What are your experiences? Where can I get a volume discount on my bon-bons?

For the Love

I had planned that my blog would be all about the happiness and love of pets to go along with my essay, "Elvis Lives, and He Faithfully Uses His Litter Box", but then life intruded as it so often does. If you read Sheilah’s latest essay, “Conversations With Mom”, then between the tears, you’ve glimpsed the sadness of watching someone you love so very much slip away, and it probably stirred memories of your own losses. Sheilah and I are at different stages of a shared loss. My daddy is still early while her mom is in the late stages. Last weekend, I was blessed to have my parents actually make it all the way here from their home. Momma really wanted to see where we live, and she had never been able to come. She knew leaving him for any stretch of time wouldn’t work either so my older brother was patient enough to bring them, stopping for Daddy as needed. And just as in Sheilah’s essay, he also wondered why they were here, and kept repeating that it was “time to be going”. Time starts to lose all relevance when you remember so little of it.

As in Mary’s essay, “Virtual Reality”, I’ve reconnected with so many dear friends and part of that reconnection has been grieving their losses along with them, and those friends have helped me in celebrations and in grief. Some of our losses have been recent, some less recent, but no less painful, and I am always reminded of the resilience of humanity and the importance of love, and kindness. There is a reason that Dawn wrote, “Grown-up High School Wannabes”. It’s hard to be interested in pettiness and gossip when life consists too much of true reality.  

When tragedy strikes, as we’ve all watched occur in Japan, there is often the image or story of some beloved family pet being rescued or sadly the tales of how many have perished, and that can sometimes get more media coverage than the tales of people. Pets are a reminder of how constant love can be, and they somehow know how to sit with us in silence while we grieve. Pets are an innocence that life sometimes seems to no longer possess for us. When my hubby reminds me that after our current crop of two pass away, he doesn’t want another one (usually only mentioned when we want to get away for a weekend, and first I need to make arrangements – note the “I” - he’s not making the arrangements, nor is it hard to find someone), I just nod my head and walk away. Because I also know that he adores both of them. So we’ll have another pet, because the world always needs more love…even in grief.