Saturday Snapshot -- Life

Oftentimes when I'm avoiding my blog, it's because I don't want to deal with my emotions. I'm  not pouring them out to readers because I don't actually want to face them.
Instead, I try to find joy where I can.
So I'll join West Metro Mommy for this weekly meme of photos people have taken and share on their blogs.

I took an afternoon to read a book on my front porch during a sunny day this week. And the cats decided to join me.

I love that Tybs was peeking around the flower. Life can seem idyllic, if you're a cat.

I'll be reviewing the book that swept me away for Dreaming of France on Monday, so I hope you'll check back then.

And here's a photo of my son on his way to a job interview, looking handsome in his new suit.

It's raining here today, so it looks like an inside day for me. I've already run five miles in the rain. I plan to make a pineapple upside down cake, take a warm shower and finish grading for the end of the semester. Maybe I'll even do some writing. Have a good weekend.

Then and Now

Join West Metro Mommy for this weekly meme of photos people have taken and share on their blogs.

This week, I spent a lot of time scanning in negatives of photos when the kids were little. 

Each picture was more adorable than the next. I posted a bunch on Facebook to oohs and ahhs.

Today, I planned to post some on my blog, showing how Grace has been an actress since the day she was old enough to choose her own clothes, but instead, I got hijacked by Spencer.

Spencer came home from college yesterday, and after eating dinner with us, Earl dropped him off at a friend's house on the campus of Ohio State. 

This morning, he called and through highly slurred words, asked if I'd pick him up. 

"Did you sleep at all?" I asked.

"No, not yet," he said.

So I traveled through the pre-football traffic to pick him up. But when I got there, he had fallen asleep and I had a hard time rousing him. I texted. I phoned. I got out of the car and walked up to what I hoped was the right door. No one answered.

As I got in my car to leave, a  young man opened the door and he must have woken Spencer because he came out and got in the car. 

On the 15-minute drive home, he fell asleep.

So why is it that this sleeping Spencer at two,

is so darn much cuter than this sleeping, tipsy Spencer at 21?

Hope you all have a splendid weekend. 

Scattered

I've had four, very brief phone conversations with my 20-year-old son today, each one ending abruptly.
He's just a little frenetic. I don't think a lot of planning goes into his life. And I'm trying not to be a helicopter mom, but rather a safety-net mom, there to catch him before he leaps from a dangerous place.
They started a new semester at college yesterday and after his accounting class, he told me that the book is $300. That includes access to the online portion with quizzes, so we can't buy the used book.
I knew, but he didn't, that we had some credit with the school from financial aid. So this morning, I got online and ordered books for his class. It requires some back and forth between his schedule and the bookstore, but I finally managed to order books for three of his classes and the cost was $550. I clicked on financial aid for the payment then text messaged him at 8 a.m. before I left for work.
Around noon, I called him to see if he'd gotten my text message.
"No, what?" he asked.
I told him he could pick up the books at the bookstore.
"Okay, but I'm getting ready to go to lunch so I'll check after lunch."
And with that he was gone.

Here's Spence at his dorm after being sick all day,
but I was leaving him and wanted a picture

A little while later, he called and said the guy at the bookstore said Spencer needed to approve financial aid to pay for his books. I tried to talk to him about the meal plan too, but he said, "I gotta go, I'm gonna give blood right now."
"Donating blood, right?" I asked.
"What the f-- other kind of giving blood is there?" he asked.
"Language," I warned.
"Oh, sorry." I could hear his buddies around him laughing.
"Sometimes people sell their blood," I explained, remembering my college roommate who went every week to sell her plasma for the cigarette money.
"No, I'm just donating," he said.
"Okay, I'll call financial aid and make sure you can get the books," I told him as his voice faded from the phone.
I called the college and got everything straightened out.
It had been about 45 minutes since I talked to Spencer, so I thought he might be finished donating blood. I called him.
"Mom, I'm right in the middle of giving blood."
"Okay, I thought you might be finished. Call me back so I can tell you what you need to do."
In a little while, the phone rang.
"I've only got one percent left on my phone so make it quick," he said.
That's when I just became exhausted with these bursts of conversation followed by some sort of activity.
"Pick up the books tomorrow and call me when you can talk for more than five minutes," I said.
My head just reels from the various directions he is headed in, like a fly buzzing around the room, zipping here, zipping there.
Two and a half more years for him to get through college, hopefully. Maybe he'll be a little more focused by then.

Breakfast Test

Last night when I got home from work after 9, I found my 17-year-old sitting on the couch in the dark watching college football. I plopped down beside him for a few minutes to chat. Before he went to bed, I asked whether he'd like pancakes for breakfast.
"Yes," he replied.
"Scrambled eggs too?" I asked.
"Sure."
So he went to bed and when I woke up Friday morning, I realized I'd have to cut short my run in order to get back in time to cook breakfast for Tucker. That was fine.
I just ran a couple of miles and headed to the kitchen.
Pancake batter at the ready, eggs beaten, blueberry sauce simmering in the pot, I listened for the shower to turn off so I could cook the eggs and pancakes.
I scrambled the eggs, making sure to get them dry the way he liked. I carefully cooked the pancakes to be sure they were done, but not brown.
By the time Tucker moved to hang up his towel in the bathroom, dressed for the day, I called to him that his breakfast was ready.
I set the plate on a place mat and poured an oversized glass of milk, which is what he drinks most mornings.

As he walked into the dining room, he looked at the plate and said, "I don't have time to eat that. I need to leave."

I shrugged and didn't make eye contact. 

"What am I supposed to do? I can't possibly start eating now."

"Do what you have to do," I said. 

So he slipped his shoes on and approached me as I stood over the sink washing the skillet I used to cook the eggs. He bent down for me to kiss him on his bearded cheek.

"Thanks for the breakfast, Mom," he said.

Then he paused at the wooden cabinet and pulled out a pack of Pop Tarts before he closed the door behind him.

I stared at the plate. I hadn't been home from my run long enough to be hungry yet and I thought about being angry at my selfish teenager. But I think selfish teenager is redundant. 

Tucker spends a lot of evenings at home alone while I teach. Many evenings dinner is just pizza or something we pick up at Subway. 

I spend a lot of time juggling classes, talking to Grace or Spencer at college, spending time with my husband. Tucker may feel the need to test me, to see if I'll change my schedule to kowtow to his needs.

And this morning, I did. I passed his test. 

But because I didn't throw a fit about him skipping the breakfast I lovingly cooked, I'm pretty sure that guilt is nibbling at him somewhere. 

Gray versus Black

At Christmastime, I came up with a brilliant idea.
I always buy underwear and put it in the kids' Christmas stockings so they have plenty to last throughout the year. As I was shopping, I decided that I could solve a laundry dilemma -- figuring out which pairs of underwear belonged to Spencer and which to Tucker.
Both teenagers, they wear the same size and same style. They like the knit boxer briefs. So I decided to buy all black briefs for one son and all gray briefs for the other son.
I remember as they looked at their Christmas stockings that I pointed out they had been assigned a specific color.
Black for Spencer and gray for Tucker.
Or maybe it was gray for Spencer and black for Tucker.
You see, that's the problem now as I do the laundry. I know that each boy has a specific color, but I have no idea which boy gets which color.
Here I am in August still puzzling over this quandry. So much for my brilliant idea.

Maybe I'll ask the cat if he remembers. He seems to
 have explored the Christmas packages pretty well. 

Saturday Snapshot -- Growing Up

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on West Metro Mommy. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don’t post random photos that you find online.

My  youngest became a high school senior this year as he finished exams for his junior year. It made me a little sentimental, so here are a few photos of him much younger. 

And then here he is ready for prom this year, posing with the cat in his own tuxedo.

Hope you are having a glorious weekend.

Money and Pain

I made a medical decision this week based on money.
I know it's something that a lot of people have to do, and I'm hoping I won't regret it because it wasn't about me, it was about Tucker.
At the first swim meet of the year, on the concrete blocks diving in, his right foot slipped as he dove. The left leg hit hard against the concrete block.
The crowd  went "Oooooh" as he hit the water.
I was timing in his lane, and I didn't think about him being hurt. I watched to see if he would force himself to catch up with the boy beside him, cause he hates to lose, even if it is because of a bad start. He finished the race, a 100 butterfly, but finished just behind the boy next to him.

This is a photo from a summer ago as Tucker swam the butterfly

Again, I was standing behind the blocks not too concerned, except thinking he would be mad that he had slipped. But the boy next to him turned and said, "Are you okay, Tucker? I heard you fall."
And the coach came to the edge of the pool and said, "Did you hurt yourself, Tucker?"
Later she said she was worried that he had pulled something because of the awkward start.
When Tucker hoisted himself out of the pool, he wouldn't put any weight on his left leg and he had a knot on his shin.
The boy next to him helped him to a chair and one of the dads, who is a sports medicine doctor, went over to look at Tucker. I kept timing and didn't think much about it.
I heard the doctor saying, "Do you feel nauseated?" and Tucker nodded. He was shaking and pale. A couple of guys helped him get to the room where the kids rest between events and Tucker lay down. The doctor kept telling him to slow down his breathing because he was going to hyperventilate.
Tucker put his hoodie over his face and breathed into it. I think he was hiding tears.
We got some Advil for him to take and after a few minutes of hovering above him, he told me to leave, he'd be fine. So I went back to timing.
Then someone came in and told me Tucker was throwing up.
The doctor and I both went back to check on him. About half an hour had passed and he was still in a lot of pain, pale and shaking, along with throwing up. The doctor said he didn't think the bone was broken, but we should take Tucker to the emergency room for x-rays.

This is what I wanted to do to make Tucker feel better
but he isn't a toddler anymore

The doctor later explained that the shin is one of the most painful places to be injured because there's nothing between the skin and the bone.
Two guys helped carry Tucker out to the car, acting like human crutches. Tucker still couldn't put any weight on his hurt leg.
In the dark of the car, Tucker reclined the seat and I slowly began to drive in the direction of the Children's Hospital.
I heard his breathing slow down as the car passed through the lighted streets. I had his phone in my pocket and I set it in the console between us. He didn't pick it up, which really worried me. Teenagers are rarely witout their phones.
I started talking to Tucker about the pain and the hospital.
I didn't say it, but I was thinking about the $200 co-pay the minute we walked in the emergency room.
Unfortunately, my earlier bout with a broken nose and surgery to correct it had depleted all of the money we had in our Medical Savings Account. A trip to the emergency room for me, plus surgery probably cost us a total of $2000, and that's with our good insurance. From here on, we were footing the bills directly from our checking account, which pays for two kids to go to college.
I didn't want to choose not to go to the ER because of money.
We decided to take a night to think about it. If we needed xrays the next morning, the doctor could send us to a walk-in place rather than the ER.
So we got back to the house and I ran in to grab the crutches. He was able to get into the house and ease himself into a recliner, where he sat for the rest of the night.
He started feeling well enough to drink some ginger ale and eat some pretzels. Later I gave him a bowl of macaroni and cheese.
This morning, he goes for his scheduled physical so we'll know more. The pain is less, but he still can't put weight on the front of his foot. He may yet go in for xrays. I hate having to make medical decisions based on money, but I know people do it every day in this country. That's crazy.
How about you? Do you put off medical care because of money?

19th Birthday

Today, my son turns 19 and is spending his first birthday away from home, away from me.
Of course, it's bound to happen unless someone has a summer birthday -- school and jobs will interfere with traveling across the country to visit on birthdays.
This year, Spencer headed off to college in Florida, leaving me here in cold Ohio. I haven't seen him since we dropped him off on August 10. But Earl drove down to Florida to help my parents with a move and he scooped up Spencer for the weekend. Earl sent me a picture of Spencer sitting in a recliner, watching footall and eating nachos. He seems to be doing okay.
But this birthday away from home made me remember that night, 19 years ago, when I gave birth to Spencer in Michigan. I don't let Earl forget that he talked football with one of the many medical interns crowded into the room while I labored.
After Spencer was born, I called my family and friends. My brother Kevin answered the phone and I told him Spencer arrived at 9:20 p.m. on this Thursday night.
"So you missed Seinfeld then?" he asked.
And that's how I'll always remember what day Spencer was born. The early 90s were prime Seinfeld years, and Spencer later came to love the series as well.
Spencer was born curious and caring, and he still is.
He used to run to our bed every morning, his thick feet pounding across the wooden floor before he dived between us.
Once in our bed, one of his favorite games to play was pressing Earl's nose. Earl would honk or beep.
One morning, Earl was too tired to respond. Spencer gave Earl's nose a few more pushes without any results. He  puzzled over it for a minute.
"Huh, must need new batteries," he said before sliding off the bed and onto his next adventure.
I miss my little guy, and my big guy.

Happy Birthday, Spencer.

First Day of School Alone

As the final child at home, Tucker posed for his first day of school before driving away. He's a junior this  year.

I think the expression on his face conveys the excitement he feels about another year of high school.

Saturday Snapshot -- Milestones

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don’t post random photos that you find online.
Since Spencer graduates from high school tomorrow, I thought I'd post a few pictures of him.

Spencer is probably 3 in this picture at the Miami, Florida zoo.

Here he's ready for his 5th birthday party when we lived in Michigan.

Spencer as a senior playing basketball.

This is just a snapshot of his senior picture, so the quality isn't too good, but you get the idea that my sparkle-eyed little boy has turned into a man.

Last Day of School

Today, my second child headed off for his final day of high school. He is ready to be finished.

At the end of the school day, the seniors will file out between lines of parents and walk to the football field where they will release balloons. I won't be there since I have to teach, but Earl will and, hopefully, he'll get some photos.
I don't feel sad about Spencer graduating, but maybe a little sentimental.

He only started school five years ago, as an 8th grader since we homeschooled until then. Here he is with Grace on their first day of "real school." I remember how nervous they were. Funny to see that he still hasn't mastered the ability to smile for a picture. Oh, well. Maybe for college graduation.

Last Dance...Last Chance

Tonight was the Spring Fling -- a mother son, father daughter dance for the seniors in Spencer's class. We had a nice dinner then dance, which Spencer admitted was awkward, but he got out there and moved around on the floor with me a little.

As we walked in the door at home, I was humming that song: Last Dance, last chance for love... and I got to the next part, which is a little more true for me and Spencer. "I need you by me, beside me to guide me..." or at least that's what I imagine to be true for Spencer.
But he's fairly autonomous. He'll be okay as he goes far away to school in Florida. I'll miss him though.

Something to Wake Up For

During spring break, I received a letter from the school that said both boys have two tardies for the quarter. If they get three tardies, they'll have detention.
It was pretty early in the quarter to already have chalked up two tardies.
Mostly, I blame Spencer, who drives the boys to school.
School starts at 8; he rolls out of bed about 7:40, sticks his head under the shower, throws on clothes and grabs breakfast as he walks out the door at 7:54. Luckily, he has a parking spot this year so he doesn't have to search for a spot. But apparently this schedule was not working for the boys this quarter.
I told Spencer he needed to start getting up at 7:15 -- that's about when Tucker gets out of the shower. Tucker likes to take his time in the morning.
"Okay, but if I'm getting up that early, there better be something good for breakfast," Spencer warned.

Here are the boys at the Columbus Clippers games on Easter.

Usually, I teach early classes, sometimes leaving before the boys get up. This quarter, for some reason, I'm teaching all afternoons. So for the end of Spencer's senior year, I can make sure there's something for breakfast.
I'm not creating anything too elaborate. It might just be a toasted bagel with cream cheese, or I slice a grapefruit in half and then cut around each individual segment so they'll slide out of the rind. Spencer sprinkles it with sugar and devours it. I might cut up a canteloupe, put some in Spencer's lunch and put a bowl full on the table. I have made French toast and this morning I baked sweet rolls.
One of my friends said it was ridiculous that Spencer expected a reward for doing what he was supposed to do -- getting out of bed and going to school. I'm not sure that breakfast is a reward, and it is kind of nice that I get a chance to spend my mornings sitting at the table with the boys before they leave for school.
Tucker, who usually skips breakfast, has even started to eat if I put something on the table.
I don't think I'm raising my boys to expect a woman to wait on them. I think they're just typical teenagers who are hungry constantly, and sometimes they'll skip a meal or grab something easy but not healthy, rather than fix something for themselves. In less than a month, Spencer will be finished with high school classes, so this seems like a good way to end the school year.
Any breakfast suggestions?

First Day of School

Today was the first day of school for my boys. This is the 5th first day of school for Spencer since he started going to school in 8th grade. We homeschooled before that. Tucker started going later that same year, but technically this is only his 4th first day of school.
When we homeschooled, we'd have "not back to school" parties. Now I send them off before 8 a.m. and see them again after 3.
This year, our school is starting very early in the year. The goal is to finish the first semester before Christmas. That way, high school students can take their exams before Christmas break rather than coming back to school for a week and taking exams then. It makes perfect sense to me, and the kids get out of school in May rather than in June, so it all evens out.
The parents who are complaining about the early start are the parents of the younger students. They can't stand the changes in the Christmas holiday. It's hard to make them understand how quickly those years fly past. Before they know it, they will be looking at kids who tower above them try and try to eek out good grades to get into college.

Stormy Fifteen

Last night, after dropping Tucker at swim practice, my eyes blurry with tears, I planned the blog post I would write. He turns 15 today and our relationship is stormy.
As a child, he loved me most ferociously. No one else would do for Tuck. He had to have Mama.
Now as a teenager, he hates with an equal passion.
Oh, I know that this will pass. I know he is marching toward an adulthood where his strength will be an asset, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with him now.
I see him wince at every word I say. Any suggestion, any observation, any witticism is like a dagger in his teenage heart.
I spent the day shopping for the list of clothes he requested for his birthday, entering stores where the music is too loud, the lights are low and the scent of cologne burns the inside of my nose.

As he berated me on the drive to swim team, he couldn't know that I had skipped the Statehouse Rally to make his birthday special.
Earl called me as he walked past the rally on his way to work. People chanted. Bands played.
"Those are for people who don't have a kid having a birthday tomorrow," I explained to him as I walked past the Cinnabon inhaling deeply.

He also had no clue that his girlfriend and I were coordinating a surprise birthday party.

So all of those thoughts were racing through my brain as I went back home. I helped Grace with a French project by phone and nearly fell asleep before it was time to pick Tucker up from swim practice.
He got in the car and I decided to begin my birthday present to him. Silence. I would make no comments that would make him cringe. I would say nothing for most of the day.
"What's wrong? You okay? You tired?" he asked after a minute of silence.
So I broke my silence to say I was fine.

"You know, it's amazing how much better I feel after some exercise," he said.
Don't even get me started. I wanted to bat him upside the head. But I went back to silence instead.
I'll take the good mood when it comes and check out the sky for a blue moon while I'm at it.

Last Time

The problem with the last time something happens, unless it is scheduled, we probably don't notice it's the last. I know the last swim meet, the last basketball game, the last show in a play. But so many lasts with my kids I don't recognize.
This morning around 6, I heard the floorboards creak then someone shuffled into a door. Next the word, "Mom" came from the darkness.
"Yeah?" I responded.
Then Tucker stood beside the bed stretching six-feet tall now, his shoulders broadened from this last season of swimming.
I scooted over so he could sit down.
"I had a bad dream," his hand rubbed at his eyes. He sat on the bed then lifted up the covers and climbed in.
I moved over more toward Earl as Tucker turned on his side.
I rubbed his back a few minutes while he slipped back to sleep.
As I lay there, sandwiched between my husband and son, I remembered that this used to be a common occurence. Tucker would seek out our bed. Once he had fallen asleep, I would get too hot from all the body heat coming from those guys so I would get up and sleep on the couch.
Now I can't remember the last time Tucker came to our bed. Probably a couple of years.
Odds are good, this time on Feb. 13 may be the final time that one of our children climbs into our bed after a bad dream. There might be plenty of other times they wake us up in the middle of the night though, and the problems may not be as innocent as a bad dream.
At 14, Tucker can be a handful. When he was two, he would run ahead then look back to see if I was still there watching him. Now he may talk a good game about all the ways I could improve myself, but in the middle of the night, he came to see if I was still there for him.
I am.

Shoes and SAD

This week, I bought two new pairs of shoes. Now, that isn't like me. I am definitely not a clothes horse. My husband even pointed out recently that I am nothing like those women on House Hunters who complain about the size of the walk-in closet and say laughingly, "Well, I don't know where he'll put his clothes."
What spurred me to buy new shoes was my walk to the coffee shop with my computer. My winter boots are warm and furry, but they are not made for walking miles.
I don't want to wear hiking boots, which make me feel like a lumberjack, so I tromped off to Macys that day after I walked to the coffee shop. And, for you judgers, yes, that is the only day I have actually walked to the coffee shop -- so far.
However, I have exercised every day, except Wednesday, which is (coincidence or no?) the day that I fell into SAD.
Seasonal Affective Disorder hits people in the winter, however my SAD, Son Affective Disorder, can hit year round and usually does.
I realize that I'm a mother and mother's are supposed to give selflessly, never expecting anything in return, and most of the time I'm fine with that. Sometimes though, I snap.
The day began at 7 a.m. when I picked up bagels for the basketball team. Not my basketball team, mind you, but my son's basketball team. Then, because he couldn't get the ice off the inside of his windshield, at 7:15, I drove him and his friend to basketball with the bagels and the gallon of chocolate milk. At 7:45 I drove Tucker to school.
At 8:15 the swim coach called and I talked to her for half an hour (see the previous post). At 10:30 I took Tucker to the eye doctor and at 12 we drove through Subway to get him lunch before I returned him to school, only to pick him up again at 3.
"Mind if I run up to the grocery store to get sour cream?" I asked him. It was a rhetorical question. I was going to the store anyway.
"Only if you get me chocolate milk," he said. (What is it with teenage boys and chocolate milk?)
So we started driving and Tucker began the latest litany of the ways I have embarassed him and how I need to change. "At that other eye doctor, when you laughed, it was obvious you were mad," he said.
"Yeah, well, I was mad. I wasn't trying to hide it."
"Well, why do you laugh then? You always do that and it's so obvious."
I turned the car down a side street and took him home. How long are we expected to sit and list to our shortcomings?
"I'm not perfect and neither are you," I told him. "Some day..." well, you know how the rest of that sentence goes.
Home from the grocery, I prepared for the class I teach Wednesday night.

"Spencer," I called.
"What?" he reluctantly responded and came up the basement stairs.
I told him that his aunt and uncle would be at the basketball game that night since neither Earl nor I could be there.
"After you guys go in the locker room, go back out and talk to Uncle Jim and Aunt Vicky."
"What? Why? Why does this have to be such a big deal? Why can't I take a shower first?" said my ungrateful elder son who ended up getting a free meal when the aunt and uncle took him out to dinner.
They were doing us a favor. I hate it when my kids have sports events and no parents to watch them. Spencer, now 17, needs to show a little more gratitude.
So feeling like I'm raising selfish teenagers (which I am) I left for class. I stopped to get a mocha hoping it would dispel my SAD. Then I tried a Peppermint Pattie. Alas. The SAD remained.
This morning, as I slipped on my new shoes and left for work, I stopped at Starbucks for one more try to kick the SAD. The sun was shining; the thermometer hovered at 1 degree. Finally, the double shot of espresso mixed with white chocolate launched me out of SAD.
And the new shoes made me feel better too.
The black shoes are by Born. I love the way they look from this angle, which is the angle I see them at the most. At least twice before I travelled to France I bought Born shoes. They last forever and are great for walking, plus dressy enough to wear to work.
The other pair I bought are by Jambu. That's the same brand that I bought last spring before Earl and I visited Paris. Last spring though they were wedge sandals in patent leather. This year, obviously, slip-on, sporty shoes. They still have a bit of a heel and will be perfect the next time I walk to the coffee shop, which should be when the thermometer rises above 35.

Still Growing Up

It's hard to believe that this guy attempting to throw his little brother off Venice's Rialto Bridge is the same tall, silent teenager who strides through our house today.
He is 16 now, and he has brought a lot of joy to my life. He's the kind of kid who thinks deep. When he was in preschool (he went for half a year) he and a buddy tried to drink all of the water in the water fountain. It was one of those white porcelain drinking fountains attached to the wall. They, of course, didn't understand that it was connected to pipes in the wall that would continuously supply water.
He was always the kind of kid who had to stick his hand against the waffle iron, rattle the dog chain, climb a wall that had rocks protruding. He never took our word for anything and he was rarely still.
If he'd gone to school, I'm sure they would have diagnosed him as hyperactive. When he was a baby, he would flip, flip, flip then fall asleep. He could not lie still until he was actually asleep. Now he gets rid of that energy by playing basketball.
As a teenager, he has reined himself in. He's careful about what he says now, always thinking about the kind of impression it might leave. Sometimes he let's his guard down and returns to his old self.
We were going through Wendy's drive through the other day when he said, "Have you ever done fire in the hole?"
"What?" we all asked.
"You know, you go through the drive through, order a drink and then when the window is open, you throw the drink back in and yell 'fire in the hole!' "
We were all laughing by the time he finished. He admitted he had never done it, and I, the mature parent, encouraged him not to do it.
Maybe his deep thinking these days isn't about philosophy or what happens to people when they die or even about his next chess move (which he's taken up again this year). Maybe his brain is full of statistics for fantasy football and basketball plays and remembering which upper classmen will give him a ride to Chipotle for lunch. Someday though, he may come out of his teenage musings and become the kid again who touches and knocks into things just to see what they do.
Maybe someday, as he towers over his classmates at 6-foot, three inches, he'll figure he already stands out so he may as well not try to fit in.

Boy Weirdness

With Grace gone this week, it's just me, my husband, the two boys and the two male cats. Way too much testosterone in the house, except for the cats who are actually "its" now, but they are always weird.
Tucker will fight with me about everything, as if that is his goal in life. I took him to guitar lessons the other night. It's about 1 1/2 miles from home, but since he has to carry a guitar, I drive him and read a book while I wait. He wanted to stop by Taco Bell on the way home, but at 6, when his lesson is supposed to begin, he was still running around the house gathering things. He needed to grab his money for Taco Bell. I said no we had to leave. Argue, argue, argue. In the car, he continues to harangue me about why I wouldn't let him go get the money. We get to guitar lessons and I said he could just walk home because I didn't feel like waiting for him after he was so rude.
"Then I'm not getting out of the car," he said. "I'm not going to guitar. I don't want to walk home."
Aaaaargh! We were 10 minutes into the lesson and he hadn't gotten out of the car yet. I ended up driving him home, but there was no Taco Bell in his future.
Then yesterday, my husband who works very hard at home and at work, was frustrated by Tucker's constant presence on the couch in front of the television. My parents visited last week and introduced him to the Game Show Network. It's his new favorite channel -- Family Feud, Match Game, $10,000 Pyramid. "Get your clothes that are on the dryer put away," my husband said before leaving for work in the afternoon.
I sent Tucker to put away clothes when I was getting Spencer from work. This morning, I discovered piles of clothes still on the dryer. I woke Tucker at 8.
"Go get your clothes put away!"
"Wait, wait. There were two piles and I put away my pile," he said, working on a technicality that made perfect sense in his 13-year-old brain.
"But your clothes were in the other pile too. Go put them away."
Sometimes when my husband and I fold shorts or boxers, we might inadvertently put Tucker's in Spencer's pile and vice versa. Tucker figured he could benefit from other's mistakes. Maybe he'll make a good lawyer if he lives that long because I might strangle him before then.
Spencer has been working a lot of hours as a lifeguard. He comes home with strange stories, like the boy the other kids call "Pepperoni Nipples." One day when it was raining and he was in the lifeguard chair, a mother came over and asked if she could have the umbrella from the chair. He was taken aback that an adult would ask for the umbrella when he was stranded in the chair and would be exposed. He suggested she go stand under an overhang. But when he got home, he asked just to make sure the adult was the one in the wrong instead of him.
Yesterday he was lifeguarding again. A family with four kids under five were at the pool. The little girl went down the slide that ends in the diving well and began to scream when she hit the water. She couldn't swim. Spencer jumped in the water to save her. Afterward, he had to fill out paperwork, which is standard when they have to "make a save." He asked the mother how to spell the girl's name and "she seemed really annoyed," he said. Maybe because that was the second kid from that family a lifeguard had to save that day. He is definitely learning a lot about the adult world while working as a lifeguard.
But, sometimes their boy weirdness takes a good turn. Tucker had watched The Cake Boss on TLC and wanted to bake a cake yesterday morning. So, after swim team, he found a recipe from the Joy of Baking for a white cake. I helped him get the batter in the cake pans before I ran off to get Spencer to work and then to a meeting at the College. When I returned home, I turned the first cake onto a plate while he made a buttercream frosting. We talked about how to ice a cake and what was causing all those crumbs under his knife. I put the excess frosting in a plastic sandwich bag and we added red food coloring. I slit the tip of the bag and he decorated. He started going for a smiley face then changed it to the Pringles man. I'm not certain I've ever noticed what the Pringles man looks like. Then he decided the Pringles man was a teenager and had zits, so he added red dots all over the cake, which makes it a little less appetizing. But it turned out delicious.
"Now we can eat cake and watch the Game Show Network," he declared.
And we did.