Geocaching Death March

Today we decided we'd get out and do a geocache. Yes, there is a foot of snow on the ground. Yes we are insane.

We bundled up good and headed out to Cedar Pond in Wenham. We'd driven past that location for many years and had NO idea what was there or what it was. It is some sort of wildlife sanctuary and no dogs/horses or electronic devices are allowed.

We broke the rules by using a GPS within the preserve boundaries. Suckahs.

The trails were in good condition. Several people had walked before us, and there had been plenty of cross country skiing in the area, so the walking wasn't hard.

This was a "multi-cache," which means you're given a starting set of coordinates to aim for, and you go to those coordinates to get more coordinates. This cache had parking coordinates, 3 "clue" coordinates and a final set of coordinates where the cache is actually hidden. So we had to aim for five locations total.

Here's Jess up on the terrace. I could almost hear Great Gatsbyesque banter echoing through the woods on the wings of long forgotten jazz tunes...	Geoff enjoyed the ruins and the many hidden nooks and crannies provided. Here a bush has overgrown into a little tunnel leading to a gate...
Here's the view from where we should have hiked down to get to the trail. Duh?	Aah, the view from our elegant porch... once beautifully maintained, nature has taken back what was once hers...

The property was obviously once a residence, as there was a gorgeous stone wall and lovely terraced porches overgrown with what was once meticulously managed landscaping. Geoff found several hidden passages and reveled in the fun of the ruins.

The first clue was easy to find. But we made a mistake in judging how to get from clue the first to clue the second and stayed up on the ridge where the porch ruins were.

There was no trail, and we were hiking through deer paths. Snow-whacking instead of bushwhacking. Had this been summer time, we would have been eaten alive, tick-covered, and ripped to shreds by the vicious thorns growing all through the area wildly.

There was plenty of deer scat on the trails, and lots of beautiful tracks preserved in the snow, but we were so in the wrong place. Eventually Doug found the trail we belonged on. It only took a half our out of our lives, and a half hour of daylight from us, which we would almost regret.

Jessie and Geoff sit and patiently wait while Doug and I scour the mountain laurel. I am very glad they both wore snow pants. Jessie wore my old pair from a few years ago which needs a new zipper. Without them, she would have had to stand the whole time, or sit and whine that her butt was freezing.

The second clue was in mountain laurel at the base of an oak tree (the mountain laurel all through this part of the hike was gorgeous and I bet in the spring it is glorious). The snow covered the mountain laurel and weighed it down, it was all caked with ice too and I was afraid of bending a branch and having it snap in my hand. I thought for sure we were doomed not to find the stupid thing. The kids sat and rested while Doug and I searched an area that matched the written description of the clue but was 20 feet off from the coordinates we had.

I finally found the those coordinates, brushed all the snow off, and made them easier to find until the next storm comes along and hides them.

The final clue was nearly impossible. There is a small trail we were supposed to take over to the pond, and the clue was in a maple almost at the pond. No trail was visible, so within 20 feet of where we thought we were supposed to be we headed to the left and started looking for a maple.

I don't know a maple without leaves on it. Or an oak. I can tell you what a bare cedar looks like, or a bare birch, but maples and oaks baffle me when they are nude. Doug finally found the clue, and it was right there once you laid eyes on it. Sort of like "Where's Waldo" once you find him in a picture he just jumps right out at you and kicks you in the teeth.

Finding the actual cache location was a bear and a half. The clue said it was in a hole created by some fallen trees near a large oak... Well. Duh.

All the holes in the friggin' forest were covered up with friggin snow. I could hear Bart Simpson's take on pure white snow, hides everything, covers everything... as we searched in what seemed to be pure vain for 15 minutes at least.

Our GPS said we were 40 feet away from it once Doug found it. Not sure if the coordinates are just off or if the cache hiders are deliberately not accurate in order to make you work harder. Regardless, Doug's new nickname is "Tenacious D." Because he's Doug. And Tenacious. Here he is with his find. He's not knee deep in snow, he's on his knees as it's a steepish slope he's on. And he really got in there and got digging. He pretended to bark like a bloodhound once he got sight of the location and got to pawing the snow. It cracked me up.

---

We had precious little light getting out of there. We were a quarter mile from the truck, but couldn't get onto Cherry Street to walk back in a straight line. There was a wire deer fence that we didn't think we could all get over. So we decided to stick with the trail.

The trail was clear and the way open, we just had to get out of there before it got pitch dark. Which meant we had to truck. At first it was nice and ran parallel to the street and I thought we'd make the .22 miles in no time, but then the devil trail looped back around the pond, taking us far away from our destination.

Geoff was very tired and didn't want to walk. He kept saying his batteries ran out and he had no more energy for walking. I was pushing him Bataan Death March style to keep moving.

Suddenly in the quiet of my mind I had visions of terrified mothers and hysterical crying children forcibly marching through night and snow in Europe during the Holocaust. Geoff wanted to lay down in the snow and give up. Part of me said that if it was 1940 and we were being marched to the trains for miles I'd have left him. Part of me said I'd lay down next to him and let them shoot me. And even though we were under no such pressure to march from forces outside our bodies, I honestly had a sense of terror. Mostly because for a minute there I questioned what I would do if I had had to live through something like that. I thought of all the things that could go through a woman's mind under extreme duress, and I was afraid.

I pondered the concept of what it would mean to have to sacrifice a child to keep one's own self walking. Would you or wouldn't you? Would the child cry out and beg not to be left, or would the child just silently fall? Would the mother try and go back, or steel her eyes on the back of the head in front of her, focused and determined to keep walking? Would she turn and squat and stay with, fighting to protect the child and perhaps losing her own life? Would she ignore his or her cries as she marched away? And would she think it was worth it to live without that child? Would she know what awaited her at the end of the march? Would a soldier immediately shoot the child? Would they just not bother, knowing that after the march has left the area the child would perish?

I thought of Elie Wiesel. I thought of his mother.

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and focused on encouraging Geoff, prodding him gently with my hand, telling him what a great job he was doing.

"You're a super hiker! You can do it!!!"

In the back of my mind I heard dogs barking, distant trains and sirens, and German soldiers demanding we mach schnell.

I actually started to feel tears burning the back of my throat and in my heart and mind I began to pray for mothers with children in adverse and deadly situations right at that moment and through history.

All we were was out in the local woods. We weren't even lost. We were going to get back to our car no problem. But at one point Doug and Jessie got ahead of us and I was looking at trees and logs to see what would be good temporary shelter if we got stuck out there for the night.

I hate that it's pitch dark at 4pm. We made it though. All in one piece. Geoff never cried though. He told me I wasn't nice for pushing him along at one point when I gave him a shove as he straddled a fallen log and just stayed there. I really shouldn't have shoved him. I thought it was a gentle push, but he interpreted it as a very rough shove.

I explained to him that without speed we were stuck out there in the dark and it would make it harder to get to the truck.

What got him motivated to finish? It was this sentence: "Think of all the video games waiting for you at home, all the games you can play... think of them and getting to them and you'll go faster."

And he did.

Sunset... and I begin my growing sense of fear...	And there's the super cacher. Happy on the trail just before the Death March.

Walking in snow is hard, like walking on loose sand. It takes more control in stepping, more thought. I feel like I walked 5 miles when all told it was probably 1.5 total. Well, with all the searching for the coordinates perhaps it was 2. But my back and legs ache now... from all the extra effort. It's a good work out to get out and walk, and an even better one to do so in snow. I recommend it. There was no wind, the sun (while we had it) was bright. It was worth the trip, even with the macabre thoughts. Needless to say I am very happy to be home tonight and vow not to go out caching with only 2 hours of daylight ahead of me.

---

In other news, we rented movies last night. Ice Age, Monsters Inc., and Lilo & Stitch. I haven't watched Lilo & Stitch yet, but Jessie watched it today and said "it wasn't bad." Which means it was mediocre.

We watched Ice Age and Monsters Inc. last night, and of the two I must say that Monsters Inc. was the better by far. I am not a big fan of Disney on the whole. But for some reason, all the Pixar movies are better than anything else on the market EVER. I love the Toy Story films, and this one is just super. I'm looking forward to the new Nemo movie they have coming out this summer. They have unbelievable imaginations. In Monsters Inc, the story line is so creative and parts of it unexpected. Ice Age was at best predictable and at times overly schmaltzy and beyond unrealistic. I did enjoy some of the vocal characterizations and thought the interplay between the characters was funny, but it didn't shine like Monsters Inc, which I would gladly own and watch a million times.

The funniest thing about Ice Age was the parental guidance warning. Check this out:

This movie has Mild Peril in it. Jeeeesh. Glad they told me! Mild Peril. I have to be warned that there is Mild Peril? I mean really now. Labeling a movie for Mild Peril is like labeling a movie that there might be something funny inside of it. "Situations may be found amusing by some."

Mild Fucking Peril.

And let me tell you something, no such warning was on the Monsters Inc flick, and there was far more wicked peril in that one. I should have been warned!

Anyway -- back to what I was blabbing about ... Normally I find Mr. Billy Crystal annoying, but he is super as Mike, and I love John Goodman's voice (He's the big blue thing, Sully). He does the peasant in the "Emperor's New Groove and is great at that as well. He just has such a rich tone to his voice and really can make me laugh with a turn of phrase.

If you haven't seen Monsters Inc because you have no kids, don't let that be your excuse. This movie has a better story than most of the grown up blockbusters, and had me laughing out loud several times. Go. Rent. Enjoy.

Anyway -- I cannot believe it is 9pm at this point. I'm tired and sore. I have laundry to go move around. I'll catch you before the new year rings in.

It was 7:55 a.m

Doug was up and out of bed, and turned the alarm off rather than leaving it in a state to cause me to hit the snooze several dozen times while he showered and got ready in the bathroom.

For a half hour, I slept deeply. Very deeply. I had this dream in which my friend Ben was telling me a story about helping a Puerto Rican maintenance worker from the college move from one apartment to another.

In the dream, he tells me that while he is getting ready to meet the guy the phone rings. It is 1:30 in the morning (in his story) and he can't figure out why he needs to help a guy start moving at 1:30 in the morning. He can't even figure out WHY he's helping this guy, because he hardly knows him, and can only think that he's "a big fat sucker." So I start laughing at his self depreciation. He lets the machine answer the ringing phone because he is in a hurry.

The voice in the other end of the phone starts babbling hoping Ben will pick up, which he doesn't. Ben imitates the man in a voice that sounds a lot like "Fez" from "that 70s Show."

The man wants to know when Ben will be there, and eventually says something like "Oh, Ben. I guess you are already gone so I'll stop talking. You aren't picking up so I'll see you later..." the usual thing people do when they know the person isn't there... all in Fez Voice coming out of Ben's mouth.

And im my dream, I'm reclined on the couch in his livingroom laughing. Laughing my ass off.

I can smell bagels, and I can hear Sports Radio with Dennis and Callahan on WEEI Boston in the background. I'm laughing and laughing at Ben's Fez imitation and his ongoing exploits in regards to helping the guy move... And I'm aware in my sleep that I'm in the kind of place while sleeping where you're awake but asleep. I feel like any second now I'm going to start laughing in my own bed instead of on the brown couch at 1 South Street.

I still smell bagels, and I hear Ben telling more of the story in his own voice. Couches, staircases... And there is this amazing levity in my heart, I think there is a smile on my face while I'm asleep here...

I hear, "Good morning Geoffrey."

I hear, "Good morning Dad. I pee'd my bed. I have to get mom."

---

There is a naked little boy standing next to my bed telling me that he needs a shower. He woke me up rather than letting his dad (who I heard offer to help and attempted to stop him from waking me up, by the way) put him in the shower.

"No, I want mom to do it."

What's the difference kid?

Why do I have to put you in the shower when your own father, a willing participant at this moment, offers to do it? Is there something special about the way I turn on the water and yell at you to wash your whole body and not miss a spot? Is there something special that only I can do in regards to making sure the shower head is aimed correctly and the curtain is closed all the way?

It is 7:55a.m. This is my life.

I'm not sure why that dream-me thought Ben's story was so funny. I don't remember details of the story of the move, just the Fez Voice. I'm not sure why Ben would be helping some guy move other than he has a really big Dodge Durango. I realize as I'm scrubbing the mattress and trying to analyze the source of such a bizarre dream that my day is now officially "on." I am up, Geoff ran to the bathroom and Doug makes the assist and gets the shower running (he also gets him out of the shower while I'm cleaning up his dirty laundry).

---

Last night Jessica pulled out a loose tooth, all on her own, without fuss. She said it was loose for one day. She's got two teeth that have been loose for six months and refuse to come out. The adult teeth are up behind them, resulting in an inability on her part to brush correctly. We're going to the dentist to have the baby teeth extracted next week. She won't pull those ones out, but this one, "pop!"

She knows about the tooth fairy so she took a dollar in quarters out of the coin jar. I told her once you stop believing in the tooth fairy, you don't get no money for yer teeth! She pouted and I let her keep the money. She handed me the tooth and went on her way.

I have most of her teeth. One she lost at school in second grade and then lost in her classroom. The tooth fairy left her money anyway.

So my question is -- is it gross of me to keep her baby teeth? I kept them before just to hide them and so I could show her that I was the tooth fairy when the issue came up (she was impressed that I had them). Do other moms keep their child/ren's baby teeth? Is this utterly revolting or is it something everyone does? If you have any feedback, let me know. I'm sorely tempted now to get rid of them. Doug thinks it is gross.

I'm starting to think he is right.

---

Yesterday was a cateringman day. It was a hopping place. Five of us working doing prep, Cateringman taking calls and making orders for stuff and going to the store to grab stuff needed immediately. Two dishwashers. Sales Representatives from supply companies just "swinging by..." absolute chaos. Noisy, fun chaos. It was a pretty good day. It also rained like it did on Noah once upon a time. I had to run to the grocery store for an immediate need and got drenched in the process. Today is a professor MF day, and it is the first class session in many weeks that I don't have my heart in my throat with anxiety about how the class is going to work. I am relaxed, I need to shower and get ready, do more laundry and get down to the college, so this is a quickie. Not much to report. Fall is in full startup mode and I want to get some nice pictures of the trees in the yard before they are all "stripped bare of all they wear (but what do I care?)" Tra la, tra la. That's all for now.

Class over, Road Trip, Parental responsibility (or, the time Jessie almost drowned with 3 adults watching).

Class is over. Everyone in it got at least an A-. A couple A projects there. The students were splendiferous. I can say no more to praise them. Amazing. An institute week like this is pretty intense. 8:30am-4:30pm DAILY for the same amount of credits you get in a semester. They worked so hard, and I am so amazingly drained by this that I could sleep all day now. I am also amazingly proud of them for how hard they worked and all the effort they put in.

And working with Professor CM is always so much fun. When we get together we get silly. And he so praises me when we're done. This is the third class we've taught together. And each time he tells me that I need to be doing this vocationally and not just for fun. He tells me I have such a natural gift for teaching teachers.

I also am a complete whack job.

One of the kids lost his entire powerpoint presentation, and he was rebuilding it and working hard yesterday afternoon. Three or four students were left and CM and I were joking around about how this particular lab machines are so evil. And I brought up the scene in "Office Space" where Peter gives a "gift" to Samir and Michael. You know the scene. They take the fax/printer out into a field and beat it to death with a baseball bat. I told the kids I'd make the same gift to them, and started picking one of the monitors up singing the "don't it feel good to be a gangsta" song or whatever that lyric is, and they all laughed and laughed and laughed. It was priceless.

---

By this time tomorrow we should be north and east of Pittsburgh heading in on our final approach. It all seems so surreal. I still have to pack. Laundry. Still so much to do. I've gotten a lot done though. Movies to the Media lab to digitize for Professor 2's project, edits done and ready to FTP after I do this entry. Dog to Dan's for dogsitting, that's done. Oil changed in the car, yes. Still have more work for Professor 2's site, but may just do something like wake up early and do work. I don't know if I can sustain thinking much past 6pm tonight.

---

So in all this week I've seen some amazing stuff and have wanted to write about it but actually having a job has prevented me from having a moment to write. Plus, if I didn't have the job, I would probably not have seen some of the stuff I saw, so I will just say that it is a double edged sword of sorts. Not getting out into society/the world/traffic/stores means you don't see crazy stuff to write about; but getting out into society/the world/traffic/stores means you are wiped by the time you get home.

Oh the horror.

I can't outline everything. This entry would be 1000000000 characters long. And I don't have the energy, but I've got enough to give you a good entry before I vanish for 10 or so days.

One of the amazing things I witnessed this week was a woman. She was walking a baby in one of those baby jogging jalopies that all the yuppie schmucks use. A regular stroller is no good for these people -- they need to pay 200 bucks for a lightweight, shock absorber equipped piece of space transportation for their kids so they can walk fast or jog or run or whatever and the kid won't get retinal detatchment from all the stress.

You know 'em. You've seen 'em.

Anyway, I'm sitting at a stop sign with my mom in the passenger's seat, my kids in the back. I'm waiting for traffic coming from my left so I can make a right hand turn. I look to my right and watch this woman, walking at a really fast pace talking on a cell phone and pushing a baby jogger.

She walks RIGHT off the curb and in front of me and keeps going, laughing and talking. She didn't even LOOK at me. I was just about to go, and totally would have killed her kid.

Mind you, I was at a stop sign, I wan't moving. Had I been and I didn't stop in time... baby fricasse.

So I roll down the window and tell her that next time she doesn't look before stepping into the street someone is going to hit her. She looks over her shoulder and yells "I was in the cross walk, you had to stop."

That's not the point, you've obviously applied too much peroxide bleach to your already mentally defected head, bitch.

So I tell her that is not the point (leaving the bitch and peroxide comments out) and she continues to yell at me.

I started to drive off and yelled "good luck with your child."

I would have liked to have told the child "good luck getting raised by a mom who thinks crosswalks are magical places where no one can hit you," but the kid wouldn't have understood.

The thing that gets me about the whole interchange is that folks seem to think that they are entitled to do whatever the fuck they want without giving any thought to anything, and that if something bad happens they are a lawsuit away from being justified in their stupidity.

This woman is in Massachusetts. When you are out for a walk in any town or city in this state you should be on heightened awareness of crazy assed drivers who take stop signs as suggestions or think that the ones with white borders are optional.

I didn't cross into the cross walk, I was behind it. My point to her was that she didn't even look. She didn't even LOOK at me. Did she think I was a parked car? Did she think that perhaps I was a figment of her overactive imagination? Was her pony tail too tight? Had she not had enough protein or carbohydrates that day to cause brain function to operate normally? Whatever her reason, she obviously is in need of some guidance and should not be allowed to walk and talk on a cellphone at the same time.

Damn.

Can you tell I'm still irked by this incident which happened last weekend? I am just amazed. I mean, so the fuck what it was the crosswalk? Does that make you safe just because it is green and white paint? Does it by its simply being there suddenly create some sort of space buffer zone thwarting danger?

MEH!

So that's a rant that had to get out of my system. Which leads me into softer territory.

The other day Tess wrote about a small child who drowned in a lake near her house in Alaska. Sounds like another case of parents thinking that just because there is a life guard there they can cease being responsible.

While I agree with her overall general assessment of a lack of parental responsibility in general in life, I can't be too harsh on those parents or adults in that situation (as opposed to cell phone baby jogger girl above).

I cannot remember if I've written this before so forgive me in advance if you've already read this here. I had a situation when Jessica was 2 that almost resulted in her drowning, and all it took was a split second of distraction to nearly lose me my daughter. I was at a lifeguard free lake out in Western Massachusetts one hot August day with my roommate from college, Laurie, her husband, and their two kids.

Laurie was on the beach standing and looking out at us in the water, her son Elijah was digging in the sand at the water's edge. Jessie was playing in about 2 feet of water not too far from where Laurie was standing, and I was out in 4.5 feet of water with Christopher and Sarah. Christopher got bit by a huge horsefly and I looked at his shoulder and put some cool water on the bite, Sarah was hanging around his neck, and he was squatted down holding on to her. Laurie looked at Elijah digging.

Then I looked up.

All three of us, 2 seconds -- Jessie's not visible.

I felt my stomach drop, and I yelled to Laurie "Where is Jessie?" She turned and looked behind her and saw no Jessie on our towels, and I started running toward the lake shore. Laurie was in the water with both hands down and face in. The water was filled with silt from Jessie kicking and splashing and was the color of a large cup of coffee with not enough cream in. She was invisible.

We couldn't find her.

I was starting to panic when Laurie found her hand and pulled her up out of the water. In my mind I still see her face as she inhaled that first breath, like the first breath from birth almost, her eyes wild and open and crazy. A film of water across her eyes and mouth, a cowl almost. Laurie had her by the wrist and yanked her up six feet in the air and immediately wrapped her arms around her.

All told -- 10 seconds. Seemed like a goddamn lifetime. She coughed a bit and I spent the rest of the day sitting on the lake shore next to her, next to Elijah, still digging in the sand as she did nothing but sit there next to me close.

Parental responsibility is a beautiful thing for sure. But once in a while, I can attest, that line of sight between you and your child gets severed and something happens. And then they are gone. I am so damn lucky and will owe Laurie for this for the rest of my life.

When I was little I remember always playing in the clothing racks at Sears while my mother shopped. I would get inside the house of shirts and pants and stand on the frame of the large circular chrome frame. I would hear my mom calling, and sometimes I would giggle and laugh and hide. Hiding and playing were things that we did, and at any time, someone could have said to my seven year old self "hey, come over here and look at this shirt! I bet your mommy would buy it for you!" and they would lead me towards the children's department and out the side supply door to kill me.

I am amazed sometimes that I've made it to age 35.

My mom was a responsible parent. I am a responsible parent. Jogging cellphone girl, well... perhaps she is a responsible parent. We all think we are responsible parents. But sometimes... perhaps we all need a refresher course.

Tomorrow I depart for a trip with my son and daughter and husband that will result in our being in a car for way too many damn hours, through too many states and a province, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Michigan, Canada, New York, maybe Vermont, Massachusetts... It'll be a longassed trip. I hope my parenting skills are superior in the process.

Alright. Enough rambling. More when I get back. I'm outta here, and Tess -- thanks again for the doggie biscuits. They were a big hit. Congratulations to Carrie for becoming an aunt for the first time ever on 8/8 (to Elijah, second white boy we know named Elijah). Talk to you in a week or so. Be good. Enjoy the dog days of summer.

Happy 10th Birthday Jessica

.Ten years ago tomorrow at about 8pm I gave birth to my first child. I was 25, Doug was 23. The world is a lot different here in the little universe that is our family than it was on that sunny day, and it is also different out in the greater universe as well. But on this day, a decade ago, it was all about us. And her.

She was due ten years ago today, so I can go ahead and write this entry. This would have been her birthday, possibly.

She didn't come on the 10th, but the next morning she started her entry to the world very early. Mostly due to physics. My downstairs neighbors were fighting at 7 am. They were total losers who would sit at home all day cooped up in the apartment collecting SSI and smoking pot. They were into it tooth and nail, and I sat up in bed (rather forcefully and with vim and vigor) so I could go down there and kick their asses. And I broke water.

Like a cannon, I broke water. All over the cat at the foot of the bed. All over the wall. I was shocked. I didn't think that was possible but there it was. A shrieking cat, fighting neighbors, and my poor husband who had gotten home from work at 4am trying his best to sleep through it all.

"Honey," I shook him tentatively, "Honey wake up. I broke water."

"gmfrphgph."

"Honey seriously, I think it's time to have the baby."

"Are you sure you broke water?" He hadn't even rolled over to look at me. The poor thing was one tired puppy.

Uh, ask the cat. "Yeah, I'm sure." So he rolls over and sees the mess, sees the cat, sees me and says "Okay then," with a slight excitement but more of a stunned awareness.

Actual labor with her didn't start until 2pm. She was born at 7:57pm. "Just in time for the Simpsons!" I said to Doug as they handed her to me. I never knew that 10 years later she'd be a certified expert in Simpsons lore. So that's how she came here.

It was all pretty shocking, but with time I got used to being a mommy. And I enjoyed her being a baby. I enjoy her now being a big girl, with her sardonic wit and her crazy laugh that just won't stop even when I say "Okay, we get it. Time to stop laughing like a freak."

Back then though, she wasn't yet the talented writer and watercolor artist, the tallest girl in her class, the expert in the kitchen and big fan of Alton Brown. She was a baby. A little tiny baby. And she was all ours. June 11, 1992 was a day that changed my life forever.

What can I say about the person who singlehandedly changed my life, my outlook, my body and my soul?

What can I give her when I have no money to buy her the horse she wants, or take her to the movies to see every movie she wants?

How can I raise her so she'll be kind to others, not care about what others think of her, and always do the right thing, no matter what?

She made me want to have more, and she makes me never regret for one minute the fact that I have her. Sometimes she wears me out. Sometimes she is downright cruel to her brother. Othertimes, I'm amazed at the depth of understanding and genius she exhibits. She shocks me, she stuns me, she makes me proud. She overwhelms me, and she makes me laugh my ass off. She's the best.

One of the things I like to do to her is take her to the grocery store, and then dance in the aisle around her to whatever crap song they are playing on the muzak. She feigns embarassment, and laughs at me. The one thing I can say that I still can do is make her laugh.

Sometimes she dances with me, and I know that she's my offspring. A freak. A happy freak.

I will look back on that with immense joy when I'm old and in a home.

And she's payin' the bill.

Today I look back on a decade. One where my husband and I packed on the weight, the debt, the work experience, assumed ownership of property, added dogs and another kid to our clan.

I look at political changes, turmoil, scandals, tragedies, national emergencies and once in a while great sporting events.

I put the day to day happenings into perspective by looking at my daughter and realizing that history happens while our children grow. Sometimes we pay closer attention to current events or sitcoms than we do our kids. But I try really hard to look at them as growing with our country, developing like we did through the 70s and 80s.

Jessie will hopefully be survive the bad fashion, horrible pop music ensembles, and perhaps come into their own and make an impact on history in a positive way. Then, she will have her own kids and be able to watch them evolve with the times, help them grow through it. I can only hope we do a great job.

Some would say that the first ten years of her life we can show that we have done a great job. She's a great kid. Has her flaws, but hell it's her birthday so let's over look those. She certainly is the most unique 10 year old I know. And hopefully will remain a good friend to me for the decades to come.

But now comes the hard part -- the next ten years of her life. The teen years. Eventually, college. Cross your fingers. Pray for us. Wish us luck.

People tell you when you're going to have a baby that it's going to change your life, RUIN your life. You're never going to have fun again. You'll never be able to go out. They'll wreck all your stuff. You'll be in debt until you die exhausted and grey of hair at an early age.

Usually these people don't have kids. Keep that in mind when they offer you advice. They just know what they THINK, not what is true.

They see it as the end of your youth, the end of what's important.

What they don't know due to their total lack of perspective, and what people who already have kids don't tell you (they keep quiet because they know the secret) is that the kid thing WILL change your life.

It will make you different. It will make you stronger. It will make you wiser, more aware. Less of an asshole. Less shallow. Less selfish. You have to be. Someone relies on you. Someone NEEDS you for everything. And you are ABLE. You are not prepared, but you learn.

And these little people come into your life and rip your heart out when they cry, when they get hurt. They make you brave, they make you stand up for them because they need an advocate. They become your reason, your purpose. And you love them more than anything you ever imagined possible.

They change your life alright. They ruin it sometimes, for a minute or two, perhaps for a lifetime if things don't turn out perfect. But when they are born, they are yours and a blank slate, and you are a creator. A teacher, a guide, an artist and a mad scientist. You form them, shape them, guide them and protect them. You are a police officer and a guidance counselor. You are a hero and a bane to their existence.

You are a parent, and you are new and different from that minute forward.

I love this girl.

Oddish

Geoff did the weirdest thing ever. We put in our garden the other day and there were some onions from last year that decided to do some growing for the spring. Doug pulled them out and they were no more than bulb-sized, with big green fronds sticking out the top.

Geoff said they looked like the Pokemon "Oddish." Which, Yes... they did. How funny of you to notice, thought I.

He adopted them. He walked around with them all day, he played with them. Rode them around in the back of his fisher price car, which he's too big for but that doesn't stop his ass from tryin'.

There is a small one, punier than all the other puny onions, and he called it "Baby Oddish," and decided it was her birthday. It being her birthday, and he being their pokemon master, he planned a big party. He wanted me to bake a cake. He made her a birthday present. He coddled her and held her.

It was "odd-ish." To say the least. So I being the one to always support my friends and family members in any outlandish or psychologically twisted scheme they put together, got right in on the party.

I didn't bake a cake, but I did get him a dish of strawberry ice cream and put gingersnaps in it and sang happy birthday to Baby Oddish. He really liked that. Jessica and Doug pretty much ignored us, Doug less so than Jessica... he was amused, but not as into it as I was.

Am I damaging my son by playing these ridiculously stupid games with him, where I get into the pretending just as much as he does? Is he too old for this? Is this something I should not exactly encourage. Hearken back to Geoff's Imaginary Friend days, where I was into it and supportive... but let him know that culpability for messes and mistakes was squarely on him, not on his "friend" Cory.

Now I've got a pile of dried onion bulbs with green limpy tops on my ghetto livingroom table. I have to throw them out, but I know he'll go apeshit. I'll have to do it when he isn't thinking of Baby Oddish. Too bad I loaned my digicam out to catering man, or I'd be posting a picture of Geoff hugging his friends. Too weird.

Geoff's obsession with pokemon is wearing thin on me. I mean, some of them are just fucked up, case in point, the one called a Jynx. It looks like RuPaul gained 200lbs and still acts like a Diva. It is just too weird for my liking. My favorite though, is Mr. Mime, I gotta scan him in for you. You'll shit your pants if you've never seen him before. Most pokemon are like animals, Ponyta, Growlithe, Arcanine, even Pikachu is a mouse... but Oddish, Jynx, Mr. Mime, Porygon, these are the ones that the creators pulled out of their opium flooded braincells when they needed just a couple more to get to 50 or lose their jobs and be forced to commit suicide! They suck. They are so uncool as far as pokemon go. If pokemon have any cool factor.

Snorlax does. Don't forget that.

Okay. I'm off. I've got more to write about but have to get dinner started, and a cup of tea. I'm sleepy. More later. My next installment of Life written by friends will concern my roommates from back in the day, Laurie and Bonnie. Until then, peace ...

Doctor Appointment

When Geoff was in school we decided that he needed to be behaviorally tested. We made some phonecalls, got bossed around by bitchy hospital secretaries, begged for an appointment, finally got one even though this one particular bitch claimed that the "doctor says" annd the "doctor indicates" that Geoff doesn't need behaviorally assessed, he needs to see a psychiatrist.

Well, I'd agree with that if I had some sort of behavioral test to take with me to the psychiatrist, bitch. Give us an appointment.

Today is the day of the appointment. 10am in Salem. Our family practitioner really wanted us to go here, and for some reason they didn't want to see us. When I called our doctor's office back after dealing with the initial bullshit, she was angry and called THEM.

We got the appointment.

Geoff is getting dressed and told me he'll do everything the doctor asks him to do. He's actually really excited about this.

But here's the thing... in the last several weeks, his behavior has improved markedly, I'd say 10 fold. He's more obedient, blows up only when really really tired, has learned to control his temper, express his feelings without throwing things. He's doing really well. Doug doesn't think we need to go through with any testing at this point. My rationale is that he's great NOW because I'm home with him, we've been working on his behavior management, he's happier than he was 5 months ago. What happens when he needs to go back to school, and NOT be with mommy all day.

Hmmm?

Will the same behaviors rear their collective fugly heads? Will he turn back into Angry Geoff? What can we expect? I'd like to have a CORE eval done, and then figure out which direction we need to move in.

We shall see what happens. I will of course blab my heart out here. Don't I always?

Manic Tuesday

Why do I set up work on days where I have to be somewhere in the morning, work like crazy, and the go somewhere in the evening to work some more? It makes for a very long day. I worked for catering man this morning and before starting there met with his business partner to go over the website thus far and get more content. He gave me a shitload of menus, text, contact form stuff... I did a bunch of work today, but still have a great deal to do.

Working there today was a lot of fun. Catering man didn't exactly have stuff for us to do, he stayed up until 4am doing paperwork that had to get done for the business, so he didn't get to the market and buy stuff for us to prep, so we did a big cleaning/condensing of what he had in stock in the freezers. He made us lunch, and I started working on crutons, and then he let me go at about 1pm. Which was cool. But it's a long long time until I'll be hitting the hay tonight... Tonight I'm going to the dart store to meet with the other clients. I don't think I'll get home until 10pm.

Their site has taken quite a while... they still haven't picked a host because they need someone who can do online shopping carts and not rip them off. So I have to iron out what their needs are, and help them pick a host. This should be interesting. My host said they'll do it for them at a reasonable price, but the guy had some issues based on credit card charges... Whatever. I should care, but right now I'm mostly tired of life. Not so much tired of these clients, they are cool. I am just plain dogshit tired. I should nap before going to meet with them. Or at least get some coffee. My children are fighting like crazy and I want them to resolve their issues without me getting involved, but I can see/hear that isn't going to be possible.

I don't know why they have to fight like this. Geoff is out of control, and Jessie is a control FREAK when it comes to him. She's bossy and overbearing, which causes him to push back, and her to fight with him, and then the next thing I know they are pinching, smacking and poking each other.

Why, oh Lord? Why? Why can't I have two kids who just play nice, work nice together, behave well when I'm not in the room. Give me peace for 10 minutes a day. Why? Why, Why Why!?

Okay, enough of that. I need to jazz myself up either with a nap (ha!) or some coffee (which means I'll be up all damn night, but I'll get to do my work when I get home from dartland).

So remind me not to make evening appointments on days when I work for catering man. And oh crap, I'm working for him again tomorrow. Meh! I'm going to be a tired little girl.

---

"You know, every day I get out of bed and drag myself to the next cup of coffee. I take a sip and the caffeine kicks in. I can focus my eyes again. My brain starts to order the day. I'm up, I'm alive. I'm ready to rock. But the time is coming when I wake up and decide that I'm not getting out of bed. Not for coffee, or food or sex. If it comes to me, fine. If it won't, fine. No more expectations. The longer I live, the less I know. I should know more. I should know the coffee's killing me. You're suspicious of your suspicions? I'm jealous, Kay; I'm so jealous. You still have the heart to have doubts. Me? I'm going to lock up a 14 year old kid for what could be the rest of his natural life. I got to do this. This is my job. This is the deal. This is the law. This is my day. I have no doubts or suspicions about it. Heart has nothing to do with it anymore. It's all in the caffeine."

-Frank Pembleton (Andre Braugher)

flying ants or some shit.

Sidebar note: I meant to get into this earlier, and will still talk about it, but I love the new Andy Richter show. Screw you if you don't and you think I'm a doofus. But I laughed my ass off watching it for the past couple episodes. Everyone thought he was an idiot for leaving Conan... but I like this show and hope he can keep the momentum up. Please watch it if you haven't yet... I want Fox to keep it on the air. Anyone with any inside knowledge on how the show is doing (I should just email Max Robbins from TV Guide to find out on the next time he is on the Howie Carr radio show in Boston) email me and let me know what you know. End sidebar note.

Got email from my dear friend Mr. Garfield who says:

I think you should get a new Guinea Pig and should work on a barn.

The new pet won't be just like pigpigpig ----- even these meek fellows have personalities ---- but you fell so quickly and entirely in love with pigpigpig, and I'd eat a porkpie hat if Geoff doesn't do at least a little better a second time. I'm not suggesting you use Guinea Pigs as Guinea Pigs, but if he's gonna grow up to be Lenny of Mice and Men you'd want to know now.

Oh my God.

Lenny in Of Mice and Men. Can I just confess that was the first thing that flashed through my mind? I've read the book a million times, and am especially fond of the version starring John Malkovich and Gary Sinise as opposed to the 1939 version with Burgess Meredith and Lon Chaney Jr., who scared me no matter what role he was in. I also hated the 80s TV version with crappy Robert "Beretta" Blake and Randy Quaid. Ugh. Malkovich's Lenny is the best ever, but I digress.

When all this happened, and Geoff told us what he did, and was sad... I couldn't help but think of Lenny and the soft furry sweet things that he just couldn't help but hug so hard, and how George felt, protecting and taking care of Lenny, running away with him from place to place to avoid consequences of the things Lenny did ... Please God, don't let that be what my kid turns out to be like. Please! I'm officially worried beyond belief now.

On a note to make you laugh, last night Doug found this very funny website which I've sent out to a bunch of friends but couldn't help including here. If you need a good laugh, I highly recommend it. And, I used one of the pictures to serve as a foil to My Sister's Former Co-worker Gayle. Linda, this is just what you've been waiting for!

Gayle used to refuse to go into the shop because she was afraid she'd step in oil and fall down. So many of her coworkers found that alternately infuriating and amusing... so, we continue the Gayle tradition. Enjoy Linda, enjoy enjoy enjoy!

Last night was the first night since I believe October that we slept with the windows open.

It wasn't quite warm enough to do so, and we limited the open panes to our room only. They were open about 1/5 of the way, and you could hear the creek running, and peepers, and occasional cars.

I love sleeping in the spring and fall with the windows wide open, before the creek starts to smell funny (late May), the spring is rife with noise and moist air. Freshly turned earth as gardens are readied, swollen creek and pond giving flow to the Merrimack. In the fall, you can smell the woodsmoke of stoves and fireplaces in the neighborhood, or the residual scent of brush burned in yards. Crisp and cold, and dry, the air wraps around my head, my face, like a soul blanket, and the sounds help me sleep deeply... they drown out Doug snoring.

I slept semi-fitfully last night. It would have been better sleep, but I was interrupted at midnight-thirty by Geoff who wanted a cup of water. I made him pee, then got him one half cup of H2O. He downed it like a Hells Angel getting a triple shot of whiskey at a biker bar, filled his cup up again to the brim and downed that. I guess he didn't get enough liquid during the afternoon. I knew I'd have to wake up at some point after say 3am to have him hit the head.

At about 4:30 I thought I heard banging and all kinds of noise coming from the living room. I got up, discovered Kinger dead to the world asleep in the middle of the floor, but no source of noise. I went to the bathroom, went to Geoff's room to get him up and he wasn't there.

He'd relocated to the couch, not sure at what time, but he was out cold, breathing the breath of deepest sleep... so he didn't make any noise. I guess it was a dream, something to wake me up to get him to the bathroom.

Recently I asked our pediatrician why he sleeps so heavily and straight through the night and has an accident once in a while. He said that Geoff, like many five year old boys, hasn't figured out how to self-wake and take heed to the call of nature. Girls don't seem to have a problem with this, or if they do, it is far less common than it is with five year old boys. Jessica wet the bed once when she was like three and a half... that was it.

Boys eventually catch on, sometimes as late as age 8. Dr. E told me to wake him up consistently around midnight, and make him go to the bathroom. Which I've been doing. Two nights in a row I slept through midnight, and he didn't have an accident. He got himself up or he just stayed dry, I have no way of knowing... suffice to say, Dr. E is right on the money. As the father of three boys, he has the inside track on what boys do, not just as a professional who got a degree but someone who has been through the motions three times over.

I took Kinger for a walk yesterday but no swim. It was a quickie walk because I realized I needed to go to the market and get stuff for dinner, so I was pressed for time once I realized the day had been frittered away right here.

Doug had a professional development meeting yesterday that kept him at his school until 5:30 and brought him home grumpy and annoyed. So I had dinner prepped. I had painted shelves, I finished the hardware needs for a project Jessie had for school. Yesterday afternoon turned out pretty productive even though I crammed all the action into the last hour before his homecoming.

This morning I took both kids to school and then took Kinger for a swim.

There is a pond across the street from our house, but the last time the dogs (Missy was there) swam in this end of the pond they got nasty sores on their bodies and I was thoroughly freaked out. I am sure they got sores from some sort of chemical pollutant or something. Whatever makes the creek stinky in the summer... the town said none of the septic tanks near the pond is in violation, that the smell comes from a bacteria that grows on the tree leaves and branches, and when the water levels drop the bacteria rots... just like what happens in Nahant and Swampscott down closer to Boston on the ocean (those in the area know exactly what I'm talking about). The smell lasts as long as the bacteria or the branches and leaves are wet... so when the water level in the pond rises and drops, and the heat bakes the exposed materials, the smell goes on. I think someone's septic tank IS leaking, because lately we can catch whiffs of it in the winter... when it is freezing out, so you can't tell me that it's from bacteria baking in the sun. What a crock. But I digress.

So we went to the other end of the pond, where no one lives right now. There is a proposal to build a shitload of houses around the other side of the pond and a lot of people are angry. I am not sure how I feel about it, that's for another entry... but for right now, it was lovely to park on the side of the road, throw a stick, and have my dog hit the water. He loves to swim, and will keep going for hours.

Last spring a swan came out on this end of the pond, by itself, which was weird because swans usually always have a partner and mate for life. Local environmental junkies and animal rights fans were saddened to see the swan by him/herself (no one is sure if it is female or male) and insisted that someone killed the other swan. There's no proof of that, but it is sad to see him/her/it swimming around. Jessica and I would feed it honey nut cheerios and sit on the guard rail across the street and watch it swim. It had a posse of about 10 ducks of different breeds that would swim with it. We thought it was awesome. It would come up out of the pond and eat right at our feet. Such a treat... we loved hanging with the swan.

Then it vanished. We didn't see it at all for the rest of the summer.

Today, I saw it again. It is living at the unpopulated end of the pond, tucked deep into the swampy part of where the pond meets the woods. It swam out to find out what we were doing, came out of the brush to the far right, honked a few times in a curious way, Kinger was fascinated... I called back with the honk and it got very close. It didn't get at all defensive or spread its wings. Kinger swam out to check it out, but it swam farther out into the pond... I had visions of Kinger not making it back, but eventually he turned around when he finally realized the swan wasn't going to let him have a good sniff. Then, after it realized we had no food and weren't swans, it swam back to where it was staying. I'm going to swing back later and try and get some pictures of it.

I ran around in the woods when I got home, trespassing on my neighbor's well marked land "NO TRESPASSING!!!" Asshole. It's the woods. I can walk in the fucking woods. Anyway, I digress. I will go over to the other side of the pond later and see if I can get the swan to come out and say hello. I'll be sure to bring honey nut cheerios. In the meantime, here are pictures from the creek and the woods right behind my house, and the primary reason I love living here. That and we can afford it. Those are the two biggest reasons.

From the edge of our property, you can see our church, and the back side of Jessica's friend Maddy's house. For the longest time the two girls have longed to build a bridge to span property edge to property edge... unfortunately, my neighbor's property is in the middle.

I climbed down low and looked west to where the street is. There is this big island in the middle of the creek which is visible most always. The neighbor kids have put all kinds of crap on that little island... broken lawn furniture, a broken trampoline. They suck.

A fleet of tiger lilies lines the area where Geoff likes to stand and throw rocks into the creek. This is visible from our deck and our side windows.

Evidence of the mill that once ran right behind where our house is today. There are TONS of bricks back there. Enough to build another house.

More lilies... this is behind our property line on a little ridge overlooking the creek. Our old landlord had a chair back here, and grew the lilies for himself even though they were on the neighbor's property. Back then, stuff like that didn't rightly matter.

More mill evidence... a fireplug in the middle of nowhere.

Vibrant. Verdant. Green. Spring is here! Spring is here!

I love our woods, even if they technically belong to someone else right past the tree line.

---

My tenant just came downstairs and informed me that her bedroom and their livingroom were FULL of flying ants or something. I went up, and sure as eggs is eggs, another sign of vibrant verdant spring. So I came down here to check out the situation and Jessica's room and picture window are swarming, the front door is full of them, my livingroom now has them. Fuck Fuck gah damnitfuck! Terminix will be here at 2pm. I called five "local" small businesses, local guys in the phone book. Got their answering machines. I would rather deal with a local bloke, but in this case, the big company was the last company I called, and they are having someone here ASAP.

Jen showered down here... she is all freaked. Her laundry, her TV, her bureau... covered. I'm freaked too because they're starting to get thick around the couch in my living room. The dude said not to spray or do anything ... just hang tight and they'll get her quickly. So I am going to quickly clean up Jessie's room, get the toys off the floor and the dirty laundry all taken care of. My skin is crawling! I hate this. If it's not one damn thing, it's another! MEH! MEH! MEH! more later.

What kids think I should be; ticks on the dog

Doug woke up at 7:35 or so this morning, usually that's the time he's walking out the door.

He was mad because he didn't set the alarm or someone turned it off. I pointed out to him that I heard him hit snooze twice, and then I didn't hear anything after that.

Suffice to say, he was very late.

Geoff was sitting on the couch. He'd been awake for a little while, long enough to get the TV turned on and go to the bathroom. The fact he didn't come in to wake us up made me sad. I'd gotten used to the 6:30am crawl that he'd do, up into the bed with the pig, smelling warm and sleepy... I think that phase of our relationship is either over or suspended.

Doug rushed to get ready, I got the kids ready and knew I'd be taking Geoff to school. He was amazingly cooperative when I asked him to dress, clean up his dishes from breakfast, get his shoes and socks, get his backpack.

Geoff and I went to his school and I sat down on the rug with him to tie his shoes and say a quick prayer with him to get his morning going on a positive note.

Within a split second I was surrounded by four or five preschoolers, about 4 years in age, all telling me that they are puppies or kittens or babies for the game of "house" they were playing right there in the reading nook. I expressed interest in finding out who was a puppy or a kitten.

Next thing I know I'm there for about 45 minutes with kids taking turns sitting on my lap, reading stories, talking about favorite colors, finding out how one girl's grampa died last month, who lost a pet, who lost an uncle. Kids this age usually volunteer this kind of information willingly, to anyone who makes eye contact with them. You get a life story, a complete "Did you know my dad likes to watch football?" kind of thing.

I'm that kind of an adult. Doug is too. For some reason, we are kid magnets, always have been. I remember going over our friend G&K's and their little boy I became attached to Doug like nobody's business. We were amazed.

Some little kids hang back a bit, but when they see four or five others, they creep closer and begin to spill their guts on whatever the topic is. First it was favorite colors, then death, then uncles and aunts who live far away (I told them how Geoff's Aunt moved to Florida and they all have been to Florida at least once), then who has gone to Disney World, who was in a wedding... it wasn't going to stop. The teachers seemed amused, the director kept popping her head in to see what I was doing, and was laughing that I had such an audience.

One little girl, cute as can be, was missing her bottom front tooth. I was surprised and asked her when it fell out. She was three and she tripped and hit her face on the side of the coffee table in her house, and the tooth fell out. It's been gone ever since.

"What are you doing today?"
"Are you staying here with us?"
"You should take your coat off."
"You have gum on the bottom of your boot."
"Why are you wearing winter boots?"
"What kind of job do you have?"
What kind of JOB do I have?"

Uh, well.

"I don't have a job right now. I'm looking for a new one... any suggestions?"

Well, of course. These four year olds are very opinionated.

"You should be a teacher here. You'd make a great teacher. You are very friendly and Geoff already goes here so you should be our teacher," said one girl followed by several nods of agreement and big, hungry smiles. Aaah, a victim to lure into our lair they seemed to say, with their tiny teeth showing and eyes glinting in the fluorescent lighting... vampires these kids are. Vampires!

"How do you know I'd be a good teacher?" I asked.

"You sit on the floor," said another girl, "and you look like a good teacher, and Geoff is really smart."

Hmmmm. Geoff is really smart. That's the most positive feedback I've heard on him from anyone in a few months, from a four year old at that... So I must be doing a good job teaching him, according to this little girl. Okay. Let's keep going.

"You can be a mommy teacher. A mommy who works here and is a teacher like this mommy and that mommy and her mommy..." they were still hung up on the idea that I should be a teacher. I finally got them to move on from teaching.

"I think you should be a fire fighter."

"Why do you think I should be a fire fighter? That's a really hard job."

"You look like you could drive a fire truck really fast and you look really strong so you can rescue people from burning buildings when they can't breathe and they fall down."

Not bad... nice suggestion. I look strong too. I like how kids these days don't see gender as an issue when picking jobs for someone. Keep going...

"You can be a farmer."

"A farmer? What would I do on the farm?"

"You can work on a barn (note, on a barn is what the kid said... not in a barn or on a farm. On a barn. How funny is it when kids are still acquiring language) and you can take care of the horses and they'll listen to you."

Great suggestions, but I'm not in shape enough to be a fire fighter and I bet mucking stables doesn't pay more than unemployment.

So I got some good suggestions from kids. I doubt I will follow any of the career paths suggested, but

---

Jessica has the MCAS test today, and didn't remind me, so I didn't get her up early enough for breakfast... I threw a granola bar to her on her way out of the door.

There goes her academic future... she'll fail miserably and her "young girl dreams of Vassar" will vanish (to steal from Lisa Simpson).

Kidding. She'll do wonderfully. Last week they spent a whole day doing a "practice" run for today, which I found appalling... that they would spend a whole fucking day practicing to take a test. It's a full day test with a break for lunch and a snack break during the morning and afternoon. It has caused a lot of grief here in the state of Massachusetts, parents and kids all up in arms about the test. Failure to pass the one that you take in high school prevents you from graduating.

The first phase of MCAS that she took last year she scored in the 98th percentile I do believe. I think that it was reading comprehension. I don't recall what it is (way to keep up on the parenting here, Chris...) The rest of her class was in the 96th for average. So the school here is doing an amazing job with the kids. The pass rate for MCAS in our district is very good. I had to take very similar tests in New York State when I was growing up, I distinctly remember them. I remember not answering the questions but just filling in circles in a pattern. I tried to make a flower out of all the dots without checking two circles in the same line, which would be bad. No lie.

I'm surprised as hell they didn't pull me in and say "what the hell is this? A 10th percentile?"

I'd have admitted it to them if they did ask. I was bored, the tests were stupid and boring. I wonder if I accidentally filled out every single right answer. Regardless, I made it out of the elementary school and in high school took the test correctly, and obviously did well, but have no idea what my scores were. In New York, the test was a general Regents test... and then there were Advanced Placement tests. A ton of my friends were in AP classes, I took AP English, which I was told I didn't belong in by some of the teachers, but I loved English. My grades weren't great, but I stuck with it. When I took the AP test, I got a four. Yup. Highest grade you could get was a five. Ha. Made you think for a second I got four out of 100. Proudest achievement of my academic career was the four on the AP English test.

I have no worries about her, with or without breakfast, she'll shine. She isn't worried or stressed, for her, it's just another day. Some kids freak out when presented with just the concept of a test. Not her... She loves tests.

When Doug was in graduate school, he would bring tests home for preschool and early elementary school aged children and practice administering them on Jessica. He had to get the flow down, how to turn the pages, how long to give a kid, how to score the tests... and he had a willing subject in her. She loved it.

One test that he gave her corresponds very closely to an IQ test... the score you get is limitless, and is supposed to pretty much equal what your IQ is. She got a 174 on the test. Doug thought maybe he did something wrong in grading it. So after a few weeks he gave it to her again. The second time she got a 170.

"I'm afraid," said Doug to me as he held the scoring sheet. "I'm terribly afraid."

---

Geoff wouldn't sit still for the pre-preschool tests, which Doug took as a bad sign right from the start. He still doesn't sit and test well.

I sent in the paperwork to have him screened by a behavioral neurologist at a local hospital to see if he has anything that can be diagnosed. I don't want to stick a label on the kid, like "Oh, he's O.D.D. [what a great acronym, eh? Oppositional Defiant Disorder. Like kids aren't screwed up enough and they find out they are odd...]

I want to find out what we can do to work with him, if he needs medication or not. If it is strictly behavioral... and find out now. Doug has kind of dragged his feet on this, but the past week has shown that we have to get a handle on what's going on in his little head. So I'll be sure to keep people posted.

We got a great book called "The Explosive Child," which was recommended to Doug by his school psychologist. Doug is reading it now and is almost done, and yesterday he did a few things which he read in the book to diffuse Geoff's temper when we asked him to do something and he fought back. It was almost like magic... Geoff stopped the arguing, and did exactly what we needed him to do. I couldn't believe it.

One thing that we're both applying to Geoff is something that Doug shared with me last night -- never try and out yell your child. Your child will always win, and will piss you off and frustrate you and you will then lose your temper. Never try to out yell... which I always try and do. What I've been doing instead of yelling is talking softer and setting up the consequences. By talking softer, Geoff has to stop yelling to hear me. Then he hears the message. Bingo - he gets it.

Wow.

I never thought I could learn something new but there ya go.

We'll keep you posted on Geoff... pray for him if you pray. He can use all the mojo he can get.

---

It is tick season.

Last week I was sitting on the couch and noticed a lump right between Kinger's eyes. It was a tick. I pulled it out, dashed him with a swab of alcohol, and then sent him on his way. Doug later pulled one out from his cheek.

The next day I had him pinned down on the floor and was pulling and picking all over his big furry body... I got 20 frigging ticks off that dog. Twen-teee. Good gracious.

So now I am constantly checking his furry bod. He's got thick heavy fur, so you have to get your fingers in there tight and close to the skin and crawl around, which he absolutely loves. I brushed him twice this week, going against the grain, looking at the skin as the brush passed. He's never been so well groomed. I called the vet to get some tick medicine, which normally we don't put on him until May, but the incredibly mild winter has obviously benefited the tick population.

I think I'll take him swimming today because he can't go swimming for about 24 hours after the medicine is put on his back... and you know this dog loves to swim. So have a great day, stay on the look out for ticks, and enjoy the nice day (if you are in New England) before the rain comes tomorrow