Music to My Ears

River in the fall

“Your son has a lovely boy soprano voice. I would like for him to sing a solo at the Christmas program….”

“Mom! I get to sing! In front of everyone. She said I have a gift!” He beamed as he scrambled into his seat. 

I reread the note several times over the rest of the evening. My kid is special! Isn’t that what every parent longs to hear? And yet there was part of me that felt sad. Music might very well be the thing that takes him away from me. 

He is so brave, getting up in front of people to put himself on display like that. I would have been paralyzed by the prospect at his age. 

“You know there are boys choirs that travel all over the world,” I offered tentatively, imagining his sweet face singing Ave Maria on television. 

He loves music so much. He is playing piano in second grade at the level I was at when I was in junior high. It comes naturally to him somehow.

“I want to share my gift, Mom, but I don’t want to be away from you and dad.” He started to tear up. “I like being with my family…”

More than anything else, more than hearing that someone thinks my child has the voice of an angel, what I am most proud of is that my kid feels loved enough that he wants to hang with his family. 

He will spread his wings and fly off soon enough but he knows that he will always have a safe place to come back to. Well. At least until he turns 18. That is how I know that all of the difficult choices and sacrifices I have made are worth something. 

My kid feels whole.

That is the best gift of all. 

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Owed

Refurbished part of the Ellis Island hospital

The VA medical system in the US is a shameful mess, not worthy of our veterans.

If we expect someone to lay their life on the line to protect our freedom and the freedom of others all over the world, we have a responsibility to provide for their medical care and that of their families even after their service in a way that is on par with the quality of care received elsewhere in the country. 

Instead there is corruption, waste, deception. Veterans die waiting for help. I have seen the effects of poor care.

Let’s stop ignoring it and do something about it. You want to do something meaningful for Veterans Day? Write to your elected officials and demand change.

Thursday Thoughts From the Throne

Bones at the American Museum of Natural History in NYC
At first I told myself I would NOT write a grumbly post-Halloween post. I held off for a good whole week and a few days but here I am on the toilet stewing about it still and so I feel compelled to just spill my guts, literally and figuratively…

In case you were ever unsure, an adult taking their dog trick or treating is NOT cute if the adult is collecting candy, not wearing a costume, and there are no kids around. If you are an adult who does this, stop. Go ahead and dress up your dog or pup or hamster or whatever pet you can coax into a costume without getting your eyes clawed out and feel free to take a walk through the neighborhood. Show off. Just don’t go begging for candy. 

Second, rollling an infant around in a stroller asking for candy is on par with the pet thing. Sure, they are cute. Feel free to walk around and show them off. But trying to roll a stroller up my front steps is dangerous and we both know that bag of snickers and gobstoppers is not for anyone but you. Buy your own damn candy!

Kids with two bags collecting for a mysterious “ill” sibling…. yeah. If your brother really got sick and you want to do something truly noble, share your own candy half and half. THAT demonstrates love and sacrifice and I won’t be left wondering if that sibling really exists or not as you giggle while walking away with your two heavily laden bags.

And lastly, if you are a kid who shows up at the end of the night when my candy is running low, you may very well end up with a sucker or a box of Nerds because that is all I have left. You don’t like that? Don’t throw the candy on the ground and mutter some expletive as you storm off. I just gave out over 2,000 pieces of candy and you not liking the fact that I am out of chocolate reflects poorly on you, not me.

Ah…. Now that feels better!

Changing Times

Fall colors on the water

I love the fall. I love the colors, the pumpkins, the hint of cooler weather. I love the baking, wearing sweaters, fires in the fire place. I do not, however, love the time change.

Who likes it? That’s what I want to know. And if everyone hates it so much, why the hell hasn’t anyone changed it?!?!!??! Every year we all complain. There are news articles decrying the needlessness of it. And yet, it still happens. 

The dreaded “Fall Back”…

So, the time change alone is bad enough by itself but this year I also forgot to turn back my kids’ clocks so their alarms went off an hour too early yesterday morning. Gah. Who can remember to turn back ALL of their clocks? Worse? It was dark by the time I left work to go pick them up from school. 

Cranky kids. 

Cranky mom. 

For the next few months I will exist in a disorienting cave of darkness, a fugue state of sorts, confined to a building during daylight hours. My brain does not like this. It craves the feeling of sunlight on my skin, the deep red glow of sun filtered through closed eyelids. I find that this matters more and more to me each fall and winter. 

Bottom line? Gaining an hour of sleep is a farce. We don’t get more rest. We don’t have more energy. It is all a sorry pack of lies we tell ourselves every dang year. 

As Long as You have Your health…

Alrighty, here is another reblog for the week just so you know I am not alone in my grumbling and paranoia. Enjoy!!!!

No Facilities

The perfect place and beverage to share some casual conversation.

If we were having a beer, you’d seem concerned about my health.

“Are you in a wellness program?”

“Why, is that a requirement for drinking here?”

“No, of course not. I was just wondering. My company just started one and it looks interesting.”

“I have access to a wellness program, but it’s not direct with our company.”

“Through your health insurer?”

“No, through the organization that provides the health insurance to our company.”

“Hey guys. Just so you know, it’s not like I’m not concerned about your health, but I am here to sell you adult beverages, barbequed chicken wings, pizza or pasta smothered in cream sauce.”

“Hi Cheryl. I’m not sure where this conversation is going, but before he condemns my poor choices, I’ll have a Yuengling.”

“And I’ll have a glass of Meiomi. So, what’s the scoop on…

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Real Terror Is….

Central Park, NYC

“Mommy, there is a fifth grader at school whose mommy had her when she was thirteen! Maybe I will get lucky and have a baby when I am thirteen. Then I will have someone to boss around.”

“Uh. Sweetheart. You don’t want to have a baby when you are thirteen.”

“Why not?” She was incredulous.

How to communicate that it is a terrible idea without tearing down the other girl’s mommy?

“Because having a baby when you are a teenager is generally frowned upon.” 

“Why?”

“A baby is a lot of responsibility. A lot of dirty diapers. Tons of poop. It is also very, very painful. You want to wait until your body is big enough.”

She was undeterred. “How do you get a baby?” There was silence as I pondered whether or not my six year old daughter was ready to learn the specifics about baby-making when suddenly she brightened up and blurted out, “Drinking alcohol. Is that how you do it?”

“Um. Yes? Sometimes?” My mind wandered to the patient who had recently gone on a so called booze cruise and came back pregnant with triplets…

“Alright!” She smiled sweetly at me, finally satisfied that now she knew the secret and then without missing a beat she said, “I am going to drink some alcohol.”

The Apple and The Tree

I don’t usually post on Mondays anymore because the clinic is usually crazy but I did want to reblog this post from Twindaddy at Mental Defecation. Typically I don’t get a ton of people popping over to read reblogs but I would encourage you to hit the link on this one.

Mental Defecation

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, the old saying goes. It’s an obvious statement, of course. Unless an apple tree is at the top of a hill any apple that falls from it isn’t going far at all.

My tree has dropped three apples, so to speak. None of them have fallen far from the tree. To be frank, I’d bet money the genetic engineers of Jurassic Park cloned my “apples” directly from me if I didn’t know better. I can see my likeness in their jokes, their intelligence, their behaviors, and their personalities. But nothing quite dissected how similar we are until I read a short essay today.

I was talking with Baby B about meds and school when he mentioned he’d finished an essay he needed to turn in for English tomorrow was finished. I inquired more about it and found out that the topic he’d…

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Broken Windows

Broken window at Ellis Island hospital

It irks me beyond measure that my eyes are aging to the point that to read posts from the WordPress app on my phone I now require glasses, that to look at certain skin lesions in clinic I need to run grab the red framed readers that I *affectionately* call my old-lady glasses. Adjusting to this new reality is taking some time. I still find myself stubbornly squinting at the screen as if denial will make it all go away… 

Name Dropping

Interior, B25 Bomber
“Do you want to put on a flight suit?”

My daughter nodded, a grin starting to form. She had not been one bit happy about being dragged to an air show.

“They didn’t make flight suits that fit women so the ladies had to roll up the legs and sleeves to make them fit.” She zipped up the suit, then rolled up the cuffs. “Come on, I’ll show you how to fly!”

She helped my daughter scramble up the wing and into the cockpit and proceeded to explain how the instruments worked, letting her use the pedals and rudder.

“During World War II, women flew planes like this all over and in some cases taught the men how to fly…”

It was a fascinating thing watching the change that come over my daughter. She held her head higher. She seemed more confident. She positively glowed. It was a striking transformation.

The key?

Her brother was not getting to do this.

I used to think that girls just needed the same opportunities as boys but I am thinking that is maybe less true. If her brother had been there he would have commanded all of the attention. She would have faded to the background. She needed her own opportunity, her own experience. My daughter needed the woman in the B-25 bomber to pull her to the side specially and tell her that she flew in this plane all the time, that girls, that women, CAN do amazing things.

This post was going to be about how grateful I was for all of the women in the world who take the extra time to help girls understand their history, to understand science, to help them reach their dreams.

And then the Boy Scouts announced girls could join up.

Now, I’ll be honest. I know the Girl Scouts are not all about cookies necessarily but that is what the world knows them for. I never wanted to be in the Girl Scouts as a kid. I didn’t want to have to compete at selling cookies. I wanted to do what the Boy Scouts were doing, having adventures, learning survival skills, but I never wanted to join the Boy Scouts because… boys… ick.

As a parent I have not enrolled my kids in either scout program. I simply don’t have time to be jetting off to two meetings and doing camp outs and projects for two different organizations. So, on some level I see the appeal, having both kids in the same program. But girls need their own space to feel special. Too often they get lost in the male crowd. They need mentoring from strong women.

All of this begs the question, what is wrong with being a girl? Why do we have to be more like the boys? Why can’t we be successful and adventurous in our own right? Why do we have to join the boys?

Why do we have to sell cookies?

I don’t think girls who want to join the Boy Scouts are bad but part of me feels the “allowing” girls thing is a bit insulting and maybe a bit embarrassing. Come, girls, join the BOY Scouts! Is being a girl such a shameful thing? Is being different bad? For all of the emphasis on cookies, perhaps the message is that Girl Scouts have missed the point. They are no longer relevant.