Blankety-blank

I remember very well, the events of that day in 2001, when our lives were changed forever. I remember how scared we were, wondering how many more planes would go down, or what would happen next. I remember sitting in line at the gas station, because my car was WAY below E, and being worried I would run out before I got to the pump -- all because people were panicked that gas prices would quadruple overnight.

I remember.

I remember every day, even now, when I hear a plane fly overhead. I thank God that they've changed airline security, but always wonder if it is enough to keep us safe, when people are willing to put bombs in their shoes or their underwear. And I remember our first flight after 9/11 happened.

We were flying to Florida. Dan and I were going on a cruise just before Halloween, and the kids were going to divide their time between both sets of grandparents. It was the first time we flew together as a family, and everyone was incredulous. If I had a nickel for every time someone asked "aren't you AFRAID to fly right now" they'd ask. My response was always no. My theory was, if something happened to me, I wouldn't want my kids to be left alone. And if something happened to my kids, well, bury me right along with them, because I could not go on anyway. I figured that if someone bombed our plane, we'd all die together, and no one would be left alone.

Yeah, people thought I was weird. Heck, people still think I'm weird, but I'm ok with that.

So, in preparation for the flight, I called the airport. When I finally got hold of someone in security, I asked if they would allow my then 6 year old son to bring his blanket on the plane. Specifically, I asked if they would let him through security with it, because if we got to the airport and they confiscated it, we would all end up on CNN, with the headline "6 Year Old Succumbs to Blanket Separation Anxiety." Not taking this blanket was NOT an option. Well, the lady in security's response was "of COURSE he can bring his blanket," in a very condescending tone. "Well, I wasn't sure." "Why in the world would he not be allowed to take his blanket," she replied."

"Well, I didn't know, since it's a queen sized quilt." There was a pregnant pause.
"Well, I hardly think he could carry that," she said.
"Oh, he does quite fine with it, actually," I said, "but if they take it away from him at security, it could get very ugly and loud very quickly."

She still sounded like she thought I was stupid when I hung up the phone. But trust me, Seth lugged that huge quilt everywhere. So we went to the airport, checked in, and got on the plane. I was sitting in front of him and Dan, when suddenly, a child-sized shirt flew over the seat, landing in my lap. I turned around to see what the heck the kid was doing. There he was, topless, wrapped in his blanket. He looked at me, shrugged, and said "I was hot."

After the cruise to nowhere (there was a hurricane, but that's another story), we confirmed our flight home. We had to report to the airport 2 1/2 hours early -- remember, they were being really crazy about the security at the time -- so we went, the father in law dropped us off, and we got in line. When we finally got to the counter, the boy there -- named Mohammed, which sadly, gave me pause, but again, remember how it was at in those days -- informed us that the flight time had changed, and that we were about to miss our flight.

We took off at a full run, with three kids, trailing that queen sized quilt behind us all the way to the tram in the Orlando airport. After we jumped out of the tram, making sure that the quilt wasn't caught in the door, we ran to the gate and made it, just in time to check in before we took off.

We've flown several times since then, sometimes with the blanket, sometimes not. He takes it camping, on vacation, on overnights, and he plans to take it when he goes to Europe for 17 days next summer. And you know what? If he's found something that gives him comfort, why not, because we cannot stay entrenched in post 9/11 fear. We have moved forward, learning the lessons that come from that day, and know that we live in a safer world than ten years ago. There is comfort in simplicity. I think Seth's got it all figured out.

Naptown.

School started last Thursday for Seth. He likes school, but lamented its return for at least two weeks of his roughly six week summer break. His school is year round, but a rather warped year round, so he really doesn't get a long break. Nonetheless, Irvington Preparatory didn't read his memo, and started on schedule.

Now, Seth is a night owl. He likes to stay up late, but frequently wimps out and falls asleep long before his buddies. Last week, however, he ended up staying up pretty late the night before school starts, and in the morning, it showed. Keep in mind that the boy has two alarm clocks that go off -- one on one side of his head, the other on the other side. He doesn't even flinch. So every morning, the conversation is the same, and it goes like this:

"Seth. Seeeeeeth. SETH."
"::unintelligible::
"What? You have to get up."
"I'm awake."
"You have to be vertical or I'm not leaving this room."
"It's ok. I'm awake." (said as he lays stock-still, wrapped in his blanket. I haven't seen eyes yet.)
"Seth. Sit up. I'm not leaving until I see you UP."
::sits up, wrapped in a blanket like the Virgin Mary, looking like he lives under a bridge::
"I'm awake."
"Now, don't lay back down. Do you want the light?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"Ok. Have a good day."

This has been our morning conversation for two years. Occasionally he surprises me and actually wakes up for the alarm, but I think he likes our little exchange, or he's a glutton for punishment, one or the other. Well, Thursday, he was wiped out, but he knew I was driving him to school (first day, Mommy wants to see him off to school, you know), so he got up and motivated. Friday morning wasn't a whole lot better, but he got up and moving, and we made it to school just in time for him to get to class. Monday morning came, and his wagon was still draggin -- he actually did fall back to sleep briefly, but he was up in time to get in the car, though I'm not 100% positive he remembered the trip.

And then today came.

I have mentioned in the past that the boy talks in his sleep. I have also mentioned that he will have entire conversations with you that he doesn't ever remember having. Well, this morning, I went in and woke him up like usual. I use the term "woke up" loosely, as I was pretty sure he was having one of those unconscious conversations. He had actually gone to bed at a fairly reasonable hour, but he was dead to the world when I walked in. Here's how it went:

"Seth. Seeeeeeetthhhh. SETH. SETH SETH. SETH!"
::garbled unintelligible verbiage::
"SETH. Wake UP."
"garbled unintelligible verbiage::
"Seth, you have to get up. I have to see you vertical or I'm not leaving this room."
"wha......." ::garbled unintelligble verbiage::
::he makes a move, but he is wrapped up like a mummy. He sits up about 1/4 of the way, gets tangled, gives up, and lies back down::
"SETH. UP. NOW."
::He sits up. Unintelligble speech. "I'm up." The eyes are open. He is looking at me. He is probably totally unaware of what is going on, but I keep going."
"Are you awake?"
"I'm awake."
"Do you want the light?"
::unintelligble speech::
"What? You need to wake up. Don't lie back down."
"I'm awake."
"Do you want the light?"
"Yeah. Thank you."
"OK, I am going to turn on the light. Do NOT lie back down. Don't go back to sleep. You have to walk to school today, so you have to wake up."
"Ok, I'm fine."

Amazingly, he made it to school on time. I live in amazement of his abilities to get awake, when he looks so bedraggled. He is much like me -- I hate morning. So tonight, we were discussing the next couple of days, because I am off, and I can take him to school. And here's the conversation that followed.

"Did you wake me up this morning? Because if you did, I don't remember it at all."
"Yes, I did."
"Did you talk to me, because I don't remember it at all."
"Yes, we had an entire conversation, but you were pretty sleepy."
"I don't remember it at all."
"Well, it was one of those ones where I knew you were asleep, and I figured you wouldn't remember it."
"I don't."
"So Seth, I know I've been waking you up later than usual. What time do you want to get up?"
"Whenever you get up."
"But that's what I've been doing. I've been getting up later than usual though, so I'm getting you up late, and I know you need extra time to get awake. What time do you want to get up?"
"Whenever you get up."
::getting nowhere::
"Seth, what time do you set your alarm clock for?"
"Six thirty."
"OK, so I will get you up at 6:30."
"I used to set it for 5:30."
::mother shudders::
"Why in the world would you want to get up that early?"
"So I can take a nap."

Ponder that for a minute.

"So you get up earlier so you can take a nap?"
"Yeah, I like to wake up, then take a nap, so I can get awake better when I get up."

Hmmm........hmmm............I will say, this child must not be related to me, because I fly out of the bed at the last possible moment, many days, because I hate to get up, hate the sound of the alarm clock, hate morning, and everything associated with it, and if the boy didn't live here, I would seriously find a way to not get out of bed at any time that has an AM associated with it. And I will also say that there is NO WAY that I am going to wake this boy up at 5:30 am, because there is absolutely no reason on earth good enough for anyone to get up that early in the morning, unless George Clooney is involved, and I wouldn't need to be getting out of bed for that, so it's a moot point.

So tomorrow, the boy will be wakened at 6:30, and hopefully he will wake up. In time for his nap.

This is my daughter on drugs

I've been running a M*A*S*H Unit of late, what with Jill getting her wisdom teeth out, and Seth getting a two for one surgical special on a shoulder and a toe. Yeah, I guess it's a good thing I'm a nurse.

Jill had her wisdom teeth out a week and a half ago. Her doc has his patients take a mild sleeping pill an hour before the procedure, and just like clockwork, Jill got loopy. She made it into the car ok, but then I realized she didn't have shoes on. When I told her to put her shoes on, she started a little diatribe about how she didn't think she should have to wear shoes into the office, and why couldn't she just go in in her socks? She lost that battle, but that's when it got interesting.

She went to put her shoes on, and suddenly exclaimed "these shoes are made by COMMUNISTS!" She seemed rather amazed, then thrust them up to the front seat to her boyfriend Michael, who was riding shotgun. "LOOK," she said, then grabbed the offending shoe back, and said "Better red than dead." Michael said "well, I'd rather be alive," at which point Jill said "are you a COMMUNIST?"

Oye vay. Michael is as gentle a soul as anyone could ever be. I don't even know if he votes, but I do know one thing, and that's that he is neither Red nor dead.

We managed to get her inside the doctor's office, where she promptly started dancing with Michael. When they called her name, the last thing we heard before the door closed was the lady asking Jill if she needed to use the restroom, and Jill responding with a crisp "nope." The girl was stoned outta her mind.

Afterward, it took Michael and the tech to get the girl into the car, cause she could barely stand. Once inside and rolling, she pronounced that she was "seeing three of everything," and started counting it out: "three guys, three trucks, two telephone poles, three lights......" That was fine, but then she started grabbing at things in the air. When I asked her what she was doing, she said "trying to catch them, whatever "them" was. Then she suddenly let out an emphatic "Communist!"

Apparently, that lady at the bus stop was a Communist. Who knew?

We kept going, at which point Jill pointed to a building and said "that's full of bad people." Michael responded with an incredulous "Lutherans?" because she had just pointed to Gethsemane Lutheran Church (or Jessamain, as Dan once called it. Yeah.) I always knew that Jill was less than impressed with that church's soup, as they hosted some of the Wednesday services during Lent, and their soup and sandwich suppers did not meet her expectations. Apparently that made them bad people in her eyes.

Then Michael asked me what was in the road up ahead, because yes, there was something, and we were far enough away that it was hard to tell what it was. I told him I wasn't sure, then realized it was a plastic bag. When I told that to Michael, Jill responded, "there's a kitten in it." Michael, once again mystified by this person his girlfriend had become, said "a kitten?" and started laughing. Jill acknowledged it, and we both laughed.

When we got home, it took both of us to get her into the house, a feat accomplished only after I lifted her feet up on the single step of the porch, because she kept trying and couldn't get her foot high enough. If I'd waited for her, we would've been there a while. Once inside, we took the path of least resistance and put her to bed. She almost missed the bed when she sat down, then immediately took one shoe off. She couldn't get the other off, so I removed it for her and told her to lay down, at which point she went straight back, lying across the bed instead of the length of the bed, where she proceded to sleep for a good hour or two.

Yep, she's a cheap junkie. The next time she has surgery, we will sell tickets. I will be rich. Would that make me a Communist?

The Best Dog

Today is a sad day in the house of Utter Chaos. Our beloved Timmy has left us to go to his final resting place. There was never a better dog on this earth than my Timmy.

Timmy came to us as a puppy. I still remember the first time we saw him, curled up next to his mom (a Springer Spaniel). He was tiny, very quiet, and sweet. He had been named named him Poochie, but that name didn't stick. I have to admit, I thought naming him Timmy was weird, but we got him for the kids, and Jill named him Timothy -- Timmy for short. He didn't stay tiny for long, and his heart was as big as the rest of him.

Timmy had a penchant for food, and for running. He once chewed the entire lining out of my church coat, just to get to the one Hershey kiss contained therein. It was not unusual for him to help himself to any kind of food lying around, whether it was a steak, a cake, or his favorite -- chocolate. It didn't take me long to figure out the dosage of Pepto Bismol for a dog his age. We used it frequently.

Timmy ran away more times than I could count, but it wasn't to get away. It was to socialize. He would go flying out of the yard and be gone before you could catch him, only to come wandering back 10 or 12 hours later. At that point, he would flop down in front of the fireplace (he was allergic to our carpet) and sleep for several hours. I never knew what he did on those days off, but he sure seemed to enjoy himself.

One time, Timmy took off, and it was several hours before anyone realized he was gone. (This is a busy house and we simply missed it.) That night, he didn't come back, and I was worried sick. Next morning, we got a call from someone who said they had him. We got to their house, only to be told that yes, they had him, but he had taken off that morning. And oh, by the way, "he is the best dog." Yes, he was. The next day, the exact same thing happened -- he had wandered up to someone, they called, and he was gone before we arrived to get him. "And oh, by the way, he is the best dog!" Yes, he was. This went on for four days, till he finally was nabbed and taken, of all things, to our vet. Fortunately they recognized him, called us, and we got him back. After that, he got microchipped.

Twice he escaped and was taken to the Humane Society. The first time, we called to see if by chance he was there, figuring there was no way, because he hadn't been gone much more than an hour, and the Humane Society is 45 minutes away. They told us that they didn't think he was there, but we were welcome to come and look to verify this. We walked into the Found pets area where most people never go, and a caucophony of dog barking hit us like a wave. Somehow, in all that noise, Jill said she heard Timmy. I thought she was crazy, but I should've known better. I followed her as she quickly went through the rooms and straight to Timmy, who stood there wagging his tail like we had just gotten home. How Jill did that, I will never know.

Another time, I took the kids to Michigan while Dan stayed behind, working on a job at our church that required the BIG ladders. I was freaked out when he would call and tell me how high up he was, and what the view was like, so I just left town till he was done. I'm not sure how it happened, but Timmy got loose. I'm not even sure that Dan realized he was loose until he came trotting up to him at the church, wagging his tail like he hadn't seen him in days. I have no idea how Timmy was able to do that, because he had to walk about a mile, crossing two VERY busystreets in the process, but nothing was going to keep him from his family -- even if there was only one of us in town.

Timmy travelled well, so he went to St. Louis, Florida, and on several camping trips with us. He loved to ride with his nose out the window, and he loved being outside. It wasn't uncommon for him to lay in the front yard while I worked in my flower garden, only to stand up and stare whenever anyone walked by. He didn't usually approach them, but he did want them to know he was there.

As the years went on, he slowed down some, but what 14 year old dog doesn't? He could still chase a squirrel with the best of them, though. He was as deaf as a post in recent months, but would still come to the kitchen when the other dogs were getting treats. He was active and happy, hanging with his buddy Boo. Then suddenly last night, he took a turn for the worse, and the only real option was to put him to sleep, or he would linger in pain until the end. None of us wanted that. All four of us sat with him for a long time, stroking his fur while he slept on his blanket. They had sedated him just enough to relax him, and I was concerned that I wouldn't get to say a proper goodbye, but just before the final injection, he lifted his head and looked right at me. He was very drowsy, but he knew, and I know that he was saying goodbye. We all sobbed as he left us, knowing that there will never be another dog like him.

I will miss him terribly. There is a hole in my heart the size of a German Shepherd-Springer Spaniel, and nothing will ever fill it. But I do know that Timmy was the best dog, that he had a happy life, and that he was loved. And isn't that what it's all about?

RIP Timmy Utter. I love you.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho

So, since the man has departed the abode, I am left to do the fixer-uppin. I'm rather enjoying it, quite frankly. I've been working at painting every surface I can, because when I really looked around here, it was pretty wonky.

The living room is blue, but the entryway was never painted to match, s it's tan, with remainders of the old border still in there. The dining room was cranberry, but was painted tan a couple of years ago -- but the hallway still had one wall that is cranberry. The kitchen was painted green around the same time the dining room was, but the back hallway was still the original yellow the kitchen had been.

In short, my eyes were burning.

The outside of the house was painted blue a couple of years ago. It's always been blue, and I've never been enthralled with it. I decided to paint it as well, but when I did a walkaround, figuring that there would be minimal prep (since it was just painted by the man, and he's a painter), I found that there was exposed wood on the back porch that was peeling the paint, because it was never primed underneath, and worse yet, there is all kind of rotting siding on the sunroom.

I may've said a bad word or three.

So a couple of weekends ago, we ripped out the rotten stuff, which left exposed insulation which, oddly, had been installed backward. ::sigh:: Did I mention that this whole thing has been a learning experience? So a friend of a friend told me what I needed to do to make it right, and I went to Lowe's to get the stuff. Side note: the people at Lowe's are VERY helpful to the clueless.
So I bought this styrofoam-y sheathing that was maybe 8 feet long and 3/4" thick, without thinking about the fact that OH! I have a Toyota Camry. Not a van. This was gonna be an interesting trip home.

Luckily, I had bought some rope for a clothesline at the same time, so I thought I had it in the bag. I found out I was wrong, when I went out the doors of Lowe's and the wind gusted. I was pushing a cart, while carrying the sheathing in my left hand. The wind caught underneath it, it flew up like a sail, and almost took off to parts unknown. I couldn't grab it quickly enough because of the cart, so I struggled to get the whole thing under control without losing my cart into traffic. A couple of Latino men were crossing the parking lot, and one headed toward me, presumably to help. It was at that point that the styrofoam snapped. The Latino man looked rather crestfallen, as if to say "oh man, you just broke it BAD," but I just laughed and said "oh well, I can still use it and maybe it will fit into my car." He just looked at me like I was nuts.

So I got to the car and tied the sheathing on the top. This was no easy feat either, since I was alone and the wind was gusting like mad. It threatened to fly off a couple of times, and I think more than one Lowe's customer was amused, watching my antics. I finally got it tied down and headed home. Slowly. Not on the interstate. I realized a couple of blocks down the road that the car behind me was WAY behind me, as in, maybe trying to avoid me distance, so I stopped at the gas station on the next corner. Said car ended up following me in and drove by me very slowly, looking at me once again like I was crazy.

Sure enough, it was loose and threatening to fly off, so I tied it down, this time more securely, and headed off again. The same thing happened: the too distant car behind me, and a stop a couple of blocks away. This time I found that the sheathing was tied down better but was still loose, and the rope was now digging into it, causing long grooves to be cut into the side.

I wasn't going to be able to tie it down any better by myself, and I had nothing to lose, so I took it down -- it almost flew away again -- folded it into thirds, and shoved it into the back seat of my Camry.

When I got home, the wind had died down. I never saw another gust like the ones working against me, but it didn't matter. I won. And you know what? That busted up, groove filled sheathing is firmly ensconced in the side of my house, and it looks just fine.

Wind=0. Lisa=1. I win.

Riding in Cars with Boys

So, I went there and back again today. I had to make a run to Chicago to pick up some cabinets. They wouldn't fit in my car, of course, so I rented a cargo van to do it. You know, one of those serial killer vans? Well, I had to take Seth and his buddy with me, so they could do the lifting, and wow, was that a treat.

I just love teenaged boys. They make the most interesting road trip companions.

First, they asked me if I had duct tape, because they wanted to duct tape their mouths and wrists and look out the back window frantically during the trip -- just to freak out the people behind us, and to confirm the serial killer aspect of the van. Ixnay on that one -- more because we didn't have duct tape than anything. I would've loved to have a picture of that. I feel fairly certain it would be Seth's Facebook profile picture shortly thereafter. The next thing you know, CPS and/or the FBI would be knocking on my door, so maybe it wouldn't be a good idea after all.

On the way there, they mostly did nerd things like Algebra 2, talking about cube roots, played chess, and slept. Boooooring! The trip home was a whole different matter.

There was one point at which Nick was playing with the radio, giving his commentary on the stations in a word or three -- white noise, country, "Nope", white noise, female singer, "don't like you," white noise, rap, "uh-uh", white noise, more singing, "boring", white noise, male singer, "you can't sing," white noise, rap, "no way," white noise, more music..........you get the drift. I can't remember exactly what he ended up leaving it on, because I was more interested in the commentary than the actual music.

I had mentioned to the boys that they had missed all of the huge windmill-wind-energy-thingies on the way up there, so Seth asked me to be sure to point them out on the way home. Like you can miss the things -- they are HUGE, and there are dozens of them. It looks to me like something out of War of the Worlds, and quite frankly, they are a little creepy. Well, Seth was zonked when we got to them on the way home, so I poked him, and got a "huh?" I told him the windmills were in front of him. He said "neat," stared into space for a minute, and was out again. A few minutes later, I decided to poke him again, because we were close enough to see how big they were. "Huh?" "Windmills." "Neat." Stare into space. Zonked.

I don't think he remembers seeing them now. I'm not even sure he did, because he looked messed up.

About half an hour later, the cabinets I picked up were rattling to beat the band, and I do mean it was LOUD. I jokingly told Nick to quit messing with them, at which point he half-yelled "there was a spider, and it was huge, and I hate spiders." I asked where said spider was. He looked at me like I was nuts, and told me he'd killed it dead. This turned into an interesting discussion about spider heaven. 16 year old little philosophers they are.

A little while later, Seth looked out the window, and I heard him say "COOL!" I asked him what, and he turned and looked at me with some kind of giddy and said "have you ever moved your Adam's apple up and down while looking in the mirror? It's amazing!" Somehow I don't think MY Adam's apple would be amazing, but whatever floats your boat, brother. It kept the boy entertained, that's all I've got to say.

And of course, when I pulled into the CVS drive-thru, Einstein and his buddy asked what I was doing. "Picking up my drugs," said I, to which they both responded "cocaine, or weed?"

I need to start drinking.

The Five Things

My computer nerd co-worker told me that his father told him at their wedding reception that there are five things you need to do in order to keep your marriage intact in times of, shall we say, discourse? I think that he is pretty spot on with his suggestions.

Here they go. In case of a disagreement, the man of the house is to immediately say these five things, preferably in order:

1. Please forgive me.
2. You were right, I was wrong.
3. It will never happen again.
4. I don't know what came over me.
5. I love you very much.

I have, of course, made my co-worker repeat all of these things to me any time that he disagrees with me which, of course is often, given his viewpoint of functionality vs pretty with our software, and my completely opposite view -- it's not gonna function well, unless things are cleaned up and pretty. I do, however, modify the last one a bit, since him telling me he loves me is just plain wrong, since he is very happily married. Instead, we have substituted it with "I have a deep and abiding respect for you and your position."

Repeat as necessary. And please note, there is no version for the female to use. As we know the man is always wrong. Right?