chapped lips, etc.

It's starting to feel like the only time I log in to write anything is when I'm in a really shitty mood. Or maybe that's when people finally leave me alone long enough to do anything.

I need to start carrying a small notebook in my pocket because there have been a few times in the past couple of days when I've said, "Note to self: remember this so you can write about it in your blog." Ha. Ha. HaHaHa. There are too many post-its in my head and invariably, if I don't write something down, another note to self gets plopped on top. I may find the buried reminders someday... but by then I can't remember why I was supposed to remember. Ah.

One thing I do remember, because it made me laugh. A was somewhat recovered from the flu, but still had runny nose and gunk and just leftover misery... and really horribly chapped lips. At one point, I turn around to look at him, and his mousy brown hair is covering his face, and he is sort of slouched and mad-looking and his lips are so chapped that they look like clown lips... and I swear to you, it was like looking at me at around age 10 or so. It was almost surreal. And for some reason, really - really - funny. Sucks to inherit the whole chapped lip thing.

The other thing I remember because it's another one of those moments where I'm reminded how little I really know. How far out of proportion I can blow things. And how terrified I am of things not working out, of people's feelings being hurt, of *gasp* someone not liking me!!! A had a rough morning on Saturday. Woke up late ("It's not my FAULT!!!"), showed up to his Band solo competition without his saxophone ("I didn't know!!!"), was told by his coach not to shoot during the basketball game ("He's STUPID!"), didn't move on to regionals with his Nat'l History Day Project ("They cheated")...

I should pause here to say that we were able to reframe all of this - yes, it's your responsibility to wake up on time - if you don't know, ASK - a coach's responsibility it to ask his team to play in a way that makes sense THAT game against THAT team, it's not personal - be proud that your project got to regionals! Make an even better one next year....

So, bad day (plus, his father is moving back to town and A wants to go live with him again). And for some reason, I pick this day to talk to him about school. He was thinking about auditioning for the Arts Magnet - for music. (Yes, the kid who can;t wake up and doesn't bring his instrument... oh, and never practices.)

We agree to go to dinner and talk about HS, because we're running out of time. We talk about the Arts Magnet, I point out that he's very, very good at sax, but that he needs to decide if he loves it enough to do what it takes. That it's not about being good, it's about wanting it. He decides probably not. I mention to him that the one thing he does ALL the time, that he loves doing is drawing. He say, "I'm not very good." I say, "well. what do you think school is for???" He thinks maybe he'll audition for Art.

We talk about the neighborhood school. Not the best in the world, but consistently in Newsweek's top 100. (or 1000). Has a great fine arts dept, athletic dept, AP classes, etc. In fact, I can't think why he wouldn't want to go... except that his father has made the school out to be festering evil... based on... I don't know.... voices in his head???

Then he says what I knew he would - he utters the name of a school and says, "You know, when my dad moves back, he can move into that neighborhood."

And I open my mouth and shut it. And open and shut it. He looks at me and says, "What? Just say it." I tell him I don't know how to say what I need to say without it sounding mean. "Just say it."

So I scramble for neutral words and find a way to talk about his father's inconsistency in terms of staying in one place for any length of time (I do NOT talk about his inconsistency in everything, though I am tempted). I say, I don't want him to go to a school based on his Dad's address anf then have to transfer out when something comes up. And A says, "Mom, that's not mean. That's the truth."

And there it is. He KNOWS the TRUTH!!! I get so wrapped up in saying it right, so wrapped up in not badmouthing his father, ruining his relationship with his dad... and in some ways, I've known he knows the truth, but that was one of those "you're off the hook" moments. And it was beautiful.

Next post, I'll try to remember to write about the dog R keeps promising he'll get for A. A now has his heart set on a Husky that his father has apparently promised. I think he knows the truth anout that one, too. But he wants it to work so bad - the whole normal dad-son-dog thing. And the truth hurts.