Puffy-ness, Prednisone and Victoria's Secret



Jaden does not like "extra" puff in clothing, if it's not necesssary.

He can't run and catch a football at recess if his coat is

 

 "Too Puffy"

 

To help with this ever so precious agility, I have to take out the inner lining for him.

 

*Envision the poor little brother from A Christmas Story that is all bundled up in his red snow suit, galoshes over his boots, mittens, hat and then a scarf swirled around his head. Hard to walk, let alone catch a pass in those conditions.

 

So when Jaden has made some comments lately- they have hit home. An observation of his about a certain piece of underclothing made me laugh.

 

So I was lazy and left that article of clothing on the bed rather than put it in my top drawer.

 

"Mom!" Jaden said horrified when he walked into my room. Pointing at the article of clothing he said:

 

 "That looks like a coat!"

 

It's a bra, dear child.

I picked it up and put it in my drawer and thought to myself:
 'And a VS one at that!!'

 But, probably not one of the ones that make it on the Angels Runway each year. It't their utilitarian version, I guess you could say. And !:

 

Why do you think it's like a coat, J?????? I asked, perplexed at his "fear" of the thing laying on my bed. As if it were a dead animal on the side of the road or something.

 

"It's seriously 'puffy'- like a coat." he replied in all seriousness.

 

Well I don't have to catch any passes at recess, Mr.!!

 

"Do you throw those [bras] away?" he sincerely asked.

 

No!!  You wash them like other clothing items- they aren't meant to be disposable, like a jock strap should be!

He was sheepish when I said this and pointed out all the times I took that job and wanted to hurl MANY items from football into the trash after a practice or game.

However, we were pretty much in tears laughing at this revelation about the particulars of women's underclothing. And I had to admit it did have a coat-like appearance in texture- cotton... but was it
THAT thick???? C.mon!
 

 

The next priceless puffy comment has come as a result of the prednisone.

 

After returning home from his Thanksgiving trip abroad to Dad's, he kissed my cheek as we unloaded his suitcase.

 

"Your cheeks are puffy-er, Mom."

 

Yup, I reminded him that would be what is affectionately called The Moon Face; displaced fat cells throughout the body accumulating in undesirable places as a side effect of the dreaded Pred.

 

This got him laughing- the name of it. I told him and showed him the part on my back called: The Buffalo Hump. And the little circle of puffy around the neck are called 'Supra Clavical Fat Pads' or something. Those pile up and look like my hiking sleeping bag.

 

 

 

We both laughed and laughed. Yes, sometimes it's funny to turn into a pimple long overdue to be popped. (oh, you get those too for real in mass abundance.) But really, when it boils down to it, it's frustrating.

Trying to wash the walls yesterday in the stairway was tiring with the extra padding on the gutt.

 

When this kind of weight gain/puffiness comes on it is hard to adjust. It isn't that I am above being puffy. In fact, sometimes it is a physical manisfestation of my illness that catches attention more so than when I am wasting away. That's when you get compliments- in our culture the wain look and size 2 is desirable. But not at the cost of Crohns Disease, I promise you.

 

A good description of how it feels to go from waste to puff comes from Louie- the Veteran  from Unbroken. His body wasted away in POW camps to stick figure proportions. Upon being saved they ate the rations that floated down in boxes from little parachutes. Chocolate, spam, ciggarettes to help bide the time until they could really be rescued and put in a hospital helped these walking corpses.

 

In the hospitals IV Drips and all the ice cream, mashed potatoes and gravy they could eat was given to them. He tried his best to go slow when eating the food-- it actually made him pretty sick at first.

 

Can you imagine the feeling? The whole digestive system would be shocked to suddenly have all this food at its disposal.

 

Louie said that they quickly put weight back on. But a lot of it was water weight, didnt' replace muscle in the least and felt gushy. Those aren't his words. But his description of the experience is how I feel every time I go from a true extreme in disease and then a good long dose of prednisone.

 

The puffy even makes the eyes feel uncomfortably squezzed and I start to feel my glasses touch the side of my head and it's annyoying. It even swells the retina so your eye sight isn't as sharp.

Let's all say: BOOOOOOOOOOO=HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

 Poor little You,

Amanda!

 

Which is what I did until last night when I got back on to Anna O'Connor's site, annabanana.org, and read through some of her father's journal entries.

 

Not one complaint.

 

Here was this beautiful woman who at the end of her life got puffy. 

 

Not.

 

One.

 

Puffy.

 

Complaint.

 

Anna is genuinely all smiles in all pictures, holding her family and friends close to her.

 

Me: 

 

 Dodging cameras at family get-togethers and pleading with folks to just ban facebook for awhile.

 

Gosh, dang I wish I was one of those people that was grateful, graceful and not so blambed prideful!

Those are the folks ya like to be around- I know individuals who are so engrossed in others you want to be around them all the time because they could care less what they look like.

They are true. They know who they are no matter what the circumstances.

And they aren't fretting the small stuff.

 

So how do you get un-Grinch-ish selfish when you have to go through the same stuff

over and over?

(Serve others.)

 

I hope this post doesn't make others feel that I am not striving to be one of those people, or that my physical problems haven't eluded me at times and I truly can say

 

that it doesn't bother me what I look like,

 

that I can feel my worth at all times. 

 

That I truly am interested in others and that is what makes having an illness like this bearable.

Or the enduring of certain side effects doable because you have the phenomenal lift  from others kindnesses that make it possible just as the lift that puts airplanes in the sky.

 

It really is miraculous. 

 

 

Getting to know others and having good friends has always been important to me and being house bound at various times in life, not out to the games, or able to help friends- is difficult.

 

I have plenty of people around me, in my church, neighborhood and friends in other places that have set forth good examples.

In fact, I'm super jealous of this lady I know who can push her husband over an hour in his wheel chair, set up Christmas decorations, send out heartwarming invitations and letters to others and all this after going through cancer.

 

Oh, and being in her late 70's.

 

Just as a warning to others- there are some tough birds in this neighborhood that are in their later years and you don't want to mess with them. Jaden can't even convince them to allow him to mow their lawns.

 

They've got it covered.

 

Maybe when they hit their 90's a new market will open up for him.

 

Anyway,

 

This blog is a very important way for me to "reach" some of those friends who I would normally have sought out in person on one of J and I's walks or rides, and conversed, laughed, or uplifted.

 

AND VENT. 

 

Hope you don't mind the venting.

 

On the positive side:

 

We can all rest assured knowing that I will be immune to the harsh Idaho temps approaching being all bundled up in my VS coat bra, and "other" padding.

 

 

The Physical Fiscal Cliff!

Does anyone know who or where the first time the phrase Fiscal Cliff was coined?

For the last little while every journalist, congressperson, and Presidential tie has said it and it conjures up scenes from The Last of the Mohicans; Daniel Day Lewis running up a mountain side, the guys shooting arrows at innocent people standing on the cliff side. And it makes me think of the one girl who eludes his arrow and does the dirty work herself- plummets to her death because her sweetheart is gone already anyway.

Well, while our fiscal cliff is nearing I have been nearing the end of a list of Neuroblatsoma Cancer victims. Some real stories of people that have a cliff in their future.

I came onto Anna O'Connor's. She developed the cancer at 17- which is rare. Usually this childhood cancer hits at a younger age. If the child does live through the chemo, antibodies, and radiation, they have a high chance of re-lapse. And then things are really not bright. However, a lot of them plug through more years of punishing pain and even do trial drugs.

Anna, did just that; trial/pioneer some of the latest in technological trial drugs for this disease. She lived nine years after a one year diagnosis! In that time she graduated from HS and even went on to receive her Masters in Psychology. Wow! She is inspiring. She gave a voice to the little of these victims and also a listening ear. Her choice of career and life experiences gave her a seriously good set of tools to work with people in her situation as well as others.

When I saw that she barely passed it struck me and when I saw it was on my birthday this last year- a Leap Year, no less. I couldn't help but think that my little Nueroblastoma Journey was personal.

I don't know what that means going forward, but I like to think that it was time well spent researching and reading and becoming aware. It also helps me set some worthwhile goals no matter how physically cliff-ish I feel!

Her site: annabanana.org

Good luck as the Fiscal Cliff looms as well. I haven't done as much research into that one so I can't give advice as to whether you should sell stock, hole up in your house or run up a mountain.

Ghost Train

Stop. Look. Listen.

 

The three duties of a driver at all rail road crossings. Vaguely I recall watching a video in Driver's Ed showing the extreme caution to take upon reaching tracks and the inevitable stupid people that don't follow the rules.

 

As the scene of a car was getting smashed by a train, I recalled thinking: "How hard is it?"

 

WELL, if it's a Ghost Train slicing through a different dimension/ Wrinkle in Time from Hogwarts Academy, it can totally catch you off guard and scare the tar outta ya. Thanks to a strange fog the other day we were almost train track turkey.

 

Folks in the big city get plenty of time to respond, and even try to dash around the flashing lights and giant arms that keep you safely distanced from an oncoming train.

 

However, out in the sticks you come across tracks that don't flash all the signals and you have to use the steps you learned clear back in Driver's Ed. Driving out in the country and going over several of these spots is actually a highlight for me. It, with the four way stops and a round about that some residents are still trying to figure out how to use, are all part of the "back road" experience J. and I enjoy when we drive from my sister's.

 

Iona is far enough away from our house and in the country that we like to take our time, play some country music and take it easy.

 

When most country drivers come upon a four way stop and other cars are approaching, even if  first, all will wait and make sure everyone has made the consensus to stop. And kinda a way to say: "

"Howdy" and nod your head as you take your turn.

 

J. and I were headed back from there and doing just this while as snow fell down. Well, at an angle.

From the north, a large vertical sheet off fog went from the foothills  in the east of Iona clear to the west where it stopped abruptly in front of a sinking horizon sun which was blocked off all except in some places where it escaped in two or three shafts.

 

The fog wasn't a typical fog.

 

It was as if it were an ominous gray, cement building had been set down to our right; the top was buzzed off like a mega super store and the overcast day allowed enough light through the dirty clouds to show the precision-like "cut" of the fog.

 

We circled the round about and navigated the busy Yellowstone Hwy. to keep on our country back road ride. Passing the tire compound where old, black tires bulge inside a fenced in area we came to our first set of tracks and it was around this time that Jaden pointed out the fog brick to me.

 

In the back ground a  country song using the word, "Mistake", in a clever way ( that hoped if the girl was gonna make one, she'd make one with him) played. . It was a new song, and we concluded it had a nice little beat as I came to a slow stop at the tracks. So I cranked my neck left and then leaned forward to check out the right of our tracks. All clear. The gray brick wasn't impeding my vision down this angled section of tracks.

 

But I did get a feeling at this point. Not one that said: "hey, watch it." Just one of those feelings that you are aware of only after the fact, as if your body is prepping to be aware of something else. I'm sure this is another thing our brains do constantly and it's only if you are almost smooshed that you stop and think back to the little nuances of your thought process.

 

In my red neck fashion I proceeded; which is to roll over them slow and of course the angle so it is a nice, smooth methodical roll as each tire goes over the tracks.

 

Doesn't it make ya wanna take a back road?  With snow swirling around from above and some shooting out of the tall fog building that seemed to be approaching faster, we laughed at a herd of black cows and calves "stampeding" for the fence on the south side of our car. They'd just been given feed and were dancing, kicking up their heels and running towards the road as if they might take us out in the process of getting fed.

 

Pretty soon we'd passed the ever so attractive, junk car lot and approached the small knoll that leads over the second set of tracks, set upon a bridge that covers a fairly big canal. As we weren't in any hurry. I took my time and I think all the next events took place in one second:

 

First of all, I felt peaceful. The morning had been a good one. Ordinary. Ball game. Baby shower. Backwoods drive home. I felt a tangible contentedness come over me.

 

Looked left. Right. Nothing. Heard nothing. But I stayed- paused, putting the gears into neutral, instead of immediately going over the tracks. A song came on that started me to reminisce, a car pulled up behind me as I glanced in my rear view mirror, so I put the car into 1sr gear when

 

 

HHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHHHHHHHHHH

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

 

 

  stopped ME dead in our tracks.

 

Simultaneously I shoved the brakes into the road below, had a staring contest with the most unusual train I'd ever seen- and repeated the word in my head:  

One millisecond, nothing. No humming or vibrating to indicate, there had been no whistling in between the last stop and these tracks.

 

NADA.

 

To top it off the train had the oddest contraption on it- Above the cow guard it had a two white panels pitched like a roof leading up to the conductor's window. So there was No color variance involved in this train transaction.

 

Jaden, in the passenger seat, upon hearing the "horn", had turned inward and looked BEHIND our car thinking that a semi-truck was honking at me to: "Get a MOVE ON IT. Sister!"

 

My life did not flash before my eyes. In fact, I don't know how many feet were actually involved. If I had pressed forward I'd have had time to get across or not, or if it was simply startling to see this massive peace of machinery come out of nowhere.

 

I thought 3 things:

 

TRAIN.

 

FOG.

 

SOCKS

My peripheral vision caught J's bright socks he'd worn to the basketball game that morning as I took in the approaching scene.

(Had this train had those socks on the front of it, I'm sure it would have been visible in the fog a mile away.)

 

When your adrenaline is amped, things slow down and you take in a lot of things. Like the look on the engineer's face- I think he was as surprised to see us as we were him, and I noticed that he was necessarily piling through the fog like the Polar Express when the brakes were out.

 

Jaden rolled down his window and we watched the train go silently over the tracks, the wet wheels rolling freight along a slick track was mesmerizing. I took in the enormity of each car, stared at the art work graffiti on the sides and finally blinked as the last cars swiftly pulled in a gush of air and snow as they left us to think about the close call.

 

 

TRAIN.

 

T-R-A-I-N

 

TRAIN.

 

It was a very simple thought process.  My brain that concluded with a: "hm." as I stared at the opening from which the Ghost Train had appeared while I hussled over the tracks.

 

Once I reached Lewisville Hwy, I started to put the implications together- mixing the bright cardinal red socks of J's and the white scene behind us and my brain started to go a mile a minute and my heart actually started to realize how it was pumping.

 

How did that HAPPEN? I asked myself while I started to get a feeling of emotion and bile swelling up in my throat.

 

I do have a new set of train track rules.

 

1. If it is foggy, take another way.

2. Stop. Roll Down Your Window if it's Foggy and You CAN'T take another way.

3. Listen

 

Glad the Ghost Train didn't have a different outcome, but when I look back to the events and how quickly it all could have gone down- I was glad for the peace that I felt, and for whatever reason that made J. look inward and back behind the car. It just gave me some peace of mind about getting hit by a train. Like God instigates some sort of brain fog anastesia before a disaster that allows you to cope.

 

Drive Careful.

Finally! Freedom to Write-Hug your Kid and Forgive

whoo-hooo! Whatever happened today or my skills at overcoming the disease my laptop has into letting me log on here.... I busted through.

Keep your fingers crossed! It's amazing how much I've thought about 'writing' but I've just been too lazy to pick up my journal. I have written some letters- the real kind.

AND.... I am falling in love with one of my Neuroblastoma biography kids. The last while I have been reading: Teamsam.com--- he's red headed. Who can resist that? And he has two younger brothers and their personalities are a scream. They all tease each other and have the funnest personalities. Either I am laughing so hard at Sam teasing his brother and giving him sly grins, totally feeling for Margot as she takes them to all their practices, or just following along the trail of a parent who is part of a small community of parents that have to deal with this devastating disease!

At the end of John Adams it says:

"Griefs upon griefs! Disappointments upon disappointments. What then? This is a gay, merry world notwithstanding."

He had his share. And, yes, nothwithstanding all the sadness, there is joy.

Interestingly, my 'friend' Sam passed away two years ago. But when I read his mother's/fathers words about him, he feels right here.  Just like John Adams or another from a book I love.

One thing Sam's father, Neil, said at a poignant moment in one of the posts while Sam was still here was: "Parents, please hug your children."

Making a POINT of that is harder than you think. First, you have to stop. And think. Think a moment about this child. What it is Neil was trying to get across to those of us that can get caught up and forget how fleeting it is.

So those "In honor of Sam" hugs are special.

Then Margot mentioned in some time after Sam's passing for us not to forget him. I am so glad I met him. And that I CAN remember him. I can honestly say that this little journey of reading- though off the beaten path of my regular reading, has been one of the most inspiring "reads".

There are several foundations that I will post here that raise money for this type of cancer. Sometimes, we can't do that but as I read I see how hugely important blood tranfusions are for these little kids. And shelf life isn't long, especially for platelets.

My Dad- kudos- to him is a regular. And I mean REGULAR. He has the beloved special universal blood type, has great iron, and is a rock to go do that. I cry when I hear the thanks these parents give.
I would do anything to be able to give blood or platelets.

These kids LOVE bionicles and Legos. Things they can put together in bed. Erin loved doing bead work.

I have a fun post about a Ghost Train I will put up in a few days. But I needed to just write today about random stuff.

Jaden had a great ball game today and I got to see it. He has said some funny things lately that have caught my attention. Especially, when I am up in the night. I love to hear him giggle from his bed.

What is he dreaming?

One night he said: "I've got it." With a lot of confidence.

Another night it was some kind of murming then: "...college.." I was so elated. But, then, it may be for me he said it.   ??

One night he was playing his games and we were snuggling and I took off my glasses. He begged me to: "Put them back on so I was still there with him." (i.e. rooting for him on the game he was playing.)

After leaving the gym today and driving back for his coat- I made the Sam effort to not get upset. And it worked a bit. But J saw through it. And like Margot said in one post- Mr. Baby Dude could tell she wasn't "lit" up.

When we found his coat, I breathed a sigh of relief and the tension started to release. J said: "Oh, good, you're back." By the way, I think today was J's best offensive/defensive game in his short career. He was VERY happy. And I am very happy to have seen it. He ALMOST did a double pump shot but it was too late. Feet hit the ground. Travel. He claims a foul. Dunno. But, despite the miss, and it barely reaching the half way to the rim- it was our FAV play of the game! Go figure!

His teammates inspire him to play hard and he has some of the greatest coaches. I can't thank them enough for taking the time to coach my son. I KNOW how hard it is to coach. Well, the little kids. People who put their time in to teach a child are my heroes.

Thanks. I hope that I can get back into a position to volunteer in that respect. 

These comments and moments in life take on new meaning after reading: Teamsam.com...

I want to be on THIS team! It's amazing how better you can be when you have examples like Sam.
These special kids are becoming a highlight to my holiday season. Seriously.

As I put the lights on the tree this year, and go through out the next month, they will be on my mind and in the lights that dazzle the trees, sky, and sparkle out there in the snow.

I really needed the boost and want to thank the parents who have put themselves out there to post about their lives! I continue to check back on them because these little spirits continue on in the most remarkable ways....

Well, the garden is ready for spring. And I had nothing to do with it. Magically, all the brothers came and did the work. They removed the weeds, mowed the lawn and The Torment (older bro.) tilled in the clippings. The soil looks so good!

THEN they cut down the tree limbs that cause so much shade over the garden and make it hard to grow things. Little brother has been out there today making firewood of it all and keeping me from a post game nap.

Jaden has been pulling his truck and 5th wheel, motorcycles and using his hunting men this afternoon to create camping/hunting trips. Eavesdropping in on these moments are so cute and he'd kill me if I put anything on here. I wonder if it's the same talk that goes on with the older guys.

Probably.

J. has a little cousin on the way with a room that is basically Hunting themed. A bunch of antlers make up the "chandelier", camo sheets on the bed, John Deere pictures and Elk around the room. He left the house and told me: "I want that kids room."

So it looks like I have a project before me.... a new bed spread for Christmas. Luckily, his carpet is already camo green.... Doors, too.

Okay. I will get my juices flowing for the next post.  

Computer Crash!

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! A virus hit my laptop!

This post had to be stealthily placed on Padre's computer.

He is afraid I will pass on the germ!

No worries...

I'm sure if I'm hit with a great post idea- it will reach you, reader!

Until then tell me what you are reading.

J. and I finished Because of Winn Dixie by Kate DiCamillo.

I re-read some parts of McCullough's John Adams and can't empasize it enough.

The series is great, but the book....

John urged even his grandkids to keep journals. Without the massive amounts of correspondence between Abigail and himself, along with other family members and friends, we wouldn't have

the history we have today!

As McCullough says: "We can never know enough about these people!"

Write!

Children with NB Cancer and... SWAG?: Research

What does one do with time in the middle of the night?
Whilst on prednisone?

Research, people. Research what? Cancer. Drugs. And what does the prednisone brain try to do with this information? Come up with a cure.

It began with a song. Taylor Swift wrote one called: Ronan. In honor of a blue-eyed boy whose heartbreaking face succumbed to a very deadly cance called Nueroblastoma.

First off, I had to find out what, why, how and when. I was googling like mad to find out what the deal was with this type of cancer. Finally, I surmised that it was so stealthy that by the time the Dr.s could diagnose it, you were in stage IV.

Then there were the meds, the trial meds. The toxicity. I was reading blogs about the kids, yes getting teary eyed but looking at meds and treatments. (Don't ask. I will only answer: Prednisone.) Unlike my meds, that could qualify as names for new countries, these ones sounded like the progenitors, or offspring, of C3PO.

The charting of similar ages, symtoms and such in my brain was taxing. So I changed course. Let the Dr.s, scientists, blah blah bloohahs figure that out. That's what they get paid for, right?

Shifting from Hero of Answers I went into lover of biograhpies, except these ones were of kids who suffered with NB. I started with Ronan. Then, through a link that is called Caring Bridge and lists of kids on the sites of these parents', I found more bios.

Pretty soon I couldn't wait to get online, work through my own pain, and read about some incredible little people.

But then I had a prednisone moment..... I started to google: "children with...." and google started to give me options that they figured I would want to check out. One, was: "Children with Swag."

Wha?

Of course I clicked it. There was a list of option and even pictures of "children with swag".
The one I clicked?

"50 pictures of kids cooler than you."

Yes, google deviated me from my wholesome reading into the land of children who dress with SWAG. You will need an urban dictionary for this one. Essentially they not only dress like fashion models, but also possess the essence of swagness by their confidence and coolness exubed.

Initially, I was wishing I owned a pair of boots or shoes, that jacket that these little mini-me models were wearing when suddenly, I thought back to 'my' NB project. I wanted to to load up every picture of all the lost little kids over the top of the kid models.

Not one outfit from one of the little NB kids could come to my mind, but you could bet that their personalities loomed and carried more impact than a pair of exspensive shoes from Milan.

Please don't get me wrong. I loved to see my son in cute clothes, dressed up in such a way that you'd want to hang him from the rear view mirror- but after reading about the struggles, the cost, the LIVES of the kids lost then frost all of that with what is happening back east- The Kids Who Were Cooler than me made my stomache sorta turn.

So, I used my self control and went back to my reading of uplifting and inspiring work. I met back up with Max. Super cool kid whose pic with Tony Hawk is super swag.

Imagining Brent's mom cuddling up with her Teddy Bear of a boy on the couch while taking in a Sunday Football game helped me enfold the 5 dimples on my boy's face with kisses in the middle of the night.

Tears shed with Liam's Dad as he drove through the city in a Taxi and poured his heart out to his son, asking for forgiveness for not "saving him".

And then, and THEN, I met Erin. Thanks Max's Dad. Erin's life was longer than most that were diagnosed with NB. And her mother, Vickie, chronicled her life, the meds and procedures in a way that I could really learn about NB and fall in love with this live wire, Erin Buenger.

wow.

I really didn't care if my shoes were from Milan. Or that I am starting to resemble the kids from Gary Larsen's Far Side cartoons. (See the one with the boy running around a table in his socks, being chased by two wolves.  Due to prednisone.)

And then....prednisone pulled another trick and folded back the years, opened files, and threw one picture that I would hope to never think of again. Prednisone and Children with "Swag" made me think of  about one last child that has haunted me since seeing it in a friend's room during my college days- A pulitzer prize winning photo. Of a child in the Sudan, naked and bent over; crouched to the dirt. Famine having eaten away every last ounce of anything on her....

As if that wasn't enough;

A vulture hovering nearby.

Prednisone. I hate you.

But thanks to you, I will keep researching. And I will take out vultures and I will save someone.

Our Founding Fathers Were Not Girls

 

 

Well, J. suffered a costume backfire.

 

We'd been watching John Adams and it sparked his interest in taking his pirate hat and going Patriot: dressing up like they did.  Unfortunately. with my crafty-ness he looked like Paul Revere, John Adams, and Ben Franklin all in one.

 

I was so happy he was learning about the beginnings of our country and we got caught up in

all of the excitement!

 

The tension and hope the people had, the canons and artillery lining up in preparation for war. Tall, and ever so wise. George Washington, in his old age, accepting the duty to oversee and gaurd

the men who would bring about Freedom.

 

 

 

 

 

The costume came to life as we pulled out the dress up box, scissors, paper, and old clothes.

The yarn down the back of his head, tied off with cloth looked bloody authentic.

 

(John Adams. Also not a girl.)

 

-The curled up white paper- not so much, I admit. But it was so dang cute and I didn't get a picture!

 

Halloween was Saved! 

 

However, tonight as we pow-wowed at bed time he told me about the HUGE disappointment it was to be a Founding Father at school today.

 

"So and so told me that Ben Franklin wasn't a girl." he said with his arms back behind his head, looking up at the ceiling in his room. 

 

 

Ah, yes. T,V, Elementary is not  Montesorri or Private Academy.

And I am not the average mom.

 

Did you hit the kid over the head with the Constitution and tell him WHO you were?? I queried.

 

Then the guilt set and empathy set in.

 

Why would a mother send her child to school dressed like important figures in history when they have NO idea what those people looked like?? They do know that our Founding Fathers were NOT girls. So that's good.

 

Then he had to tell me how his curls lost their curl and started to straighten out (cheap tape) as he walked through the halls for the customary "showing off  of costumes" in front of the other kids.

 

cringe.

 

"Mom," he said as kindly as possible, "I had to walk passed the 6th graders,"

 

ugh. My heart sunk. I felt so bad I didn't tell him earlier to just point out the acne on their faces if they said anything.

 

So what did you do? I asked- hoping he recited outloud The Declaration of Independence I'd copied and scrolled for him.

 

"I went out to recess and tore off the paper while saying I hate you, mom."

 

totally understandable.

 

"There even was a girl there dressed up as a football player." he said

empasizing the fact he was jealous and some innate feeling of his manhood on the line

wearing a customary congressional wig from the 1700's seemed to hover in the air.

 

I assure you he complained to me with malice towards none.  Just the recap of honest feelings.

 

Have I mentioned on here the special bond J. and I have?

 

I mean it takes a lot to be able to kiss your mother goodnight, have a bit of a laugh, and see that we are lucky to have what we do, and that the east coast didn't get any candy tonight after she sent you to school dressed up as a Founding Mother- I mean Father.