It's been a quiet week, here. My flu last week crawled into my sinuses (I know, yuck) and it's just fuzzled me up. But the response to last Saturday's post Into the Looking Glass was so, so awesome. It was just one of those moments - you know?

Anyway, thanks again. And without further ado, this week's winner is...
Sharky Malarkey!!!

OK, on to the last week... ready? (All of last week's unique, non-related to me comments after the jump) more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:34 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Yesterday, I asked Bear to write a sentence using at least 2 of his 20 vocabulary words. He said he didn't want to because, he couldn't spell. I promised him that if he sounded out the words, it would be fine.

"OK, but I still don't want to," he announced, marching off with a green maker and his notebook.

He wrote:

My name is Bear, tooday is Tuesday in 2009. Aquatic mammals like the whales livz (lives) in the ocean. The tide is made bie the moon.

[other side of the paper] This is Bear and I like to stutea (study) aquatic mammals. They are cool!

He presented it to me with a huge grin, and then read it to me twice.

People ask me why I homeschool, and I guess this is my answer. In fact, I went to Goodwill today and bought a flatbed scanner (for $7) just so I could upload his recent flurries of creative writing.

I know it may not seem like much. But Bear has perception issues much like dyslexia. So this? Is the whole, beautiful, wide world. He wrote 4 sentences more than I asked, just for the fun of it. The same boy who, last month after Christmas, was reduced to hysterics when I tried to get him to write thank-you notes.

It's a razor walk, to keep him interested and eager to read and write despite the struggle. We give up, a lot. But then, one day, he writes about how the tide is made bie the moon - and I just.... melt.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:40 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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After I started this blog, I began thinking that eventually I would move over to my own domain. So I reserved the domain name "CorporateMommy dot com" through a friend.

In 2007, I forgot to renew it on its expiration. When I went to try, I discovered that a squatter had taken the name and parked it. Meaning - they didn't want to do anything with it themselves, just re-sell it to the highest bidder.

For a $12 name, they were asking thousands. Pirates. more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 05:52 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Slow day, as we recover from colds. At one point, I was just hanging out online while Bear was watching a cartoon.

"Hey, the groundhog saw his shadow," I called to him.

"What does that mean again?"

"Six more weeks of winter."

"I say we find that groundhog and make him change his answer!"
more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:37 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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1 Are you sure he's not 18?!

Posted by: Sharkey at February 03, 2009 04:43 AM (ZhNQO)

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Bruce Springsteen.

Am I right, or am I right? (Rob thinks I'm really wrong.)

With deep love left for James Harrison, Ben Roethlisberger, Santonio Holmes, Kurt Warner, and Larry Fitzgerald.

Oh, oh, oh and the casts of Chuck, Medium, and Heroes (especially that last one) for the funniest commercials of the show.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:58 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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I took 3 boys to lunch at the local diner today, and it freaked me out how much has changed.

Two years ago, a friend and I went to the same place with these boys and it was a riot: they needed to be entertained, refereed, cajoled. It was all: Power Rangers! Pokemon! Batman vs. Spiderman!!! Just ordering their food took top-tier negotiation skills: they all wanted to make sure that they all had the same foods but there was little they agreed on.

It was like herding cats.

That was then.

This time, they perused the menus casually. The waitress popped up with her pad.

"I'll have a half-slab of ribs," said the first.
"French toast, with bacon," said the second.
"Hamburger, medium-rare," said mine.

She came back with the drinks and each stopped to say thank you. we played a game of cards while we waited. It was clear as we went that they were each used to different "house rules", yet they shrugged it off and worked at staying in a good mood.

As we ate, they talked about the sports they were into.

"Basketball, we had a game this morning," said the first.
"I just started a new fencing class," said the second.
"I'm still doing karate," said mine.

Once we were done, they needled me for some of the penny candy by the register. I allowed each one two pieces, and no two got the same thing. The woman at the register asked them how they liked the meal.

"It was great," said the first. "Too much for me to eat!"
"It was fine," said the second. "I love the bacon."
"I liked it," said my son. "Hamburger was just right."

As we stepped out through the two sets of doors, pulling zippers up and jostling our way, the wind hit Bear's face in just a weird way, pushing his hair around and making him seem different for a second. In that flash, their three shadows seem to elongate onto the sidewalk.

Suddenly, it was three strong men looking back to make sure I was following. Their voice rough and deep as they called to me.

I blinked, the sun blinding me. My heart beating fast.

Their childhoods slipped by. It was the future. They chuckled as they hit the sidewalk, ribbing each other about how warm it seemed compared to recent subzero temperatures.

Strong, and confident, and good.

"Mommy!" Bear shouted, shrinking suddenly in a blur. His freckled cheeks turning pink in the air. "Come on, already!"

With a quick breath, they were kids again. Jogging to the car, shouting about the front seat. I reached out to hug my son, wanting to feel his body in my hands but he moved too quick.

And I realized: Already, gone. In so many ways.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 12:22 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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That? Is a sheep. Yes, because I was jealous of Kate's sheep.

But this is a special sheep. This particular sheep, at least its image, belongs to Tim and the whole picture is so much cooler than that snapshot.

Why a sheep? I'm glad you asked. Because it is an Icelandic sheep. And today, CD gave a presentation at Bear's co-op school (he goes one day a week with other homeschoolers.)

This is notable because a) CD has never given a presentation on his native Iceland before and b) CD is about the least likely person to ever GIVE a presentation on anything. He's incredibly shy. But a couple of years ago, he took that required "Speech" class at college and didn't suck. So he girded up his loins and... more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 10:49 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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You know how you do something, and you think you're all great with yourself, and then... and then... someone does it cooler?

Well, Kate gave away a SHEEP for her "C'mon along and comment giveaway."

I.Am.So.Jealous.

But she's awesome. I mean, Captain Awesome kind of Awesome. So I'll suck it up.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 11:33 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I've been spending time on Facebook lately. So, duh, what else is new? I'm still all gosh-gee-whiz about the mix of high school, corporate, real life, and online contacts all gathered in one place. It sort of feels like how the Internet used to be. Back when Gore had just pulled it out of the oven, fresh and steamy.

I have a beef, though.

An itty, bitty little beef. One I am soooo feeling funny about admitting.

Here it is: I don't get the de-be-friending thing.

One day I noticed that my number of "friends" had decreased overnight. I went looking at the list, up and down, and scratched my head. I could see who wasn't there anymore - I just didn't know why.

I started writing the person an email; "did your Facebook break? You seem to have fallen off my friend list." God saved me from making an ass out of myself by taking down the Internet before I could send it. ('Cuz God does little things like that, just for me.)

By the time systems were back up, a real-life person had set me straight. "Hun," she said. "Don't send that email. People will de-friend and be-friend left and right. Lots of people will friend you just to look at your info and then drop you again. It's the way it is. If you make a fuss, you'll totally look like a dweeb."

She said that; dweeb.

I didn't believe her. So I asked an acknowledged expert in the field: an actual college student. (Yes, free-range.)

"Don't sweat it," he advised.

"I'm not sweating anything. I just want to know why."

"You don't get to know why. It's not your 'why'."

"But they dropped me!"

"Yeah, it happens."

"But they DROPPED me!"

"What are you, 12?"

So, in my expansive research I have discovered that the no-ask no-tell policy of de-Friending on Facebook is just a long-standing bit of culture. One that has given rise to some interesting behaviors. Not to get all Margaret Mead but it started making me curious.

"So, will they re-beFriend me?"

"Depends."

"On what?" I was a little outraged. This felt like when we were voting for peer advisor, back in college. It was a perked-up job, with a patina of aloofness about it. People who wanted the the job would screw themselves if ever seen actually lobbying for it.

"If you run into them at a party or something, maybe they'll send you a friend invite again. Otherwise, it's on you."

"To do what?"

"Get closer to them in real life so that they'd want to know you on FB."

Oh. God.

I am, in the words of our beloved Indy, getting too damn old for this. Which may be the point. This is a medium originally created for college campuses.

So people you don't know, friend you. And people you do? Unfriend. And in between, well, a world that sucks too much of my time and still leaves me a little curious about the why. (Or is that just me?)

Posted by: Elizabeth at 11:07 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Sometimes, I watch those commercials for Lysol or Fabreze and wonder if there was a product like that for life - would I use it?

Blogs seem to fall into two groups - the anonymous, outrageous ones where people are free to be exactly what they want to be and the real, identified ones which have to be carefully edited.

This one falls somewhere in between: I mean, it started out anonymous, but I wasn't very good at it. And eventually, I dropped the curtain and had to start being careful what I said.

It didn't go well at first. I though "coming out of the closet" would make me feel more free. As it turns out, I actually felt hog-tied.

What followed has been a long ramp of learning how to write again. more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 11:55 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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1 I do not have an answer for you - I keep a written journal, but I intend it for my son to read, so it's heavily edited. I would hide what you want/need to. Rebecca U.

Posted by: Rebecca U. at January 28, 2009 11:01 AM (wOMm/)

2 Thanks, R

Posted by: Elizabeth at January 28, 2009 12:11 PM (Y/P20)

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You know how, when you're really sick, you can't even read? You basically slip between sleeping and watching TV?

That's been me since Saturday. more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 03:51 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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On this side of the bed, there is:
- Me (pink nightgown, ratty hair)
- Box of Puffs with Aloe
- Jar of Vicks
- iBook G4 on a breakfast tray
- Pink Razr phone (for calling CD and asking for more soup/medicine/water in the vaporizer)
- cup half-full with flat ginger ale
- eleventy-billion pillows
- remote control for television
- thermos of long-since gone-cold tea more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 05:43 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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By the time I went to bed last night, I felt like someone had poured concrete into my brain and it had dripped and hardened all the way down to my sinuses.

I may not even brush my teeth today.

As I crawl for the comfort of the bed, all I can think is.... "Nyquil, oh where art thou, Nyquil...?"

Posted by: Elizabeth at 10:44 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I did something this morning that I'm still conflicted about.

We're temporarily living with one car. By and large, this means no car for me and Bear because CD usually has to be at work on the south side of Chicago before 6AM. It's a 40-minute drive but because of the vagaries of the CTA, it's a 2.5+ hour commute on public transport.

However, this morning CD's destination turned out to be about a mile away. He needed a ride, though, because it's colder than a witch's uh whatever - in Idaho. And uphill both ways. more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:27 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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1 I struggle with this too. Heard that in my state, 7 is the "legal" age kids can be left alone. I didn't let Caleb play outside by himself until he was 6, but let Eli at 4. It's hard to know.

Posted by: Cheryl at January 24, 2009 05:38 AM (UqkLF)

2 Huh - there's a legal age for being left alone? Not surprising when I think about it, I suppose, but not something that I'd ever have thought of on my own. I think I was probably in the range of 6-8 when I first spent time alone at home - I remember coming home on the bus and letting myself in if my mom was going to be out picking up my brother (he went to a different school, one which didn't have bus service.) It would be a hard thing to do the first time - I'm sure my first was something like this one, a time when the logistics pushed overwhelmingly in favor of staying home alone, and then subsequent times were a lot easier.

Posted by: Alice at January 25, 2009 04:15 AM (8Xs3q)

3 I was probably 8, I don't really remember the actual first time. When I was 10 I baby sat a 3 and 5 year old every afternoon from 3-6PM. In 1959 when I was 11 1/2 my parents left me home alone for the whole weekend when they went to Massachusetts for my brother's graduation. My mom told me that my aunt and grandmother didn't love me and found me a burden to be around. They didn't have any room for me to stay with them and if I went then she and my dad and two sisters - wouldn't be welcome. My younger brother was away at a residential school that family court had sent him to. They didn't want him there either. I later learned that my Aunt really didn't like me, a condition that existed from the time I was in Utero and that my grandmother did love me, very much, but that it was my Mom projecting her own feelings of not loving me. - MG

Posted by: Martha Giberson at January 26, 2009 03:25 AM (UR0q7)

4 My kids are now 12, almost 11 & 9, and I probably started letting them stay home for say, 45 min to an hour, about a year ago. I try not to do it often, but it's so nice to be able to run out without hauling all of them with me.

Posted by: Amanda at January 26, 2009 04:56 AM (tWSTF)

5 I cannot remember exactly the time but I was around 8. Take into account that I have an older sibling who was 10 at the time and for very short periods. I was way more mature than my brother, ha! I think I was the one babysitting him.

Posted by: Sol at January 27, 2009 10:54 AM (5lTHx)

6 When I was pregnant with my first son a good friend made it a point to tell me I was not allowed to leave my baby in the car while I went to the ATM or just ran into Starbucks. I'm glad she did... Some of these "common sense" parenting rules aren't obvious to some of us (me). That said, I definitely would have left an 8 year old alone asleep for 10 minutes, but I'm probably not the right one to consult on such matters.

Posted by: Shannon at January 31, 2009 04:58 PM (yFOwv)

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Where we lived when I was a teenager. My room is the 2nd floor window facing left.

Uh, no.

I'm not a neat freak. Or a control freak. All my freakishness, frankly, falls in a whole different arena.

In fact, I was a pretty unruly and untidy kid. My parents once famously shoveled my room clean while I was at summer camp. Yes, it took rakes and hoes and implements of destruction just to unearth the floor of my closet.

By my mid-20's I'd found a habitable level of discipline. "Habitable" being pretty loose, and subject to change due to mood, weather, and musical choice.

Yet as low as I go (and I can go low) - I've got nothing on CD. That man actually leaves a trail, like the Peanuts character Pig-Pen.

It's important to know where the lines are. Strengths, weaknesses, expectations, etc. etc. And with him and me, that line? It's written with a fat-bottom Sharpie around the dishes, laundry, bathroom, and heads out on a rickety rail out to the trash cans in the alley.

We argued about it, as you do. We made lists, and split chores. Even with a housekeeper, keeping the house free being condemned as hazardous living quarters was always a battle. Much more than maybe your usual kid-and-dog-and-old-house-with-no-closets one.

You can see where this is headed, right?

No more cleaner.

I am a "stay at home mom" now. That means that not only does my fair share of the housekeeping fall on me - but his, too. Because, let's face it, his mess was tossed on top of Bear's mess and all that is piled on my mess. So it takes a bottle of Lysol and a big pair of bright yellow gloves just to get down to my undies in the hamper.

I hate it.

It makes me feel less than equal and a drudge to be dragging a sponge through a spill he left behind. I grit my teeth. Every time. I shout when he calls and stew with the injustice I feel.

Sara the wonderpoodle knocked over my milk this morning and I opened my mouth and just screamed.

I know I'll get over this. I know I have to. There is no money to make this go away. And after all these years, I know I can't change him. He does the chores he does. He fetches me coffee, even when it's out of his way. He washes up the dog vomit, knowing it makes me gag. He does a dozen other things that I know take up the time that cleaning would, and usually I'm grateful. Because he does contribute, in other ways.

But the housekeeping part of this SAHM/WAHM job description? I'm having an overwhelmingly hard time coming to peace with it.

I just...

I just...

I hate it.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 10:14 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Reading.

Writing.

For these skills, more than anything else. This is why I wake up every morning and stretch out, breath deep, and report to work at the dining room table.

My son can't (YET) read at grade level. He's 8 years old; he struggles to understand street signs and read basic instructions. All the testing in the world has come back with a diagnosis I already knew: he's wired a little different.

So we plug forward. Armed with everything they could give me and the wisdom of more. I implement and discard, press and retract. And? He can read more today than he could last week. Last month. Last Year.

I will use anything, anything, to help my son learn to read and write that doesn't kill his joy of either.

This week, I decided to bring slam poetry into our lives. I'm constantly trying to change things up and find new ways to make reading and writing and words interesting to Bear. Armed with Wham! It's a Poetry Jam! by Sara Holbrook from the library, Bear and I spent the non-inauguration parts of yesterday and Monday hopping about the house and performing poems.

We started with a call/return piece that he could easily read:

TO BE
I am
you see.
I am
what's me.
I am
not done.
I am
to be.

Since there's an odd number of lines, we went around this for 10 or 15 minutes a go. He acted out his words a little differently each time, sinking his teeth into it.

Then he flipped through the book looking for another one and found "Copycat" He absolutely loves this poem; it sounds just like a sibling fight. There's another called "Baseball Player," that he turns into a 1-boy play.

I have to help him read the poems the first few times, then he's able to read in time himself. Embellishing as he gets comfortable.

Times like this make me feel 12-feet tall. Just...12 feet tall. And mom to the most persistent, beautiful kid in the universe.

He woke me up asking if there was any other kids doing slam poetry out there we could listen to. I found some (most is laden with enough profanity to curl even my hair).

And this bit, which I saw on Def Poetry Jam ages ago - by Taylor Mali that made me feel like saying 'Amen'. (profanity: "ass-kicking" & G_d dam)

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:07 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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1 This reminds me of an article in the Washington Post a few weeks ago about a poet who teaches grade school kids to write slam poetry: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/11/14/AR2008111401691.html

Posted by: Nic at January 21, 2009 09:33 AM (honoN)

2 That was a great clip. I like that you are using less italics and parentheses in your writing as the entries go on. Some are useful and add emphasis but too many are distracting and seem like you're trying too hard (maybe I'm alone in thinking that though). Your words are almost always strong enough to stand on their own. Otherwise, it's good to see you writing so much.

Posted by: Liz at January 22, 2009 01:46 AM (pj4RW)

3 Thanks, Liz. What great criticism. I could just say that I use call-outs and such to make my writing easier to read but you're probably right that they are crutches

Posted by: Elizabeth at January 22, 2009 04:13 AM (Y/P20)

4 DIARY OF A WIMPY KID by Jeff Kinney. - 3 books plus the do it your self journal. Magic Tree House books. Mary Pope Osborne.

Posted by: sharon at January 24, 2009 04:11 AM (i1+rx)

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Am I the only one who keeps expecting that deep voice announcing everyone at everything to break out and say "Live! From New York! It's..." ??

Mamacita has a long, cool, post full of fun Inauguration Trivia at   Scheiss Weekly

Oh, and prayers for Ted Kennedy, who seems to have suffered a seizure during the Inaugural Luncheon.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 08:01 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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"Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around, when yellow will be mellow, when red can get ahead; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen. Say Amen!"

- The Rev. Joseph Lowery

Posted by: Elizabeth at 06:42 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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The strangest thing happened last night. I got an email for curriculum materials for Bear, that included this picture:

You tell me, doesn't it look like they made Mr. Obama a little...well...what's the appropriate word here? It doesn't look like him, right? Right? Am I imagining this??

It just seems beyond bizarre.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 03:44 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Bear leaped into bed with me this morning and said "Happy Inauguration Day!!" As though it was a special holiday. And, I guess, it is.

I was talking to a friend this morning and neither of us could remember being this excited about an incoming president in our lives. Like her, I tell myself I'm being a sentimental fool - and then decide, there's nothing wrong with that. Especially not today.

"Much has been given us, and much will rightfully be expected from us. We have duties to others and duties to ourselves; and we can shirk neither."

- Theodore Roosevelt, Saturday, March 4, 1905, second Inaugural Address.

The Mall has been full since 9AM, with children holding their little plastic periscopes for a glimpse of the new president. Bear and I have the recorder whirring and we're watching every moment.

It feels like the world is changing, right beneath our feet.

It feels good.

"We face the arduous days that lie before us in the warm courage of the national unity; with the clear consciousness of seeking old and precious moral values; with the clean satisfaction that comes from the stern performance of duty by old and young alike. We aim at the assurance of a rounded and permanent national life.

We do not distrust the future of essential democracy. The people of the United States have not failed. In their need they have registered a mandate that they want direct, vigorous action. They have asked for discipline and direction under leadership. They have made me the present instrument of their wishes. In the spirit of the gift I take it.

- Franklin D. Roosevelt, March 4, 1933, first Inaugural Address.

"The American people stand firm in the faith which has inspired this Nation from the beginning. We believe that all men have a right to equal justice under law and equal opportunity to share in the common good. We believe that all men have a right to freedom of thought and expression. We believe that all men are created equal because they are created in the image of God.

From this faith we will not be moved."

- Harry Truman, January 20, 1949, Inaugural Address.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 03:02 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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