Christmas 2009

I have survived - just barely- with Daddy in the hospital christmas eve, helping glenda get ready for family christmas, cleaning up for glenda cause she'd spent the night in the hospital with daddy, family christmas dinner, eating ham because we never have pork at my house, opening presents – getting a clown costume and money for my summer vacation, feeling guilty because Kevin didn’t have as many as everyone else, santa activities, forcing everyone to sleep in one room and not allowing anyone else to go back downstairs because Jose was the elf this year and he wasn’t getting up to do it and was sure he’d be up before the boys ( he wasn’t so forcing him to do it before 11 and keeping the boys in the room worked best)little boys who wet the bed because they so didn't have to pee before bedtime, whatever, sleeping with wet pajamas because there was nothing else to sleep in, getting up early, waiting 30 minutes before forcing everyone else to get ready, wondering in what wierd hell Santa leaves all the presents in the bag that I have been carrying around from room to room for 3 days with presents in that the boys have seen instead of taking them out of the bag and putting them in the santa bag purchased specifically for that purpose, shaking my head at how bad boys are at being santa’s helpers, watching the boys open their presents from santa and mamita, papita and mom and dad, feeling guilty because kevin only has one presewnt to open, visiting with the relative no one else wants to visit with, another family christmas, lunch this time and again focus on the ham, playing dirty santa, ending up with two gifts, both of which i like, thank you jodi, the drive home, and last presents between the boys, feeling relieved when Kevin was so happy to see his bike and not upset at all that men’s bikes now come in the color purple, then putting everything away, listening to the children be whiney and happy all at once like kids who’ve been up since 5:30, mostly that 5 year old whose idea of sharing is for him to have it, but since he’s the only one who got toys and not video games everyones all over his stuff, outlining the day ….now, to go hide in the bedroom, read, and sleep until dawn.

Showing the Love in a Family of Open Doors

I often look at the world and say there are two types of people.   It’s really amazing how many times you can really do this well.  There are two types of people….

those who like to get the mail, and those who don’t care

those who like to open gifts, and those who’d rather watch

those who like to read, and those who want to watch tv

those who spend and those who save

and my newest, via Franklin, those who like to have doors open and those who don’t.  Because I’m a very small minded, self centered person, it never occurred to me that there existed in this world, people who wanted to keep their door shut.  But, apparently there are.  Franklin is a door shut kind of person.  Right now, he’s rooming with my nephew Lanny, who is a door open kind of person (apparently a Walker family trait.0  It never occurred to me that except in anger, or sex, door shut was really an option.  I don’t like the door shut, really, i prefer to know what’s happening.  And really, I think shut doors bother me a bit.  What are you hiding, that you have to have a shut door.  Or, if you’re not hiding something,  you must be trying to keep me out.  I don’t even like to keep my classroom door shut when I teach.  I only shut it if hallway noise gets to be too disruptive.  And this even when demon spawn, my supervisor at 11th Street made the shut door mandate.  i risked it all to keep the door open.

so anyway, Franklin is a closed door kind of person.  He keeps his bedroom door closed.  And is pretty grumpy if anyone enters into his domain.  You’d think that anyone who grew up in a third world country, where in many cases doors and windows are optional that he wouldn’t be so closed doorish – shoot, my brother in law, Eliseo, has a really nice house and the only doors in his house were bathroom and doors that were made of iron for the front door.  But apparently my perception of Franklin’s El Salvador experience is skewed, because his door is closed (byth literally and figuratively, but that’s a whole other blog).  So, Franklin is a door closed kind of guy, and that closed doorish personality transcends all concepts of personal security when he’s in the bathroom. He latches the door and locks the door (via doorknob).  And this leads us to the Walker family tradition of showing the love.

Last year, when my brother came to visit, he took great pleasure in dousing Elijah with cold water in the bathtub.  Elijah was really mad, but I just told him that is how Jason shows you that he loves you.  Elijah, upon learning this new custom,  has really enjoyed showing his love to others throughout the year.  It has, in deed, been his great joy.  Imagine our delight when we discovered yesterday that Franklin had left the door tot eh bathroom only partially locked – latched, but not locked.  And I reminded Elijah that he hadn’t had the chance to show Franklin how much he loved him.  Now, Elijah, never one for grand gestures, was just going to show Franklin a small cereal bowl full of love.  But really, what kind of gesture is that.  It’s no gesture, I say.  So, I got the blender pitcher and and filled it up with some 40 ounces of pure love.  And let Elijah enjoy his moment of brotherly bonding. 

Imagine my surprise when a few moments later, I heard a loud crash in the hallway.  Franklin had snatched the blender pitcher from Elijah, and then throwing it with enough force that it shattered the bottom portion, after first bouncing off Elijah’s back.  And then i realized that there were two t ypes of people…

people who think it’s funny, though not always pleasant, to splash or get splashed with cold water..// and Franklin who is at the to take much of the joy out of almost anything…I really have seen such a dramatic display since I was in my teenage years.   Who knew really, that boys could be such drama queens.  And my response, is really, to find every opportunity to show him the love for years to come.   Because if there is anyone who needs a little good old fashined demonstrations of affection disguised as water, it is definitely Franklin.

Flattery will get you....

A few years ago, my first at Alvaton, I signed up for secret santa. It would be a great way to get to know someone, become part of the community, blah blah blah. I was lucky, because I drew Brenda's name from the mailbox. I didn't really know her, but she seemed to be a really nice, friendly person. She seemed like someone that I would like to get to know better. So, I set forth to be the best secret santa ever. I didn't just leave little gifts, like almost every day. I left notes, and letters and stories. When I made cornflake candy for her, I told her a story about my grandmother and how important those christmas goodies she had made for me were. I shared my memories with her. And to be honest, it really felt a little like flirting, and to this day that's what I called it. It sort of encompassed that college, meet someone you really like and stay up all night talking sort of feelng. I love that feeling, and you really never get to have them as often when you're older, and seldom when you're married. Spouses seem to frown upon those sort of moments...go figure. It was a perfect secret santa season, without a doubt. And, knowing that I'd never live up to it, I just didn't do it again. But each year, Brenda comes and asks me for a little story. And I feel so bad, because, I don't always have something to write. Apparently, I'm not a long term flirter, I'm just a short term, slam, bam thank you ma'am kind of gal... who knew. So, then, Brooke Gadberry, the kindergarten teacher for whom Mrs. Cross is an aide, learned about my blog, and then decided to print the entire thing out and put in a binder to give to Mrs. Cross for Christmas. And I was simply floored. It's as good as being published I think. When someone reads and then says that it was great. Or someone finds my blog and then sits and reads all 5 years worth of entries. I am touched, beyond measure. And then still sitting here thinking, but I don't really have anything to say. To which I must then respond, I suppose, I guess I say nothing really well. So I think Brenda and Brooke for giving me a Christmas moment that I'll never forget, just that feeling of being appreciated and valued - not for my oh so luscious body but for my mind..damnit.. and hopefully, there'll be much more to come.

Small Blessings

Last week, on the way to school, we were rounding the corner, and a mother deer with her two babies walked across the road.  And being me, I stopped the car, and we watched them until they walked into the nearby woods.  Then Elijah and I talked, all to briefly, about how such moments need to be cherished and enjoyed, because they are fleeting when they occur, and don’t happen often enough.  The conversation has been rolling around in my mind since.  Then last night, the history channel had a special that was discussing the Mayan calendar and it’s predictions that the world would end, as we know it, on December 21, 2012.  At which point, Elijah asked that we change the channel because those doom and gloom shows really get under his skin.  But, that got me to thinking about how you really never know when time will end for you, and how, like watching the deer crossing the road, we have to look at each moment and enjoy it and value it, because once gone, it is gone forever.  So, I thought I might add some of the moments that I remember and cherish so that I might not ever forget.

Elijah counting to 10 while I was pushing when Isaiah was born – even though he almost gagged when he saw all the blood, he was there and excited.

The memories of my grandaddy that come flooding in every single time i hear I’ll Fly Away.

Hearing Elijah and Isaiah get tickled and belly laugh every time…it makes me feel so grateful that we had two instead of just one.

Every birthday, anniversary and mother’s day card that i have gotten from Jose because it is only in those cards that he takes the time to say sweet things, like he’s grateful for me and our life together.

The fact that I was able to get a picture of Elijah, Daddy and Grandaddy Walker even though Grandaddy didn’t know who we were.

Any moment that I am moved to tears in a moment of sentiment – even though it’s like a million times more often since motherhood than before…

Having an entire week with my parents and my kids and no arguments, fussing, tension.

The way Isaiah runs to the door when I come home and asks if I brought him something, and how glad he is when i did.

Having conversations about the way the world works, or history, or friends and family with Elijah.  I am so grateful that I like him and that he likes me and that we can have fun together.

Sitting up until 1:30 to talk with Franklin about daily junk, after spending an hour giving him a lecture and telling him how mad he made me.

Isaiah’s grinning, smiling eyes, his willingness to hug and kiss, his love of reading and learning and school.

Jose playing with Lutos when we first moved into the house so it looked like they were dancing.

Elijah and Isaiah picking up a squiggling lizards tail and running about trying to find someone to show it to.

Isaiah and Big Mama sitting outside and waiting for the ducks to come, which they did everytime they heard his voice, in droves.

Elijah’s effective use of sarcasm.

Elijah’s conversations with me about everything from hair growing on his picala, to what happened in his video game, to the kids at school and my prayer that we’ll have them forever.

I could go on.  And I am aware that my moments tend to be child specific, but truly, my life tends to be child specific – and i’m o.k. with that.  So, I challenge you…add your moments and share them.

Tis the Season

Christmas time.  This was my blog request topic from Judy Corbin.  And I’m pretty sure that she was thinking that perhaps I should wax poetic about Christmas being all about the birth of Christ and family and the like.  But it’s hard for me to take that line since Christmas has never been about those things for me.  Well, family was always a part of it.  But really, you don’t appreciate family until you are considerably old er, and members of your family begin to die.  Until that happens, you take family for granted, whether you mean to or not. 

Christmas for me has always been more about Christmas Spirit.  You know, the Charlie Brown Christmas, the Grinch’s heart grew three times that day, Frosty was fine, and Rudolph saved the misfit toys kind of spirit.  It’s an on and off season for me.  Some  years, I’m so excited about Christmas that I can’t even sit still.  And just as likely, I’ll be indifferent to the whole event.  Being one ruled more by moods than anything else, I’ve never been very good at figuring out why some years Christmas is great and others it’s merely average.  I think in part, the mediocrity of the season emerges with the stress at trying to make everyone else’s Christmas something special.  I want to try to find the perfect gift for the boys so that I can have that moment of joy when they open the gift.  Of course, that stress is compounded when I have to find a gift from myself and Jose, Big Mama, Papita and Mamita, as well as give a few hints and clues to the big man in red himself.  I don’t stress over the money too much, I stress instead over hiding how much I spend from Jose, who is mostly likely amazed that the dollar continues to stretch so very far, and what a good shopper I must be to get so much for my buck. 

To be perfectly honest the past couple of years, I have blamed my dirth of holiday spirit on my tree.  My small, pathetic tree.  The tree that is only 1/2 has big as my old tree.  My old tree which was perfect.  My old tree which was tall, and wide, and wonderful…sigh…i miss that tree and can’t afford a new one that was of similar size and dimension.  But soon.  Maybe if it snowed more it would help me get into the Christmas groove.  I am grateful every afternoon for the north pole radio, because music is always that magical influencer.  It’s the best part of a church service – to be fair, it’s probably the only part of the church service that i actually listen to.  But music is the mood affecter.  And I’m always ready for Christmas when I hear carols. 

Maybe it’s all about getting older.  And knowing that Christmas is more like sex than you’d ever thought.  Doesn’t matter how good it is, it’s all oven in 10 minutes and then you’re left with nothing but a mess to clean up.  Maybe with age and perspective, we forget how to live in the moment – whether it be the moment of anticipation or the moment of joy – and we see it from too far away and how it all fits into the main scheme of things.  Maybe it’s because I don’t know what i want, or what to ask for.  And not needing anything means not expecting anything great under the tree.  Which seems uber selfish, but also very much the child.  I know there is still a child within me, and as I sit here writing trying to figure out why the Christmas blahs hit more and more, that child is inside of me banging about, jumping, dancing in her seat and singing sleigh bells, loudly.  And I hope that that child is stronger than the adult. 

When to Give Up?

It seems to me that one of the most difficult things to figure out is when to cut your losses and run.  And it happens with every single thing in your life.  When should you leave the job your in and go and try something new.  When should you leave the person you’re with?  When do you admit that a person who was once a good friend of yours, isn’t really your friend anymore?  It is one of those issues that goes against the very human nature to find a rut and stay in it.  Or perhaps that’s not an issue of human nature, but Amy nature – and me being me, I just assume that everyone is similar is some fashion to me.  That is, I think, a fault of mine… but also a different issue.  This giving up point emerged this weekend when one friend of mine finally decided to get a divorce.  This isn’t the first time that she has come close to this point, but she backed away and gave it one more try.  And she may well do so again… Even though the thing she married (can’t really call him a man because he’s not mature enough to be one) doesn’t really deserve said second or third chance.  But of course, I don’t love him, nor have I seen him naked – so perhaps I don’t have all the information.  But when it comes to relationships, when do you say, I’m done.  In my own life, the one relationship that I had prior to Jose – if you call dysfunctional fag hagging a relationship, the giving up was in stages – sort of an emotional leave taking without admitting anything followed by a physical leave taking.  But since the emotional distance happened first, the physical parting wasn’t so bad.  And what caused the leave taking – misery and the desire for something better.  Giving up at Eleventh Street was much easier – sort of made that decision upon my second dealing with Satan – and then it was just a matter of finding another opportunity – and then a year or two to remove myself from my resentment that Satan stole the dream / goal / life plan that I had for myself.  And again, there was an emotional / mental leave taking first.  Those sorts of choices seem so much easier to me than others.  These were clear cut.  A matter of misery or happiness.  Really what choice is there.  But then there are other vaguer choices – choices that aren’t life altering – and are really a matter of annoyance or inconvenience vs. not being sort of annoyed sometimes.  Like when I went to my high school reunion and for a moment thought – wow, maybe I’ll have some friends from high school – only 20 years after the fact.  And then, well, that didn’t happen.  And though I had saved phone numbers into my address book on my cell phone and email address to my contact list, and would occasionally include said people on a group email, eventually, I had to come to the realization that some mythical closeness, ATT commercial reunion, wasn’t going to happen.  And even then, it took me another two weeks to delete phone numbers from the phone.  On the flip side, with the age of technology, I can really not put forth an effort, but keep up with people and satisfy the “how are they need” without committing to actual relationships.  And I suppose, ultimately, if I weren’t the type of person who had to quantify relationships – identifying, classifying, assign levels of involvement, then perhaps life would be easier.  I’m sure there are people out there who say, she’s my friend and friend means friend means friend.  And she’s as good a friend though I don’t see her ever, sometimes email or chat via facebook, and have very little in common as is he’s my friend, who i see every day, talk to every other day, and share personal stuff with.  Do people do that?  How do they do that?  How can they be equal?  They aren’t equal.  But I think the people who do that are also able to say “oh , here comes so and so, I don’t like her” to themselves as they chat politely and animatedly to the person – whereas, I say, “I don’t like her” and then half smile and walk in another direction.  It’s an issue – this letting go, saying goodbye – but I’ve no solution quite yet.

Facebook

Facebook … really what is it. Many call it a social networking site. And I suppose it does meet that need. I know that I have a chance to connect with more people via Facebook than I do in real life. But it serves another, ulterior motive, at least for me. It satisfies that small town need to know everyone’s business. It’s the virtual peer into the medicine cabinet when you are using the guest bathroom. You get to see everyone’s little posts, their pictures, and tiny snapshots into the lives of people that you may see every day, or haven’t seen in years. It’s like the snoopers dream high school reunion. For instance, on my limited friends list, I have members of the elite Trigg County graduating class of 1987. I wasn’t a member of that group, but on Facebook, I am a “friend.” Who knew it would be so easy to be included. Though, let’s not kid ourselves, I still am unable to engage many of those members in chat when we’re both online. But rather than feel rejection, I snort to myself and figure they haven’t the technological savvy to know how to chat. And then create a mental image of said unresponsive person looking all over the place when they hear that annoying bubble popping sound that emerges when someone sends a chat message. What can I say, not everyone is a clicker on the computer. And there’s something gratifying in looking at everyone’s pictures – seeing their homes, their families, how they’ve changed. And it’s entirely possible to do that without any worry of what they think of how you’ve changed – or how they may be judging you. And since the people that I tend to be judging never respond to chat requests….well live and let live I suppose.
I suppose facebook is sort of like participating in your own virtual reality show – the real housewives of facebook or it’s equivalent. And the little blurbs are like the video diaries that everyone must complete. And it’s interesting to see how everyone deals with the status changes. My nephew pops in and puts up random music lyrics. Makes him seem philosophical somehow – which is redeeming because he doesn’t seem philosophical in person. I use mine to send out one liner comments that I hope are humorous … sort of like random thoughts from SNL. And then there are the few who send out cryptic messages about frustration or gossip without committing to the event at all. And of course, I don’t know them well enough to be in the gossip loop…but now I know enough to ask someone who might know.
And then there’s the friend’s list. Those who have added as friends every person they have ever known, some they don’t, or anyone who makes a friend request. I’m not that person. I only add people that I know, have fond memories of, or want to know more about. And in that, it’s symbolic of my entire existence. I have always been a person who would prefer to lean against the wall and watch without participating. And in facebook, I get to stack the party room so to speak and watch who I want to watch. I used to think that I wanted someone to invite me in to the room to be an active participant, but now, I’m not so sure. I don’t do well in social situations with people. I much prefer to sit with a small group and chatter (though if I were in an egotistical mode, I’d say hold court) – and my slowly increasing friends list portrays that aspect of my personality. But others, they are the party people – hooking up 200 friends in 48 hours – and then chatting briefly with a few – the social equivalent of working the room.
Facebook has definitely opened up the whole concept of texting to my generation. We may not understand or appreciate 10 teenagers sitting next to each other – talking to each other while staring at their phones and texting 20 other people at the same time. But facebook lets us know that if it were 25 years ago, we’d be doing the same thing if the technology were available. And with such games as mafia wars, or Farmville, it even addresses the socialization needs of those nerdy boys who were creating their own realms of dungeon and dragons that followed them from class to class in high school. In fact, I was at a friends house the other night and her husband had a 30 minute conversation with his brother, via telephone, about what he needed to get in terms of money laundering and getting rid of competition. If I were a police officer I might have been concerned… And I am no different, checking onto my page every so often to see if someone has left me a message, to see if anyone is one who I’d like to chat with (and damn those people who stay logged on 24/7 without actually doing anything).
So, I won’t say it’s an addiction. I will say it satisfies many needs. The need to keep in contact without actually having to put forth the effort of a visit or a phone call or an email. It satisfies my biannual nostalgia fest when I feel compelled to try to find people that I once knew and cared about. And it gives me an audience for these little mental notes that I make for myself but share with others (Doogie H. of course apparently being my unknown childhood role model).

Summer Vacations

Summer is really a wierd time of year when you're a school teacher. I remember when I worked at Kinko's - and well everywhere else, and summer was just the hot time of the year. But when you teach, and you don't have to work in the summer, then you sort of enter into this wierd zone of space time. Every day feels like a Saturday, in my case a Saturday when Jose has decided to work overtime. I don't have to flip my alarm clock over because i don't care what time it is. The kids sleep late, giving my all this time in the morning to watch shows I've DVR'd during prime cartoon time, and I have time to sit and read and be lazy. There's no bath time schedule, no homework schedule, no schedule at all.
Though, with Jose gone to El Salvador for two weeks, and Franklin with him, there are all the chores that I have pawned off the last few years - carring laundry down and upstairs, taking out the trash, and I have to wash all the dishes, every time. There's no leaving them in the sink to see if someone else will jump to the task. And like a day when Jose's at work, there is a mad scramble to keep the house slightly less like a tornadic explosion to avoid the grumpy complaints about what did you do all day to have the house be such a mess. I would only wish that summers in Kentucky weren't quite so humid and hot -- because seriously who wants to melt when you open the door.
I sometimes wish that I was the crafty mother who would have the kids do some neat projects -- find a way to create a memory that will last a lifetime. But, if you didn't catch the lazy comment earlier, that's a lot more work than I really want to do. And if I start the day slow and lazy, then I want the whole day to be slow and lazy - hands down, no question about it. But, I think for the boys, summer is still a magical time. There are no cool wooded areas to explore and be imaginative -- but there is time to be silly, to laugh, to go and meet new people and maybe do something different. I know for them there's more time or chances to go to mcdonalds - which I have now decided is my least favorite restaurant of all time -- nothing on their menu that i crave or desire at all....or to go see a movie.
I think the magic of summer is time. Time to spend in each other's company, time to lay in the bed and be lazy, time to laugh, time to cry, whine, bicker and time to get over it. Time to take a nap in the afternoon, to laze by the pool, to read a trashy novel, or a good one, time to conquer a new universe or ancient realm. Having the time to choose or not as you desire -- and having no one to tell you what you must accomplish in that time, being led only by whims and desires. And that is why summer rocks.

The Best Movie Going Experience

I have been perfecting this movie going thing for a while. There are a couple of reasons for my intent focus in this area. The primary reason is that I, personally, really love to go to movies, to watch movies. I would be so happy if they'd make a movie theater with lazy boy style chairs -- or better yet, comfy beds and the movie on the ceiling (have that going on in the boys room) -- though the thought of going to a chick flick and having some couple making out next to me is enough to let me know that it's a bad idea for the general public. For those of you who have taken younger children to the movies, you know that the experience is not quite a joyful as it could be. Not all the kids movies are really that good -- I am not, for example, eagerly anticipating seeing G4 about the hamster things -- but I am looking forward to hearing the boys laugh out loud when they find something funny. But even if it's a bad movie, I would like to have an enjoyable movie experience. I don't want to get up and take anyone to the bathroom. I don't want to have to pass food or drinks during the entire movie. I don't want to be bothered at all once the movie begins. If you don't get me during the previews, expect to get me grumpy and pissy.
In order to faciliate this movie experience, I have developed a few techniques that I will share with you here.

1. Always choose a matinee - preferably a middle of the week day. Today we went to see Night at the Museum and we were the only people in the theater. The advantage here is that when you have a little kid who gets bored - he can run around a section of the theater and won't bother anyone.
2. Stop at the dollar tree, dollar store, any cheap store and buy a few different types of snacks for cheap. Kids never eat all of anything and they prefer a little of many different things.
3. Bring a cup for everyone (ones with lids for the little ones)
4. Bring an extra large plastic bowl or a couple of small plastic bowls.
5. Order the family special - large popcorn and large drink (you get one free refill) -- then during that down time when you are waiting for the previews, give everyone a bowl with popcorn, and a cup with drink (little kids can have cups with lids and straws). If it's not enough to share - then go get the refill at the beginning of the movie instead of the end.
6. Establish the snack chair, that is easily accessible to all - and put the already opened snacks in it. Kids come and graze and return items as needed.
7. During the first preview - force all small children to go to the restroom - for that last minute attempt. By then they'll have had a couple drinks of soda and be able to produce a small stream - enough to hold that bladder for another hour and 30 minutes.
8. Enjoy the movie.

Now, you have to be able to ignore wierd looks from people who don't know why you are travelling into the movie theater with a walmart bag full of plastic ware (candy is of course contraband and hidden safely in the purse). But when you make it through a whole movie with nothing more than normal movie chatter, you will be wondering why you didn't do this before.

I would also recommend allowing your children to sit a row away from you - which is easier to do when the theater is particularly empty. They feel all grown up because they are sitting on their own; and you don't hear them be silly and giggle and feel compelled to shush them. Then when you leave the theater, everyone has enjoyed the movie as much as it can be enjoyed (did I mention the hamster movie - no way I'm going to really enjoy that). And on the way out, if you haven't gotten that popcorn refill, you can get the refill and put it in the walmart bag that you have brought with you - tying off the top to prevent spillage. That popcorn you eat at home later, when you're in bed watching a really good movie (like Live Free and Die Hard or Pride and Prejudice).

Let me know if you try it and how it goes.

I Walk the Line

Franklin Serrano – the Double Edged Sword

My son Franklin (though secretly there are days when I say – that is no son of mine – my son would never do something like that!!) is a double edged sword. Though, I’m pretty sure that it is the wrong terminology – still, I think once you’ll see what I mean. With every forward step that Franklin makes – each step that makes Jose and I breathe a little sigh of relief that things will o.k.; he takes 2 steps backward, all the while figuratively slapping us upside the head in our naiveté and innocent belief.
For example, the same day that he finally decided that he was going to Western and going to be a Spanish teacher, was the exact same day we caught him smoking in the house and discovered that he had been smoking for 2 months. When I see him calling to check out his enrollment information for Western and then brag to Jose; Jose rips the carpet out from under me and informs me that he called and reminded Franklin 3 times that he needed to call today – and thus, my joy at his taking initiative was stolen and buried..
And then on graduation day, we were having a small celebratory event with his friends and Jose’s family. One of his friends asked me to transfer pictures from his phone’s memory card to a flash drive and when I did, I found pictures of prom. And not just any pictures of prom, but pictures that Franklin had taken himself from the front seat – and in the backseat, there were 3 Japanese anime looking girls. Now that might not seem like much, but Franklin and Andrew had both assured us that since neither of them have a full license, only the graduated license that only allows one other person in the car, that there would be no other people in the car. And here I was, on arguably the biggest, most important day of Franklin’s life, and I had caught him in a lie. Sure, I figured that he’d probably done that anyway – but I couldn’t prove it – not being able to prove something lets you pretend it doesn’t happen. And so…. I had proof and me, being me, had to find a way to deal with the proof, and decide upon a time. I spent much of the party fuming a bit…again, not at the event, but at the lie, and then at his own stupidity for taking pictures of himself in a lie.
So we had a talk about it, and I cried – because I’m learning from Franklin that parenting is perhaps one of the most painful tasks that we’ll ever undertake. With my own, I’ve not yet stepped over into the realm of fear and anxiety. There is still mostly hope, pride, joy, and dreams. It is little wonder that with such an auspicious start – coupled with our refusal to let go of those things, the nest leaving (both emotionally and physically) is so difficult. It’s like the magic of childhood is bleakly overshadowed with reality. And the mommy brain, that was activated the instant we gave birth and spent the first 3 years looking at every single component of the world and environment seeing potential hazards has to expand itself beyond a 20 foot radius to encompass an entire town, a virtual reality, a thousand other people who have only their own best interests at heart, not my child’s. And the struggle that Franklin has with Jose and I is nothing compared with the struggle that we have within ourselves to let him go and do that – especially when he still has so many important lessons to learn – and who will be there to teach him.
I am currently walking on a fine line. It’s the I’m there if you need me line; and the feel free to take some risks, but don’t cross this line line. I’m officially at the point of my life where the phrase, “as long as you live in this house, you live by my rules” pops unbidden into my head anytime he wants to do something that just isn’t going to happen. But, I coach most of those responses in terms of social contracts. It’s an issue of common courtesy to let us know if you’re going to be late. Perhaps you don’t have a curfew, but my car does; and it must be in the driveway by 11:00 p.m. And then building in baby steps for both of us. Letting him know that he can have more freedom, but he has to establish our trust in him and demonstrate responsibility.
And even though he looks at us, rolls his eyes, and say we treat him like a girl (apparently in El Salvador girls are caged and protected, boys run free and wild) – I’ve decided that I don’t care. He can hate us, mutter under his breath, and come up with such canny phrases as “how will I ever learn, unless you let me try, or I make mistakes.” He can make all the mistakes he wants when I don’t to watch him do it. That’s the part of parenting bliss that no one tells you about. We all strive to return to the era of hope, dreams, pride and good will. And we are quite willing to suspend disbelief and nod and smile when they tell us all the good things they are doing – ignoring the experiential knowledge that they are getting wasted on a floor with cigarette butts and god knows what else scattered about not 4 hours before they came home for a visit. Parents of college age kids actively ignore the mommy brain, brushing it under the faded keep your grades up carpet. Mostly because we equate decent grades with good living. They couldn’t be passing their classes if they are partying ALL the time. And if a problem arises, it’s very difficulty to step back into the mire. Because by then, truly, parents have no control or power and must sit back and watch – our own lesson to be learned.
That is where I am . . . holding firmly to my mommy brain eraser…but not quite using it yet. Hoping, beyond hope, that there is another way . . . to relinquish control but not contact and communication . . . seeking a way to share my experiences and those of others with him so that he can make informed decisions . . . and dreaming that if he makes a mistake that he learns a valuable lesson and decides to share his experience with us instead of hiding it. I’m pretty sure it can be done . . . I’ll let you know one way or the other.

Teenagers -- bleck

So, I'm currently immersed in the utter joy of transitioning a teenager into an adult. It's really one of the most unpleasant experiences that I've ever had - even worse than ARC meetings that require more than 6 people. And before I begin, I think that I should get a very big thank you from my parents because I am quite certain that I never, but never, put them through this same sort of crap -- Holden Caufield was never a character that I identified with. Teen angst wasn't my schtick. However, Franklin seems to be right there in the middle of the world is unfair, why can't I make my own rules, I have no freedom, you are stupid and old and don't know what it's like. (Though to be fair, it's entirely possible that I'm putting some words into his mouth, but since there aren't any words coming out, then what's a girl to do.) And to top it off, he's so like a man in that I've been pissed off at him and barely talking to him for a week - and when I told him today that I had been very angry at him, he looked at me in shock. Which lets me know that I need to step up my game on being upset. I suppose the latina way is to rant and rave loudly, throw stuff, something like that. Maybe I'll try that next time.
Anyway, today I told Franklin that without ire, irritation or meanness, I was going to start treating him like an adult. That meant that I wasn't going to follow him around and remind him that he had obligations. And that if he wanted to go and do, then he needed to give proper notice - which for me was always, but always 12 to72 hours depending on the need. And that as an adult, he was going to be allowed to make mistakes. And if he didn't like the result of those mistakes, or missed opportunities because of his lack of iniative, then that was no one's fault but his own and he'd have to deal with it. It was, so to speak, a formal letting go. And I think that I needed to say it more than he needed to hear it. But, it's also a little bit like the mini-death (the first big illness that puts your parents, grandparents in the hospital when you realize they can die, so that when it actually happens, it's not as big a shock as it could have been). I know it's not the only time that it's going to be said or talked about, but each time, it should get easier - I hope so anyway.

One of those Moments

So, Friday, we took a day. We'd gone to Cadiz to see my dad, who had the flu - though we didn't know that until we got there. So the boys and I, in consideration for senior citizen illness - and hidden concerns about swine flu - decided to turn the day into an educational field trip day. We went to Land Between the Lakes. The first stop was the planetarium. We got out of the car, and began to walk in, me and my boys. And being a good mom of boys, familiar with the simple joy in creating a lovely, loud fart, as I was walking and felt the urge, I succumbed. And when I looked behind me to see the reaction of the boys, instead, I saw a strange man, who had mysteriously appeared behind Elijah, walking up. And I froze. Now, in retrospect, if I'd been a bit smoother, I would have laughed out loud and told him that I'll be he sure wasn't expecting that. What I came up with was, "oh... oh..." blind grasp for Isaiah's hand and another "oh...Isaiah." With a deep seated, though realistically fantastical, belief that perhaps the man would credit said gas passing to my young son, instead of me. And then, there was the painful walk into the planetarium, as he sped up and passed me - catching and avoiding my eye as he walked by. And me, not to be cowered into embarrassment, looking at him and saying, "hello, how are you?" And then once he'd passed, Elijah came up behind me and looked at me and whispered, "you passed gas in front of him." In my deep felt mortification, I can't recall all that he said - I know that he had a "that's just not right." sort of approach, and all I could do was grin stupidly while I attempted not to break into hysterical laughter, nodding all the while. And now as I think of it - that man could probably witness the whole conversation in the window of the doors as he was walking up - and still, he had the courage to open the door for us. And I, had the courtesy to not pass gas again as I entered.
And now, I challenge each of you to share your own caught passing gas story - because you know you all have one. It's liberating to share it and own up to it. I FART therefore I AM.

Franklin's Smoking Gun

I know why there’s a heaven.

It seems in the major scheme of things, I have had two life long quests. The search for that perfect friend, the best friend of telephone commericialdom, and a unmitigated sense of faith, or perhaps religion is a better word. I have spent more Sundays than I care to count sitting in church listening to a preacher and thinking to myself, “I’m not sure it that’s right”, or “I don’t agree with that”, or, “how can this man be preaching such utter nonsense and hate?” Last weekend, I rented and watched the video religulous. And it wasn’t what I expected, but it was very interesting. Bill Maher who is ½ Jewish but raised catholic and now a non-religious man was seeking answers. He wanted someone to show him that their beliefs were correct. And during that video, a priest (and by and far the priests were really much more laid back than the rest) said something that really struck me. He said that people tend to look at the bible as science, when it’s not. The bible was written from between 2000 BC and 200 AD by all accounts. Modern science – you know real science that wasn’t based on monsters and whirlpools living at the edge of a flat earth, didn’t emerge until about 1500 years later. So anything in the bible that tries to explain creation, or anything scientific, can’t be accurate, because no one knew about anything scientific back then. It was an “A HA!” moment for me. That belief and science really don’t have anything to do with each other, they should never be seen walking down the road holding hands because only really ugly children are bound to emerge – and I think that is indeed the case. So, that puts me back firmly in my I can believe in a higher power, I can believe that Jesus was a good man who had some valuable lessons, and I can believe that miracles happen (though mostly those are perception and that’s all that matters) – but I can’t subscribe to the doctrine and dictates of organized religion. Not that that doesn’t mean that I won’t still have to go to church with Jose because it is SO not what he believes and that’s o.k. too.

Armed with that knowledge, however, doesn’t in anyway shape or form change the fact that will still in a pinch subscribe to the cookie cutter, fairytale style elements of faith. 4000 years ago, people died a lot. People died young. Young people saw a lot of people die. And it is to the parents of those young people that we owe the creation of an after life. I know this because I myself, just yesterday had to create such a pretty place. Our cat, Charlie, who we had found as a stray at the elementary school, came down with some mysterious ailment and died. Charlie is not the first animal to die in our house. In fact, Charlie is the last in a long line of animals – so many animals in fact that I begin to fear that we are becoming Pet Semetary 4. Usually, the highway gets them. If not the road, they run off to meet their demise after a wild night of partying. But not Charlie. She never went outside. I got her fixed so she wouldn’t run away. And don’t you know that it wasn’t good enough. She died anyway from some unknown cause.

When we got home and learned about her death. Elijah was pretty calm, a little sad, but not overly so. Isaiah stopped and looked stunned, but it looked affected. He went outside looked in the cage and then slowly walked into the house and burst into heart wrenching sobs. He wanted Charlie. He wanted Charlie back. Where’s Charlie. And there I stood with no answer that I could give him that he would accept, that would soothe his hurt except that “He’s in heaven with god now.” And 45 minutes later after building on that initial comment, Isaiah finally calmed down enough to go swing and then move on (scoring a few bonus points by asking Papa not to kill his cats anymore, please). And there it was – the reason and the why of it. Whether you believe or not, Heaven is a fairytale place that soothes the fears and sadness of those you leave behind. It also makes those beginning the journey feel so much better about having to go – if you know that you’re going to see someone again. And it even makes Hell a rational place, because God knows you don’t want to see Mrs. Lawler in heaven, so she’s not invited because she’s a bad persons. And don’t get me wrong, heaven would be a great place. Though, I don’t know if I wish there was one, because I’m pretty sure that as Mrs. Doubting Thomas here, I probably won’t get there.

Isaiah's First Communion

Alright, so today is Sunday and Jose decided that it was a Sunday he wanted to go to church. He's sort of wierd on the Sundays he decides to go and not go. Going to church is never more important that overtime, but if he doesn't work, or doesn't want to sleep in, then we must all jump up and go. Today, Jose had originally planned to go to the 9:30 service, as Franklin had to be at work and we could drop him off on the way in. And me, being the generally non-church person, was not about to let anyone not go to church if I had to go (though Franklin tried to steal my malicious joy as we walked in saying he didn't care if he went to church ... which was a commendable effort, but I saw his face when he stumbled from his room to the bathroom this morning after going to bed after midnigh - and he cared.) So, because we were going to have to leave early, we kept Isaiah with us in the church service instead of taking him to Sunday school. And this week, they had communion. They had communion two weeks ago too -- so I'm wondering if perhaps the fact that the church purchased the catholic property next door (bought the church and are going to tear it down to expand) has perhaps resulted in adopting some practices - who knows. Anyway, Isaiah, who was pretty happy to hear the music. Wanted to have someone read the words on the jumbotron thing they have, and was not quite sure how to effectively whisper was holding his own in church. And apparently, he was listening much more closely than I ever listened in church, because when the deacons began to pass out the grape juice and wafers, he got really upset. When I asked him what was wrong, he said "I don't want to drink blood. That's blood." And there I was torn between getting tickled and then panicked that I had just created a religious zealot who really really believed the symbolism was in fact a reality (sort of like Jose Luis Jesus Miranda who believes he is the 2nd Jesus - no really). He absolutely refused to try the wafer, but I was able to get him to taste the grape juice after tasting it first in front of him. Then, once he realized that it was not blood, he was pretty quick to ask for some more. But it's the panic that was important and just goes to show you that faith isn't something that is acquired, it's something that's learned -- and I'm not sure that I want it to be learned or not. It's my forever debate - between the logical, rational part of my mind that says no way and the part of me that was told since infancy that this is true. It's a debate for later.

The Tag A Long

Alright, I'm pretty sure that I have had the opportunity to have a singularly unique experience this Saturday and could think of little else except that it was definitely blog worthy. No doubt about it. Saturday, February 14th was the scheduled birthday extravaganza for Isaiah. He had invited his "girls" from preschool and we all met at Chuck E. Cheese. Suprisingly for 10 a.m. on valentines day, Chuck E. Cheese was packed. There were 5 parties there that morning. I got there early to put out the Pokemon tablecloth and decorate with some pokemon brought from home. And then set out to chase kids and spend tokens like there was no tomorrow.
A few minutes after we arrived, the kids at the party table next to ours arrived... boys about 7 or 8, who were immediately envious of all the pokemon stuff on our table. It was a proud, crappy chuck e. cheese party moment. At least someone envied the table. And after our 45 minutes of play, we made our way to the table for the sit down portion of the party. At which point, the tag along appeared. Out of nowhere, a little girl appeared and sat down at our table. I asked her what party she was here with. She looked at me blankly and then muttered something about Eliza, and then pointed vaguely off in the distance. And put in such a wierd position, with other parents watching to see how I'd handle it, I just offered her some pizza, we had extra and it didn't seem to hurt anyone. A few minutes later, I caught our extra guest going through the goody bag. AT which point, the generous lady hid somewhere behind spendthrift and greedy bitch. And I politely told her that though I didn't care if she ate pizza, she wasn't going to get a goody bag and she needed to leave it alone. And she did. A few minutes later, she had moved to the table next to ours. And she had found her party at last. She came back after the Chuck E. Cheese birthday sing along. And when I called all of my kids to get their picture taken with CHuck E. Cheese - she hurled herself right up on the stage and next to Chuck. And out of nowhere some other little boy sat next to Chuck on the left. It became quite apparent that social rules concerning bonding with strangers must not be learned until one is considerably older. And a picture with Chuck with a strange woman holding the camera and 7 kids that you don't know is not outside the norm. And then it was time for cake. And her comes our girl, asking for a piece. I was only too happy to give her a piece because bringing cake home is like begging for diabetic coma. If there is cake in the house, I will eat it - always. And if they could make a low carb / sugar free cake that tasted like real cake, then I'm pretty sure that I would die happy.
Of course by that time the Chuck E. Gestapo were hovering about the table. And those perky helpful girls who were only too happy to assist you for the first hour and 20 minutes of your party turn ugly when they are trying to force you to get out of your table, you only booked it for an hour and a half, no longer - move it!!!! And as I was picking up cups and plates, pizza bones and wrappers, one of the moms came over to talk. I asked if she would like some cake as apparently I was giving it to all and sundry. She laughed and then told me that our little friend who had seemed at home at the party next to ours, didn't belong to that party either. But unlike me that party had just ignored her - passing pizza, drinks and cake around but never too her. Which struck me as funny on two levels. First that the way to deal with the problem was to put on blinders and say "i don't see you, i don't see you, i don't see you." And secondly, that the girl didn't belong there either. Jose, in a moment of rare humor, leaned over and said, "I think she comes every Saturday looking for parties." And, I suspect that he may be right. I laughed out loud, and then was very grateful that she was perhaps an only child and not one of three who were party crashers. And who knew that there was a party crashing market for the under 10 set. I can envision her even now sitting at home, rubbing her belly and contemplating what kinds of cakes will be there next weekend. Who knows if she comes in early enough if she gets free tokens as well. Seems overly sophisticated, and I am wary of the adult she will come and what kind of weddings she will see in her life time.
In the mean time, if you know the older girl in the picture hugging up to Chuck, give me her name and i'll send her a thank you card for coming to Isaiah's party.

25 Things About Me

Th facebook phenomena


1. I am an inherently cheap person
2. If it cost more to be diabetic than it did to be healthy, I'd probably work much harder at it.
3. If the boat was sinking, I would save my children before my husband
4. being fat is comforting
5. I am always waiting to get fired
6. I am not a nice person
7. Most people don't much care for me and that's o.k. cause I don't care for most people
8. Elijah can make me laugh harder than anyone else ever has
9. My children have a bit of magic in them
10. Obama and I have similar moles on the left side of our noses, does that mean we could be related
11. I would rather read a cheesy romance novel than a great work of literature
12. I don't like babies
13. I have never had a boyfriend
14. I don't like clothes very much and would work in pajamas every day if i could
15. I don't like going to church - ever
16. I have a love hate thing going with facebook - it annoys me but that doesn't keep me from signing in each day and wishing it were set up differently somehow.
17. I like to watch bravo reality shows -- and the Hills -
18. I would ove for Spencer Pratt to be caught engaging a male prostitute on sunset blvd
19. I used to dream about Prince when I was very upset
20. I've seen a man get a vasectomy
21. Vasectomies smell a bit like getting your teeth drilled
22. I would love to have a giant, stress free, highly attended birthday party before I die --
23. People think I'm bossy
24. meat is my favorite food
25. i think my eyelashes are growing smaller as I grow older

Party Trauma

This weekend, Elijah was invited to a skating party for a friend of his in class. Her name is Eliza. Much of the year, he's kind of had a crush on her, but not so much of late. Or he's been talkig about her less of late. But they are still friends, and he decided to go and be one of only 2 boys at the party. The issue was that Elijah had never been skating. And compounding that issue is the fact that Elijah is not a small, petite little man. With his skates on, he was as tall as I was and weighs as much as an adult - a skinny short adult, but an adult. So, though the spirit was willing, the body was weak. And like most adults, Elijah suffered from the "Oh my god! it really hurts to fall." When you learn to skate when you're little, you don't have that same problem, but for sure it's an issue when you're older. Jose and I went skating once when we first got married. And by skating i mean we paid for skates and then walked around on the carpet for about 40 minutes, looked at how slick the rink looked and then decide that it wasn't worth the long term disability that would invariably be the result of any real fall. After trying for a bit, and watching all of his friends zip by, and having 2 pretty hard falls where he really wanted to cry but couldn't because there were like 4 gazillion people there (including, in case you forgot Eliza and his friends from school) he decided to take his skates off and sit and watch. And then it happened, the flash back. Suddenly Elijah was me at any and every social event that I had ever attended -- especially the ones in which I had no transportation. And his head got lower and his face longer. So, we left, me with tears in his eyes and Elijah wondering why Eliza wasn't more upset that he was leaving... I mean she wasn't upset at all, did you see that mom? She didn't even say goodbye really. The important part is that he was happier when we were walking out than when he was sitting there. And I so remembered that sense of relief of finally being able to leave a place where I didn't feel like I fit in and was embarrassed or unhappy. And even though it was a little awkward, in the long run, I'd do it every time. And then we invited his friend Riley over to spend the night, and all of it was cast aside and forgotten...by Elijah at least. And Isaiah. He spent most of his time pretending to fall, because when you are only 2 inches off the ground, falling is a bit like riding a roller coaster. Or maybe he was trying to help Elijah feel less awkward. But when he really fell, hard, on his butt, he crawled right on over to me to rub it and was ready to go when we were.

2009 - or whatever

A new year. It's supposed to be a time of resolutions. And here it is, two weeks into the new year and all I can think of is that my blood test for my endocrinologist is in a week and I'm pretty sure that I haven't been closely monitoring either my intake or my blood sugars. And all my kids at school are struggling with writing resolutions. And I think, should I make my own? Sure I should - but what's the point really. A resolution is just me saying this is something that I should do, but probably won't. Why can't my body make it's own resolution and let my brain and all those pain centers check out while it takes care of business. I mean seriously, I think my stomach should say, I resolve to cause uncontrollable nausea everytime chocolate, chips or other unhealthy foods reach me. Or even better, my throat should resolve to close or gag everytime high carb foods reach it. But oh no, there's that damn brain in the way. And it's not a licking the bottom of the boot brain - It's not setting the world on fire -- but it is clever enough to talk circles around the throat and the stomach. In fact, I'm pretty sure that it has the rest of the body under some sort of post hypnotic suggestion in which the mouth, throat and stomach believe that chips, candy and bread are actually broccoli, green beans, and cucumbers (raw not pickled).

Last year, I wrote my resolutions down and kept them by the computer. And I accidentally read them about 3 times when I was searching for some piece of paper that I was looking for. And I didn't reach any of those - didn't even come close - and they were soo easy - just needed a little will power - brain power really - to get them through.

So my resolution this year is to win the lottery and then hire someone to walk around behind me and slap me on the back of the head anytime i have bad food (no matter how good it tastes) in my hand and approaching my mouth. I mean 24 / 7. And if that same person could strap me to some excerise equipment and force my limbs to move as well then that would be good. I'm pretty sure that I'd be a bit healthier after that.

In the mean time, my resolution is to not make a resolution that I can't keep. Therefore, I'm probably not making any resolutions.

Christmas Joys

I have decided there are few moments of bliss that are less wonderful than watching your child open any present and have them be so excited and just, well, happy. And there is a petty part of me that gets jealous of Santa - who gave the really cool gift. "Really mom? a tee shirt. Thanks." is not nearly as cool as "WOW!!! MOM MOM MOM LOOK WHAT SANTA GOT ME!!!!" Doesn't matter that we're the same. And hopefully will be perceived as 2 different people for years to come. Though, I must take the time to write a note to my science teachers of the past who have enabled me to create a believable fiction of how and why Santa is able to perform his duties -- and only having to rely on a because God made him that way as a last resort. It was the polar express year, and fortunately, Elijah can still hear the bell for which I am so glad.

Even for Franklin, my savvy 18 year old - being able to suprise him with the gift that he wanted and there was no way that we couldh've afforded if I didn't happen to be one of the savviest coupon finders on the internet that I know (acknowledging openly that I only know a handful of people who shop on the internet and they all have more free cash and don't care to pay full price). There is just such a wonderful amount of joy and pride in finding that gift and knowing that it is something they wanted and like -- EVEN if they are going to flip the XBOX 360 the wrong way and forever mar the game so that it can't be played anymore.... there was 2 weeks of being the best mom ever -- or knowing that SANTA rocks because he knew exactly what to get!

I sort of wish there was a way to garner that sort of praise for my everyday kind of stuff. Don't think it's going to happen any time soon.

Being a Grown Up at Christmas

Another Christmas come and gone and I've finally emerged this holiday as an adult - officially. You know how when you're younger - and even when you're older -- you open a gift with a bit of anticipation wrapped around unadulterated excitement. You just know, without a doubt that the next gift you open will be the absolutely perfect gift. There will be no better gift at all in the world -- NONE!!!! And, I'm hoping that for some of you, that gift turned into a reality. And if it has, then I'm a little bit envious. But to my recollection, I have never really had said gift opening experience. And, on top of that, I do not do a very good job of faking a pleased reaction. If I like someone or something, then you know it. But if I don't like something or someone, you know that too. I try to say the polite thing, but I can't seem to get my face and physical reaction to match the words that I say. So, opening presents is a bit of an endeavor in anxiety for me. Because I don't want to hurt someone's feelings, I really don't. So, getting me a gift, has also developed into a bit of an anxiety ridden experience. Coupled by the fact that because I know that no one will get me the gift that I want, I go ahead and buy what I want for myself when I can afford it - which limits even more possibilities for gifts that could be received and enjoyed at the same time. And as I am in the middle of my 39th year, I have finally realized that I can be happy that someone just cared enough to get me something. Of course, that may also come with the fact that I have 3 different groups of gifting (work, Jose's family, and my family and friends) so I can easily regift items without fear of hurting someone's feelings - and then I feel like the gift that I didnt' really want is actually money that can purchase something that I really do want - and then just enjoy the thought behind it. But, I will admit that when we were playing dirty santa at my dad's house this Christmas and I opened the oven mitt I was so very very very grateful that I got last pick because there was no way that I wanted that thing and am pretty sure that my sister stole it from me because she didn't care - or maybe she really wanted it, but who can figure wanting that. And it has taken me 39 years to tamp down my optimistic hope that I will open the perfect gift. THough I'm less hopeful. And Jose, god love him, isn't not a shopper. And when I thanked him in November for buying me the sketchers that I wanted (and specifically told him that I wanted when he asked and requested black and showed him my generic version of the shoe) and then refused to open it until after Christmas because I didn't want to waste my suprise present from Santa on a gift that I already knew what was... he responded .. you don't know what they look like (he was a bit discouraged that I saw the charge on the bank statement to which point I encouraged him to use cash if he didn't want me to know what he bought me). And he was right. I didn't know what they looked like and I did like them and was suprised. But how much nicer would it have been for him to know (after only 11 1/2 years of marriage) what I wanted without asking and I could have been totall suprised -- of course who are we kidding -- I'd probably be disappointed anyway -- really, it's my very own catch 22.