Fireflies

They sat
together
at the threshold;
Matching ash gray t-shirts
and Royal Highnies.

A battered telescope
and an abused stuffed bunny
between them,
In the cool summer breeze
of twilight.

Silence encompassed
to relish the crickets-
father and son,
Waiting...
for fireflies.

Vacation Bible School

Edmund had his first taste of vacation bible school this week. Needless to say, he got through it, but he was not happy about it. He is three and our home church won't take him until next year. Nevertheless, I probably won't send him then either.



We went to the kick off preview at our church. All of the theatrics, special effects, lights and noise were too much. Edmund has sensory problems. He prefers small quiet and calm groups. That is something that Concord Quest will never be described as...



So, we toke him to the neighborhood Church of Christ. I grew up largely Church of Christ and can tell you that the services I remember from my childhood could be no more sedate. Imagine our surprise when we walked our son in on the first day to see the entire church transformed into a jungle complete with vines and sounds! There were children everywhere and tons of teens and preteens helping out. The place was organized chaos.



Edmund immediately decided he wanted nothing to do with any of it. I, on the other hand, was looking forward to a mini-break. School was from 8:30-noon each day and I would only have to deal with 'destructo-boy' Spencer. So, when we went into the auditorium to find Edmund's class amid blaring music (since when does the Church of Christ have music?), running cave people, and LOTS of white noise, Edmund clung to my skirt for dear life and started to cry. Feeling no pity, I told him that he would be fine, physically pried him from my skirt and handed him to his teacher. He sobbed pitifully, clinging to his stuffed bunny for dear life. I left swiftly without looking back in case someone stopped me and told me I had to take him home.



We repeated this scene everyday. Last night was the closing ceremony. Each group was to sing three songs. Edmund had to wear his VBS t-shirt, a thought that baffled him as I generally don't allow the boys to wear uncollared shirts outside the house. On the way to drop off, he told me three times not to take any pictures. (Edmund speak for please get at least one shot but not a gazillion.) He didn't want to go into his class's anteroom any more than he wanted to be dropped off in the mornings.



I rushed back home to get Robert and Spence. Edmund's group would go first and I didn't want to miss it. It was his first ensemble effort. When the three and four year old classes marched in we sat on the end of an aisle breathlessly scanning the throng for our son. No, Edmund. "Did you drop him in the right class?" my husband asked. Of course. "Where is he?" "How should I know?" I countered. Finally, a handler brought him in and sat with him in the front row placing a very frightened child clinging to a very raggedy bunny on her lap. The teen scanned the crowd.



I had already taken several shots which, according to my view finder, were guaranteed not to come out. I told Robert that I was going to skirt the outside aisle to see if I could get a better picture. The fresh faced teen pointed me out to Edmund as I tried to get in position. Edmund is terribly shy. He was clearly terrified but trying to be brave. From his prospective, there must have been a myriad of digital cameras, I-Phones and camcorders. I signed that his father and I were watching him and that I loved him very much. He started to cry. So much for my picture.



Edmund didn't particpate at all. I suppose I was lucky he stayed on stage. A relieved worker handed a nearly traumatized child to Robert. I kissed him three times on the cheek to let him know how proud I was of him. Edmund blushed at such a public display of affection. Robert said that that was 'quite enough'.



Neither Edmund or my husband wanted to stay thorough the entire program. There was going to be dinner and games. No dice. They both took a turn on a moonwalk while everyone else was inside. Spencer wandered onto the playground. Edmund said that he wanted to stay for a hot dog. Robert snuck him one which he took a bite out of and was finished. Spencer ate most of it. Spencer eats everything. Robert became insistent that it was time to take the boys home. He said that Edmund didn't look well. I sighed knowing that neither one of them was relishing the thought of mingling with the other parents and children at event's end. Then, feeling the need to placate them both, I felt Edmund's forehead. He was warm and clammy. The boy had literally worried himself sick.

Future Union Man

My two boys were out front digging in my mulch bed. Mulch routinely falls in the vent wells. And, my eldest is crazy about Caterpillar machines. I thought that I would be sly and kill two birds with one stone.

"Edmund, what are you today?"
"I'm an excavator."
"Oh yeah, well, how about scooping out those vent wells for mommy?"
"Where?"
"Over there." I point feeling hopeful that I wouldn't have to do the chore.
"Sorry, Mommy." Edmund shakes his head sadly, "can't. It's Saturday. Cat's don't work on Saturdays. Try again on Monday."

Drat, foiled by the preschoolers union.

Christmas before July

The boys and I hit another neighborhood yard sale today. I only have a few more Christmas gifts to get. And I am always on the look out for Santa gifts, secret Santa gifts, family gifts and the odd holiday and birthday purchase. I hit yard sales, children's consignment sales (although not as much since the boys are getting older), church sales, and an occasional regular shop.

Edmund wanted to go to Smart Toys and Books. I reminded him that it wasn't his birthday or Christmas. So, he wasn't due any new playthings. Nor, did he have a class scheduled. Therefore, the afternoon would be better spent either visiting Horse Haven or looking for boy stuff at the neighborhood sale. He choose the sale.

We find some really cool stuff in the oddest places. A Murano vase for my mother... A vintage Santa to add to my sister's collection... Electronic nonsense for my nephew...The trick is to set a firm budget, have a rough list of what you are looking for, and an ideal price range. Today's big scores were a new booster seat for Edmund, $2, and NIB compression socks 40-50 mmHg, $5/pk.
That is cheaper than the prices I found on EBay or craigslist! Hurray!

I've been using store incentive coupons to buy birthday gifts for picky family members. We paid a grand total of $1.20 for mother's day by using JCPenney $10 off coupons and picking sale items at 75%off as close to $10 as possible. My niece is into Aéropostale. With a little patience, I found her what I thought was a cute outfit on a 50%off weekend at the Goodwill. Her response, "I didn't know that Aéropostale made old people clothes." Sigh, preteens.

Anyway, I am just a few gifts away from having all of my gift shopping done for the rest of the year. It definitely makes the Christmas season more enjoyable, because we are free to let the children pick a child to shop for from the Angel Tree and make little presents to give to caregivers. We can go to plays and concerts. We take in some ice skating downtown on the square. We enjoy the religious season without a lot of the commercial pressure. And that is just the way my husband and I like it.

Investing in the Boys

Robert came home from work yesterday and told me to call our financial advisor about buying some shares of GM. He said that it was rising fast. Apparently, some of his buddies have made some quick short sale money. The advisor told me not to bother.

We try to buy the boys a share each year. Generally, we choose a company that represents their interests at that point in time. Unfortunately, the boys seem to pick better than we. Because, the stocks that represent them right now apparently haven't heard that the nation is in a downturn. Nevertheless, this is a good time to pump up their 529 plans and possibly look at an index fund.

It seems as if we are always trying to find ways to invest in the boys' future. Violin lessons, Sunday School, Mother Goose, story time, foreign language, etiquette camp, ice skating (my oldest was under the delusion that he should play hockey), homeschooling,...The list seems to daily grow. Golf and horseback riding next year? Oh and mom, can I play baseball? Sure, two practices a week and games on Saturdays. I have nothing else to do but cart a preschooler and a toddler around all day until daddy gets home and expects his dinner. I don't even like sports.

Really, most days, I don't mind. After all, the cost of living is only going up. The children will have to compete globally for employment and I have no desire for them to live with me for the rest of their lives. So, we will continue to play the taxi driver. Fret about whether the reading skills have improved or why someone else's child can count backwards from 100. And yes, pad the 529 plans in the event one or both of the boys fail to get a decent scholarship. In the end, we probably will even bite the bullet and buy stock in one of the companies the boys love even if it never hit bottom ,and place the certificate under the Christmas tree. The payoff is supposed to come down the road. My children are worth it. Or so, I keep telling myself...

My Sister's Keeper

Life has a way of hitting you in the gut when you least expect it. I opened our town's weekly newspaper on Thursday looking for the grocery ads. Instead, I was confronted with the deaths of a seemingly normal couple from our church. They had three small children. He owned a small business. They lived in a nice quiet upper-middle class subdivision. The couple's youngest child is the same age as my preschooler. It would not surprise me if we didn't pass each other on a regular basis as we dropped our children off at the same Sunday school class, watched our kids play at the same community park, attended the same moms group...

However, this family was not normal. The police reported that there was a long history of alcoholism and abuse behind that perfectly manicured lawn. The wife had once filed for a restraining order, but dropped it. She should have kept it. Her husband killed her in front of her children, visited his parents; then, went to his place of business and committed suicide.

Domestic violence is always painted with such an ugly face. Like the "strangers" we tell our children to beware of, people who are abused are portrayed as uneducated, social outsiders, members of the lower classes somehow...That is why,in this town, where nothing rarely happens and an episode of Leave It to Beaver could easily be taped, a murder-suicide is so, well, shocking...Did anyone notice the signs? Her friends, their families? Did she pass me in the halls at church with bruises? If I noticed, could I have done anything to help her, her children?

One thing is for certain, I will try to be a bit more diligent and a little less superficial in the future. Perhaps, there is nothing that I personally could have done for this fellow mom. But, I will be a bit more vigilant in case someone else in a neighboring cul-de-sac needs aid. The weekly post is an awful reminder that I am my sister's keeper.