Fire! Fire! Fire! ...just kidding...

Last night at about 1:00 AM the smoke alarm went off in our house! Blareing just above our heads in our new bedroom, I jumped out of bed and wasn't even really aware of what I was doing until I turned on the overhead light and then it stopped.

I stood paralyzed for an instant and listened, "Any unusual sounds?" Nope, all was quiet...now.

Very confused with chest pounding I surveyed the house for signs of smoke. Nothing. Climbed the stairs to check the kids. All was quiet. No smoldering embers. Nothing.

What the heck just happened? Fluke? Accident? Power surge?

Heart still pounding I came back to the bedroom, "Did you hear that too?" I asked Jake, thinking I might've just dreamed the whole thing.

"Heck yes, I heard that." He said and got up to survey the house for the himself too.

Needless to say, very weird and pretty damn scary. And, it sure took us a bit to get back to sleep after that rush of adrenalin.

Emotional highs and lows

I have always been a bit emotionally manic; highs real high and lows real low. Perhaps not as bad as I used to be although I expect that could be up for debate with my dear family.

When I was in my 20's I thought hard about a chemical imbalance and even asked my doctor at the time. She said she could prescribe something and I could try it right away to see if it worked. I guess, I was a little shocked at the trial and error factor that seemed to pervade the entire discussion. That and her willingness to pile me high with a bunch of free samples right then and there.

I guess I was looking for something a little more...scientific. You know, like a blood test? Or some magic thingy that could detect a certain something wasn't right and, yes indeed, I could try this pill and maybe I would feel better. Well, it isn't that simple. It is a leap of faith and in all honesty, I just never had that much faith in pharmiceutical companies.

Don't get me wrong. I have many friends who have found anti-depressants to literally transform their lives for the better. And, I take my hat off to medical science.

But, I left the doctor's office saying I would think about it and never pursued it. I just continued to live with my moods, the dips and valleys of my normal life.

Then I had my first kid and yes, I was very aware of the hormone cocktail, the not quite thinking rationally, the quick to anger, cry and/or scream. They call if baby blues and I am sure I had it.

Not as bad as many. I met a woman who said that she was afraid to unload the dishwasher when her baby was around because she was scared that she would stab him with a sharp knife!!!

No. I never felt like that. And, I sure hope that gal took my advise and spoke with her doctor about that. Baby blues isn't funny and should be taken very, very seriously.

I remember having a "moods and emotional roller coaster" conversation with a different doctor when I was about 36. I thought I could be pre-menopausal and that maybe, again, I should ask someone about a chemical imbalance. She took blood this time to get an estrogen count and she said there still was plenty pumping through. So, pre-menopause wasn't the answer.

"Well, then how come I have no sex drive and I'm crabby as all get out!" I enquired. She clucked at me about "lubricants" and offered me a stack of anti-depressants so I could trot the "trial and error" personal chemical balancing act again.

I just couldn't go there. "No but thanks anyway." I was on my own.

I remember something changing in my mood when my first child was about 3. It seemed to take that long to feel normal again. Something lifted. Coping was easier. Then right after she turned 5, I suddenly felt like I was back in the swing. I felt good! Physically and mentally!

In fact, back in the swing enough to promptly get pregnant. And, this time baby blues really hit. No stabbing my kid worries but grim dispair, irrational moods, quick to anger, paranoia, crabby and overwhelmed.

This time my GGF (good girl friend) took me aside and said, "You are sinking, girl. I need you to do something." I told her my history and how I really, really, really didn't want to try anti-depressants. She suggested something else; a vitamin suppliment called Levity. What?

Levity is a new product discovery addressing the area of emotional and mental health. An all-natural and safe dietary supplement, Levity can provide support for overall emotional and mental well being. As a total formula, and when combined with the other easy-to-follow components of the LEVITY Program, the nutrients in Levity were clinically proven to provide relief for "vegetative symptoms of depression", otherwise known as the "Body Blues". Each of the vitamin ingredients contained in Levity have been shown to be effective in modulating depression and supporting a healthy mood. A deficiency in any of Levity's key vitamin nutrients can cause disturbances in the body's ability to effectively regulate mood."

What the heck do I have to loose? I gave it a try.

Working in conjuction with a regular routine of moderate excercise, it really seemed to help almost immediately. Nothing I could really put my finger on but I didn't feel so edgy or quick to fly off the handle. After only a couple of days, I felt more "even", less extreme, more in control of myself.

Levity comes in a multi-vitamin too so I have just kept on taking it. And, if I miss several days, I sort of notice something is different. Again, not a major difference but a certain leveling out seems to fade. For almost 5 years, I take it every morning.

Am I still manic? Yes, I think so. Stress really gets to me and circumstances beyond my control; work, money, sad things all can set me into a tail spin. And, although I consider myself an optimistic person, I am naturally very highly skeptical and leery of the prevelant injustices in this world. Because, I am a good political lefty, my heart bleeds at the daily evidence of this. Horrified, in fact, by the knowledge that there is not much I can personally do to change it.

Such is life, I expect, when you are given the gift to feel very deeply.

So, now that I am in my 40's, I have found my little pill to improve my mood. All the better that it is a vitamin suppliment full of stuff I need anyway. If it helps, it helps. If it doesn't but I think it does, well then that is ok too.

Maybe that is what the 40's are all about; acceptance and realizing that we all have our limitations. And, there is a road through it no matter what.

Stressed out and feeling bleak?

I know I shouldn't just blog when I am feeling good. I shouldn't just write about the happy or poignant stuff in life. Real life isn't like that, we all know. The good, bad and the ugly.

Unfortunately, I don't ever know what to write about when I am down or stressed or crabby or scared. Heaven forbid writing about being stressed, crabby or scared! What a droll read that would be.

But, in all actuality when I am not feeling very chipper is probably the best time for me to write instead of living inside my head and feeling sorry for myself.

What do you do when you are stressed out and feeling bleak?

I escape. Novels are good. Pile them up and whip through them like chocolates. Funny movies? Yes, that's works too.

Last night, I rented Raising Arizona, a late 80's classic by the Cohn brothers with Nicolas Cage and Holly Hunter. Molly and I were scrolling through I-tunes movies and we started getting to the old stuff. Suddenly, I remembered Raising Arizona as one of my all time favorite movies on the planet. Was Molly ready for it? I thought so and we gave it a whirl last night.

First, in preparation, I explained several times, that the whole movie was about people making very bad decisions. But, after all that hand wringing, Molly loved it.

We laughed hard and tried to ignore the potty mouth. I felt nostalgic for all those wacky 80's fashions. Did we really wear that stuff?

It was fun and I am tempted to watch it again right now.

The reviews are in: Willy Wonka cast broke a leg

Ok. It was standing room only for the last night of the highly acclaimed elementary school production of Willy Wonka. There wasn't a vacant uncomfortable metal chair in the room. Parents, grandparents, siblings, babysitters; it was a friendly crowd assembled and ready to cheer.

First, let me say; wow those kids worked hard! Since December they have been working on this play; sets, costume, tunes, lines, special effects. This play had it all.

Now, down to the important part; how did my kid do? FABULOUS!!! Of course! She sparkled, she shined, she blushed, she hammed it up. Her singing was crisp and on tune and projected to the back of the the room. Which, believe me, in this crowd was a plus.

Basically, the old theater bug has done bit.

She was still buzzing off the audience high when I asked her, "Are you sad that it is over?"

"Yes. It was so much fun." she said, still pink from pride and giggling.

Ok. This is something I can't relate to. I get performance anxiety just thinking about her performing but she seems to thrive on it.

All and all a good experience. Something I never had when I was young but am jolly darn proud that she seems to like it.

Huge accolades to the music teacher, Ms. S, for her herculean efforts. She has started a tradition now whether she wants to or not.

Wow, does this island love a show!?!

Peeking at another world

I went to pick up Shea early at his morning pre-school today. He goes to this adorable little Montessori school Wednesday and Thursday mornings 9 - 12. This was partly a move toward my goal of having him spend more time with typically developing peers. Plus, honestly, I just needed some time in the mornings to work and get stuff done.

For the most part it has worked out pretty well.

Transitions can be hard for any kid and Shea is no different. So, I have taken to arriving a little early so that we can spend 10 minutes or so walking in the forest trails surrounding the school and just chill before I have to bundle him back home, get him changed, feed him lunch and get him ready for the special school bus to pick him up for afternoon pre-school at 12:30. Whew! No wonder he has a tough time with that transition! It is a bit of a whirlwind.

Usually by the time I arrive all the kids are running around top speed outside for "recess". Shea will spot me and, on good days, run up to me yelling, "Mommy!!!" with a big hug. Sometimes, it isn't so nice; tears, being in trouble for hitting, taking a time out, etc.

When Shea is really worked up physically or excited, his verbal capabilities just seem to shut down. What he might be able to express when calm and relaxed just can't come out when he is cranked up. So, we have had too many melt downs right at the end of recess when I am about to take him home.

Eureka: I would rather forgo a few minutes of alone time for a calm, peaceful kid at pick up time.

So, like I said, I arrived earlier than usual today and got to sit inside and watch the class in action which I had never really done before. If you do not know, Montessori basically has the belief that you should be responsible for yourself, choose what you want to do, pick up after yourself and follow the rules of the school. I thought it was a pretty good fit with the very structured Developmental Preschool model that he has in the afternoons.

Shea was sitting down and eating his snack with another little boy. There were kids sitting down with the teacher talking about what birds they have seen. There were several kids choosing to do something else, like work on a tower, hang out in the play kitchen, etc. All was calm and happy.

I guess I was struck at how engaged Shea seemed. Even though he was eating his snack, he seemed to be listening to everything that was being said by the teacher. He seemed interested and in good spirits. He smiled and was happy to see me when I arrived. He seemed to be part of the whole. When the teacher asked him to tidy up his snack spot, he went and got a little broom and dustpan and swept up the crumbs without complaint. (!)

By this time, it was time to go. I did a little zipper help with the other kids and then the teacher decided that they could all come on the trail walk with us. I could tell that Shea liked the idea but that it was a little frenetic with all the kids running and jockeying for the lead. We went with the pack and then split off on our own so that we could capture that sweet, quiet chill spot that seems to happen when it is just us together.

So, with all the ups and downs, I think the AM school is a good fit. I think I will ask for another year of Developmental Preschool for next year and push Kindergarten off. I think we will continue with the morning pre-school as long as it still feels right.

Isn't that how it goes? Instinct. It's really the only thing we have to go on sometimes.

IEP meeting prep

A date has been set. For those of you who don't know, Shea's birthday is April 20th. He will be 5.

The school is supposed to do the IEP meeting at or before the birthday to be completely compliant. Last year our meeting didn't happen until late May. Which was only one of the several problems with Shea's teacher last year which, of course, I covered extensively with this blog post and this one too.

We are much happier with the teacher this year, thank goodness. But, IEP meeting are still a bitch. After going through this a couple of times, I have determined a fledgling routine.

A month out, like right about now, I talk to all the specialists and ask them if they have any suggestions for the school or specifics to add to the IEP. This has been very helpful in the past. Not only do they bring up really good ideas but they give you the edu-speak terminology on how to ask for it. And, oh yes, it is a different language. And, just like in a foreign country; if you can't speak it, you don't get it.

So, I am beginning to pull all that together now. If I time it right, I allow the specialists a few weeks to ponder it and they always come up with very good suggestions.

My big concern this time around is to Kindergarten or not to Kindergarten next year.

I mean he is only 5. Plenty of typical kids, especially boys, don't start Kindergarten until 6 but I don't want him to be bored. Will another year of cutting and pasting and working on his expressive language be dull? In my heart, I don't think so. Why push him ahead when he is clearly not ready. Socially or fine motor either.

I know I am not supposed to do this but when Molly was 5 she was so precociously quick that I knew she was ready. Shea has never been that way. He isn't even writing letters. He knows his alphabet and counts but doesn't write at all. They will expect that in Kindergarten. Why should I push him in there knowing that he isn't ready. Then, again, there is the school of thought that you set the bar high. Kindergarten for Shea next year would be setting the bar high indeed.

Writing and his expressive language delay, some social issues and the complete lack of potty training makes me think another year in the Developmental Preschool sure couldn't hurt. And, will probably be a nice, comfortable place to be while he continues to work on some of this stuff.

So, this is where I try to peel my mother's mind away from my rational mind. Am I making this decision purely to protect him as long as I can? Probably. Will he be bored? Hard to know. Will he fail? Probably but is that so bad? If everything is too easy for him will he never learn to strive? Maybe. If I hold him back will he be the biggest kid in his grade? And, if so will he pick on the littler kids? Hmmm........

This is a perfect example of the ambiguity of parenthood. Where in the heck is that instruction manual? What to do, what to do?

Depression Cooking: Pasta with peas

I just love her. Don't you?

She has some great stories from the depression and her recipes are awesome.

You go, Clara! Keep on keepin' on!

A Tribute to an Irish Mother by Joe Biden

My mother Catherine Eugenia Finnegan Biden is the soul, spirit, and essence of what it means to be an Irish American. She honors tradition and understands the thickest of all substances is blood.

She has taught her children, and all children who flocked to her hearth in my neighborhood, that you are defined by your sense of honor and you are redeemed by your loyalty.

She is the quintessential combination of pragmatism and optimism.

She also understands as my friend Pat Moynihan once said, there is no "point in being Irish if you don't know that the world is going to break your heart eventually."

But she is more. She measures success in how quickly you get up after you have been knocked down. She believes bravery lives in every heart, and her expectation is that it will be summoned.

Failure at some point in everyone's life is inevitable, but giving up is unforgivable. As long as you are alive you have an obligation to strive. And you are not dead until you've seen the face of God.

My mother, I believe, is a living portrait of what it means to be Irish -- proud on the edge of defiance. Generous to a fault; committed to the end. She not only made me believe in myself, but scores of my friends and acquaintances believe in themselves.

As a child I stuttered, and she said it was because I was so bright I couldn't get the thoughts out quickly enough. When my face was dirty, and I was not as well dressed as others, she told me how handsome I was.

When my wife and daughter were killed, she told me God sends no cross a man is not able to bear.

And when I triumphed, she reminded me it was because of others.

I remember her watching through the kitchen window as I got knocked down by two bigger guys behind my grandfather's house, and she sent me back out and demanded that I, to use their phrase, bloody their nose, so I could walk down that alley the next day.

When my father quit his job on the spot because his abusive boss threw a bucket full of silver dollars on the floor of a car dealership to make a point about his employees, she told him how proud she was.

No one is better than you. You are every man's equal and everyone is equal to you. You must be a man of your words, for without your words you're not a man.

Her pragmatism showed up when I was in eighth grade, a lieutenant on the safety patrol. My job was to keep order on the bus. My sister and best friend Valerie acted up. At dinner that night I told my mother and father I had a dilemma. I had to turn my sister in as a matter of honor. My parents said that was not my only option. The next day I turned my badge in.

I believe the traits that make my mother a remarkable woman mirror the traits that make the Irish a remarkable people. Bent, but never bowed. Economically deprived, but spiritually enriched. Denied an education, but a land of scholars and poets.

When I think of my mother I think of the Irish poem 'Any Woman' by Katherine Tynan:
"I am the pillars of the house; The keystone of the arch am I. Take me away, and roof and wall Would fall to ruin utterly. I am the fire upon the hearth, I am the light of the good sun, I am the heat that warms the earth, Which else were colder than a stone."

St. Patrick' day or our Valentine's day

Yes, indeed. Jake and I met on St. Patrick's day....at Murphy's Irish Pub in the Wallingford neighborhood of Seattle.

Oh, it was romantic; green beer, raving lunitics, very loud celtic tunes. I remember it well.

I had just gotten back from a 2 week trip to Spain (!) and Jake had just rolled into town from the E. Coast. He was staying with a friend and was fixed up on a blind date for St. Patrick's day. And, drum roll please, she didn't show up!

Murphy's, of course, was my local pub. It was my "Cheers" or my extended living room. I ate dinner and drank excellent micro-brews there 2 to 3 times a week. They knew my name. There was some history. Located just up the street from my little apartment in the the upstairs of a house with a killer view of Seattle and Lake Union. And, cheap!! $350 a month, boy, those were the days.

I was chock full of the kind of confidence that international travel gives you upon returning home and planned to make a night of it with my old pal Marybeth. We boldly snuck through the back way because, hey, I was a regular.

Jake and his friends had to wait in a ridiculous line that ran down the street.

Somehow at about 8:30 we collided. I swung my head around and spotted him standing near by.

"Hi. Who are you?" came out before I could think better of it.

"Jake. Who are you?" He returned with an arched eyebrow.

The rest is, as they say, history.

17 years ago this St. Patrick's Day.

I always found our meeting incredibly ironic. Partly due to Jake's excessive Irish heritage; 3rd generation Irish immigrants and partially because he was only in town for a month or so when we met. I liked to say that us local girls had to grab the guys from out of town quickly because all the local guys were SNAGs (sensitive new age guys) or (sensitive NW guys) depending on how you pronounce it.

But, Jake wasn't particularly sensitive but he was wicked handsome, very intelligent, razor sharp wit and strong enough to do battle with me.

So, 17 years and still going. Like Jake's dad always says after each anniversary, their last being 60 years, "I'll give it one more year and see if it works out."

Here's to one my year, babe. Have a green beer. Cheers.

Bye Seattle P-I, it's been real.

After 146 years, the Seattle P-I is going bye-bye for good. Apparently, it will continue to live on virtually via the Internets. In fact, being one of the first papers, perhaps not the last, to take this step.

Seattle's only AM paper is/was an every morning institution for my parents. They are bummed, annoyed, pissed and sad to see it go. For as many years as I can recall, they would each read snippets of the paper to each other as they ate breakfast and sipped coffee.

It was their waking up ritual and I thought it was pretty darn sweet. My mom jokes about having dueling laptops on the breakfast table but somehow I can't see it.

I remember my mom going through every single classified ad in the paper each day. Just to see if there was any good deals on "whatever". Now, in the days of Craigslist, the classifieds section is a shadow of its former self and is probably one of the nails in the coffin.

So, for you, Ruth & John, I bid a kind farewell to a jolly little paper. I am sad, for you, to see it go. But, at least we still get the globe. The P-I globe, a beloved Seattle icon, isn't going anywhere!

From the Seattle Times:

"The Seattle Post-Intelligencer, the city's oldest newspaper, will roll off the presses for the last time Tuesday, its owner said today.

The Hearst Corp. also said it will keep the the P-I alive online "as a new type of digital business with a robust, community news and information Web site at its core."

P-I Publisher Roger Oglesby said in an interview that the online venture would have a professional news staff of about 20 or 25. The vast majority of the P-I's 167 employees, almost all in news, will lose their jobs.

Hearst Newspapers President Steven Swartzsaid in a prepared statement that the site also would have "new columns from prominent Seattle residents; more than 150 reader blogs, community data bases and photo galleries." It also will link to other local Web sites and blogs, he added."

IKEA virgin

Yesterday, I took Molly for her very first shopping trip to IKEA. I thought I would let her go a little wild so that she could trick out her new room. She has been a real trooper all this time and I thought she really deserved to personalize her room with a new comforter cover/pillow cases, some unique storage contraptions and some fun things for her walls. Plus, I needed a few things so we took the whole day, just us, and had a really great time.

Not to make a trashy post focusing on consumerism although IKEA rocks...hard. But, it got me thinking about the difference in my daughter as she is growing up.

There was a time when a trip to IKEA would have been hell warmed over. She would have been ok to stay in the "ball room" for a while but would have eventually nagged us right out the door. Needless to say, this is why I have never taken her before. Why go if you couldn't care less about checking out cool lamps?

But that attitude is gone; stashed away with the fairy wings and the Pony Pal books. She is my big girl now and we easily killed 2 hours just shopping.

"Hey, mom, look at this!" "Wow, check this out!" "Wouldn't this be cool?" etc, etc, etc.

Needless to say, we had barely got all the goodies into the car when we were planning another trip soon because it was so much fun. The usual IKEA problem.

And, it wasn't all just buy, buy, buying. Remember, we live on an island so there is the inevitable ferry trip to get anywhere. Some of the best conversations I have with my kids are stuck in the car on the ferry.

Yesterday was no different. She mentioned that she was nervous about the upcoming play because of one boy in her math class who has been mocking her. We spent a lot of time brainstorming superior snark to throw at the kid if he dares to make fun of her. We got silly. We were over the top. But some good points were made and some secrets were shared; who likes who at school, who said what to whom and other 5th grade ponderings.

Amazing.

"Wow, thanks Molly, for being so fun to hang out with." And, she said, "Yeah, mom, thank you for being so fun to hang out with too! I had a blast."

I'll be sure to stash that day in the permanent memory file. It's a keeper.

Comparisons...never a good idea

Don't compare. That should be a hard and fast rule. You would think I would know that by now.

When I was in high school, I had a poster of Albert Einstein on my wall with this quote, "Do not compare yourself with others, for you will always find someone better and worse than yourself." Or something close to that.

At the time, it made a big impact on me and helped me through some tough years. I never forgot it.

But, then the kids came along and it is really hard not to compare to other kids their age. With Shea, that was really painful so, understandably I stopped comparing typically developing kids.

But when I read a really good blog post about another kid with Apraxia the other day, I slipped right into comparing my speech delay kid with hers.

I know, I should know better by now.

One side of me celebrated with the mother for the great strides that her son was making. He was only 3 and he was doing great; sentences, content, vocabulary. No doubt Speech Therapy 3 days a week was key. But, how could they afford that?

See? Don't compare. It will always make you either feel like shit or smug. And, neither is a very good way to feel.

So, I guess, honestly, it made me feel like a loser and afraid for Shea all over again. That I am not advocating hard enough. That I am not doing everything that I can possibly do. That I should be somehow making the state pay for more than they already are. It makes me feel like I am lazy and don't sit down and focus on drills and modeling as much as I should.

That I just treat him like a "normal" kid too much. Is that possible? Is that terrible? Sometimes I don't even know anymore.

Pencil? What's a pencil?

Final inspection...signed off!

The nicest King County building inspector gal that Jake has ever met came out today and gave us the mighty blessing!

Oh sure, we have to finish the back deck and have her come out to see that when completed but basically we are ok to move in. Hurray!!!!!!!!!!!!

She was very decent and knowledgeable and it really topped off the whole arduous process with a positive note.

I really haven't talked much about this addition. Probably because it has been such a daily process for so long but it looks like it is now coming close to the end. Those of you who know me well, have been living and breathing this blasted project forever. So, thanks for hanging in there with me!

So, it is time for some picts:

First, let me say, Jake did all the finish work in the addition except paint, flooring and tile. Finish work is his real forte. His perfectionist tenancies really pay off on these sorts of projects. He was responsible for picking all the colors and I think they really turned out nice. I was very involved early on with design process and layout so I do feel like it has been a collaboration although Jake did all the work.

This is the long awaited master bedroom. Don't mind that drop cloth on the floor. Behind the blue wall, which is really a head board wall, is two walk in closets. One for each of us. Yah! Jake doesn't have to look at my piles anymore, or visa versa! Notice the sweet little gas fireplace in the corner. Cozy and simply flip a switch!

Here is the master bathroom which is a pretty big deal for us. After living in a 2 bedroom house with one bathroom for 8 years as a family of 4, we have been feeling a little bathroom starved. This one is all our very own, no sharing, unless we really like you.

This is the trick shower in the master. We are big shower people in our family. The kids are the only ones that bath and now that Molly is getting to be a big girl, Shea may be the lone bather.

I pushed for those pebble mosaic tiles. They come in a 12 inch square sheet with mesh backing. I am just tickled the way it turned out. The shower pan is also the pebble mosaic and it feels like a little foot massage as you stand on it.

Hat tip goes to our excellent tile guy, Sergi. He really did a nice job.

We did two shower heads, one on each wall for added grooviness. And, I can safely say that this is the most excellent shower I have ever been lucky enough to own.

So, all is well. I am beginning to fill the closets, quickly. And, we plan to tackle moving our bed down tomorrow. We have one of those Sleep Number beds and it comes apart in 82 pieces or there abouts so I want to start early enough that we can get it up and running by bed time.

Molly will move across the hall into our old room tomorrow as well. The kids will finally get their own rooms. Kisses and accolades to my great kids for hanging in there too. They have been such good sports about sharing a very small space all this time.

So, it is a busy weekend ahead but exciting, like a new chapter.

New Math

Am I smarter than a 5th grader? No, absolutely not.

I help out with home work when she asks but sometimes, like last night, I couldn't come up with an answer to save my life.

But, we love us some Tom Lehrer!

Service dog changes life for autistic boy

This is a wonderful story from my home town paper.

A lovely family and the mom is my accountant. Last summer, they came to the community for help with the cost of getting the dog, $13,500 was raised.

Now the dog has arrived! Very sweet story.

From the Vashon Beachcomber:

In the classroom Monday morning, James and Comet already seemed like a team. After the dog’s introduction to the class, James sat at his desk, with Comet lying on the floor by his feet. The dog looked up at Mark and Raven, who held back in the shadows, but mostly he just settled in, apparently clear that this was his new assignment.

James, meanwhile, with his teacher’s help, began to write.

“I brought Comet,” he wrote. “I love Comet.”

He drew a picture — a simple rendition of a dog — and then wrote “DOG” in big, blocky letters next to it.

“Are you happy today?” Wilson asked him.

“Yes. Dog,” he answered.

“Me, too,” Wilson said, smiling broadly. “Me, too.”

How sick is he?

Shea is sick; a fever and a cough. And, this brings up one of my worst fears; how can you tell how sick your kid is if they don't really talk?

This is a tough one, always has been. Usually your kid will say, "Mommy, my ear hurts." Then you take them to the doctor to see if there is an ear infection. Etc.

But, if your kid doesn't really discuss how he feels, I feel like I am always trying to read between the lines of a pantomime.

Oh, he is sick. That I know. Temp over 100 and a wet, rattly cough. So, we are doing what we can; home from school all week, doses of Tylenol, lots of juice, blankies and pillows and piles of videos.

But, there is this gnawing fear that I am not doing something I should. That he can't tell me what hurts, doesn't even really know how to tell me.

I suppose I make these deals with myself, "If he isn't better by X day then I will take him to the clinic." That usually calms me down enough to just let him get better while not being consumed by too much mommy guilt.

Sad and scary.

Wonka

We are getting ready for the big show! The first performance of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is Friday afternoon and all the kids are on pins and needles.

Maybe I should back up. There was grant money available for our elementary school and the music teacher decided to put on a Broadway Jr. musical. These plays take popular works and trim them down for young performers.

3rd, 4th & 5th graders were invited to audition. Over 100 kids showed up!

Molly had her heart set on Veruca Salt, the super bratty rich kid. Molly really loved Veruca's song, took it very seriously, practiced it until she had it down pat and sung her little heart out at the audition.

She didn't get that part but got Violet Beauregaurde, the gum chewing brat that turns into a blueberry. Molly was still thrilled and has worked really hard on learning all her lines. If you remember in the movies, Violet does not have a song but they have created one in the Broadway Jr. script. Molly is a little luke warm on the tune. In fact, it doesn't really do anything for her but she is hanging in there anyway.

Most of her friends are in the play too, whether speaking parts or Oompa-Loompas. Comments from friends are: "Molly, you have to be brattier, you are still too nice." "More obnoxious gum chewing, please!"

So the maiden voyage happens Friday afternoon at the VCCC (Vashon Community Care Center) where the kids will put on the whole show for the seniors. I would think that would be a pretty appreciative audience.

Next week is the tough crowd, all their peers back at school. In fact, I heard one story of a boy quitting his part recently because of teasing from other boys.

Molly told me a story about a boy hassling her in math class about the play. She said, "If you think it's dumb then don't come to see it." Yes, it is as simple as that.

So, no, I am no hollywood mother and I can't wait for it to be safely behind us. But, it has been interesting to watch from a far. All these kids really working hard and mastering something pretty complicated and making it work.

Hats off to the music teacher who took on such a massive endeavor and the parent helpers who are making it work.

Obama backs merit pay, charter schools

Personally, I agree but will this ruffle some feathers? Probably.

Even if it causes a flap, thank god we are having this conversation. And, from the big cheese himself. The time is long over due.

So, I am with you, big O; now let's hear some details.

What do you think?

From the AP:

President Barack Obama called for tying teachers' pay to students' performance and expanding innovative charter schools Tuesday, embracing ideas that have provoked hostility from members of teachers unions. He also suggested longer school days — and years — to help America's kids compete in the world.

In his first big speech on education, Obama said the United States must drastically improve student achievement to regain lost international standing.

"The future belongs to the nation that best educates its citizens," he said. "We have everything we need to be that nation ... and yet, despite resources that are unmatched anywhere in the world, we have let our grades slip, our schools crumble, our teacher quality fall short and other nations outpace us."

His solutions include teacher pay and charter school proposals that have met resistance among members of teachers unions, which constitute an important segment of the Democratic Party.

Obama acknowledged that conflict, saying, "Too many supporters of my party have resisted the idea of rewarding excellence in teaching with extra pay, even though we know it can make a difference in the classroom."

Despite their history on the issues, union leaders publicly welcomed Obama's words, saying it seems clear he wants to include them in his decisions in a way President George W. Bush did not.

"We finally have an education president," said Randi Weingarten, president of the 1.4 million-member American Federation of Teachers. "We really embrace the fact that he's talked about both shared responsibility and making sure there is a voice for teachers, something that was totally lacking in the last eight years."

My tween

Has the term "tween" been around long enough to solidify in our lexicon? If not, I'll explain.

Wiki says:

"Tween" or Preadolescence: the stage between middle childhood and adolescence in human development, generally in the age range of 10 to 12 years of age.

Yep, this is what I am talking about. I see it everyday. Wide swings between; moodiness, the grumps, the sillys and back again. Moods change quickly and little bits of information fluff out during transitions.

Bullys, mean girls stuff, what a boy said to her on the bus, getting in trouble in class. She tends to sit on information, digesting it but usually shares eventually. I can only pray that continues.

She says she has a guilty conscious. She means that when she does something "wrong" then she feels guilty. Right now, it's stuff like saying "hell" at school. "I wish I didn't have such a guily conscious." she pouts.

"Your conscious is the traffic sign inside yourself that tells you when not to do stuff. I am glad you have a good solid conscious. I hope it will keep you safe." I say.

"What if I have already done something that I feel bad about?"

"Then you hopefully won't do it again."

These days, it is not unusual for Molly to initially be grumpy or moody about pretty much everything; activities, functions, etc. Even if she wanted to do them in the first place but grumpy about it when the time comes.

I try not to pay too much attention. My new barometer is: will she be jollied out of the grumps by the end. And, usually that is the case. She grumps into voice lesson and boings out. She grumps about tennis camp but then loves it.

Basically, she is a very up, enthusiastic person. So, getting to know this grumpy, moody person is like....well...honestly...looking back at myself when I was that age. A scary thought indeed.