Driving Me Crazy

You know, I don’t like jam on anything and yet every morning lately, I am being force fed jam.  It is the worst flavor of jam too – traffic jam.  I live about twelve miles from my job.  On a great day I can make it in twenty minutes (Prius, no pick up) and on an average day, thirty.  Not bad at all.  Lately, with the congestion and accidents and sheer volume of cars on the road, it is more like forty. I can handle that too.  It is the hour, or the hour and half that makes me crazy.    And I don’t want to complain because when it is backed up that badly it is usually that someone died and they are dead and I am just running late, which seems very small in comparison.

A city on a hill is going to have a lot of traffic.

I hate to tell you Austin, but I don’t think we are in Austin anymore.  Well, not the sleepy college town Austin, or the Keep Austin Weird Austin.  We are big city Austin now – kind of like Dallas of the Hill Country.  However our roads are still so very farm to market.  People keep pouring in, we are building like crazy to accommodate them and our tiny little roads are just bumper to bumper to bumper.  People in my Nextdoor Neighbor group post constantly complaining about terrible drivers in the neighborhood.  “Someone passed me on the left!”, “Someone passed me on the right!”, “So and so did not come to a full stop by the school!”  One man had the audacity to say that perhaps we should place speed bumps along the main route through the neighborhood.  I am not a huge speeder, but I tell you, the day they put those speed bumps in is the day I become an eco-terrorist and blow them up.  Why?  Because by the time I fight through all that traffic to get home, I just want to be home.  I think it is this mentality that has Austin driving so poorly; we are tired of sitting and just want to be where we are going.  Turning right out of our neighborhood between 4-6pm means you sit and inch forward because four million people are traveling down that road being stopped at all the lights at the same time.  My kids go to school off of a road with a lot of numbers and there is just one road to get in and the same road to get out.  What happens when there is an accident on that road? It takes an hour to get there, school is delayed, and chaos ensues.  Can’t get a secondary road built there because of the delicate environmental system surrounding it but we can get apartment complexes and housing developments built in the same delicate environment. Interesting, right?

Ugh, it is a conundrum.  I am not sure what the answer is or that it is even being sought in a timely fashion.  Trains aren’t going to help those of us who aren’t close to the city or close to the trains.  The flying car the Jetsons promised us is not here.  We are having big city problems on a small city infrastructure and I don’t know if they will be able to ever meet or keep up with the demands and improvements needed.

This almost depresses me except that there are some things we can do.  We can let people in instead of riding the bumper of the car ahead of us.  That would help because then those people desperate to be let in are in and will not gun it and try to make it in.    And it is okay if you let them in and they don’t wave to you.  It isn’t nice, but you know you are morally superior, rest in that knowledge instead of the wave.  We could maybe actually stop at red lights instead of thinking “I got this one!” or “that’s not red, it’s dark yellow”.  I am not going to suggest that we stop using the shoulder as a right hand turn lane because my God, the traffic would back up even more.  How about we only do it from about a hundred yards out instead of a mile out though?  And please, let’s not tear ass through the neighborhood and have people threaten speed bumps on us.  Biggest of all though, put your phones down.  It is hard, I know.  It makes you feel wiggly inside to not see what just beeped on your phone.  You can do it.  I know because I more than once drove across the country with NO cell phone.  Cross country, not across town.  Be strong, you can do it.

Folks, we are going to have to do these little things to make it better because the way things work, there will be more people and more cars here long before there are more roads, or better roads or a great solution.  Austin is wonderful but traffic in Austin stinks and it is a problem.  Guess what? If you drive a car here, you are part of the problem.  Drive nicely and maybe you could be part of the solution.

Silly Names, Serious Stuff

Having recently had my yearly mammogram, you’ll have to forgive me for having breasts on the mind lately.  And you know if it is on my mind, it will eventually become my words.  Breasts- there are an insane amount of words used to call breasts by other names: boobs, bosoms, ta-tas, knockers, melons, cans, jugs, honkers, fun bags and gazongas just to name a few.  (Shout out to Urban Dictionary for providing me with a cheap giggle this morning).  It made me think that if we can come up with all these silly and fun names to call this amazing part of our bodies, we should be able to talk about mammograms in the same, silly, offbeat way.  I have had two aunts with breast cancer, a cousin who is currently battling it as well as my mother-in-law and sister-in-law.  I am also at an age where friends and friends of friends are being diagnosed with breast cancer and I think it is important to talk about it and to talk about getting screened for it.  But I don’t think it has to be done in a clinical way or a whispering kind of way and I thought the best way was to share my own mammogram experience so that maybe those of you who have not gone, or those of you who need a push to go, will go.

Because of my family history, I have been sent for mammograms starting at age 35 so while they are not common place, they are at least familiar.  In the past two years after going for a regular mammogram, I have been send a note in the mail/Pony Express informing me that I had a suspicious spot in my dense breast tissue.  This required removing the pit from my stomach and going for a 3D mammogram where they can better see that suspicious area.  This also resulted in a solid week of unchecked worry.  In order to allay my ferocious anxiety I started picturing my breast dense tissue sitting in front of a chalkboard unable to add 2+2 and my suspicious area dressed like Spy vs. Spy and acting shifty.  It helped and I was fortunate that in both cases, the 3D mammogram showed all was normal.

This year I begged my doctor to just send me for the 3D mammogram to start and she agreed.  I think the absolute worst part of a mammogram is that you are not allowed to wear deodorant and of course you are sweating because you are nervous and no matter what, you stink a little.  And you are now super close up with a strange woman who is manhandling your breasts, but you are really more concerned that you stink. I try to double down on the breath mints to make it up to her.  I will tell you right now that no matter how you step up to the machine, you step wrong and there is a lot of adjusting.  Your breast is grabbed, mauled, stretched, and in some cases, heaved onto the plate.  There is then a lot of smoothing of your surrounding skin.  And by surrounding, I mean your neck, your stomach and your free breast. I am always curious to look down and see just exactly how flat my breast is, but there is no way I am going to risk moving and get into all that readjusting.  This nice stranger then presses a pedal with her foot which starts the top plate to come down and squish your breast.  She admonishes you not to move and you don’t.  The squishing doesn’t really hurt but it is not a good sensation either.  When the plate has moved as far as it can with the pedal, she then HAND CRANKS it down another two or three notches.  

Where is 11 - punch person in face hurt?

This is where you want to punch her in the face, but again, you don’t dare risk moving.  She hurries to a safe area to scan you and tells you when to breathe, when to not breathe and all you can think about is how very much you want to breathe.  Kind of like when you are at the dentist and you feel like you have to swallow the entire time just because you can’t.  You repeat this on the other side and think that you are done.  You are not.  You now have to lift your arm and kind of half-hug the machine to get a different view and you lift your arm as told and smell your stink and therefore have to stare slightly up and into the distance as if bored.  Your aloof nature lasts only until the next round of hand cranking.  Two more times holding your breath, thinking you will pass out, gulping air and then you are done.  That’s it.  Four severe breast squishings and it is over.  You are allowed to put on your clothes and stop avoiding eye contact with your breast stranger.

Because I had the 3D mammogram, I was told within seven minutes that I was clear and good to go until next year.  Why are we not offering 3D mammograms for everyone?  Why are we making women go for the old, inconclusive scans which force them to go through the whole thing again?  I hate that everything comes down to a bunch of people in suits deciding the most cost effective way to maintain health.  They are focused on money, not health and we are being slightly tortured in the process.  I think it is ridiculous I had to demand a PAP smear this year because the guidelines are every five years now.  I am not bold enough to describe the PAP smear process, but just trust me when I say this is nothing I want to do, much less demand happen. 

Driving home after my mammogram, I felt such relief knowing that I was clear to not really think about my breasts for another year.  Well, other than the normal ruminating if they were indeed always this low and really, how much lower will they get?  I can’t put a price on that peace of mind but I am sure my insurance company can.  So ladies, if you haven’t been for one and you are forty or over, go.  If you are due for one, make your appointment.  If you have had to go back because the old diagnostic system gave you a false reading, ask for a digital one instead.  These are your breasts, you get to call them any funny name you want, but they are part of your body and you get to decide their care.  Pick a silly name for them, mock the way they screen them, but please, be smart about how you take care of them.

Asleep at the Wheel

It is funny how even in a temperate state like Texas you can find yourself suffering from winter blahs.  I am not complaining about our winter one bit and I salute those of you in the still-frozen great white north.  However, winter is winter and there is a hunkering down mentality no matter where you are.  You drive to work as the sun is barely coming up and you come home as it is sneaking off again.  You are cold, you are damp, you feel your age in your bones.  You are tired of wearing sweaters and tired of the laundry accumulated by wearing layers.  You drink so much coffee you are afraid you are getting sick of coffee and so you switch to tea and find that too much coffee is always better than tea.  You can't eat sad salads at lunch because cold weather means warm food.  Warm, stick-to-your-ribs and add-to-your-thighs kind of meals: carby, cheesy bowls of steaming happiness.

There is just an ennui that comes from trudging through the days and nights of winter.  It sneaks up on you and takes you quickly.  One day you are saying how nice it is to wear your warmest sweater and the next day you are slogging through rain puddles and cursing the sky.  There is just a trudging along to winter, an enduring, a soldier on and if you are not careful, it takes over all aspects of your life.  The job you love becomes just a job.  You treat your husband like a roommate and your children like accessories to your life.  You are not depressed, you just exist, because depression takes effort and you are very busy just trudging on.  Soon you settle into a fugue that covers you up like a scratchy blanket and don't even realize it.

I think that I have been shuffling along like this for the past few weeks and I didn't even notice.  I trudged and got things done, but my heart wasn't in it.  When the boy told me he didn't have spelling words, I chose to believe him -  for three weeks straight.  My librarian went to some education conferences and came back all jacked up on education and I chose to find her excitement exhausting rather than inspiring.  Yuck, right?  

However, winter eventually ends and the winter blahs end too; your outer bitter shell melting with the snow or fading away with the increase in sun.  For me it came with noticing the trees are blooming. Spring in Texas is gorgeous and the show is just about to start.  Winter might be desolate and summer kind of brown, but spring is a visual masterpiece.  That made me happy.  Then I noticed that we have bluebonnets growing in our backyard.  Maybe I will take a picture of my kids in the bluebonnets for the first time.  Ha, no I won't.   However, it is nice that once you notice one thing, you notice another thing and soon the little good things break down your blahs and you are you again.  You laugh with your kids until your stomach hurts, you smile at your husband like you really see him and you stop just going through the motions of your life.  I hate when I realize I have been doing that; I feel like I am cheating myself out of life and those alongside me as well.  

I took the kids to the driving range for something to do the other day and while I know that the other ten people there were irritated by their squabbling, I was thinking how nice it was to listen to them argue outdoors for a change.  When SG kept missing the ball she was trying to kill in a baseball/hockey swing attack, instead of being irritated she wouldn't listen to me, I just turned around.  When I did, I noticed the most beautiful tree.

pretend it is right side up, technical difficulties

My focus that day was on appreciating what was around me whereas a week ago, my focus may have been too beaten down by what was around me to have even see that tree.   

I guess beating the winter blahs comes down to where you concentrate your efforts.  Find your catalyst and keep the momentum going.  Mine came from this silly little tree, but it has made me shake off the blah and realize that just trudging through life is not living, it is just trudging. We are on Spring Break this week and while we might not be doing anything other than doctor and dentist appointments, I am grateful for the time with my kids and grateful for the time off and I am concentrating all my efforts on that.  Which is timely because that bill at the orthodontist today would have crushed me a week ago.  Instead, I focused on SG's happy face when he explained what she would have to go through and what it would look like at the end, and that happy face was all that mattered.  

  

Boys Will Be....

When I was pregnant with William and we found out he was a he, my first thought was "What are we going to do with a boy?"  We were a house of powder pink and naked Barbies; we knew girls and girl things.  We knew tears and drama and tantrums and playing dress-up. I was not sure I would be up enough on boy stuff for my boy to be a happy boy and me to be a good boy mom.  But then I held him for the first time and looked into his little crossed eyes and knew we were going to be okay.  

Now fast forward eleven years and join me in the shock that my boy is smack-dab in the middle of puberty.  Yes, the boy who hit every developmental milestone late and sometimes barely, is now leading the charge into pubescence, hormones and attitude.  His voice is changing and cracking.  He is smelly and messy and doesn't care. He is brimming with testosterone so palpable you can see it coming off of him like heat waves.  Testosteroni we call it.  It makes him angry, it makes him do stupid things and again I find myself thinking "what am I going to do with a boy?"

I realize that puberty is a phase and he will test things out and we will get through it, but I also work in a high school. I work with boys who are past puberty and who walk around practically vibrating because they are chock full of testosteroni and unsure what to do with it.  I have had kids slam doors and explode at me because they can't come in at lunch time.  There are boys who say inappropriate and horrible things at the same time their eyes are looking like a scared little boy and I am wondering, why are these boys so angry and making such poor choices?

My coworker and husband reminded me that boys used to fight.  They used to fight at school, when they were out, or when they were in sports.  They would fight just to fight and then be friends again right after.  A fight today means detention, suspension or worse depending on your history.  I am not saying that we should set up team fighting like we do football or soccer, but maybe boys weren't so angry when they had an outlet for all that testosteroni.

or were forced to dress like little men and have a job.

Sports aren't always an option for these boys.  They aren't for my boy.  We jokingly say that his eyes are just for show, but there is a lot of truth in that.  He has horrible vision and no depth perception.  Try to catch a ball with those eyes, or shoot a basket while moving, or judge where the goal is.  It's hard stuff.  Sports are also expensive and a huge time suck for parents, so again not always an option and we are left with this generation of angry, young men.

I have tried and failed at home and at work with how I have handled this anger.  Being angry back definitely does not work, so take that right off the list.  They have more anger and carry it on longer and it is exhausting.  My boy can hold a grudge indefinitely.  Taking it personally or being emotional about their angry outbursts also doesn't work.  They might be angry, but nine out of ten of them are actually good kids and your being upset makes them angry for making you sad and you've just set the whole thing in motion again because somewhere in their little dark boy brains they are now mad at you, again, for making them feel bad.  It has been hard with my boy to not be emotional because it is hard to have the kid who always picked you first, wanted you to help, loved you so completely to be mean, to be dismissive and rude and hurtful.  Ouch!!

Sometime, I would like to scoop them all up and set them on a little island Lord of the Flies style.  Looks of disdain and outright hate make me keep a running list in my head as to who would end up being Piggy first.  However, as I am the parent and adult, I have had to come up with better ways to deal with this. I have found that being interested in what the boy is doing seems to take the anger down a notch.  Can I admit to not being interested in it at all but feigning it so well I should win an Oscar?  If I never hear about Pokemon again it will be too soon.  I have no idea what I am doing when I play Xbox with him, but if I sit there and push buttons for twenty minutes, he is happy.  A little validation seems to go a long way.  The other thing that works well is humor because right under all the anger is a layer of hilarity.  They want to laugh and joke and use their words to show you how smart they are by wrapping everything up in a thin layer of sarcasm.  This I do not have to fake at all because I am apparently a 14 year old boy at heart.  (this also explains my taste in movies.)  

It is definitely easier for me with my girls and girls at school because I was a girl. I know how they were feeling and what they are thinking and why they do what they do.  I get it.   I think with my boy and these other boys it comes down to not getting it at all but not trying to fix it or judge it either.  It is just about trying to be patient, trying to not be offended and in the boy's case, trying to trying to not breathe through my nose when he comes in from playing outside. It is also about showing him that I am listening, that I am here if he wants to talk or laugh or play stupid Madden 11.  Validating and being available, that is what it might come down to.

Currently, on this non-ice-ice-day, my boy is rewatching the same epidsoe of Brain Games so he can yell out the answer earlier each time he watches it.  I don't get it, but he is happy and I can do what I want so I am happy too.  I am still not always sure what I am going to do with him, but I guess as long as I love him, we'll figure it out.

Things That Make Me Go UGH

Things have made me angry this week.  Bill did comment that the women in the house were a bit hormonal lately.  I know: he is a brave or silly man.  One dead-eye-top-lip-sneer from SG was enough to stop his commentary though. I wish you could have seen that look.  She didn’t even have to say a word; her face perfectly read “who are you to tell me what is happening in my body?!”   I am not sure if I have ever been more proud. 

Anyway, lots of little things made me angry but there were three that stand out in particular as fueling the raging fire.  First up was the fact that I pulled in my driveway and saw that the Yellow Pages had been delivered to my door.  Why does this still happen?  This annoys me to no end because I am not going to use it, I am not sure it is actually recyclable and my hands are already full coming through the door.  I tried to opt out of it being sent but you have to register to opt out and there is no way I am giving them my name and email address.  I just picture emails about Yellow Pages and its nifty features every ten minutes.   Surely these people have heard of the internet and google, right?  I bet that even the people who work for Yellow Pages don’t use the Yellow Pages.  Who does that leave, old people?  If old people are actually still using Yellow Pages then they should be stacked up by the doors of places that old people shop: Walgreen’s, Radio Shack and True Value Hardware.  Stop harassing the rest of 

us.

Stop the insanity!

Next on the list: door-to-door salespeople.  I know that there was once a time when door-to-door salespeople were a necessity.  However, I also know this was before cars, mail-order or, again, the internet.  There is absolutely nothing they are selling that I can’t get at Target, HEB or Amazon.  I don’t like to open the doors to strangers and I especially don’t like to open it up for pushy strangers trying to sell magazine subscriptions.  Actually, I have let all my magazine subscriptions run out because I got tired of the monthly notices letting me know that my account would expire in four years and eleven months, four years and ten months, etc.  Plus, you are a STRANGER at my door, why on earth would I give you my credit card information? 

My final grievance for the week is Nextdoor Neighbor.  This is an online thing you sign up for with the other members of your neighborhood because we are all too terribly busy to actually get to know our neighbors.  Ideally, it is supposed to be a messenger board with information about the neighborhood: things going on, items for sale, dogs that are missing, etc.  What is actually is a public bitch fest for neighbors to talk about their neighbors without calling them out by name.  Messages come across like “I noticed that there is a car on blocks close to the school.  Does anyone know if our HOA has regulations against that?”  You know, and the author knows, that there are, they just want the chance to let their neighbor know, without actually letting them know, that they have had it with their white trash ways and are one step away from actually telling on them.  I was also shocked because people would post their address and the dates they would be out of town and ask if anyone knew a plant sitter? I am no plant sitter, but I felt like breaking into their homes and moving things around to show them how stupid they were being.  I could unsubscribe to it but every now and then, amidst the banal, the whining and the plain dumb, there come some gems and I would hate to miss out on the gems.  The first gem was when they posted the Christmas Light Map.  Yes, a map of the houses in the neighborhood that planned on lighting their homes for Christmas.  God forbid, you just amble around and see which houses were lit, we must have a map!  Next up, the woman who actually used all three of her neighbor’s names to call her out for running in the street when it was dark and making her swerve her car to avoid hitting her.  Something like “MARY KATHERINE SOANDSO, I know it was you this morning on THIS STREET- wear some reflective clothing and run on the sidewalk”.  I laughed until I cried about that one.  However, my favorite one by far was the one where this woman commented that she had seen a large snake and was letting us know about it.  We get a lot of these but this one stuck out because she titled it “big ass snake”.  I am not sure why this woman and I are not drinking beer in my driveway every Friday; she sounds like my type of person.

I keep giggling thinking about “big ass snake” greeting hundreds of people in their inbox and this makes me feel less angry.  Which is good because I don’t enjoy being angry; it takes a lot of work and makes me feel sweaty inside.  Plus, given the look on SG’s face, I am up against some stiff competition and I think she can take me.  

Mind Over Fatter

Initially, I thought I might write about waiting.  This week I was kept waiting 25 minutes after my appointment time at the doctor’s office before being called back. I had fasted in order to give blood  and I had not had a good cup of coffee or breakfast. I had grown hangry (hungry + angry) and it was about to get ugly.  (Please know I have ruined date nights, family outings and vacations with my hanger.)  But then they called me back.  And then they kept me waiting in a little room with no windows, no clock and no access to the outside world and in a hospital gown that kept me from opening the door to see what the hold-up was.  (Hangry will always win against common sense, a good upbringing and manners).  It made me think about how much waiting I was doing, all the traffic I waited through to get there, wait, wait, wait was on my mind.  And you know if it is on my mind, it invariably becomes my words.

However, the fasting was to give blood to have everything in my blood tested and my test results now have me thinking of other things.  I am apparently Vitamin D deficient.  What?!?  Is that a thing?  It is and it is a very popular thing lately, so look at me being trendy.  Google search assured me I will get rickets.  However, the real downer of the blood work was my high cholesterol and the fact that I am of an age where I have to do something about it.  Ew.  I like to take as little medication, especially daily medication, as possible so I am not rushing to swallow a Lipitor every day.  This leads me to making dietary changes to lower it.  I hate the word diet, so I have decided to spend the next thirty days trying out mindful eating and exercising to see if that won’t lower it.

Not at alarming levels, but still alarming.

 

I like to eat, but I am not sure I like to mindfully eat.  I don’t even menu plan for the week even though it makes life easier, lends itself to less waste, and brings down the grocery budget. I really just like to eat.  But, I would also really like to lower my cholesterol so I started thinking about things I should cut out of my normal eating.   I don’t eat a lot of meat, so I can’t get away with saying “I will cut down on my meat and fix this!”  What else could I rid my diet of?  Cheese, beautiful cheese, how can I forsake thee?  Fat-free cheese instead?  Ugh.  Why not say soy cheese or nut cheese and really make me cry?  Chocolate?  Oh God, please don’t let chocolate be high in cholesterol!  Whew, it is not.  One ounce a day is perfect.  I am not sure how big an ounce is, but I am pretty sure it is a handful of chocolate chips three times a day or six pieces of random office candy. 

Because I enjoy eating the way I do, I found myself growing sad at the thought of not eating things I like.  So what if instead, I just stopped to consider if what I was putting in my mouth was good for me?  Is an oat bar in the morning really the best start to my day?  Could I do better eating steel cut oats and fruit?  I guess I could.  Do I need to eat two pieces plus a little bit more, little bit more, alright three pieces of pizza on pizza night?  Or could I eat one big piece and load up with veggies, holding the ranch?  I have yet to try this, but maybe.  I started to see how by asking myself “should I?” rather than “NO!”, and by being mindful rather than restrictive, that this might work.

Day One of Mindful Eating/Lower the Cholesterol or MELC will begin on Monday and I will report back on my results at the end of Day Thirty.  Why not start today?  HAHAHA.  Hello, it is a Friday!  It has been a long week and I am in no position to be mindful.  Plus I ate queso at breakfast.  This was not a mindful choice, but it was a very, very tasty one.  

Words, Words, Words

I have been a virtual tsunami of words lately.  I find I have a lot to say and stories to retell and so many things that I must share right this minute.  I have had things happen at work that I must retell or saw things on my Facebook feed that bear repeating and so I repeat.  I am also trying to figure out my future now that I passed my test and can teach.  We know how I feel about change, even a good change, so I am obviously masking my apprehension in an abundance of words.

A rare shot at the inside of my brain,

Poor Bill.  He is the captive audience for my words.  The other night I came home and talked at him until he went completely mute and dead eyed.  It didn't stop me.  I had more things to tell.  He even mentioned that he was talked out, so I prefaced the next ten things I had to say with "Just one more thing..." This is kind of ironic because I have a kid at work who talks and talks and talks at me until I am exhausted.   I have tried to convey to him that when the other person in the conversation stops making eye contact and answers in monosyllabic grunts that it is probably time to wrap up the chit chat.  (this is a little part of my job I like to call "Life Lessons with Mrs. McMahon)  However, what did I do when Bill shut me down like this?  I continued to unleash my tsunami of words upon him.  I drown the man in my words until he completely stopped trying to tread water and let them crash over and drown him.  He went to the gym to escape me, but that was okay.  I got a good night's rest and had plenty of meaningful words to share with him over coffee the next morning.  

One of the neat features of blogger is that you can see how many people read your blogs, how they access your blog and where in the world they are reading it from.  I am very popular in the Ukraine.  And by popular I mean that at least ten people a month in the Ukraine find themselves on my little blog.  Bill suggested this morning that maybe I should share my words with my friends in the Ukraine; they might be more receptive.  This may have hurt a less-worded person, but I saw the brilliance in it and not the dig.

I have always gotten in trouble for my excessive use of words.  "Too talkative in class", "Disruptive in class", "Won't shut up during class", etc.  As an adult, I received a coach and counseling for purple fonting and CAPITALIZING my words in emails.  I just can't help it.  I think in words, the words I hear people say show up as printed and sometimes BOLD-faced across my brain like the stock market ticker.  I think this may be why I am struggling with finding good books to read lately.  My brain is so full of words I have no room for other people's words.  Bill says maybe this means I should write a book.  I am not sure he means that, I think he is looking for a landfill for me to dump my words into instead of his ears.  

I really do understand how he feels.  Our kids can both talk the ears off of a duck.  They are not looking to make conversation, they are looking to talk.  I am listening to the boy explain how to play Yu-Gi-Oh to my mother and thanking God she is here to absorb these words instead of me.  I understand trying to deflect and dodge the onslaught of words but even knowing his pain, I just can't stop.

Lucky for everyone my mom is here for the week.  I get my love of words from her.  She loves words and talking and books and reading and has been locked up in a Buffalo winter with my dad who can be a selective mute.  She is ready for my words.  She will listen to all of my words and add her own words and she will deflect the Yu-Gi-Oh words from the boy and the woes of middle school life from SG and our house will just be awash in words.  Words in the morning and at night and if we run out of words we will play Scrabble and make words!  Words will be stretched out on the floor like rugs and hang from the ceiling and drip from each faucet.  They will be waiting when you turn a corner or wake up from a nap and they will bounce off the dogs and people and surround us like long-lost friends.  Forget Disney!  My word-filled house will be the happiest place on earth!  

I imagine that Bill might have to work late or go to the gym each night while the words swirl like tornadoes throughout the house.  That's okay because after a word-filled week with Mom, my own words might be used up for awhile. I know that is the hope that keeps him going.  Personally, I know that my words will never be all used up but I don't want to dash his hopes.  I will just talk that hope out of him one word at a time.