Apparently, I am intimidating (according to my family)

It has come to my attention that I am intimidating. 

While I don't know that this is a fact, it is an opinion that several members of my family---like all of them who live with me---agree on.

And it took me by surprise. 

I guess if I get out of my own head for a minute, I can see how they might be right. 

I am not intimidating to myself. And I don't think I'm intimidating to people once they talk to me a little bit, although maybe that's entirely wrong. I hope that my humor breaks any ice.

But I can see how a person who doesn't know me might be a little taken aback by my inability to not express an opinion. I'm very "out there" with what I think. As a general rule, I'm not going to just sit back and take it from anyone. 

I usually think I'm pretty self-aware, but my family's recent discussion of my intimidating personality threw me for a loop. How much else do I not perceive about myself?

I suppose that my ability to be intimidating (or to come off that way) is something I need to be a little more aware of, although I think my family gets the "unabridged version" of me that other people don't get. 

Do most people who meet me cower in fear or feel threatened by me? I don't think so.

Does my husband? Yes, that might be accurate. 

Does he expect me to bend him to my will? Of course. He's been letting me do that for almost 25 married years. 

And my two oldest kids have been scared to tell me they have boyfriends/girlfriends when I have been pretty open about "I don't care who you date. Race, religion, gender, whatever. As long as the person treats you with respect, I'm good." 

I think my family's view of me being intimidating is because I lose my absolute shit when they don't do something I've asked them to do 800 times. 

And what woman out there doesn't know EXACTLY what I'm talking about. 

Like all people who need outside input, I called on the hive mind of Facebook to ask people who know me. Some know me only online or knew me way back when or work with me or still talk to me every week or month. 

And I think the general consensus is that MY FAMILY IS WRONG.

Really, that's all I needed confirmation of. 

In all seriousness, it did do me good to step outside of what I thought I knew about myself and actually try to be objective. And getting feedback from others was helpful in that it helps me understand what aspects of who I am may come off as intimidating. 

I have always taken pride in being smart. Making sure I know what I'm talking about. Being well-read and prepared. I have always had high expectations of myself but this can, I'm sure, make others feel a little uncertain about what I will be like. Will I be judgmental? Am I exacting to the point of being unbearable?

I do have high expectations, but I have also learned to be much less judgmental over the years. I strive to put myself in other people's shoes and see the other side. 

Expect my family's side. They don't know what they're talking about.

Just kidding.

Butting my nose into other's business OR saying what needs to be said

All it takes is one Google search of my daughter's school and the word "dress code" to see my name blasted all over the internet. 

If anyone can tell you that one event posted on social media can change how others perceive you and have impacts on your life, it is me. 

At the time, I spoke out because it was the right thing to do. I didn't say shitty things about the principal or the school. I didn't cuss anyone. I maintained my dignity and integrity while pointing out that what the school did was wrong.

But I was in mid-40s so my pre-frontal lobe is totally done developing. 

And there was fall-out for me. The number of times I was called to substitute teach at the school after that was ZERO. I picked up jobs there that were canceled. My assumption is that they didn't want me in the building. To them, I wasn't to be trusted. 

I doubt I would have felt any differently had I been in their shoes. 

But enough about my experience. 

I get that teenagers are going to say stupid things on social media. 

(Background: A student on another team at my daughter's school posted a not-great comment about a local school that included a picture of members of the team. A parent from that other school told me about it. I emailed the team my daughter is on because some of the girls in the picture play on both teams. It was a notice that 1.) Something on social media had been shared with me and 2.) Be careful what you post on social media (because talking smack about other schools is childish and reflects poorly on your school and coach...WHICH IT DOES.) And maybe be careful about who you take pics with because some of them post stupid stuff.)

But as a 1.) person committed to integrity and a believe that social media should be civil if nothing else and 2) a parent of a teenager at that school and 3.) a parent member of the SBDM council for the school, it is my responsibility to remind students (any of them) what is expected of them while they are in their school uniform. 

The teacher in me came out a little bit, ok.

It is my responsibility to remind them (and parents) that conversations need to continually happen about 1.) who you pick for your friends and 2.) that your friends may post stupid shit that makes you look bad simply because they posted a picture of you with their asinine comment. 

(I KNOW about logical fallacies, including guilt by association. I may not agree with it, but it is part of how the world works. I don't make the rules.)

And to be perfectly honest, this kind of behavior simply burns me up to the core. I HATE bad sportsmanship, and it may be one of the reasons why I despise sports in general. If you see too much of it, and you don't love sports enough to forgive it, it sort of ruins it all for you. 

I didn't go looking for this problem; my kid isn't even on this team. This problem was brought to my attention (and subsequently brought to my daughter's attention). And, unfortunately, I'm a "if I see something, I say something" kind of person because I recognized some of the girls as being teammates of my kid. I know some of their parents, and I like to think that if I would be angry to see my kid's picture on a post like that, they would too. 

I ended up having two people (full grown adults) say something along the lines of "Well, the other team was doing X,Y and Z." To which I responded, "Just because the other kids or other team does stupid stuff doesn't mean our school and our students stoop to that level." 

I don't have many lines in the sand, but this is one of them. 

So did I overstep? 

Maybe. 

Did my email cause the coach more grief? 

Maybe.

Did I further my reputation as somebody who says shit no one likes to hear and is a bitch?

Almost certainly. 

Would I do it again?

Yes. Because it isn't a bad thing to remind young people with undeveloped pre-front cortexes that social media can follow them around and cause an awful lot of stress in their lives (even if they never intended it.)

How I became an introvert

I haven't always been an introvert.

Or

I have always been an introvert but my anxiety made me need to go and do and talk so that I didn't have to deal with the fury that was my moods and fears and the depression that hovered nearby. 

I don't know which of these is the correct answer. 

What I do know is that my becoming what most people consider an introvert (who gets tired from being around other people or having to talk to other people for too long) happened slowly and over a long period of time.

I married an introvert and had to learn how to occupy myself and be ok with my own company. Sometimes when I don't feel like talking, I wonder if he thinks "What happened to her?" And to this I want to say, "Being married to you happened to me."  

However, I don't say this in a blaming way. I have always been attracted to introverts. My oldest friend from high school is an introvert, as is D. 

I clearly remember being intrigued by quiet people and what seemed to me their ability to just be in space and time. I felt frenetic (which is why I suspect untreated anxiety was part of it). I sucked at being quiet for a long time. 

And to be perfectly frank, I do talk easily to others. I'm not shy at all and will literally talk about anything. There are very few topics I won't talk about with other people, and the deeper the conversation, the better. So I think people sometimes confuse "having no filter" with being introverted, but there is a difference. 

Anyway, back to causes...

I became a mom and was with my children full-time for years and years, and that made me appreciate alone time in ways I hadn't before. Being a parent who works full-time outside the home is a challenge, but there are certain benefits that a full-time working inside the home parent doesn't get (like quiet car rides or lunches with adults or being able to pee at work alone). 

When I was teaching, it took a lot of my energy. During planning and after school, I did not want to sit around and chit-chat; I had stuff to do and wanted quiet in which to do it. 

It has recently occurred to me that my work for the past 11 years has involved me talking to people A LOT. Generally, I think of my freelancing as writing, and it obviously is, but what precedes that is a whole lot of communication. 

And now I do podcasting, which is more talking and listening. After 75-90 minutes of recording, I am ready to put myself in a dark room and be alone for at least a couple hours. 

The downside of becoming more introverted as I've gotten older means I'm less concerned about how I appear to other people. It means instead of making polite excuses, I will just say something like, "Ya'll have worn me out. I gotta go." 

Shit pot stirrer or the person who wants the shit out of the pot and cleaned?

It has occurred to me (and perhaps to some people who know me) that I might be thought of as a person who stirs the shit pot.

However, I don't seek out drama. The reason I have long been Beautification Chairperson at my kids' elementary school is that I hate drama, cliques, and discussing/debating things that aren't gonna matter 5 months from now (such as what kind of cheap Oriental Trading festival prizes to get). 

I am perfectly happy being not-in-the-middle of things.

I am perfectly happy to extend grace to others. 

I don't complain to the manager. I don't leave bad Yelp reviews. 

However, if I see crap going on that is consistently corrupt, unjust, inconsistent, poorly managed, or thoughtless, I may say and/or do something IF such things are likely to matter 5 months from now. 

Unfortunately, I think that for some people, a requirement for being a "team player" means being the type of person who blindly goes along with anyone without thinking and/or making necessary changes. 

I am not a wet-carpet, sure-go-ahead-and-walk-all-over-me type of person. 

Last week, I nominated myself for the SBDM at N's high school. 

If I am elected, great. Maybe I can help make good things better and bad things ok.

If I am not elected, great. Then I don't have to listen in on meetings that will almost certainly go on longer than I think is necessary and/or fruitful. 

Last week, I also went to tryouts to help "monitor" the mask-wearing by the girls on the field hockey team. 

I don't actually care if they have a season. 

I have zero  (-200) interest in sports. 

Sure, I would console with N about any sadness/disappointment she would have if the season didn't happen or ends early, but I also think about people during civil wars who give up EVERYTHING for years, and I think a lost season due to a pandemic is relatively small beans. 

I called out some girls who kept pulling down their masks, which I'm sure they didn't appreciate. 

Some people might think this was stirring a shit pot. I look at it as trying to keep the pot COVID-free so these girls can have a season that they (but not I) care about. 

Another way in which I might be considered a shit-pot-stirrer is that I don't do things because someone somewhere decided that this is what a person "should" do. I like to do some actual thinking about why I'm doing whatever I'm doing or not doing. 

If I'm being paid to do or not do something, I consider that. 

If it is illegal to do or not do something, I consider that. 

If it harms or potentially harms another person's body or feelings, I consider that. 

But if it doesn't meet any of those criteria, I may very likely decide I'm gonna do what I want. 

For example, last night at N's game before which the national anthem instrumental was played, I remained seated. 

I wasn't getting paid. I didn't break the law. And I didn't harm anyone. 

I personally think playing the national anthem should be like telling someone you love them. It should be something special, meaningful, carefully selected, and meant when it is done. It makes a little sense for the exception for the national anthem to be played for national leagues (NBA, NFL). I have no problem with the national anthem at special government events/functions. Olympics games....go for it.

But average Tom, Dick, and Harry elementary, middle school, high school, college sporting event? 

C'mon. 

Did my not standing hurt someone's feelings? (And yes, I have thought about that.)

It may have hurt someone's sensibilities, but those are not the same as feelings. 

If all of this aforementioned stuff means I'm a shit-pot stirrer, well, I guess I'll accept the title. 

But I respectfully disagree with that assessment. 

Am I the only person who sees the problem with this?

Prior to the first day of school, I checked the district's bus finder app to determine where my son would catch the bus on the first day (when I made him ride in both the morning and afternoon).
He stood at the stop, the bus came, and then the bus completely blew past him and went to the other side of the neighborhood.
It didn't slow down. It didn't stop. It didn't collect $200.

And my response to myself was, "What the fuck?"
Because the bus finder app shows the only stop for this bus and our address is the intersection closest to our house.

So I called the bus compound, and they radioed the driver who came back to pick up my son.
His response was, "I've been driving this bus for a long time, and I've never picked up here."
My response to him was, "Well, the bus finder app shows this as being the stop so I guess ya'll better figure out your stuff."

G has been dropped off at the correct intersection (per the bus finder app) ever since.
Until the other day, when he was dropped off in front of our house.
Which was weird.
And then today he was dropped off on the other side of the neighborhood (see first day of school story above).

So I checked the bus finder to see if it had changed, and it has not.
Same as before school began.
Same as on the first day of school.

I called the compound and was told by some lady who wasn't especially nice, "Your kid can walk. There's no permanent bus driver."
So I called the compound OVER that compound and said to the nicer lady who actually listened to what my issue was:
1. I know bus drivers have difficult jobs.
2. My son can walk; that is not the problem.
3. The problem is that whether the bus driver has driven a bus for 10 years or 10 minutes, shouldn't the bus driver, whether permanent or temporary, follow the map that PARENTS FOLLOW PER THE DISTRICT BUS FINDER APP?

Because my kid is old enough to walk a block or three home, but what if he was in first grade?
What if he was autistic or had some issue that made it difficult for him to deviate from a routine (and, honestly, OCD is kinda that way).
What if a grandparent was supposed to get him from the bus dropoff but the bus driver drops off on the other side, and the grandparent doesn't know about it.

I know, I know.
I'm too focused on this whole "consistency" thing.
I'm beginning to think that it is I who has the problem.

Why do these situations happen to me?

I wrote about the band director not too long ago.

I failed to mention that this awkward situation came on the heels of two other incidents on the same day that had "worked me up."

I don't even remember now what the first one was, but the second one was when N and I were on our way to field hockey in traffic, stopped at a light. A man in a white truck next to me waved for me to pull forward. When I rolled down my window to see what he needed, he informed me that I needed to pull up closer to the car in front of me to allow more people into the lane.

I told N, "I think he just mansplained driving to me."

Sometimes I can come across as a complete bitch, and I hate to even say that word because what I'm actually coming across as is a woman who is assertive when things are stupid. A woman who doesn't just sit there and allow stuff to happen around her but speaks the truth/common sense when it needs to be spoken. 

Like telling the band director the cones weren't up so how could I possibly mindread and know his plans for band when they weren't practicing outside when I parked. 

Yesterday, something fury-inducing happened.

I went to D's work clinic to pick up a prescription, but the pharmacy had failed to deliver it to the clinic (as they were supposed to). The clinic nurse called them, and they said they had it.
So, I went to pick it up from the pharmacy.

Let's be very clear and specific here: The pharmacy screwed up so I drove from where I was supposed to pick it up to the second place.

When I got to the pharmacy and asked for it, they said they didn't have it and I'd have to get it the following day.

It was at this point that something resembling smoke came out my ears.

And so I got on my phone and called the clinic. I spoke to the clinic nurse (whom I had just seen seven minutes prior) and asked her who at the pharmacy she had spoken to that told her the prescription was ready.

This individual then went to the back of the store (where the original girl had gone and found nothing) and found G's prescription, which was there, but still wasn't ready to go out the door.

It had been called in at 9:30 am; it was now 3:30 pm.

I didn't call anyone names.
I didn't tell them they are stupid or inept.
I didn't cuss anyone out.
But I said in an assertive voice, "Wait, a minute. Brittany just told the clinic nurse that the prescription is ready, and you're telling me it isn't ready? I need to talk to somebody in charge who knows what is going on because I drove over here to pick up the prescription that you failed to deliver in the first place."

I spent a considerable part of last night fretting over whether I came across as a bitch.
Do I come across this way all the time?
Are my hormones and general mood instability coinciding to make me a raving banshee?

Of course, I'm biased, but I don't think I'm a lunatic.
I think most people think I'm pretty nice (although admittedly my filter is a little messed up).
Because I don't insult people in general.
I try to be fair-minded and considerate.

I simply won't just "take it" if it is poor service that I'm paying for or someone accusing me of doing something that I didn't do or blaming me for something I am incapable of doing (like mindreading).

Some philosophies I live by

Now that my friend and I are doing the radio show/podcast, we've been meeting some interesting people. There has been an occasion or two when my friend has felt a little intimidated because the person we're speaking to is a "professional."

Like someone "important."

My almost ten years as a freelance writer means I have interviewed lots of people, some of whom have done some "big" things or have "big money." Because of this, I don't feel this same sense of "whoah" about speaking to certain people.

However, I think what matters most is one of my philosophies in life that I adopted a few short years ago, and it is this:

Everyone has had poop stains in their underpants. 

I don't care if you are the Queen of England or the President of the United States or Beyonce, you've experienced the unfortunate situation of streaks in your drawers.

I won't speak to the reasons for these streaks--whether they resulted from a lengthy laugh or were the result of a bout of stomach flu--but the point is that it is hard to feel that someone is better than you when you keep this philosophy in mind at all times.

And I do.

The other philosophy I keep at the front of mind is

I don't remember what anyone else wore yesterday; 

therefore, they don't remember what I wore; 

therefore, I can wear the same clothing multiple days in a row. 

Occasionally, I go to put on the same outfit I wore the day before, and I momentarily think to myself, "Will anyone notice?" 

And then I try as hard as I can to recall what the people I saw the day prior were wearing, and I cannot recall if they even wore clothes. 

Who knows??

So I don't sweat it.

I wear what I want. 

If some oddball person with OCD notices that I am repeating what I wore, then that person has far more issues on his/her plate than what I wore because he or she is probably three steps away from madness. 

(As a person with clinically diagnosed OCD, I can speak from experience here.)

The other philosophy that is really just starting to fully take hold as I move into my later 40s is the following:

I really don't give a shit what anyone thinks.

About me, specifically. 

(But often in general).

It is so terribly freeing to no longer care, to no longer fret endlessly about whether people like me or think I'm smart or think I'm pretty. 

Because I think I'm smart and as pretty as I'm gonna get considering genetics and aging and my absolute refusal to have surgery unless something is diseased. 

I try very hard not to be a jerk, but I am also done with other people acting jerk(ish) and me worrying whether they'll think I'm a bitch if I respond. 

(See band director post)

I think I'm going to make a really FANTASTIC 80-year-old woman someday!

VBS for people who 1. are kids, 2. aren't churchy, or 3. will probably go to hell

In a strange twist of reality, I coordinated VBS this year.

The church is scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel by thinking having me do this was a good idea.

They have never come to book club when I host, or they would know that I am not an "entertainer."
I am not a hostess.
I am not well-planned
or well-decorated
or anything of the sort.

The first step in finding a VBS theme was to find one I could tolerate.
Some of these kits cost over $100, and I just can't spend the church's money like that.
So I found a free one about missions, but I didn't like how much it focused on kids and sin.

Kids have a lot of figuring out to do, and I really don't think we need to belabor the fact that they are sinful on top of everything else.
I don't even like the word "sin."

I have always felt that if God is omnipotent, he/she should have created me better in the first place if he/she wanted me to be sinless.
I cannot be held responsible for the acts of my great, great, great, great, great, great....and so on grandparents, Adam and Eve.
Sure, it's a matter of semantics, but I prefer "flawed" to "sinful."
Am I flawed?
Of course.
Am I sinful?
Hell-to-the-no.

So I cut that out of the VBS thing on missions, and then I cut out the part about missions (because I believe in missions that are to serve but I'm not evangelical so I can't promote preachy/preachy when that isn't my thing.)

I more or less created my own VBS about being a neighbor to others.

I lead the children's Worship & Wonder occasionally, and it really is the best place for me because my understanding of God is like a child's understanding.
I need the most basic, simplistic information because once it starts getting more complicated, I can't believe anymore.

I'm on board with 'Love your neighbor as yourself."
I get my panties in a twist with anything more complicated.

One of the best things I learned when I started teaching was to keep the rules to a very, very small number because 1. kids don't like them and 2. if you have too many rules, it's impossible to actually enforce them and 3. kids don't like them.

I'm like that with church.
Two rules: "Love God, and love your neighbor as yourself."
Done.
I'm good.

Any of these "Don't drink alcohol" and "Don't show your body" and "Don't be gay" and "Abortion is always wrong" and "Don't say the word God unless you are talking about God" rules is where I shut down.

Because sometimes saying a good and loud "G*ddammit" feels excellent and sums things up more succinctly than any other word in the world.
And if I'm going to go to hell over saying that word....
Well, ok then.

I digress.

So it occurred to me today, when a friend texted me about how VBS had gone last night, that I didn't pray once with the children.
We didn't have a formal "Dear God, blah, blah, blah."
And it's mostly because I'm not a "Dear God, blah, blah, blah" person.

But we had fellowship and fun, and the kids felt loved and welcomed.
And we talked about caring for our neighbors who experience all the things we experience, like home, and family, and clothing, and food, even though our neighbors' homes and families and clothing and food might look a little different from our homes and families and clothing and food.

Because that is its most simple form: We are all flawed people who want love and acceptance. We all share common experiences and feelings.
And I believe the majority of us want to be good but some of us struggle at it more than others.

One of the church members spoke to me last week about being gay and how his father has never accepted it.
It broke my heart to hear this because you could just feel how much pain it causes this individual.

And I think God is in the space between people's pain and what other people do to ease that pain.
That being a good neighbor part.

I said yes, I will yes

During my undergraduate years, I spent 10 weeks traveling through England, Ireland, and Wales. I have many good memories of this time, but the downside was it meant having to
read...
attempt to read...
suffer through James Joyce's Ulysses.

Now, some people consider this book miraculous and amazing.
I was not one of those people (and am not one of those people), although I never actually finished reading it so my opinion could be ignored solely for that reason.
There is only so much stream of consciousness and lack of punctuation I can handle.

I used to think that I'd finish it if I ever found out I had a terminal illness and was relegated to my bed for six months but decided that this was a shitty way to spend my final months.

Still, 20+ years later and despite my general disregard for the book,  I do remember the end (which I think I just eventually skipped to in a fit of utter confusion and desire to be DONE).

where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I 
put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me 
under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my 
eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I 
put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes 
and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes. 

This is Molly Bloom's soliloquy, and there is something about it that has stayed with me over time.

It's something about that saying yes business.

In the context of the novel, it is about her relationship with Leopold Bloom, but I think it speaks to a desire in me, which is to say yes.

As an anxious person, my go-to response on the inside is to say "no."
No--I don't want change.
No--I don't want to get out of my comfort zone.
I also have a latent lazy streak.
(Like I'm mentally lazy, but my body just won't sit still.)

The older I get, the more I'm like, "meh."

And yet, that Molly Bloom stuff. That saying yes, I will, yes.

It's true that a person can say yes to too much.
I've been rather good about setting limits for the kids and our family about what we can and will do.
The kids have never been in season after season of activities without breaks.
I think my vacation/trip-addiction is partly a need to be "away from real life/relaxation."
(There is a difference between being active because you HAVE to in your real life and being active for FUN on a trip.)

But because of my odd-job professional life, I've been able to say "yes" to a lot of stuff without it getting too hairy, at least most of the time.

Sometimes, though, everything happens at once, but as I learned in undergrad years, my best semesters happened when I took 18 hours and worked part-time. I used my time more efficiently.
I'm pretty good at that in the short-run, and most of my jobs, in their way, are short-run.
I know I won't be doing any particular job forever and forever.
They are all "for a while."

There are occasions when a person needs to say no.
I said no as a teenager when friends were drinking and driving.
I say no to drama.
(I avoid people who never got out of middle school emotionally.)
I say no 99.9% of the time to television viewing.

But, most of the time, I say "yes."

The sub job that has made me doubt my abilities

Here's the problem with people telling you you're good at something--you start to believe them.
And then, perhaps at some point, you're thrown into a situation that makes you doubt that you know what you're doing.
You doubt that you know anything at all.

I was warned about this sub job, but I took it anyway.
Because I need money to recoup the car repair account.
Because I believe that I'm an effective teacher.
Because I know that I try my darndest to be consistent and disciplined as well as fair and forgiving.
Because, if nothing else, I show up when I say I'll show up, and a lot of subs don't even do that.

I subbed four days this week and feel like I've aged 400 years.
The worst part of it is that with my OCD and my tendency to be self-reflective, I am internally reliving every day.
What did I do wrong?
What could I do better?
What could I do to prevent me from having to call the office repeatedly for backup with two particular classes?

Rationally, I know that subbing is not the same as being with kids full-time.
I'm at a disadvantage from the get-go.
I'm not the "real" teacher.
I know that I can do everything I'm supposed to do, but if other things beyond my control are not in place, I'm at the mercy of the situation.

Rationally, I know all these things.

Rationally, I know that a couple kids, who bucked me hard on Monday, refused to follow my instructions, and rolled their eyes so hard at me I thought they'd stick there forever, by Thursday, were sitting up front near me and attempting to do their work, even if they don't complete their work. Even if they play around.
That is progress, and progress for some students is glacier-moving slow.

I've talked vented to a handful of teachers who say they have struggled just as much with these students. Who tell me it's not me.
And rationally, I believe them.

But irrationally, I wonder if maybe I don't actually know what I thought I knew.

One reason why I love my dad

My dad and I are as bull-headed as two people come, which is why we butted heads A LOT when I was growing up.

Dad likes things Dad's way, and I like things my way. 

It took me until I was 30+ years old and a mom before I finally felt like I understood my dad as a human being and as a dad. He's a reserved guy, so he doesn't share his deepest darkest fears or dreams.

He's in the hospital now, having had open heart surgery yesterday.

Last summer, his doctor asked him if he'd ever told dad that he had a heart murmur. Dad said no. 

Dad was sent to a cardiologist and after six months and many tests, the doctor determined that dad had a pretty severe leaky aortic valve. Up until December, Dad never had any symptoms.

Even after he developed symptoms, he and mom still walked every day at the mall, taking 3 laps around. Prior to this, Dad walked and went to the gym nearly every day. He also gardens and plays golf in good weather. Dad is not a sit-on-his-duff kind of guy. His doctor said had he been that way, he likely would have had to have this procedure done 10 years ago.

When he had all the pre-tests done, including checking his carotid arteries, the technician said if he was her dad, she'd have nothing to worry about. 

For being 76 years old, dad is in pretty fine shape. 

Yesterday was rough, as is any open heart surgery. 

He had 3 bypasses that the surgeon took care of, even though they were minor (50% blockage). The doctor figured if he was in there anyway and could treat them, he might as well. 

The surgeon also discovered that dad's tricuspid valve was leaking, so he repaired that. 

(Apparently, this happened as a result of the heart having to work harder because of the aortic valve issue.)

Of course, this was rough for dad since he was going through it, but he was being pumped with all sorts of sedating drugs.

My mother was not, and she is so adept at worrying she could win a gold medal if worrying was an Olympic event.

Dad was taken back into surgery last night as a precautionary measure to see if all the blood draining from his three chest tubes was an active bleed. Fortunately, it was not.

D has been up at the hospital with my mom. 

He said they gave dad a breathing apparatus to use to improve his lung function and keep goop from building up. 

The doctor told dad he'd be lucky to get to 500 today.

Dad started breathing and when D asked what he got to, Dad raised his hand up: 5 fingers. 

Don't ever tell dad he probably won't be able to do something because he will then take absolute delight in proving you wrong. 

It got him through two knee replacement surgeries. Six weeks after one of them he was hiking with the family at Empire Bluff Trail in Michigan. 

It got him through back surgery when I was a kid.

It got him through melanoma surgery when I was pregnant with G.

It got him through 20 years of ulcerative colitis and then the removal of his colon when I was newly pregnant with M. 

This determination and pig-headedness are attributes of my dad that have always driven me crazy when they interfered with my own determination and pig-headedness, but when it comes to recovering from surgery and not giving up when you can still fight, I'm so appreciative for it.  

I'm raising Eric Cartman

Sometimes, in the midst of having one child come crying over suckers, you get a chuckle out of another child.

It's not a "legitimately funny haha" chuckle.
More of a "Jesus....(insert eye roll)" chuckle that comes from knowing your child's personality quirks and finding something funny to make these quirks tolerable.

G and M went to a neighbor friend's house with another boy, and they all (evidently) decided to play basketball.

Now, my boys are not athletic in the least, although M could be athletic.
G is an amalgam of all the two-left-footed people in our genealogical history combined into one human.

So when the four boys agreed to play basketball (inside), G thought it was supreme unfairness for him to have to play against either of the other boys who aren't his brother because he knows he sucks. He also knows his brother has a malleable personality. G could tell M, "Let me make this shot," and M would stand back and let him have the shot.

I texted the boys to come home for dinner and M texted back,
"G is coming home because X and Y don't agree with him on basketball."

And the first thing that popped into my head was this:

I shared a shorter version with the boys.

M replied, "Well, yeah."

We love our G, but we also know what we're dealing with.

Serious, sensitive, uptight, and sometimes funny.

I have been knee-deep the last 4 weeks in subbing and doing observations for the grad class I'm taking.

I cannot wait until this class is over. I'm nearly halfway through my 90 hours.

Even though I have until December to get done, my goal is to be wrapped up by the second week of November. (If everything goes as I hope, I'll be done by the end of October.)

I'm hoping to sub for an English teacher at N's school after Thanksgiving and through Christmas break.

Normally, because of my cottage school Fridays, I am unable to take long-term sub jobs, but I'll be on break from the cottage school then, and I think it would be a good experience for me.

If there is anything that observing is doing for me it is helping me remember what kind of teacher I am.

I have a theory about what makes a great teacher: it is a special deep-roasted blend of personality, knowledge, and organization.
To be great, all 3 have to be present.
A good teacher has to have two of these traits.
If I have to choose which one is missing, it is organization. Better to be a bit scatter-brained than lacking in basic knowledge of the content or have the personality of a parched hat.
A meh teacher has one-and-a-half traits.
Just one trait and..... well, we've all had a one-trait teacher.

I try not to talk too often about the grad class because it is a bit of nonsense that just makes me clench my teeth.
I've been observed two times by my college instructor and he has given me "tips" like, try the Jigsaw method of teaching.
That in itself is not a bad tip, but the reason I don't try the Jigsaw method is because THIS IS NOT MY FREAKING CLASSROOM, AND THIS TEACHER DOES HER ROOM AND STRUCTURE A CERTAIN WAY, WHICH I FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE MUCKING WITH FOR TWO LESSONS, AND IT IS PLUM WEIRD FOR ME TO COME IN AND DO ALL SORTS OF CONTRIVED GYMNASTICS JUST TO SHOW OFF FOR A COLLEGE CLASS.

(unclenches teeth)
(takes deep breath)

When I did this song and dance nearly two decades ago, I was the dumb "untried" teacher, like the "untried" parent I was before I had kids.
I knew SO MUCH!
I had all sorts of thoughts about what I would do when x, y, and z happened. I wouldn't do this, and I wouldn't do that.
Now, after having experience as a teacher, a sub (and in parenting), I've eaten enough crow to know that I should leave off the criticism and just do my thing.
I'm wise enough to know that I would do things differently not because I know more or am better or someone else is worse but because I am me, and I listen to my own drummer, and I have to follow that tune.

I do not pretend to know everything about everything related to English teaching.
I most certainly do not know everything.
But what I do know about myself is that, considering I haven't had a lick of professional development in 14 years, I know some things about how to make a lesson engaging.
I'm not loosey-goosey and go with the flow.
I'm uptight and mostly serious, but with a funny streak when I feel like it.
But I'm mostly uptight and sensitive and serious.

Which makes me take this grad class way more seriously than I probably should.
And push myself way harder than I probably should.
Countdown to done starts soon.
And my teeth will thank me.

1. Shut your shit-hole and 2. Working towards character-building

Part I: Shut Your Shithole

The president is a toxic person. I would like to tell him to shut his shit-hole, that not every thought that dashes through his head is correct or relevant or worth giving air to. I don't think he's a genius. I think that what you see is what you get.

There is a part of me that would like certain politicians to say out loud what all of us know to be true, that the president is a dick, but I understand why they do not.

I have worked with assholes. They are simply assholes, and even if you called them out on it, they would still be assholes, and perhaps even bigger assholes than they were to begin with. Everyone who works with them knows they are assholes.

When I taught full-time, there was a teacher in my department who was one of these "honest" speakers (as the president is considered to be). I never told her off, even though I thought she was crass and annoying and bitchy. She made people feel small, and she was intimidating. She wasn't warm and fuzzy or welcoming or even nice.

I never called her out on her crassness or bitchiness because it really didn't matter. That is what and who she was. I felt sorry for her in many ways. Perhaps she lived in a bubble and didn't know or suspect what people thought of her, but I suspect she knew and either 1. didn't care or 2. did care but convinced herself that she didn't care and couldn't really change her personality anyway.

I suspect that everyone in Washington who works in any capacity with the president does what my former colleagues and I did with this teacher. We knew what we were up against, we did what we had to do to get through the day, and we rolled our eyes at each other behind her back, knowing full well that we wished she would shut her shit-hole.

Some people are simply assholes. It is unfortunate that one of them is in such a respected seat of responsibility and power.

Part 2: Working towards character-building

John Wooden's quote, "The true test of a man's character is what he does when no one is watching," is certainly true, but there are some who would argue that it is also what you do when everyone is watching. Character is who you are, and character is tested no matter how old you get.

I had a situation this past week in which my character was tested.

My Girl Scout troop met at our local school for one of our bi-monthly meetings. In the past, when it gets close to cookie booth time, I have used some of the tools in the teacher's workroom to help make letters for our booth poster. I know how to use these machines, and I have instructed my girls in how to use them. I bring my own paper so I'm not using school resources.

This past week, the girls accidentally cracked two of the plastic pieces that are used with the machines. These pieces aren't expensive, and they are certainly well-worn. Perhaps they would have cracked no matter who used them. But I felt terrible about it.

I could have just let it go. There are lots of people, including parent volunteers, who use these plastic pieces. Anyone could have cracked them, and no one would have been the wiser.

But I could not do that and, to be honest, I could not do that out of fear.

If I didn't acknowledge that our troop had done it, I wondered all the "what ifs." What if the custodian who saw us in the room overhead someone talking about it and "told" on us? I would much, much rather take my knocks and face whatever consequences than be "found out." How mortifying would that be? Much more mortifying than admitting that we'd cracked a piece of plastic.

It reminded me of a similar situation that happened to me in the 7th grade.

I cheated on a religion test (there is some irony there, eh?).

And some people in class saw that I cheated and told me they saw me.
They never told on me because before they did, I told on myself.
I could not abide the idea of knowing I did something wrong, hiding it, and then being found out. That was worse than just taking my consequences and getting a zero.

How funny that I haven't changed that much since the 7th grade.

I was scared to send that email to the principal. Scared because I don't know how much the pieces cost. I didn't think they would be that much, but Girl Scouts troops generally aren't rolling in piles of money. Scared because I didn't want her to think badly of me for not supervising the girls as closely as I should have.

But I was willing to have her think whatever she thinks and for us to pay whatever we have to pay in order not to feel bad about myself. In order for me to feel at peace on the inside, even in the midst of feeling fear.

And I like to think that even if the person is disappointed in me, they know that I don't lie or hide. They know that I try to have a solid character even when I could have done otherwise.

Gender, fear, morals and being of the middle mind

I finished the novel This is How It Always Is by Laurie Frankel this past week after being sidelined by a stomach bug. It is a book about a family with a transgender child and how they both successfully and unsuccessfully help their child navigate the world.

Prior to finishing the book, I listened to one of my favorite podcasts, Hidden Brain, which had an episode all about gender.

I haven't totally finished it, but it discusses how gender is not all biology or all social environment. What in this life exists in a vacuum? Nature has blurry edges.

Many people don't like blurry edges.
I happen not to be one of them.

Just because a person has XX or XY chromosomes doesn't mean they weren't heavily influenced by estrogen or testosterone in utero (or maybe something else?), which may play a role in how they feel, regardless of what their DNA "says."

Gender identity is not a choice.
Sexual identity is not a choice.
Just like personality is not a choice.
It is what it is, and as anyone knows who has tried to change their personality, it doesn't really work.
You can fight it as much as you want for as long as you want, but there it is.

It occurred to me that anyone who has strayed outside the boundaries in even the smallest ways can understand a bit how a person who is LGBTQ feels.

Let's take hair, for example.

I have worn my hair short since I was in high school.
My hair doesn't grow long so much as it grows fat, and it simply doesn't look good long.
I am also a woman who doesn't want to waste even five seconds of my existence messing with my hair.
When I was a teen, I went to a barber shop for my haircuts, which means they often weren't the most "feminine" cuts.
I can't tell you how many times in my life I was mistaken for a boy or assumed to be a lesbian simply because of my haircut.
I didn't stay in the socially constructed lines of "long hair equals femininity."

G likes his hair long, and he has been mistaken for a girl numerous times. At a young age, he is learning that straying outside the lines has its consequences. Fortunately, he doesn't care.

Some people despise the notion of an "anything goes" society, and I can understand their concern.
Although I consider myself fairly progressive, there are some things about which I feel pretty conservative, pretty traditional.

For instance, I have mixed feelings about giving unmarried pregnant teens baby showers.
I'm sure some of this is residual from how I was brought up.

But then I think back to when a friend of mine in college accidentally got pregnant. A bunch of us had a baby shower for her, and that was the kindest thing to do.
Was it a difficult situation for her to be in? Of course.
Was she scared? I'm sure.
Did she feel embarassed? Probably.
But would shunning her or denying her friendship and kindness have made it any better?
Her baby hadn't "violated societies' dictates" (if you want to call it that), so why shouldn't we be excited about a new life?

Another traditional view I have is that separated individuals shouldn't date until they are officially divorced.
Again, I don't know where this comes from, but it is there.
I don't think it is fear that guides it as much as the concern that people may move from one failed relationship into another without taking the time to figure out what went wrong.

But I have to remind myself that I don't know all the ins- and outs of their marriage.
I don't know if they've been in counseling for the past five years struggling through their marriage.
And how does whatever they do within the confines of their marriage, separation or divorce CONCERN ME IN THE LEAST?
It doesn't.
It is absolutely none of my business.

So if a transgender person uses whatever restroom they decide is appropriate to them, and they don't come into my stall and interfere with what I am doing, what difference does it make to me?
What difference does it make to John Q who has an opinion about "queers invading our bathrooms?"

In the course of subbing, I have seen transgenderded children.
Despite what some may think, these kids do not lord their identity over others.
It's not a drag show moving up and down the hallways.
These kids struggle in ways that I cannot even wrap my head around.
Because they are children, I choose kindness.
Because they are HUMAN, I choose kindness.

I tend to think I am a pretty moral person, and that is more important to me than religiousity.
Within me are progressive ideals and conservative ideals, but sometimes I think I am at heart pretty libertarian.
It's complex.
There are some blurry edges in my beliefs between progressive, conservative and libertarianism.
Just like with gender. 

Tell us about your child. Um.......duh.........

N brought this inventory home the other day for me to complete.

It is for the "gifted" program, but I'm not even sure what "gifted" means anymore.

I looked at this paper and sorta began to drool. Basically, I felt like this guy.

I often feel like a moron when people ask me to describe my kids, especially in terms of how they are as students. G is a little easier to describe because he has more of the "odd-ball gifted" type kid. He's dramatic and has always asked a zillion questions and has always used bigger words than other typical kids.

N is a "good student" in that she makes As and Bs, but I had a hard time answering the aforementioned questions. She's 13, so she isn't particularly motivated to do anything besides watch YouTube and listen to weird music.

She's sometimes a big ding-dong, but they didn't ask a question about that.

I could write about how she told me the name of a song I liked from the radio was by Port 2 Gull, the man. I didn't understand what she was saying until I finally figured out that it is Portugal, the Man. As in the country. As in phonetically pronounced Por-chu-gul.

I'm still ribbing her about that.

I'm still trying to figure out the question about sensitive to the aesthetic. N has a keen eye for photography and takes some cool, artistic photos so I checked often on that one. And she plays viola. Is that what the question meant????

I checked often for enjoys being a nonconformist---wearing eyeglass frames without lenses since 4th grade qualifies for that.

I had to fill out a questionnaire about M, too, and I really didn't know what to say. I actually have no clue what he actually likes and dislikes because whenever I ask what he wants to eat or drink or wear or go do he says, "Same thing as G." Sometimes when I ask what he wants to eat or do, he asks, "What did G say?"

He complains about having to go to school every single morning, which N and G don't do, so I assume that means he's not keen on school. His teacher last year told me he is often in la-la-land, so I put that down too.

Forms like this make me wonder how well I actually know my own kids...and if I am, indeed, a moron.

Chances are good I won't get into heaven

I don't actually believe in heaven and hell, but if there is a heaven, I feel pretty certain I won't go there.
I don't expect I'll end up in hell, either.
A nice uncomfortable seat in purgatory will be mine.

Of course, I'm already in purgatory.

Evidence:

Today, as the kids and I were walking back to our car downtown, a man right outside of a Subway asked for money so he could get something to eat.

I shook my head no, and as I walked along I was reminded by my conscience that when I do (or not do) unto others, I do unto Jesus. I told D and the kids to go ahead, and I returned to the man.

I asked him, "Do you want me to buy you something to eat?"
He replied, "I need money for the bus to get home."
I then noticed that he had a beverage cup in his hand with a beverage still in it.
I turned around and caught up with my children because his story had changed.

Just as in good conscience I could not not buy him food if he was hungry, I could also not give him money because it didn't sit right with me. That was not what he had asked for to begin with.

I told the kids about it and about my uncomfortable feelings about maybe what this guy's story was and about my own uncomfortable feelings about not just giving him money.....yes because he might buy drugs or cigarettes or booze with it. I can't in good conscience give people cash that might be spent on drugs or booze or cigarettes.

There is judgment there, but I can't help it, and it bothers me immensely that there is judgment and that I can't help it.

As we continued our drive home, G said, "Life is difficult," and I couldn't help but agree. 

My other oddities (travel-related) since so many people are posting Spring Break photos

• I do not post photos of my feet at the pool or beach.  I'm not sure why people do this.  Perhaps  to prove the point that they are really and truly at the pool or beach.   I totally believe that you are where you say you are.  Feet, even the most massaged and pedicured, are weird. Mine happen to be pretty janky, and I don't want to subject anyone to photos of them.

• We don't go on Spring Break trips.  On fall break, we usually go on little 2- or 3-day trips, but never on Spring Break.  With fall, you have the heat of summer at your back, so it might get warmer than you expect but in October it isn't cold.  And October tends to be a dry month. With Spring Break, you have the cool of winter at your back and almost certainly rain, and I don't really like cold and wet on my vacations.  

• I like to go to southern beaches when it is HOT.  We went to Gulf Shores in mid-May one year, and it was far too cool for my liking.  We wore windbreakers and jeans a couple days, which is just like being where we live in May. The idea of going to Florida in the first week of April just gives me the shivers.

• I don't mind going someplace cool if I know that it is supposed to be cool. I expected Iceland to be cool, and when it was, I was totally fine with that.  When I went to Ireland, I expected the Atlantic to be cold, and it was (I was also 19 and far less sensitive to coldness than I am now).  I expected Michigan to be on the cooler side, and it was.  All is well when my expectations meet reality.  

• With Spring Break, I know we only have a week, and then must get back into the drudgery of routine.  To cram a full-on vacation into those 7 days feels overwhelming.  I like being able to gradually build up to the trip and know that I have time afterwards for the kids and I to just hang without having to launch back into real life.  I might be spoiled by summer flexibility.  

• I will not wear tennis shoes when sightseeing outside of the country.  Nothing screams, "I am an American" more than white tennis shoes, jeans/shorts and a baseball cap.  D and I will be going out of the country for our 20th anniversary trip, and I have been researching "comfortable travel shoes" since I'm not sure my well-loved Merrells will see me through.  I am a firm believer of "When in Rome," and I also don't like to stick out like a sore thumb.  

• If we travel outside of the country, I try very hard to learn some common phrases in the language.  I have found that making even the slightest effort to use their language makes people eager to help.  Nothing is more assholish than expecting people in other countries to speak your language just because it is English.  It might be the lingua franca but given how much Americans expect everyone who comes here to speak English, people in other countries expect Americans to make that same effort.  

• If I travel to a place that has a lighthouse, it is imperative that I visit it. I don't need to go inside it, but I want to see it up close.  I sorta love lighthouses. 

• I am not satisfied to just to the beach and do nothing but the beach for a week.  There has to be one day in which we go someplace nearby that is of non-beach interest.  When we went to Edisto Island, we drove in to Charleston.  When we went to Virginia Beach, we drove to Chincoteague to see the horses and colonial Williamsburg.  I had thought we might drive down to Savannah, GA when we visit Hilton Head this summer, but I have since decided against it.  D and I had a wonderful time in Savannah before children, and I think the kids would ruin those memories with their "We're tired of walking" bullsh*t.  I think we might take the ferry over to Daufuskie Island, which would satisfy my need to see someplace "extra" without walking around a city.  

• I'm not a huge fan of art museums unless the museum has something really amazing or is highly associated with the place I'm visiting. For example, D and I visited the Accademia Gallery in Florence, Italy to see Michelangelo's David.  We would have been complete dummies to be in Florence and not see David.  When I was in London, I visited a lot of museums in part because of their historical significance to the city itself....like the Tate and the Victoria and Albert.  But I won't make a special point of visiting an art museum in all cities because I would rather see other things that are more intrinsic to that place.  

Travel philosophies (and other quirky philosophies)

I'm working on an article about bucket lists, and most of the people I've interviewed for it have traveled. A LOT.

The other day, I was able to look through a lady's photo album of her journey to 19 cities in Spain.  That was fun.  What was intended as a 20-minute interview became an hour-long perusal of her photos and a discussion of all-things Basque region. I would have stayed longer, but I had to pick up middle schoolers from school.

I am the type of person who generally does not want to go back to a place I've been (unless it has been 20+ years and I no longer remember much of what I saw or I'm traveling there with someone I didn't travel with initially or there is a major site there that I failed to see the first time I visited.)

For example, I would totally go back to England and Ireland because I first went in 1993.  I have forgotten a great deal, and I would go with D instead of a group of college classmates.  This time, instead of following in the tracks of Thomas Hardy and James Joyce, I would follow in the tracks of the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen.

And I would return to Charleston, SC because we didn't visit Fort Sumter when we went, and I would like to see that.

The world is vast, and I would find it a little stifling to go back year after year after year to the same places, especially beaches.  I love going to the beach, but I don't want to return to the same slice of beach every summer for 20 years.

I keep hoping that I will visit a place and feel a tremendous pull to return there.  It would certainly be easier for planning purposes, and it would make D happy (he would love to not have to figure out new places all the time).

My breakfast philosophy is a lot like my travel philosophy.  I do not want to eat the same thing for breakfast every day.  Sometimes it is an English muffin with peanut butter.  Some days I have warm Grape Nuts with blueberries and pecans.  Sometimes it is a waffle with peanut butter on top.  D eats the same breakfast every day for a decade.  It takes him 10 full years to get sick of the same breakfast.

On the occasions when I do return to a place I've been, I have to switch things up in some way. Stay in a different condo.  See different things I've haven't seen.

We did go to Gulf Shores twice--once in 2005 when N was 18 months, and once in 2009 when I was pregnant with M.  We stayed in different condos at different ends of the beach and visited different places (when it came to restaurants, though, we did do Lambert's and Lulu's both times).

In college, I did go to NYC 3 times over the course of a 9-month period.  Once in the fall with a guy I was dating to visit his sister in Soho.  Once in the spring for an economics conference with a professor and classmates.  The final time was on a graduation trip with my mom where we saw a couple Broadway shows.  Although I went back to the same general place, I stayed in different hotels, went with different people and didn't see the same things over again.

And we did take the family 3 times to Disney World---when N was 3, when G was 3, and when M was 5.  It will be a cold day in Hades before I go back (although in Dante's hell that wouldn't actually be too long).  On every visit, it was imperative that we not redo every single thing we did the first go round.  Except the People Mover.  My kids thought that was the best ride ever.  Weirdos.

My travel philosophy, "Thou shall not go to the same place repeatedly in most cases" has extended itself to concerts.  I used to see the same performers over and over and eventually determined that the first show was always, always the best.  The shows that followed always left me feeling let down.  So I stopped going.  I'm a "one and done" person when it comes to shows.

Even if I fell into a great vat of money, I cannot ever see myself owning a home in another location and returning there again and again.  Even if it were France.  That is too much responsibility and takes away the aura of "vacation."  Ownership is a lot of work and expense, and I am not interested in either.  When I go away, I want to get away.

One time D asked me if I would ever want to own a boat, and I have basically been laughing on the inside ever since he asked some years ago.  Owning a boat is like owning another vehicle, and I hate owning vehicles.  They break and depreciate and require housing and insurance.  If my city had a light rail system I would be ever so happy.

Another philosophy of mine is to not post pictures of myself while on vacation.  If I am traveling, you will not know about it until I am safely ensconced back on my couch.  (I dislike it when other people tag me in photos during an outside-of-my-home event.  I do not want the world to know what I'm doing as I'm doing it.  Tag me all you want after it is over.)

This is both a privacy and a safety issue.  It doesn't bother me if other people post pictures of themselves while traveling, but I don't do it myself.

Kinda like wearing khakis or doing duck-face sexy photos.  If other people engage in such things, I don't care.  But you will not see me engaging in such things.

This year we are going to a new-to-us beach, Hilton Head.  We loved Michigan last year, and we loved that it didn't take 12 hours to drive there, but the water was really freaking cold.  Our main priority when planning this year's trip was "under 10 hours" and "a beach we haven't seen."

My tentative plan for next year was to go out to Utah with the kids and see Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park, but then G asked to visit Atlantis in the Bahamas.  He had seen a commercial or something.  I did look it up, and it is RIDONCULOUSLY expensive to stay there.  Like $15,000 for the 5 of us.

But his interest did inspire me to think of the possibility of doing a 3- or 4-day cruise and visiting Atlantis as a day excursion.  This will take some planning and saving, but I hope that we'll be able to do it in 2018.  It feels luxurious, the idea of doing a cruise, but I really want to encourage G's interest in finding new places.  

So far....boys are harder than girls

I often hear it said that girls are more difficult to raise to adulthood than boys, but my experience so far doesn't coincide with this sentiment.

G takes after his momma in being a highly sensitive person. He struggles with his feelings and his anxiety.  He has a difficult time adjusting to any changes that he doesn't implement himself.

G is also an exuberant child who loves to learn---this morning he asked me what "formidable" means.  What 9-year-old boy regularly asks his mother the meanings of words like "formidable?"  He is a  happy boy who smiles and laughs easily.  My mom says he is the most affectionate of all her grandchildren.

He and a little friend of his have been having some troubles lately mostly because G hugs his friend too much.

We are a huggy family.  Although I am not huggy with anyone else on the planet, I am very huggy and snuggly with my children.  My mouth is often very bad about being sarcastic or not saying things like, "I love you to the moon and back," but I touch my children often so that at least they know in some way that I adore them.

Anyway, G's little friend feels uncomfortable by G's hugginess.  Like a lot of boys his age, he is figuring out what men are, and for many boys, real men don't hug their friends because that might make them gay.

In the past 4 days, I have had talks with G that went something like this:

We are a hugging family, but not every family is.  You have to pay attention if people stiffen up or pull away as you hug them because that means they aren't comfortable.

Your dad is a sensitive man, but some men like to feel more macho and don't like to hug.  They think if they hug other men it makes them look less manly.

Your dad and I don't care if you grow up and love a woman or if you grow up and love a man, but some families do.  And boys hugging each other makes them uncomfortable because they think if they hug boys their son might grow up to love boys.

At first, I think G thought I was just being weird and giving him "mom lectures," but then I finally had to tell him that his friend didn't want to go to school because he was so upset.  G cried and wrote this note, which breaks my heart a little:

When I asked him what he meant by "mean things" and he said, "Hugging him."

This is just such a sad little note, but I am trying to think of it as a good lesson for G in understanding nonverbal communication and other people's boundaries.  It is also a good lesson for his friend in learning to speak up if something bothers him and not just pull away, which confused G.

It gave me an opportunity to encourage G to write this note and to talk to him about meeting with the school counselor, which he didn't want to do because he felt like he was getting in trouble.  When I informed him that his daddy and I had gone for talks with a counselor when we weren't getting along very well and how it helped our relationship it seemed to make the idea more palatable to him.

It is also a good lesson for me that having a sensitive, huggy little boy is a very special gift, and I'm glad he has us to help him navigate through a world that sometimes doesn't know what to do with sensitive, huggy people.