Mother and Son

So yes, as I pointed out before, Tolstoy seems to be pulling through. I really don't know how he has done it. His skin is coming off in layers (the medicine sort of sheds the parasite) and so he has black dead skin dangling off of him here and there. It looks kind of gross. His tail is unusually small. My daughter says that he is "molting". She is a little smarty pants.

Gee whiz, I need to make Dear Sir put a new song on my music site. You guys should check it out if you haven't already. It may be the only music I ever produce in this world, so it's going fast.

I took the kids to AWana (at the local Baptist church) this past week. Who said that I was a recluse homeschooling mother? Dear Sir and I want to keep taking them. I got to talking to the director of this program while I was waiting for the kids to be released and he was asks about my church situation. I tell him that we hold to Anglican beliefs and I am not sure he understands. Of course then I have to go on explaining that Anglican in America is like Episcopalian and then of course he raises his eyebrows because he keeps up a little bit with the times and he probably thinks I am ok with homosexual ministers. I say quickly after the eyebrow raising that we hold very conservative beliefs and he settles down a bit. I explain that we can't really find a real good church that fits the bill and he asks me if I considered Faith Baptist Church (this is his church that I am standing in while talking to him).
"No--we just don't hold the same beliefs. We believe in infant baptism and stuff like that..."

He blinks. "Oh, ok."

"Uh---we're not volatile about it or anything, we just know we wouldn't agree with everything you guys would..."

"Oh, ok."

I wonder if he thinks I am a Christian. He seemed nice enough.


The other day I took the kids to the Goodwill to try to find my oldest a new bike. Man, that stupid bike of his has been the bane of my existence. My oldest has held over my head that his bike's chain has been loose and I have not fixed it yet. I fixed it once, but then the chain fell loose again and I said forget it. Since he has braved the scary outside I have felt really bad because I know he has so wanted to ride his bike. He would say stuff to me like, "Boy, I sure would love to feel the breeze as I petal downhill! It sure is a nice day for that! [Sigh]"

The day I decide to go to town and get the Costco junk done and the bank, the Target returns, I decide to stop at Goodwill. "We can get you a new OLD bike," I said to the boy.
"Cool. I can pay for it. In fact, if you forward me the money I promise I will do chores for an eternity, just so I can have a bike again." This sounded good, but I know that it never happens.
"How about I just buy the thing and that is it?"
"Sounds good to me!"

We went to the Goodwill and found a rusty bike just his size and nothing wrong with it. Five bucks. Easy.

We went to the car with it. I had to think ahead and I didn't. I planned on making one trip to town with all the goods. The Goodwill was the first store. I had many more to make purchases at. Oh, how I tried getting that stupid rusty bike in the trunk.
"I bet you are wishing you didn't buy this thing now," my oldest moaned. "It's all my fault. Look how hard you are working! This is a complete nightmare! Look---here---I could just---No?---ok, I will get out of the way---I just---you are sweating! Poor mom! She is tired! If you---turn--be quiet? ok. But if---I what? ok. Take your purse? Sure, Mom. Go over here? ok, I'll do it. You'll never want to buy me a bike again. This is the worst thing. If we could ever get this bike in here it will be a miracle. Oh how I want a bike. They never told us at the store that it would be this hard to get a bike in a car. I bet they thought we had a truck or something. We'll have to just return it. There is no hope. We will never get this thing in here. Maybe if we tried---"

I finally went to the passenger's side seat to see if it would fit.
My oldest went off again: "If it fits in here, I could somehow sit under it and curl up my legs like this, and oh---just get the handle bar down more! Oh! You are going to turn it around? Yeah, great idea! That is the best idea yet, Mom! You really are the greatest. Oh, it is not going to work. I bet everyone thinks we are crazy, trying to get this bike in here. No one really cares about us though..."

Imagine having to shove a bike in a small car while hearing this malarkey.

Finally I went to the back seat where I had two children sitting (Eraser Eater and little girl with a carseat). I got it in right away. After twenty minutes of trying to get a camel through the eye of a needle, I get it in with no issues. Eraser Eater had to duck down a bit to allow the petal to take the place of his head, but other than that, it was fine. My oldest was confident and so happy. "I knew if we tried it there it would work! Are you just so tired? I bet you are just so mad at me that it took so long! We wasted so much time! Are you wishing you never went and got that stupid bike for me?"

He is such a worry/wart pessimist. I really hope he doesn't get it from me, but I bet he does. He talks about how he sometimes feels guilty. I don't like controlling people. It is not the thing I enjoy. Some people enjoy it, but I am not one of those. But---one day I told my oldest to go set the table and when I came back to look at the table it was not set.
"I guess I will have to set the table myself!" I yelled to the air.

"Oh! Mom! I forgot! You don't have to say it like that! You are making me feel guilty!"

I thought about this. My whole childhood I always felt guilty. My mother constantly manipulated me and I went for it every time. I always took the bait and she controlled me. So I said to him, "How would you like for me to say it then?"

"I would like you to say, 'you forgot to set the table like I asked you to'". I thought this was fair enough. He sort of smiled and set the table. He is a good boy. He is always feeling bad about things and stressing out like he is putting me out. Somehow that needs to stop. I bet I have something to do with it. I wig out sometimes in front of him (who am I kidding? I wig out a lot!) so maybe he feels responsible. But he also fears blame. He is afraid to be told that something is his fault. He does not like to believe that it is his choices that cause some things to happen to him (mostly in a bad way). This is a lesson that has taken me years to learn. I am still learning. He is actually so much like me. I just noticed the pattern.