Oh look! There's a naked bunny in the yard.

Help us! We're being held prisoner!

We also colored Easter Eggs:

Easter Egg Dye

Experimenting with vinegar (cider works as well as white -- shirt optional)

Had an Easter Egg hunt:

Who forgot to dust up here?

Dean really hid the eggs, oh well here's a gallon of Jelly Bellies(TM)

And finally, took the traditional after church photograph with lots of practice shots while we tried to remember how to use the self-timer:

"No, I'm not taking a photo yet," assured Dean.

"Ok, I think I've got it. Smile," called Dean. Andrew and Dona pose.

And again

"Hmm," thinks Dona, "where's Clare for these photographs?"

Finally! The three of us:

Happy Easter

A few years ago one of Andrew’s friends and rugby teammates, Eddie, suffered his second concussion and had to quit playing rugby. I talked to him recently and he still cannot play — although he helps the team out now and then by coaching a game or two. He’s replaced rugby with skiing (and according to an article in the school newspaper, cliff jumping).

A few months ago I heard a broadcast about concussions on National Public Radio. It was around the time a Washington Redskins player (I think it was a Washington Redskin) decided to give up his football career because of concussions. The broadcast discussed new research that had been published about concussions and that they were more dangerous than previously thought.

Nearly 3 weeks ago Andrew suffered a mild concussion playing rugby. Apparently he was playing a position he usually doesn’t play, tackled someone, fell backwards with the person he tackled falling on top of him. Or so that’s what people told him what happened. He didn’t remember any of it. He also was “out of it” for the rest of the game as he watched from the sidelines.

We took him to the ER as soon as his friend drove him home. He was sleepy for a day and stayed home from school, but went to school the next day. By Thursday he seemed fine. I’d taken him to his pediatrician on Monday because I was worried about his sleepiness and the doctor suggested that Andrew be checked out by Children’s Hospital’s SCORE program before he return to sports because Andrew tends to like sports that can result in concussions.

I took him to a 3 hour-long appointment at Children’s yesterday. We were both asked verbal and written questions about the incident, questions about before and after the incident and questions about how Andrew feels now. I answered that everything seems to be back to normal. Andrew did too, except he mentioned that he felt a little tired. Not normally, but that he felt tired that morning. He didn’t mention that he’d spent the previous day out with friends, got to bed late and got up earlier than usual for the appointment.

At the end of the appointment we were brought into the doctor’s office (technically a post-doc student) and told that Andrew was almost completely recovered but since he was reporting fatigue (tired that day?) that they still didn’t want him to participate in sports until he was 100% better and that he needed a professional sports rehab facility to ease him back into sports and then have another session at Children’s in a week.

While I don’t dispute the new research about concussions and I do believe that they are more dangerous than previously thought, I do think that much of what we did yesterday was completely subjective. His CT Scan, right after the concussion was fine. He’s been fine for two weeks — not acting tired at all. The tests he took yesterday were all fine. The only abnormality is that he reported being tired yesterday.

This leads me to wonder if this is standard procedure. A kid who had a concussion comes in for an appointment and no matter what the answers, they set up another appointment and refer them to a sports rehab facility. If so, then I think patients should be told this. We might have tried to get an earlier appointment with the SCORE program if that was the case.

I guess I should be glad that someone is concerned about my son and his brain. I only wish that the evaluations were less subjective. There are so many variables. While the bottom line is the health of the child, I know that my child is itching to get back to sports.

Andrew loved Wesleyan University (as did I). We had an excellent tour guide (Wesleyan admissions folks, in case you monitor blog mentions about your school, the tour was the March 29, 9 am tour  and our guide was the woman who was on the played rugby) and, despite the lousy weather, got a great sense of what the school was all about.

After a delicious lunch at a sandwich shop in town possibly called Brew Bakers, we headed towards New London and Connecticut College. On the way we saw signs for Gillette Castle State Park, and recalling a happy visit there with a friend who lived in Bridgeport in the 1980′s, thought we could spare a few minutes to drive past the castle so Andrew could see it.

It took much longer than we expected to find the state park, and even longer to drive to the castle, which was closed, but since it was raining and we were already wet from the tour, didn’t consider getting out of the car anyway.

Our trusty GPS took us through back roads to New London, which would have been fine — we had plenty of time before the tour — had the local rivers not been flooding. Did I mention there were flood warnings in Connecticut yesterday?

The car rounded a bend and we were dismayed to see the road ahead was flooded. I was ready to turn back and retrace our steps, but Dean drove on, deaf to my squeals of “OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD” and Andrew’s echos of “ohmygodohmygodohmygod”. The Highlander made it easily through the first part of the flooded road, but we could feel the pull of the water in the second half as the wheels began to lose contact with the road. All the time I was thinking about the warnings to NEVER drive through a flooded road and wondering if the fences on the side of the road were strong enough to hold our truck from being plunged into the pond on the other side.

We did make it through the flooded road, but Dean realized after that he should never have driven into it. We all have different opinions of how deep it was. I said 8 inches. Dean thinks 6. Andrew thought 4.

We made it to Connecticut College with no more mishaps and Dean had time for a nap before the tour.

This time we were given plastic ponchos with Connecticut College logos on them. Dean and I opted to wear ours. Andrew chose to not. Andrew looked much less silly than we did, but we kept reasonably dry. The tour group was smaller than the one at Wesleyan, but instead of stopping and talking to the group the Connecticut College tour guide walked backwards while talking and, unless you were in the very front, could not hear her over the sound of rain on the poncho hoods.

I felt nothing of the excitement I’d felt for Wesleyan. The campus was pretty enough, but I preferred the architecture of Wesleyan over Connecticut. Andrew preferred Wesleyan as well.

We had just enough time to check into our hotel in Raynham, Massachusetts before we needed to head out to meet our friend (and my matron of honor) Marie for dinner. She’d not known of a place to eat around where we were staying except for an outlet mall with chain restaurants. While we’re not so big on chain restaurants, we noted that there was a Timberland shoe store among the outlet stores, and Andrew had been wanting a pair of Timberland boots for a while.  Dean found a couple of pairs of shoes as well.

Dinner with Marie was wonderful. We’d not seen her since the summer before she and Neal divorced about 5 years ago. This was the longest we’d gone without seeing her since we met in 1981. We used to visit Neal and Marie at least once ever couple of years and they would visit us occasionally. Despite not having seen her for so long, I always consider her one of my best friends.

Today we visit Wheaton College and Tufts University. The rain is not going to be quite as bad, but I imagine we’ll still get wet.

Ok, breakfast….

I didn’t understand the rules of most of the sports, but could figure out the ones that involved a ball. The team had to move that ball from one end of the field to the other and put it through some sort of goal. That way the team would score points. I did not understand wrestling at all. Two kids of similar weight would roll around on the mat while an adult with a striped shirt made strange hand signals. They’d get up sometimes. Sometimes one would get on his hands and knees while the other one put his arm around the opponent’s middle. They’d roll around some more and eventually the time would end and one of the kids would smile and the other would cry, or at least look very sad.

Although Andrew started wrestling in elementary school, I didn’t have any interest in it until he was in high school and was chosen to be on the varsity team. I attended all of his matches that first year and most of the tournaments. I got to know the parents in the bleachers and began to learn what the referee’s hand signals meant. I even learned about scoring. I learned that a take-down was worth 2 points, as was a “reversal”. I learned that if a wrestler held his  opponent in such a way the opponent’s back formed an acute angle with the floor the wrestler doing the holding would get “back points” — the amount depending on how long they held the opponent there. I learned that a pin (or “fall) was worth 6 points, but the match could be over before 3 2-minute periods if one player earned 15 more points than his opponent and that was called a “tech fall”.

That year I also volunteered to redesign and maintain the team’s web site, which helped me learn the rules. I learned the names of the wrestlers and usually went home with throat raw from cheering the players as they “grappled”.

I never expected to love this sport. The bleachers are still uncomfortable — especially after sitting on them for 12 hours or more. The gymnasiums still smell like old socks and are usually far too warm. The buzzers and whistles (and shouting fans) are still loud. All that, often combined with glaring overhead lights, makes for a sensory over-stimulation not often found outside heavy-metal rock concerts. Yet, I love it all — sights, sounds, smells, physical discomfort. It energizes me. I’m proud to be a part of it and proud of our wrestlers and proud of my son.

This weekend we sent 7 of our wrestlers to the state tournament and last night 4 of them placed in the top 6 in their respective weight classes. (Andrew took 4th place)

My son -- 4th best 145 lb wrestler in the state of Maryland

Empty Swing by aka Kath on Flickr

I once heard someone say that one of the loneliest things they could think of was an empty swing. I can see their point, but perhaps all the kids are at home eating toasted cheese sandwiches and tomato soup with their parents in a warm cozy kitchen.

I’ve decided that a lonelier sight is the spot where a swing set once sat. The swing set your offspring played on as children. The swing set that replaced the rickety one that came with the house. The swing set that you bought with your teacher-bonus money the year the school district changed their mind and didn’t give out teacher bonuses. The swing set that made you finally understand the adage “Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.” The swing set that Dean put together one weekend.

I knew the day was coming that the swing set would be gone. Dean and I talked about giving the swing set to someone who had young children who would use it instead of it sitting, unused, in our backyard. Of course we asked or kids first, if they minded us getting rid of their old swing set — they didn’t. Last fall Dean offered it to a woman at work who just moved into a larger home and who has two young boys. She said yes and her husband came and dismantled and removed the swing part of the swing set, but it took until this week for them to get the last part of swing set — the tower with the red roof that led to a small plastic slide. The kids used to climb the ladder to the tower and then slide down the slide. Sometimes they would play in the tower for a while. I think Clare even slept in the tower one year — she certainly used to sit there and read or draw. Under the tower was a sandbox, that more recently, has become the neighborhood litter box for outdoor cats, but used to occupy Clare and Andrew for hours. Dean talked about buying a Danish flag for the roof because the roof was red and my ancestors are from Denmark. We never did buy that flag.

Now, the place that held our swing set is an empty, muddy void. In a few seasons the grass will cover the place where the swingset once sat and only our memories and a few photos will remind us that it once stood there.

This is the most recent in a long list of reminders that my kids are getting older — that I am getting older. The first might have been when I finally gave away my maternity clothes and then parted with most of the kids’ baby clothes and the crib — no more babies for me. Then tricycles made way for bicycles. And so on — up until taking our daughter to college. I used to hate it when people reminded me how fast childhood goes because at the time it didn’t seem to go fast at all. Sometimes it positively dragged. But those people were right. Childhood — and life itself — goes fast.

That said, I’m not exactly going to miss the swing set — I miss the kids that used to play on the swing set. Now, who wants a trampoline?

[Show as slideshow]

One of the hardest aspects of the relationship is that of authority figure. I’m pretty sure that, from a very young age, I rebelled against authority figures — except I was too shy to rebel in front of anyone other than my family, so most of that rebellion manifested itself into rage at home when I was not given my way or disciplined in anyway. I had temper tantrums and screaming fits. I once picked up a pile of newspapers and as I went to fling them on top of a brand new dining room table realized that something very heavy was among the papers. I flung them anyway and put a dent in that table that is there to this day.

My mom wasn’t all that strict. In fact she was pretty lenient. I was a “good” kid for the most part, except for the tantrums at home. There were times, however that she put her foot down — or at least made suggestions that made me uncomfortable. Like the time she thought I should talk to the popular kids that were in the same store as we were. Or the time that she suggested I stop by the office at school to see if anyone turned in my lost purse that held my retainer because I’d lost so many retainers we were going to have to pay for the next one. I remember the feeling I had about those experiences. My chest felt tight, my throat closed up. I clenched my teeth and fists. My breathing quickened. I was mad. I didn’t want to talk to Laura Holtz. I’d already asked at the office about my lost purse. I didn’t need suggestions. I just needed to be left alone.

I don’t have temper tantrums much anymore. I still occasionally “lose it”, but not like the old days. I still have trouble with authority figures though. Basically, I don’t like being told what to do — especially if I was already planning on doing it or if I had reasons for not doing it. I also have trouble when I’m questioned about an action. I guess in that case I get defensive.

I don’t usually have trouble taking orders from someone who employs me. I try to do the job I’m given. I never had much trouble with teachers or professors — I expected assignments and did them.  The authority figures I have the most trouble with are the ones that one day are my friend or associate and the next day are president of the PTA or a neighborhood or not-for profit-board member for whom I do some odd (volunteer) jobs. I have trouble when they give me assignments — or micromanage whatever tasks I’ve taken upon myself — especially if I’ve been doing it alone for years and they come in and want to change things. Sometimes, even,  my anger can rise when a friend (or my husband) seems to be taking over something I’ve planned.

The anger is the same as what I felt when my mom would make suggestions. And I find myself thinking in a rebellious teenage voice, You Can’t Tell Me What To Do. You’re Not My Mother!

I never do say that aloud, but I don’t always handle it well either. Sometimes I explain my reasoning. Sometimes I reply angrily. Mostly I say nothing, take a deep breath and move on although occasionally I tweet about it or make it my Facebook status.

My mother and me 1965

Last night I dreamed I was going to be the 103 lb wrestler for my son’s wrestling team in a tournament. For some reason (the snows perhaps) the rules of who could wrestle for the team were relaxed so that the parent of a wrestler could fill in for another wrestler. Even in the dream I must have realized how wrong this was — and not only because it’s been 10 years since I was 103 lbs — because I reasoned with myself that I was just a filler. There was no way I’d win the match.

Anyway as I was getting ready to leave with Dean and Andrew, my mom walked into the room and said she was going to go too — that she’d missed so many wrestling meets this year.

It is not unusual for my mom to pop up in a dream. When I dream of being at home (meaning my current home) the house is often the house in which I grew up and my mom is always there. She’s often in dreams in which I dream of my husband and children.

I think I’ve known this for a long time, but never wanted to admit it, but when my mom is in those dreams she is me. Even if I am in the dream, I think my mother represents me. She’s usually doing the right thing, while the other me is goofing around or as in last night’s dream, trying to get the scale to work while everyone is waiting in the car to go to the tournament. In the dream from last night she made the decision to not make dinner, but to pick it up on the way — and if I need to cut weight could eat the sandwich after weighing in.

I think she is the authority figure in the dreams (I’ll write more about how I perceive authority figures in my life in a later post) but I don’t seem to have a problem with that — in dreams.

Today is my mom’s birthday. I’m glad she was going to be there to watch me wrestle, but luckily for the team and me, I woke up before I even got to the tournament.

[And just so you know -- Mom's alive and well and even on Facebook]

Andrew made plans to go sledding with some friends before he went to an unofficial wrestling practice at a local private school that didn’t have a snow day. I was out shopping for food for book group so didn’t see him when he got back from sledding, but when I did get home I passed his computer and saw what was on the monitor:

WebMD — symptoms of frostbite

I chuckled to myself thinking his hands probably got a little cold and thought it was frostbite.

Later when Dean got home I told him about the search Andrew had done and he thought the same thing I did.

Then Andrew got home and I asked him which part of his body did he think was frostbitten. He took off his shoe and showed me his foot. It had large black patches on it. He said that when he saw his foot and Googled frostbite the article mentioned blackness.

I think I must have gotten shrill as I made plans to rush him to the emergency room. Dean suggested we call a doctor. I was about to find the telephone number when someone — Andrew maybe? or perhaps Dean — realized that if he really did have frostbite he would be in a lot of pain.

Then I remembered that when I came back from shopping I tripped over his shoes. His wet shoes. His wet BLACK shoes.

Of course Andrew had already figured this out.

Kids!

But the times that we do happen to be in the same room at the same time are wonderful and we’ve caught up on each other’s lives nicely.

There are some things I don’t like about her being back though. One is the slight worry I have when she’s out at night. When she’s at school we don’t know what she’s doing, and therefore don’t worry; but when she’s here we feel her absence when she’s out. Also I hear the door open when she gets home at 2 or later.

One night, soon after she came home, she called to say she’d be late getting home. I woke up sometime after 2 and eventually heard her come in. Knowing she was home safely,  I fell asleep again.

I was rudely awakened by Dean, slamming doors and loudly exclaiming how upset he was that Clare had not come home. I got up and helped look for her, telling Dean I’d heard her come home. He was angry with her for blatantly disobeying her 2:00 curfew. We called her cell phone and I called her roommate’s cell phone. I was getting ready to call the mother of one of her friends — someone she’d been out with the night before, but didn’t want to call too early. I figured she’d come home and went out again for a good reason — maybe her roommate or friend needed someone to talk to.

I really was not worried until Dean noticed she had not taken her winter coat, wallet or shoes. He also thought he could hear her cell phone when he called it. I switched from calm to frantic, sure that someone had come in the house at night and taken her away. I walked to Dean who was in the laundry room and decided to call the mother of that friend — too early or not. I looked down as I walked past the catch-all closet in the basement and saw a fragment of my bathrobe — which she’d been wearing lately. I opened the door of the closet and found Clare asleep on the floor of the closet, covered in blankets and a Snugli and wearing my bathrobe.

She opened her eyes, looked at me and said, “I slept in the closet. I left you a note.”

We found the note a little later, words scribbled at the bottom of a pencil drawing in her sketchpad next to the basement couch.

Clare's napping in the closet for a change. Don't freak.

]]> http://dponline.org/weblog/2010/01/11/dont-freak-the-joys-of-parenthood/feed/ 9 http://dponline.org/weblog/2009/11/09/happy-100th-birthday-grandma-green/ http://dponline.org/weblog/2009/11/09/happy-100th-birthday-grandma-green/#comments Mon, 09 Nov 2009 15:29:52 +0000 Dona http://dponline.org/weblog/?p=2222

Happy Birthday Grandma Green

Today marks the 100th anniversary of my Grandma Green’s birth. I’ll celebrate by making macaroni & cheese and tuna fish for dinner because we discovered that taste treat together when I stayed with her in Chetek, Wisconsin one summer. I’ll also make banana milkshakes because she and I used to drink those and play cribbage. I’m not sure cribbage is in the plan for tonight, but you never know.

I wrote about Grandma Green last year on her birthday, so check that post out for more.

She had a huge influence on my life and I’m grateful for every moment I spent with her. I think about her often, and always with love.

Happy Birthday Grandma. I love you.

Here are some photos of her life:

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