Cotillion

Despite rather vocal protests and pleas from Robby, I signed him up for Cotillion classes. While he is not happy now, I firmly believe that he will be grateful for both the experience and the knowledge when he is older.  Scott and I both believe that pairing social skills with proper etiquette will give Robby a competitive advantage, both professionally and personally, when he is older. An intelligent and kind young man with impeccable manners is a strong combination.

A strict dress code is enforced for the classes which forced us to go shopping for a suit jacket, dress pants and nice shoes. Robby, impressed by the texture and sheen, immediately picked the dark blue velour suit jacket. I vetoed his selection, directing him towards more traditional attire. He then chose a black suit. I reminded him that black was typically reserved for funerals, and suggested that he go with navy instead. He lobbied hard for the black suit, claiming that Cotillion was close enough to a funeral to make it appropriate. I'm so glad that he is embracing this experience with an open mind.

Last night Robby had his first Cotillion class, and needless to say the preparations were less than graceful. He complained about having to attend, whined about the suit that he was being "forced" to wear, and lamented about the time wasted that he would "never get back in his whole life." By the time he left for class I was even more assured in my decision that he needed this experience. In fact, he was so frustrating that part of me was smiling as he walked out the door, slightly gleeful in the fact that he was going to be uncomfortable for the next two hours. 

Upon arriving, the instructors asked Robby if he was nervous. He confirmed that he was feeling scared and uncomfortable. The instructors, probably hopping onto the "teachable moment," asked Robby what he usually did when he was feeling uncomfortable in social situations. Without missing a beat, and obviously without thinking much about his current situation, he responded.  "Well, usually when I'm feeling nervous around people I just like to imagine them pooping. Thinking about it. You can't be scared of anybody if you think about what they look like sitting on the toilet." 

Yep, that was my kid's first interaction at Cotillion. He informed his instructor that he was imagining her having a bowel movement. Well, at least he made an impression? 

After his not so delicate first impression, Robby was able to rebound and quickly found his stride. He spent the class learning how to escort a lady, how to properly sit in a chair and how to do the Fox Trot. He was paired with a girl who immediately relaxed when my little fashionista complimented the velvet texture of her dress jacket. He then proceeded to fill her in on his shopping saga, complete with my refusal to purchase the velour jacket he chose. Apparently she took his side and agreed that the textured jacket would be nice, and that if he wore one that they would be better dance partners because they match.

Sigh. I guess I'm going back to the store this week for the jacket that could only appeal to a ten year old. On the positive side, he no longer equates Cotillion to going to a funeral. I'll take that as progress.

Election Overload

I cannot wait for this election cycle to come to a close. I used to love politics. In fact, in college I was known as "Political Peggy" because of my love of debating the issues and candidates. With time my passion has mellowed. A combination of maturity and frustration has led me to avoid political discussions. Too often, what used to be understood to be friendly banter now quickly escalates to vicious personal attacks. There is so much negativity in the world, I don't feel the need to invite more into my life with political discussions.

I still feel passionately about the issues, but I no longer feel the need to explain or debate my stances with anybody. I have learned that, just as I am set in my beliefs, others are as confident in their viewpoints. Arguing statistics, nuances and platforms becomes an exercise in frustration for everybody involved. Instead of changing political views, these discussions are now more likely to result in hurt feelings and fractured relationships.

This election cycle has been repugnant. The nonstop coverage has been flooding everybody with a level of negativity that I am sure is unhealthy. It feels like everybody is on edge and in a bad mood. I have yet to meet anybody who is enjoying this election.

As a Mom, I resent the fact that I have been forced to explain crass terminology to my ten year old boy. Not only did we have to sit him down and explain why he shouldn't use the term he was mimicking from television, but we were forced to explain why somebody in a prominent position of respect would choose to utilize such language. Thankfully Scott took the lead and succinctly told Robby that he shouldn't disrespect anybody, regardless of the situation or location. Scott calmly explained to our son that demeaning an individual, or a group of people, only makes the speaker look uneducated. He continued by explaining that we send him to a good school so that he can learn a variety of ways to communicate and to express himself. Reverting to crude descriptors does a disservice not only to himself but to his teachers and family.

I suppose the only upside of this exposure has been the opportunity to enlighten Robby about the longevity of his words and his communication choices. Without the constant bombardment on our television, we probably would not have had the discussion about crude and demeaning language. Hopefully we will be able to skate through the next few weeks without anymore conversation prompts from current events.

Learn from My (Stubborn) Mistake

Looking for a silver lining has been difficult, but I think I finally managed to locate one. Between the bed bug feasting on my extremities and Timmy being ill, the past three weeks have been considerably different than our norm. I have been forced to slow down and take it easy. Instead of running around and shuffling between activities and play areas, we have been playing quietly at home. While I certainly miss interacting with the world and I'm feeling stir crazy tethered at home, my limb has been able to finally heal from the sores that developed from both the bites and an ill fitting socket. 

I have been dealing with limb sores for almost a year. The sores have fluctuated from being open and oozing blisters to merely raised reminders of an abrasion that has finally closed. Over the past year, the pain has also varied between nagging discomfort to excruciating agony as my leg rubbed with each step. Despite my trying just about every topical remedy recommended (and a few that I invented on my own), the sores never completely healed.

With our schedule drastically impacted over the past three weeks, my leg has finally healed. The skin over the sore has completely healed and the area is no longer tender. I don't have to stop to adjust my socket when I'm walking, and my skin is intact when I remove my liner at the end of the day. Finally, after a year I feel like my leg is healthy and back to normal!

I knew that complete healing would require my slowing down and minimizing my prosthetic use. Of course that is easier said than done, especially when I am chasing around a toddler all day.  Admittedly, my refusing to let my leg issues dictate my activities was a detrimental choice. If I could turn back the clock and take better care of my leg when the sores first presented, I would make different decisions. Please learn from my stubborn mistake: slow down and allow yourself to completely heal before continuing with heavy prosthetic use. I know that it is both inconvenient and frustrating, but having a healthy limb is worth the sacrifice.

Countdown

I shudder to admit that yesterday was not my best day. My morning began battling with my snarky little tween. He felt that he could continue to play a video game in his underwear while I had the audacity to insist that he put on pants and get ready for school.  After the epic pant battle, my day continued to spiral downward. 

Timmy, while feeling much better, is not nearly as healthy as he would like to think. He continues to cough when he runs, and fatigues easily. At one point in the afternoon I was convinced that it would be easier to teach our three-legged cat how to tap dance than it was to convince Timmy to take it easy. The task is itself is ridiculously impossible.  Much of my day was spent running after Timmy, catching him only when he coughed or fatigued, and holding him until he was rested enough to resume the chaos.  His refusal to take a nap only served to exacerbate his fatigue and to further sour his disposition.

I found myself looking at the clock and mentally counting down until his bedtime. That in and of itself isn't unusual. The fact that I started my countdown at 10 AM is was probably not the best sign.

Hopefully today will be better.

Sick Ward

As predicted, this weekend was spent with me playing nurse Momom. I had to take Timmy to the doctor on Friday when his fever rose to 105 degrees. He was quickly diagnosed with both strep and double ear infections, and prescribed a new antibiotic. I brought my sick little Hamlet home and tucked him into the blow up mattress in the living room. It is hard seeing him so sick!

Friday evening Robby logged off his computer, looked at me and said that he didn't feel well. He had a fever and complained of a sore throat. I wasn't terribly surprised that he finally caught his brother's bug, but I certainly wish that he had been able to dodge the infection. He spent the majority of the weekend either watching TV or YouTube videos, taking Tylenol for his fever and napping. (Definitely not like my little Koopa!)

Scott and I divided our efforts between caring for the boys who were holed up in separate rooms of the house. While Timmy had a confirmed diagnosis of strep, we were still hopeful that it hadn't progressed as far with Robby.  Scott was the only one to venture outside, running numerous trips both to the pharmacy and the grocery store for sick kid supplies. (As a side observation, a bottle of Children's Tylenol does not last long when a 10 year old is taking the recommended dose.)

By Sunday afternoon both boys were feeling better. Timmy's fever had broken, and he was demonstrating short bouts of energy. Robby continued to run a low grade fever through the day but complained less about pain in his throat. We are going to decide today if a trip to the pediatrician is in order. Hopefully both boys will continue to improve and I can retire from nurse duties.  I miss my happy and healthy kids!