Pasta Bowl

I woke up yesterday with every intention of spending one of our final days of summer vacation at the pool. In my mind I had envisioned a fabulous picnic lunch followed by hours of splashing and playing in the cool water. Unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate with my vision, providing dreary skies and cold rain.

Robby was content watching Scooby Doo all morning, but I quickly grew restless. This is his final week of vacation, and I wanted to do something. Anything would be better than watching the teenagers chase yet another ghost, only to uncover that it was really a man with elaborate make-up in the final minutes of the show. Don't get me wrong I have nothing against the Mystery Gang, but six episodes is my limit! I was going stir crazy and needed to get out of the house.

Wanting to do something fun but lacking the energy to embark on anything too complicated, I finally decided that we should go out for lunch. Robby has been bugging us to go to the Olive Garden ever since he saw the advertisement for the "never ending pasta bowl." He jumped off the couch and dressed himself in record time when I revealed our plans. Who would have thought that going to Olive Garden would produce such excitement?

I could not have asked for a more handsome lunch date! He ordered the unlimited pasta by himself, telling the waitress that he "had a man's appetite, so he hoped that she had a lot of bowls because he was going to eat a lot."  The waitress chuckled and obviously did not take him seriously. When she brought out his third serving, I think it occurred to her that he wasn't joking!

My little pasta monster and I spent nearly two hours at Olive Garden, eating and talking. Much of the conversation revolved around his new school and the adventures that he was going to have this year. Although it wasn't a terribly active day, I thoroughly enjoyed just sitting and chatting with Robby.

I realize that in a few years sitting and chatting with me will be a rarity, so I plan on taking full advantage of the opportunity when it arises. We sat, ate and laughed in our little booth at the Olive Garden. The Summer of Awesome might be coming to a close, but plans for the Fantastically Fun Fall are already in the works!

The Verdict...

As a Mom, I want to shield Robby from unpleasant experiences. When he is frightened or upset, I immediately want to comfort him. While I know that working through these emotions is a part of growing up, it is difficult to suppress my instinct to rescue him.

Yesterday was Robby's orientation to his new school, and we were both excited and nervous about the plans for the day. I did my best to stress the positive and mask my apprehensions, so by the time I parked the car in the school parking lot, my little guy hopped out of the car and eagerly ran towards the door.

Unfortunately, that was the extent of his excited bravery. As soon as we entered, he became shy and quiet, unsure of just about everything. I hate seeing him so scared!

I had planned on staying through the orientation, but his teacher felt it best for me to leave. Although I know that she was correct and that he would come out of his shell more quickly without my presence, it was hard walking out the door.  

I went home and tried to convince myself that he was probably having a great time. I mindlessly ate half a jar of peanuts, flipped through the television channels, and tried to take a nap. Time seemed to move at a snail's pace!

Robby looked so scared when I left that I wasn't sure what to expect when I returned to pick him up. I found him seated at a table with new friends, coloring and chatting. He flashed me a huge smile, gathered his belongings and told his classmates that he would see them next week. As we walked to the car he declared that he loved the new school and that he couldn't wait to go everyday!

There is no doubt that the orientation was more difficult for me than Robby. I sat and worried about him the entire day. He spent the hours playing flag football, making new friends, and happily working on art projects. I am so happy that he likes his new school. Hopefully we won't shed anymore tears over school!

Orientation Day!

Robby does not start school officially until next Tuesday, but today is a very big day in our house. This morning he will be going to his new school for a student orientation day. He will meet his teacher and classmates, spend time in his classroom, and walk through his daily schedule. He is excited about meeting new friends and is delighted that there are more boys in his class. Last year he was one of two boys. After the fiasco at his former school concerning my prosthesis, I'm elated that we are going to a new school!

Although he is excited, we are admittedly both a tinge nervous. After all, it's hard going some place completely new. Although we're both apprehensive about the change, we are trying to remember the positive. The fact that Robby has already met his teacher has been helpful in alleviating his jitters.  I know that he is enrolled in a fantastic school and that he will thrive, and I'm actively reminding myself of this whenever I become worried, which lately has been quite frequent.

My friends and family often joke with me because I utterly detest change. While I admittedly become comfortable and don't like to alter my routine, my fears don't keep me from experiencing new opportunities. I just walk into change fully voicing my concerns and worries to anybody who will listen!

Robby takes after me because he has been extremely expressive about his new school concerns. He is worried about making friends, about the quality of the lunches and snacks, and about the lengths of his recesses. Notice he is not the least bit concerned about academics. Scott and I have spent hours talking about his new school, reminding him of all the wonderful attributes and adventures that he will experience. He is excited but still worried about the unknown. I am hopeful that today's orientation will go a long way towards calming his nerves. And mine.

Wish us luck. This is a big day!

A Special Birthday!

This past weekend we were invited to a special birthday party. Robby has been looking forward to this celebration for the past month, circling the date in yellow on our calendar the moment I told him about the invitation. Although I am typically not fond of large celebrations with people whom I don't know, the guest of honor (along with the promise of cupcakes) made our attendance a given. After all, we couldn't pass up celebrating the 100th birthday of Jethro--the beloved tortoise at the Animal Park!

Knowing that it was finally party day, Robby woke up early on Saturday. After thoroughly debating on the appropriate gift for a 100 year old turtle, Robby and I agreed that romaine lettuce would be perfect. I have to admit that I pushed this option primarily because I knew we had it in the refrigerator. I wasn't terribly keen on shopping for a turtle present at 7:00 on a Saturday morning! In lieu of gift wrap we tied some carrot greens around the bundle and created a make-shift bow. With our gift ready, we piled into the car and headed to the Animal Park for the party.

Robby was all giggles during the drive, chatting about Jethro's birthday as well as the invitation's promise of games and cupcakes. Eager to give the Birthday Tortoise his gift, Robby and Scott sprinted to the entrance gate, leaving me to gather the camera, water bottles and passes. As I finally made my way towards the entrance, I heard Robby squeal with delight. He came running towards me, grabbed my hand and excitedly pulled me towards the hole in the fence. I peeked through and saw that Jethro was sporting a birthday hat for the special day.

The Zoo Keeper gave Robby a birthday hat to wear (yellow of course) and let him into the pen so that he could give Jethro his gift. Robby was proud as he could be giving the imposingly large tortoise the carrot wrapped lettuce. To his delight Jethro immediately began munching. After singing Happy Birthday we headed over to place our bets for the turtle races. Robby and I decided to cover our bases, so he picked Speedy (the small turtle) and I picked Zippy (the larger turtle). We figured that either way we would win.

The "track" was approximately four feet long, with the lanes separated by a piece of wood. There was a crowd of at least 50 people when the turtle race began. Robby wiggled his way to the front and assumed his position next to Speedy's lane. As soon as the flag waved he began to enthusiastically cheer for his little reptilian friend.  I just love his unabashed enthusiasm!

Fast forward 45 minutes and the turtles were still "racing."  The crowded whittled down to Robby, Scott, me, and the Zoo Keeper, who seemed to be second thinking the turtle race activity. Undeterred, Robby was still encouraging and rooting on Speedy (who was the surefire winner since Zippy had crawled into his shell and had fallen asleep about a foot from the start line.)  Anxious to put the race in the record books, and sensing that she was not going to be able to just pick up the turtles without declaring a clear winner, the Zoo Keeper moved and baited the finish line with a chunk of watermelon. In case you are wondering, Speedy won the race after traversing a distance of 3 feet in a mere 55 minutes.  

We spent the next hour visiting all of our animal friends and playing on the playground. Although there was a large turn out for the birthday celebration, I doubt anybody was more excited than Robby. After all, you can't go wrong with turtles and cupcakes!

Stop Comparing, Just Listen

I have come to the unfortunate conclusion that people have lost the ability to listen. It's easy to hear words, but listening to somebody is a skill that is becoming increasingly rare in today's society. Technology offers us "quick fixes" to just about every problem. If you are hungry you just need to log on and order a pizza which will be delivered to your door within 30 minutes. There is no need to speak to another person throughout the transaction, keeping human interactions to the bare minimum.

Although technology has made our lives easier, there is no replacement for a personal interaction. Inflections, facial expressions, and a gesture as simple as a hug cannot be replicated through a keyboard. It feels like the immediacy and anonymity of the internet has relegated the ability to converse to a fading art form. People just don't seem to know how to talk with each other, what to say, and more importantly, when to listen.

A friend of mine is preparing to conduct her first peer visit since becoming an amputee. I am excited for her because I clearly remember talking with her when she lost her leg several years ago. Now she is able to pay it forward by mentoring somebody on their journey. It is wonderful to see her come full circle. Preparing for her visit, she asked for advice. She has the experience and compassion to be able to help anybody, but I did offer one reminder: when doing a peer visit, or even when listening to a friend who is struggling with their own demons, it is imperative to do more listening than talking.

Whenever I am meeting with a new amputee or a soon-to-be amputee, I try to keep my input and experiences to a minimum. It's a bit of a dance between trying to offer enough information so that the individual feels validated and knows that I am experienced without trying to outdo them. Sometimes volumes can be communicated by my speaking few words. I am not there to compare experiences, war stories or emotional and physical scars. I am there to offer support. I've learned that my saga does not need to be revealed and that offering too much personal information can often derail the visit.

Let's face it, when you are upset and confiding in a friend, the last thing you want to hear is a tale about how they endured more than you. Nobody likes to be one upped, and it is especially detrimental when you are already upset and feeling scared. During my initial interactions, it doesn't matter how many surgeries I've had or what diseases I have survived. The visit is about listening to the new friend and providing information, resources, and assurances that they are not alone. They want to be validated, not outdone. They don't need to be burdened with the mentor's story.

The moment phrases such as, "I know exactly what you mean, my doctors had never dealt with my unique situation before" or "Well, if you think that is bad, wait until you hear what I went through" are uttered, the visit will fail. The mentor needs to spend more time listening than comparing notes. After all, nobody wants to be one-upped in the problem department!

Not WonderWoman!

Like many of my female friends, I have tried to be proactive about personal safety. I've taken self-defense for women courses and even achieved my yellow belt in karate, the result of my ill-planned scheme to meet men when I was single. I would like to think that my preparations have only fortified my instinct to fight and defend myself. Apparently I was wrong. A few nights ago, I discovered that my response to be scared would be more embarrassing than valiant.

I woke up around 3 AM parched from another afternoon spent swimming in the sun. I laid in bed for a few minutes, debating whether or not I was thirsty enough to put on my leg and amble to the kitchen and back. Only after rationalizing that I would fall asleep faster if my thirst were quenched did I decide that it was worth the effort, and I put on my leg and not so daintily tip-toed to the kitchen.

I thought Scott was still sound asleep when I walked back into the bedroom, but apparently he had woken to use the bathroom. He walked out of the bathroom at the same time I was walking in front of that door. Still groggy and now fully awake, I was surprised when I saw him.

I remember Scott mumbling, "Hello" and looking at me. After standing frozen and unresponsive for what I'm told is three or four seconds, my natural instinct kicked in: I stood perfectly still and screamed. Then my knees went out and I fell to the floor where I curled into the fetal position and began to cry. I am not sure when it happened, but by the time I calmed down I was lying in an unexpected puddle. 

Schlepping the carpet cleaner out of the laundry room in the morning, I felt demoralized and humiliated. I wish that I had the gumption and courage to defend if necessary, but apparently that is not my response. Despite my plans and best intentions, my "fighting" instinct  apparently dissolves into a puddle of my own urine. So much for being a great protector!

Walking on Eggshells.

Scott has started back to school which means that I have been on full-time Mommy duty. Robby, who had been sleeping until 7:30 during the summer, is suddenly awake and ready for adventure at 6:00 AM. By the time the sun is setting, he is still going strong and I'm exhausted. I wish I had his energy!

I am fairly certain that Scott and I hate his first week back to work although our reasons are probably entirely different. He becomes bored in what I dub the "I believe that children are our future" meetings which monopolize his schedule during these first in-service days. I used to love teaching, but I don't miss the mandatory meetings! This year I decided to give Scott a back-to-school present and loaded Hotspot Shield onto his smart phone. This way he can log onto the school's wireless network and discretely surf the internet without being blocked. Needless to say, this simple gesture propelled me into the strata of "World's Best Wife." 

I detest the first few weeks of Scott's school year because my husband becomes grumpy and short tempered when his summer vacation closes. I realize that he's tired and is trying to adjust to a new schedule. I also understand that the required meetings are dreadfully frustrating and exhausting. I've learned through the years that I can't change his mood and that it is best to go into stealth mode by trying to stay out of his way and allowing him plenty of room to decompress without putting undo demands on him. I am always walking on egg shells for the last few weeks of August. Let's be honest, I've never been adept at walking lightly!

Perhaps the most pertinent and difficult adjustment is experienced by Robby. He misses his Daddy dearly when he is at work. I know that his days will soon be occupied by school and friends, but in the meantime he quickly becomes sad because Scott isn't here. Two or three times every hour he asks if his Daddy is coming home from work yet. I understand his being anxious, but if I hear "When is Daddy coming home" one more time I might pull out my hair. 

Because I don't have anybody to watch him, Robby has been relegated to accompanying me on my appointments. He sits and plays on the IPad until I'm done with my meetings, never making a peep. I know that this isn't a lot of fun for him, but I have been so proud of how well he has been behaving when he is forced to come in tow.  When my work is done, usually by 12:00, I try to do something fun with him, so although it hasn't been terribly hot, we've been spending our afternoons at the pool. Apparently cool temperatures and frigid water don't stop my little water bug!

Scott has off today and tomorrow, but will resume his meetings on Friday. I know that the next week will be difficult, so I'm going to just try to enjoy the next two days. The Summer of Awesome will continue, at least for a few more days.