Oscar and Alyssa (part 1)

Last night, as Paul and I were scrambling to get dinner on the table, the phone rang.  We didn't have to look, we knew who it was.

"Oscar!" Paul shouted, "that's probably Alyssa*! You should answer it!"

Alyssa is Oscar's girlfriend. They met in the hallway outside their classroom on the first day of middle school way back in August.  Oscar had been standing there smiling awkwardly at his new classmates when Alyssa came bounding around the corner.  Her brown curly hair and wide grin immediately captured his attention.  Oscar turned to her with a smile, stuck out his hand and said "Hi, I'm Oscar" just like we'd practiced in the days leading up to the start of school.  Alyssa smiled back brightly, her sparkly brown eyes locking with his. 

"Mom, mom, I have big news!" he said as he got in the car that afternoon, looking sideways over at Ruby.  He didn't want her to hear, but he couldn't contain his excitement.  His eyebrows danced and his lips were clamped shut to prevent him from blurting out the news. We were still in the school parking lot when he couldn't hold it any longer.

"I have a crush!" he whispered.  "I'll show you when we get home, she gave me notes!" Sure enough, his backpack was full of heart-and-flower-laced love notes and Alyssa had scrawled her phone number at the bottom of one in red crayon.  

Oscar's had many crushes before, starting in kindergarten, but he's never admitted it, despite our endless probing and teasing. Last year he would blush whenever Kaley* came near him and he started standing so close to her in PE that his aide and teacher intervened.  But he never admitted that he liked her.  So it was rather curious for him to announce at the end of the first day of 6th grade at a new school, that he already had a crush.

I had to learn more.

(To be continued)


*Names changed, of course!

"S" is for Siblings (Write On, Mamas!)

I'm over at Write On, Mamas! today with the "S" post in the A-Z blog campaign. Be sure to check out all the letters of the alphabet and poke around the site a bit.  You will love the writing and the clever photographs that accompany each letter.

I finally joined Write On, Mamas! a year ago when my then new friend J practically dragged me. J won't remember it that way - she'll just remember me asking to carpool with her or something.  She didn't know then that every few months I'd pull up the website for the previous incarnation of WOM and think about emailing the coordinator.  I did a lot of thinking. I never emailed.  I never went to a meeting. But now I stake out those Sundays, leave my family in the midst of important Sunday afternoon activities (like baseball watching and weed pulling) and get myself over to Marin.  I find a spot at a table and I write, surrounded by other mamas just trying to get some words on the page.  After an hour or so we pull our chairs together for announcements, and then we are joined by our guest speaker. Last month we were treated to a panel of our own members sharing thoughts on building a platform.  And we also cheered on a few writers who auditioned for Lit Crawl in October.  I was blown away by the writing, and also by how much writing these women squeeze in between all the mothering and, in many cases, working.  I refuse to consider what took me so long.  I'm just glad I finally got there!

Oscar's Business

A few days ago a friend contacted me on facebook - she'd heard Oscar had started a dog walking and cat sitting business and wanted to know if he was free this weekend.

"Oscar!" I called to the other room. "Word is getting around! You have another request for cat sitting."

Oscar came out of his room, sporting a wide-eyed grin.  But when he spotted me sitting on the couch, smiling broadly, he narrowed his eyes and studied my expression. I knew what he was thinking - it sounded too good to be true, and this is exactly the kind of joke I'd play on him.

"Wait, Mom," he said, "are you joking?"  A giggle erupted from between his lips.  I'm not sure if he was laughing because he'd thought he'd caught me in a fib, or because he might actually have a new cat customer.  I burst out laughing too which made it only harder to convince him I wasn't teasing this time.

For years now the family has been bugging me to agree to a dog. Or a hamster.  Or a gerbil. (No one has ever begged for a cat, but that might change now!) And then a few months ago money-obsessed Oscar got the idea to start a dog-walking business.  He could earn money for his future* and get to spend time with dogs. He was downright giddy about this plan and spent weeks on his flier, working on slogans and strategies with a few super patient adults at Abe's baseball games.  We took this picture of him with one baseball friend's dog to use on the flier.  Adding cat-sitting to the flier was a last minute decision but has landed Oscar three jobs already.

I had an aha moment during this whole process.  Since Oscar was born we've tried to find ways to help him lead a fun and interesting life, doing the things his peers would do.  It took a year to learn to ride a bike, but now we can go on family rides.  Recently, with help from Abe and Ruby, he's learned to play a few board games, and can sustain a game with a friend without a huge meltdown.  So, I finally realized, just because he can't walk a dog by himself or handle a cat-sitting job alone doesn't mean he shouldn't get to do it at all.  We just have to help him.

This weekend Oscar cleaned out the litter box, re-filled water and food bowls, and played with my friend's two cats.  I saw him working on so many new skills.  When he spilled water it took him a few moments to realize he needed to clean it up, and then went in search of a paper towel, all without consulting me.  When one cat was wary of him he sat on the floor next to her hiding place and talked gently to her.  He learned how to engage them with their toys, something that doesn't come as easily to a kid with compromised social skills.  And then tonight I had him dictate an email to my friend with a summary of the weekend.  He struggled with articulating his thoughts but finally managed a heartfelt note.

None of this has changed my mind about getting pets of our own right now (sorry kiddos!), but it did make me realize that these jobs are far more than "just" indulging Oscar's interests and helping him save for the future. 


*Oscar's future dreams include getting a degree in zoology, marrying his girlfriend, buying a big house, having three children and five dogs, and purchasing and running a zoo.  (Helping him reconcile these dreams with a more realistic future will undoubtedly be one of the most challenging aspects of parenting we'll face.  But we'll figure it out, right?)

Finding My Way Back...

I've been trying to find my way back here for months. Yes, months.   But it's so hard (for me and my compulsive nature) to jump back in without relating every minute detail since last June when I fell off the blogosphere.  

Last June.  Last June when Oscar graduated from our amazing school, he in his giraffe tie, me in my giraffe print dress.  Scenes still replay in my mind -- Oscar standing proudly while his teacher honored him, her voice cracking ever so slightly.  Oscar walking through the receiving line of teachers - every teacher since kindergarten - each one enveloping him in warm congratulatory hugs.

And then last August. Oscar's transition to his new school, complete with girlfriend, long but fun van ride commutes, just right curriculum, and thoughtful and talented staff.   I'm still in the "pinch-me" phase. How did we get so lucky, again?  

And the time he played a joke on me, the kind I always play on him.  Oscar made up some fantastical story and tried to get me to believe it, and then burst into giggles when he realized he'd succeeded.

And the hard stuff too.  A couple of months of digestion related stomach pain, sometimes so severe that he couldn't sleep at night and spent hours curled up on the cushions at school.  The time we (and by "we" I mean Paul) piggybacked him down the mountain on skis because we'd way overestimated his mental and physical stamina.  And the time, just last week, right after I returned from a big trip, that he was so outraged that I'd caught him in a lie that he tantrummed for two hours -- screaming, pacing, stomping, ranting until he was so exhausted he climbed in to bed to rest and didn't emerge for yet another hour, still fuming.  It was terrible, but I can already tease him about how at one point he yanked open his bedroom door and screamed:

"See, THIS is why I don't miss you when you're gone!!" 

And I didn't even get to those other two rascally kids who live in this house.  There was so much to write about these past months and I poured most of it out in my Tuesday morning writing group and left it there, raw and ignored.

But those stories will come out. I just need to get started again, right?

Right. 

The Play

Oscar is graduating from fifth grade TOMORROW and I'm hell-bent on writing about these days, these last days of Oscar at his elementary school.  Every time someone mentions graduation, tears pool on my lashes, my throat tingles and I feel my inner core start to dissolve.  

Pictures won’t be enough to capture and savor these precious moments.  So, this week, while I was frantically trying to find a special tie for Oscar to wear (preferably a giraffe tie), a dress for me to wear (wait till you see!), while I attended his last publishing party, helped him gather materials for Monday’s fourth grade vs fifth grade egg drop contest, and assembled pictures for his graduation tribute poster, I also did attend my writing group, compelled to write, to get these moments down.  Here’s what I wrote about the fifth grade play at last week’s writing group: 

Two weeks ago you performed in the fifth grade class play – three (three!) one-and-a-half-hour shows with countless transitions on and off the stage. Seven speaking lines!  I knew you played the bumble bee – I’d taken your black sweatshirt and wrapped the body with wide strips of yellow duct tape while you stood with your arms straight out to the sides and turned slowly so I could keep your stripes straight. I’d stolen one of Ruby’s headbands and twisted black and yellow pipe cleaners around it and glued a black pompom on the ends to make your antennae.  I’d practiced your lines with you over and over - at the baseball games, in the car on the way to school, and at the breakfast table - until you could say them without stumbling.  I figured you’d been assigned that part because the buzzing would mask your stuttering, which I thought was brilliant.  I didn’t know though that there were other animals in the play.  I thought you were the token one – that you’d been relegated to this role because you love animals and because it was all you could really manage. The entertaining side show -- a show I would thoroughly enjoy!

But I didn’t know that you also played a student and had many other non-speaking gestures and transitions to manage.  I didn’t know that you would hastily sit down when the “teacher” came on stage and snapped you all to attention. I didn't know you would keep your head down and pretend to scribble in your journal as if in writing class. I didn’t know that when you came back on stage as the bumble bee that you’d flap your hands down low next to your hips to imitate your wings. I didn’t know that your friends would gently touch your arm to prompt you if didn’t jump in right away with your line.  I didn’t know that you really could act!

I sat in my seat in the third row at that first show on Friday night and watched you walk onto the stage in that first scene.  I put my hand to my forehead to press away the tears of joy, just the way you did last month, after that marathon IEP, when I finally told you that you’d been accepted to that awesome school* for the Fall and that Daddy and I would do our very best to send you there for middle school.  (You were so confused by those happy tears – you’d only ever cried when you were sad and we stood there on the corner hugging, me crying too then.) 

On Friday, I pressed and pressed, just like you did, but I felt the tears prick at the corners of my eyes anyway, just the way they did at that musical performance back in kindergarten. Do you remember that performance? There you stood, up on the stage with your classmates.  Up on stage with your classmates! There was no adult helping you.  You mostly faced the audience.  Sometimes you sang!

Someone took a photo of Daddy and me watching that kindergarten you and I saw that photo this week while making your graduation poster.  Our eyes are shining, our cheeks are flushed, and our faces are lined with those wrinkles that appear when you are smiling through tears and trying not to sob. 

Over the years at this amazing school I’ve gotten used to you reaching farther than I thought possible.  I really didn’t think you could surprise me with the play. But you did, walking onto the stage like that on that Friday night.  Sure I noticed how you immediately scanned the audience, looking to see who was there and where we were sitting.  Integrating all that information is hard for you but you did it quickly and then switched back into your student role. “Middle School! What’ll it be like? What’ll it be like?” you sang with the rest of the “students”, clapping your hands and moving confidently across the stage to your next spot.

I looked around the audience then. Daddy smiled and wiped away a tear.  Somebody gently touched my shoulder. Someone else nodded to me with a smile.  I wasn’t the only one noticing how far you’ve come.  And then the tears flowed harder.  Just look at you!

* a small non-public school for kids with learning disabilities where all the therapies and structures are integrated into the curriculum and food security is already in place!