My son, AJ, is 10 years old. He is in the fifth grade.

Ashlynn Conner was 10 years old and in the fifth grade. Ashlynn’s mother reported that, last Thursday, Ashlynn came home from school and asked to be placed in homeschool because other children called her fat, a slut and bullied her constantly. Ashlynn’s mother declined, as most mother’s I know would. Unlike most mothers I know, she did not press the issue further. The following morning, Ashlynn’s sister found her hanging from a scarf in her closet.

I’m about to get judgmental and self-righteously angry. If that kind of behavior bothers you or you want to play the “no blame” game where the lives of children are concerned because the people who knew her are being punished enough right now, you should probably stop reading.

Ashlynn’s mother, Stacy, notes that Ashlynn had come home crying from school two weeks ago because kids were taunting her. She states that she “thought her kids were strong kids” implying that kids that can’t handle bullying are weak and that her own daughter, who committed suicide, wasn’t strong because she couldn’t handle what was coming at her because Stacy’s “guidance” should have been stronger than the constant barrage of nastiness coming at her at school. I want to challenge that statement with perhaps her daughter didn’t feel supported in any environment.

Stacy noted that kids both at school and in their neighborhood bullied Ashlynn and called her ugly and she hopes that Ashlynn’s story will prevent other kids from being bullied. What stopped this mother from preventing her own child from being bullied? What allowed her to step back and let kids in the neighborhood and in her school overtake adult sensibilities and prevent her from protecting her child in her learning environment, at the very least? How does allowing the death of her child to protect others absolve her from how very little she did to protect her child?

I understand Stacy is hurting. Never, in anything she tells the press, did anything she say indicate to me that she took any measure to protect her child. It takes a lot for a child to come to a parent begging to be removed from a school environment. I don’t pretend I know what kind of child Ashlynn Conner was. I don’t know if she was a dramatic child who overemphasized everything, but I highly doubt that there were no signs that this child was struggling, especially considering her mother admitted to them. There are national laws preventing bullying in school systems. Where was this child’s teacher? Where was this child’s school staff? Where was the communication between them and the parent? You can try to justify to me that a teacher has 30 students, but not every teacher in this child’s day had no time to notice what was going on if she was being called “fat,” “ugly,” and a “slut.”

Someone explain this to me, because I don’t understand why no one is being called on the inattention to her cries for help or the inaction by any adult in the life of this 10-year old child. On a personal note, my son left his last school, on the last day of school, with his school tshirt covered in black marker thanks to two bullies in his class. I immediately contacted his principal and informed him that the teacher was notified and she did nothing. I also let him know that she’d been notified that these two children had continued to bully my son throughout the year and she’d promised me that she was “taking care of it.” I was aware of the school bullying policy and the national laws regarding bullying and that he was welcome to call me to discuss it. That teacher was not asked back to teach this year.

This year, my son started school and one of those two children was in his class and immediately started the same issues. I contacted the teacher and stated that I would like a conference with her regarding this. Within 30 minutes of school starting the following morning, both boys were in the guidance office and the issue was fixed. I can’t discuss why the other boy bullies, as it has to do with his own personal issues, but he does not bully my son or the other children at that school anymore. I stepped in when his guardian wouldn’t due to her inattention or unwillingness because I have to protect MY child.

Being an interactive parent is one of the most important parts of parenting. There is no excuse for not being an interactive parent. I have as many irons in the fire as anyone I know, and if you read this blog, you understand why. I am as involved in my son’s life as I can be, even on the days where I don’t get home until it’s time for him to go to bed.

Not every parent has the proper skills for parenting. To me, that is not a get out of jail free card when you fail your children. It does not mean that you use your story as a warning to other parents to absolve yourself. It means you buck up and take the punishment when you fail them so miserably that you’ve caused neglect through inaction or death through negligence. Where were the school counselors? Where was the mental health help here?

Absolutely, use Ashlynn Conner’s death as a warning to other parents, but don’t let this slip into just another story we forget next week. Use it to promote better policies and procedures in school. Force interaction between staff and parents. Use it to promote outreach to parents on protocol when their child is bullied and for the sake of all this is good, parents and teachers, bullying is ZERO TOLERANCE. Don’t toe the line with it. Little bullies grow up to be big bullies.

Edit: Another 10 year old girl, this one from North Carolina, has hanged herself. Jasmine McClain hanged herself on Monday after being bullied badly in school and, apparently, on Facebook (it’s possible that the sheriff just noticed kids coming forward to comment on the abuse on Facebook). She had left her school for a while to escape the bullying, but returned a month ago. Her mother says she was “unaware that Jasmine was so tormented.” Again, in this situation, I have no idea how someone claims to be unaware after removing her child from school and only allowing her back last month. I’ve already backed my opinions up in the comments, though, so please read those if you would like to fricassee me for being upset with the mother in this case. If parents and school administration are not prompted at this point to take a hard stand about bullying TODAY, AT THIS INSTANT, then we as a society need to force the issue. ENOUGH. No one is allowed to claim ignorance about this anymore. No one is allowed to blame others. We must address this and it must happen now.

Also, I saw this while I was reading last night and I thought to myself, “If this is what our special needs kids are dealing with we need to flush out our schools completely and start over.”

Edit: 11/20/11 Excellent information on what a parent whose child is being bullied can do. I found this on Suicide Prevention Lifeline, which is an amazing website. Please go look around on there. They have warning signs, a pledge to stop bullying, and a few other things that are tied to this specific topic. Plus, they are a good site to have on hand with the rate of suicide in our country.

Edit: 12/16/11 Jerome Sattler, considered a founding father where school psychology is considered because he writes the books that are considered the “bibles” for the profession, has done a great public presentation on bullying/cyber bullying that I highly recommend. You can find it here at the psychology page for San Diego State University where he is a Psychology Professor.

Little league ended a couple of weeks ago, but I have been remiss in getting my thoughts on this down. Little league is no different than any other setting for children to display beautiful acts of compassion for others. One child on AJ’s team was lovingly nicknamed “Roly Poly.” Roly Poly has such heart when he plays that when a ball comes near him he automatically dives and rolls for it. Roly Poly is a vivacious, thoughtful child who is a strong ballplayer and a sweet child. AJ, particularly, enjoys playing ball with him. The first game we had in October showed Roly Poly in some shockingly pink socks as well as a hot pink sweatband on his arm that designated it was breast cancer awareness month. Roly Poly is 10. He continued to wear hot pink the rest of the month, though no one else on his team or on the league did.

My son has his moments as well. He frequently plays catcher and can be particularly empathetic to those poor kids that strike out. I’ve noticed, repeatedly, that when someone strikes out on our team or the other, that AJ will pat them on the helmet and say, “Nice try, buddy.” It’s not just good sportsmanship. It’s not that he’s not competitive. It’s that he understands that feeling and it’s not a good one and he doesn’t want that other kid to feel bad or alone.

When a child goes down on the field with an injury, the kids immediately take a knee and I notice that many of them are fixated on how they can help the child who is hurt. AJ, as a catcher, is generally in the mix of this as many of those accidents occur near home plate. I see his little brow furrow, and him run to the child as the coaches surround them and he tries to help in any way he can. I see kids pat each other on the back after a great play, console each other after a bad game and, for those that have a bad home life, spend time talking to their team mates and trying to forget life for a while.

Yes, children are compassionate and I know that we want to know when all of that begins, but I’m not sure it matters. What matters to me is that it exists and that it is beautiful.

“You all want to be teachers. We’ve talked about bullying, but what you probably don’t realize is that some of the biggest offenders of bullying in schools are the staff. That’s right. I’m pointing my finger at all of you and telling you now to be careful how you conduct yourself because your actions can be just as, if not more, harmful than the actions that these students deal with in their peers. I recently read a study that told me that teachers instigate bullying on a regular basis. The ways they do this are by ignoring children that are “dumb,” laughing at the jokes children make at another child, feeding into the relational aggression ala Mean Girls by taking sides or allowing it in their classrooms, lunch rooms, gymnasiums and hallways, or, what I consider to be most hurtful, going into their teacher’s lounge and commiserating about children and actively working against the better needs of the child by making the child a pariah amongst the adults as well. They also do this by writing intentionally vague and negative comments that stay in a child’s report card file until they graduate high school. This is all BULLYING and YOU are going to buy into it…unless you consider it and stop yourself now. You can do this with self-awareness and the knowledge that you will NOT be that kind of teacher and that you are teaching to make a positive impact and not crush a child’s will.”

By this time, I was gaining momentum. The room was completely silent. I have my class write journals and I knew that some of them had been bullied by teachers. One of the ways I teach my students is to share stories with them about my experiences both as a student and as a teacher. Now was the time for me to wince and share some of my personal experiences. Earlier this semester, I’d had them do an experiment on assumptions and write a journal about it. One assumption they made about me was that I’d never been bullied. It’s not true. I’d been bullied by a few students, but what really impacted me was the way some of my teachers treated not only me, but my fellow students.

“When I was in high school, I was pretty naive. I thought that teachers always had your best interests in mind and that they could be counted on to act like adults. I’d had an experience in junior high where I’d made the mistake of acting like I was going to throw my basketball at my coach. She flipped out, screamed at me in front of my team and shamed me. I didn’t play much that season and I never tried out for basketball again. Looking back on that behavior as an adult, I’m appalled and curious as to why no one thought that behavior was irrational at the time? However, in high school, I had this idea that everything was going to be different. New friends, new classes, new teachers, a new start and that things were going to be ok. I was wrong.”

“See, adults still do the petty things adults do, even when they teach. Professionalism is key. An English teacher lost her cool and called an entire sophomore class “a bunch of bitches.” She later apologized, but I don’t remember her getting into any real trouble for something that, as a parent, I would take serious issue over. We weren’t acting like a “bunch of bitches” that day. She was having a bad day, we were all working on projects and we weren’t moving quickly enough is what I remember. I was surprised and vaguely concerned that she’d lost her marbles. She also put on the school’s musical. I was helping with sound and when a tape was played improperly she went berserk. It heavily defined my high school years. Not only did she go crazy on me for what another person admitted was that person’s fault at having not rewound the tape earlier in the evening, but she didn’t bother to defend me to an angry cast of people. She walked out of the auditorium and left a freshman to deal with something that was beyond her control. I dealt with the fallout from that for not days, not weeks, not months, but YEARS. I still have nightmares about that. As adults, you are responsible for YOUR responses and for helping to calm the responses of others.”

As I spoke, some students began to look nervously at their hands and what I realized is that they weren’t bored. They weren’t uncomfortable with my story. My story had triggered their stories. I went on.

“Around that time, because of the issue with that teacher, I began lying about things to look better. I was miserable with life. I felt like I had no support and that people weren’t listening when I’d defend myself with the truth so lies were better. Because of that, when I auditioned for something that meant a lot to me, I didn’t make it. When I went to talk to the new sponsor for that activity, it ultimately boiled down to my not being able to be in the activity because a couple of the guys in that activity couldn’t get beyond it and they were short on guys. It wasn’t my lack of talent. It wasn’t that I wasn’t capable. It was that the guys couldn’t get beyond and they couldn’t lose them. The teacher had not only allowed the bullying, he’d promoted it. He didn’t help their growth and he shattered my self-esteem.”

I took a deep breath and sat down at my table in the front of the room.

“Why am I telling you this? Do I need you to feel sorry for me? Absolutely not. I am less than a year from getting my doctorate and I have no idea what path my life would have taken had I not developed the resolve that those experiences gave me. I’m telling you this because every single action you take as an educator COUNTS. Every minute of every day, every smile, every frown, every word, every shrug. It all counts. When you take actions to make your everyday life easier at the cost of hurting a child, you have no idea what the repercussions may be or how long-lasting. I remember those teachers. Let me tell you what else I remember. I remember the fourth grade teacher that wrote to me for 2 years after I moved because I was lonely. I remember the high school communication student teacher that taught me how to be a confident speaker. I remember the band teacher that gave me a chance to learn an instrument when all of the other students had been playing for years. I remember the community college professor that listened to what I wrote and proclaimed it brilliant. I remember the undergraduate professor who still writes me to tell me he’s proud of what I’m doing. I remember the masters professor who comments on my accomplishments with such happiness that I smile to know that she genuinely cares. I remember the doctoral professors who cared enough that in some dark days they cut me a real break when I needed it. I remember ALL those teachers. The good and the bad. What kind of teacher will you be? Whatever kind it is, you will be remembered. But HOW will you be remembered?”

I closed my eyes, shuffled my papers and waited. My students are insightful and this sparked discussion as to the experiences they had and the problems that they’d encountered. Those aren’t mine to share. As we grow up, we forget what it is like to be a child. We forget that people aren’t always nice and those that are supposed to protect us, advocate for us, don’t always do their job. Hopefully, I reminded them and they take it with them. If they don’t, they can always email me and I’ll give them advice.

It’s my job.

Except it didn’t. We just aren’t whining about it. It’s still affecting people here, almost a year later. Insurance companies rushed to deny people coverage and avoid responsibility. People lost homes, businesses and their lives. Some haven’t recovered, may never recover, from the trauma of a rain that came on with less than a couple of hours notice.

In the face of adversity, there are signs of character, however, and sometimes it is important to note that character when it is seen, because it can be so rare. In my small town of Franklin, TN, there was an area of town where the businesses and homes faced extreme devastation. While all of those people and places deserve mention, there is something in particular I feel is important. Our Sonic burger joint was destroyed. It was shut down for almost 8 months because there was just no way they could make the old building work after what happened to it.

You may believe there is nothing important as to a business being shut down and rebuilt after a flood. Here is what makes it special. The other evening, I was sitting and watching my son play Little League Baseball. The people that make his baseball, and the baseball for this entire community, happen, have had extreme difficulty finding sponsors. It seems that with the flood and the economy, people just aren’t willing to reach into their pockets so little kids can play baseball. Businesses have to run and make a profit and all of those things, so when it comes down to it, sponsoring a little kids baseball team might not mean much to a local business facing the adversity of the economy. When gas is $3.49 a gallon (at last check), decisions have to be made. I get it.

However, those children feel the burn of the economy, too, as do their parents, and trust me when I say that the parents are very aware of who the sponsors of these teams are and what they are doing for the kids. So, as I sat there watching my precious cargo smile and throw a ball and learn how to play on a team and laugh, I looked at those sponsor signs and smiled. I chose to eat at Jet’s Pizza that night because they sponsored the Franklin Baseball Club. As I looked around, however, I noticed there were a plethora of signs from…Sonic?

Truly? I knew the local Sonic had been a huge sponsor in seasons past, but they lost everything last year. How could they afford to stay in the game this year? Not only did they sponsor the teams, but they also placed brand new signs (much needed!) designating the visitor and home sides on each and every bullpen. My eyes blurred with tears and I thought about the sacrifices people make to help others when things are not easy for them and it made me realize that for all the people that have not moved forward, some have done so spectacularly.

My local Sonic has done amazing things. They have rebuilt with a gorgeous building and landscaping, the food is actually better than it was, the service more prompt and I enjoy going there a lot more now. I will be giving them my business as much as is possible because I know that they support my son, my community, and myself. It’s important to support the places that are willing to stick their necks and their pennies out there to make the community a better place for all of us. They are investing in our kids.

Thanks, Sonic. I want you to know, today, that I appreciate what you are doing to make it possible for my kid to play this season. They didn’t have enough sponsors and when that happens, kids don’t get to play, like my son didn’t last fall. Thank you.

I’m really glad he has no idea where this blog is, nor does he read it, or he’d likely never speak to me again for telling you what I just told you.

Anyway, the boy loves music. He’ll sing in front of people when we play Rock Band but only because it’s “for the music.” I told you he has personality. When I tell people my kid is cool they don’t really believe me and they don’t really understand until they meet him and realize that he actually does seem to process things differently than other kids his age. There’s a 36-year-old hair band member in that 9-year-old body. At 3, his favorite song was by Bon Jovi.

I digress, I digress. I have no idea why anyone reads this blog because all I do is digress. I’ve turned into my 80-something grandmother.

So, AJ loves music. Yes, that was like 4 paragraphs ago. Get off my lawn. I heard him humming on the couch. Wait, that’s not true. It wasn’t just humming. It was full out song. “She’ll be coming round the mountain when she commmmmmmmmmmes, when she comes. She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes.” I’m sure they learned the whole song. This was the part that was stuck in his head, though. For an hour I heard this until finally I looked at him, made sure he saw me, gave him my most charming grin and sang loudly, “She’ll be coming round the mountain, she’ll be coming round the mountain, she’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes!”

He couldn’t stop laughing. The giggles overtook him, then me. We laughed loud and long together. He gasped at me, “Ma-Ma-Mama, I couldn’t help it! It just got stuck in my head and wouldn’t go away!” We sang it a couple more times and laughed louder and longer. We often sing together in the car. Lately it’s been songs from Glee. Yesterday it was songs from elementary school.

Now if I can just get the theme song for Veronica Mars out of my own head, I’ll be set.

I wanted one of those little yellow pieces of plastic more than anything.

Luckily, I lived just down the road from my cousins and their parents were much crazier than mine. Or, it’s quite possible they knew that the secret to peace of mind over that particular summer lay in an enlarged water bill and a little piece of yellow plastic. Either way, my cousins got the slip-n-slide and I got to walk the quarter of a mile to their place every day to bust my butt on the plastic and the hard dirt underneath.

Run Run Run Run Sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide YES I’M FLYING NO NO NO I’m rollling! OUCH!

And back in line I’d go. And don’t think it was a short line. I wasn’t the only kid who knew about my cousin’s slip-n-slide. We lived in the country and the neighbor kids heard. So did their parents, and their parents weren’t going to pony up for a slip-n-slide or a water bill either. We’d dutifully get in line about ten kids back until we bled enough that it just stung too much to go again that day.

Nowadays, oh how old I feel saying nowadays, nowadays, the slip-n-slide has become so fancy! You can slide into a pool! The piece of plastic is HUGE and there are safeguards for those wimpy kids who care about bleeding. On the 4th of July, I found out exactly how intricate the whole slip-n-slide industry had become.

In Nashville on the 4th, our downtown area is amazing. Truly an amazing sight to behold is the area by the river that just lights up with booths of any kind of food you’d like, booths where you can buy the coolest hats on earth and a whole street dedicated to the littlest cowboys and cowgirls in the city.

As jets flew over the city celebrating our Independence, we walked around with bottled water and looked to see what was happening in our fair land. My little sister marveled at the cute boys. My mom wanted to go see what was going on down by the river. And me? I kept getting pulled towards these huge inflatable bouncy things, as all moms do.

After getting a stamp on his hand that made all the rides FREE, AJ was off. One of the first few rides to catch his eye was a large slip-n-slide. When I say slip-n-slide, I don’t mean one close to the ground. This inflatable wonder was about 4 feet off the ground and looked like a long island. Kids would run and jump UP onto it where sprinklers would shoot down onto them for about 20 feet. The line was short, but the joy was long.

I stood by the end and watched as child after child, including my own, jumped onto it and laughed themselves silly. It’s not been a great summer by any standards, but I couldn’t stop laughing along with them. The thing about joy is that it is utterly contagious. Some would jump up there, realize “OH NO THERE IS WATER UP HERE” and try to get down until mom or dad would take their hand and then lead them through the slide. After which, they would cry to go back on. There was a devilish little thing, who couldn’t have been more than three, who would go through the whole thing, slam his body down to the concrete after he got done, like the hulk, and give devil hands. I’m not kidding. Just like the orange ones to the right. He was totally “rock and roll” about the slide. And AJ? AJ would run, jump, slide, fall on his bottom, laugh and do it over and over again. He probably did it 30 times. I laughed just as hard as he did every time.

Yes, children are amazing and sometimes the smallest things in life are a recipe for joy. Just add water.

AJ and I have a special bond. Even at 9, he longs to spend time with me every day. I’ve been sick recently and can’t go up and down the steps. He’s been sleeping in my bed to make sure I don’t need anything in the middle of the night. As I read my book, due to my insomnia, I notice that he will roll towards me and reach his little hand out so he can hold my hand while he sleeps. When he wakes up and notices that I’m there, he smiles a sleepy smile and says in a surprised voice, “I love you, Mama” and rolls back into that deep eyed slumber that involves him giggling in his sleep and talking to whatever person is entertaining him in dream world.

Dominick Calhoun

Dominick’s family, minus his mother, are working hard to enact Dominick’s Law which would increase the penalties for child abusers. The family has a facebook page that addresses the process of passing the bill and what the bill entails.

So, now we mourn the passing of Dominick and, as a mother, I fear more for my child. The idea that someone I could trust could hurt my child sends fear through me. The one thing I know is that I will die before I knowingly let it happen. Tonight, when he stretches out his hand, I’ll hold it just a little bit tighter.

However, it flickers. Oh, how it flickers. Like a flame just looking for a little encouragement to grow, it flickers and sparks and waits for the opportunity to shine. Unlike many adults, children don’t necessarily need to shine in front of others or with the purpose of recognition, or even allow their flame to grow at all. Sometimes, they just flame away without even thinking about it and move on. Such simple love and kindness.

I’ve seen this happen repeatedly in my life. Often during my time with my son and his friends and during my time in the school system. A few weeks ago, I saw it during a warm evening at the ballpark.

I was standing in line for one of the forty or so gatorades I buy every year at the concession stand when I saw him: the blonde little boy in front of me who was patiently waiting his turn. He couldn’t have been more than 8, at most, and was clutching three dollars. It was a school night and his eyes looked tired and sad. It was approaching 9 and he must have been at one of the early games and stayed for a sibling game.

I saw his eyes scan the menu. Hamburgers, Chicken (our stand serves Chik-fil-a!), hot dogs, french fries, sodas, energy drinks and many various candies. His little blonde head nodded slightly downward as he looked at the canisters in the front of the stand. Air heads, $0.25. Ring pops, $0.75. Tips for good service, please. Condiments. Napkins. Forks.

He looked carefully back to the menu and then to the canisters again and softly said, “French Fries, please.” The boy at the counter said, “Sure, kid. Anything else?” The little boy looked down at the canisters again, looking hard at the ring pops, and I saw him swallow. “No, no thank you.” He handed the concession stand worker his two dollars and waited for his french fries. They came promptly. He smiled, said thank you and deposited his $1 in the tip canister.

Generosity of spirit can be found in the most unexpected places. I am a lucky woman to find it in so many.

Let me clarify this. I hate going to the movies unless the movie has been out for at least 8 weeks, everyone else has seen it and there is the remote chance that I could be sitting in the theater room by myself. Then I LOVE going to the movies. And I will enjoy the biggest Coca Cola there is while I’m there. Mmmm.

And the movie will be awesome until my 9-year old inevitably says, “Mom, I’ve gotta pee.”

Now, I’ve been lucky in that, well, he’s a boy. I can’t go into the boy’s bathroom and his daddy generally is a good sport about saying “C’mon I’ll take you” or threatening him to within an inch of his life that he’d “better hold that pee until this movie is over because I offered to take you to pee and you swore on your life you didn’t have to pee.” Every now and then, though, I have to bite the bullet because I’m with him at the theater without a man or because I get THE LOOK.

As I was reading an older Woman’s Day, I think it was from March, something caught my eye. A website called Runpee.com. I love potty humor, so anything that talks about peeing automatically gets my full and complete attention. Runpee.com is a website that will tell you the best times in movies to take “a break” and how long you can “break.”

This is incredibly helpful not just for those little ones, but also for people like me who enjoy the super large keg sized Coca Cola in the dark theater.

So, who is going to a really old movie with me this weekend? If you text during it, I reserve the right to throw your phone across the theater.

AJ does chores. I know that the idea of this may strike some parents as odd. There really are parents out there that don’t force their kids to do chores of any kind and for those parents I have a great big smack in the pants. For as much as I adore my child, he does plenty in this house. He does have a cell phone, gets to do lots of leisure activities and has all kinds of neat toys. But he does chores.

One of those chores is that he has to empty the trash cans in the house. Now, most people would just upend the smaller trashcan into the larger trash bag, get it done and move on, correct? Not AJ. AJ likes knowing exactly what I’m throwing away.

I wish I were kidding.

He’s just that nosy.

So, he takes the trash out of the trashcan a couple pieces at a time and sticks it into the larger trashbag, looking at each piece to determine whether he might want to keep that piece of trash or not. What this amounts to is him pulling out old paperclips, broken rubberbands, broken cups and pens that have run out of ink. Each of these ends up back on my end table where I cleaned them off in the first place.

When I question him regarding why he does this, he looks at me and replies, “What? We might need that later.”

I’m living with a future television star for the show HOARDERS.

When Leon or I am sick, he hates to go to school and when he is here, he will bring ice packs, aspirin, wet washcloths and as many hugs, kisses and cuddles as we will take. There are many nights that he went to bed on a Friday night at 7:30 because I was sick with a migraine and laying there. He would lay next to me, patting my hand, and would eventually drift off.

There is a certain sense of guilt that comes with having chronic pain–that burden that you place on the people around you. The feelings that you may have of feeling like less of a person some days often express themselves at the weakest moments and not always in the best of ways. They often present in anger, misery or irritability. AJ is immune to that when someone is sick.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t have his egocentric “me me me” side, because he certainly does, but it has never been as strong as I expected. And I’m watching him shed it rapidly and sooner than the developmental scales predict and I wonder about the kind of man he’ll become, and how quickly it will happen. Will I ever be ready for it? People keep telling me to have more children. My guess is that they recognize that there is so much love within me for this little guy that it breaks me.

I worry less about it when I see that I haven’t done an awful job and that my health issues haven’t affected him so dramatically. As he was going to bed tonight, he kissed my cheek, hugged me tightly and said, “I hope you feel better tomorrow, mama.” Then, he gave me the dimpled grin that melts my heart and he and his hoppy little weiner dog went to sleep.

Somehow, I think we’re all going to be alright…

For example:

Calvin & Hobbes instead of Calvin and “Hobbies”

I expect instead of I “suspect”

Spaghetti instead of “pahsghetti”

Pretzel instead of “prenzhel”

And the one we’ve already lost: Water instead of “Moder”

Yes…life is full of loss. The little smiles we share as they grow.

It was time to get out of the house and try to regain sanity after being sick most all of the week.

A.J. had scrounged up some pocket change. I have no idea where he found it, but my guess is that he raided couches and bathrooms and tables. He had almost $5. In little boy world, this is a fortune and can be spent on things that will drive your parents absolutely nuts.

He’d scored some Halloween window clings from the $1 bin and some matchbox cars. Of course, they had to be done in separate trips to a very patient cashier who counted out his change with him. She deserves an award.

As we walked out to the car, in the pouring rain, without umbrellas or coats (we laugh in the face of pneumonia), I heard him softly singing next to me: “I ammmm a happy boy, a happy boooooy, a happy BOY! I ammmm a happy boy, a happy booooy, a hap-eeee-BOY!”

I guess we’re doing something right.

A.J. has a new team and he doesn’t know a single player. He’s not the only tall boy because he’s moved up to the 9/10 age range and these kids mean business. The fall season is predominantly about learning. No score is kept and coaches focus on teaching the mechanics of each position and being a good sportsman. At least, in theory, that is the goal.

In order to keep A.J. in something of prime shape, we’d tried to pair him with a coach during his down time to help him focus on some problem areas that we thought fixing might help make him feel more comfortable with his game-play. He adored his downtime coach, even though his time with the coach was cut short due to what A.J. refers to as “the Kentucky Incident.”

I don’t know that I’ve blogged this, but after a short time of telling everyone, including the clients at my job site and the people I work with, about the Kentucky Incident, he has now decided that he is refusing to ever discuss this tragedy ever again.

So, A.J. had met a coach he liked and this week we found out that A.J. is on this coach’s team for the fall season. A.J. is happier than a pig in slop. He had his first practice with his new team today and I had some observations.

One, kids will remember the last thing you said. And that’s it. Coach said, “I need half of you to line up behind shortstop and half of you to line up behind second base.” All 11 children lined up behind second base.

Two, there are some children who aren’t cut out for the sport. I viewed this instance in what seemed like slow-motion. One child looked at a pop-up with a quizzical expression, stuck his tongue out thoughtfully, clasped his hand and glove together, shook his head and let the ball fall next to him. And then nodded to himself as if to say, “Yep. And there it went.” I nodded with him.

Three, even if they are lining up for something unpleasant, if you tell kids to line up, they will run like their pants are on fire to be first in line. In this particular case, they were lining up to simply run the bases. I would rather eat my arm off my body.

Four, and this is going to sound cheesy, but children are like flowers. If you give them strict boundaries, discipline and compliments every time they do things exactly right, it’s like water, air and sunshine to flowers. They will flourish, work hard and try even harder to do their absolute best.

They GROW. I’ve never seen my son run so hard.

With the exception of the time he ran from the upstairs to the street for the ice cream truck.

Before all those silly things called rules (and if you can’t tell, I’m being facetious here) and safety belt laws and booster seats, etc., people like my mom allowed their kids to lay in the back seat and sleep on short car rides from town to town. Sometimes, I slept. I do love a good nap beyond most anything in life.

However, there was something mystical about looking out the back window, while laying in the seat and watching the stars and the moon. I could make out the face in the moon and I imagined a whole world where the moon was my friend and we frolicked at night. There was so much wonder in this world and what I never could figure out was how the moon FOLLOWED me from town to town. It just further confirmed that what we had was special and that the moon was MINE.

As an adult, I can analyze this and see the ecogentricism of where I was and even how the moon “followed” me. But don’t you pretend for one second that you don’t understand the magic, because even as adults we crave that connection to the sky.

Why do you think cars have sunroofs and car makers have convertibles?

I’ll never be without a sunroof again.

When is the last time you took a minute to look up at the clear night sky? What’s stopping you from connecting with the child who looked at the moon and wondered if there was really a man up there?

Things that made us happy then can make us happy again.