so... what happened there?

It was summertime, I was 16 years old.  The biggest challenges in my life were making it to my busgirl job on time, remembering my flag girl routines, having someone ask me to prom, and maintaining my tan (much to my dad's disapproval).

We didn't have an automatic dishwasher at home, so there I was, washing the dishes by hand.  I remember it was early evening and still light out.  I was gazing out the kitchen window, probably daydreaming about boys, while washing a large drinking glass.  As I wiped around the lip of the glass, the glass cracked and sliced into the middle finger of my right hand.

I stood there for what seemed like a long time, just looking at my finger, looking at the broken glass, watching the blood drain into the dishwater.  I don't remember it hurting, it was such a clean slice.  I remember thinking that it should've hurt with all that blood.

When I regained composure, I cleaned it up to see that the cut was tiny in length but rather deep.  I wrapped it tightly with a band-aid and commenced to feeling sorry for myself.  There's still a baby scar there today that probably only I can see.

It was my right hand.  How would I doodle?  My hands were always in water at work, I'd always be changing that darn band-aid.  Oh.  The Hardships.

Obviously, I survived.

Why did that mishap come to mind now, after all these years?  I was just trying to remember what it was like to be 16.

Earlier this week, I was out grocery shopping in the evening when I saw a rare sight. It was a 16-year-old boy with half an arm.

This is a military town, and unfortunately, amputees are not altogether rare.  But 16-year-old amputees are, thankfully, rare.  How do I know his age?  Because he was all over the news since a couple of weeks ago after a shark bit his arm off while he was vacationing with family in North Carolina.

So I recognized him right away.  The friendly bespectacled face and the obvious injury.  In news reports, he seems very poised and mature for his age.  He looks ahead with a positive attitude, something he's become known for in the news:

"I've lost my arm obviously, so I have two options: I can try to live my life the way I was and make an effort to do that even though I don't have an arm, or I can just let this be completely debilitating and bring my life down and ruin it," he says. "Out of those two, there's really only one that I would actually choose and that's to try to fight and live a normal life with the cards I've been dealt."

So when I spotted him at the grocery store, I was tempted to tell him how I admired his attitude.  But I thought I'd just leave him alone.  He just wants to be a normal kid.  Out shopping for snacks with his mom, who says:

"He did it without complaining,"... "He doesn't complain about anything. He doesn't complain about the food in the hospital, the hospital bed. He's not complaining about taking the cap off the toothpaste with one hand. He always weathers trauma very well. What an honor for me to be his mom. I can learn something from him."

Can't we all.

I betcha he's not going to have ANY problems getting a date for prom.

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Hooking up with Mama Kat again this week
2. Write a blog post inspired by the word: challenge.


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justice rides a tank and wears lip gloss

Well, here we go.  School starts for Meego in a week and a half, right about the time Wolfgang moves into his dorm, right about the time Chaco moves into his apartment/dorm.  I've said it before, I'll say it again.  I'm no Helicopter Mom.  

My parenting style is more... Tank Girl

Today was Grizzled Jumpstart day at Meego's middle school.  It's just a (pseudo)nym for go-to-the-school-among-the-throngs-and-find-your-schedule-and-locker-and-then-get-back-out-alive.  So we did that.  

I'm so glad I have boys.  It took us all of about 10 minutes to take care of business.  In the meantime I saw countless girls cutting and primping and getting their lockers all just so very One Direction-esque.  There were a few Helicopter Moms standing in the middle of the hallways - comparing schedules and conniving to optimize everything around their kids - as efficient people had to flow around to accomodate their static bodies.  

I believe that one of my main goals as a parent is to work myself out of a job, and for the most part, that seems to be going about right.  It sometimes seems, though, that their brains go on vacation during these school breaks.  Like they're almost toddlers again, dependent.  This is a testing time of year, but I'm staying out of the helicopter.  

Yesterday, Chaco negotiated his way into using the Civic for two days to go camping with some other carless friends.  He'd made sure that Wolfgang didn't need it for work, they'd gas it up, etc. etc.  I gave the okay.

So this morning, Wolfgang leaves on his bicycle and then Magnum takes off for work.  There went the Civic, down the street.  And then I'm all, "Wait a min... wasn't Chaco...?"  *sigh*

I start thinking.  Maybe (a) Chaco and his friends changed their plans, (b) Magnum forgot, or (c) Chaco never mentioned anything to Magnum.  Should I quick call Magnum?  But then I think, no.  That's what Helicopter Mom would do, and I'm Tank Girl.  Let them swim their way out of it.

Magnum carpools to work.  His office is about a 30-minute drive from home.  Heck if I had an hour laying around to go swap out the Civic because of something with which I had nothing to do.  Plus, I had Grizzled Jumpstart followed by a tutor girl today.  

There was a chance, however, that it wasn't Magnum's turn to drive the carpool, in which case the Civic would be happily resting at the nearby Park 'n' Ride.  I would happily help make the exchange there, but I would leave it to Chaco to find out.  I wipe my hands at the whole thing until then!  (All this ruminating in my head as Chaco slept.)  Then I made myself stop fretting over it anymore.

I was good.  I was a good Tank Girl.  I busied myself with my own stuff.

Turns out it was a combination of (a), (b), and (c).  The camping wasn't quite coming together, Chaco forgot to mention anything to Magnum.  Fine, they'd just use the Civic tomorrow and hang out in Manitou.  

Works for me.  Now, I've just got to last a couple of more weeks, fighting the urge to...

Wish me luck.

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to be Abby

I was over at Mama Kat's.  For the unfamiliars, Mama Kat's is a fun site with loads of fun stuff for us  bloggers to use up otherwise productive time hone our blogging skillz.  Each week, she hosts a writer's workshop with a list of prompts to choose from and then link up.


I discovered it several weeks ago during a bored blog-surfing episode, but never linked up.  However,  this week, one of her prompts spoke to me.  Mama Kat asks:

"If you could change career paths now and be anything you wanted to be…what would you be and why?"

This kind of struck me as the perennial "What do you want to be when you grow up?"  prompt we were constantly given as elementary school kids.  Every... stinking... year.  But now, we ARE supposedly grown up, so instead of looking ahead, we are asked to look back.

Okay, so for writing prompt sake, let's ignore that I'm a mom.  Also, let's look back to my original answers.

In grades K-2, my answer was always "artist", and then I would draw the required accompanying self portrait of myself standing in front of an easel, painting some masterpiece while wearing a smock and beret.  Because that's what artists wear and do.

Somewhere around 4th grade (because I canNOT remember ANYthing about 3rd grade, remember?), I switched it over to the highly specific "scientist", and then I would draw the required accompanying self portrait of myself working in a lab with bubbling test tubes while wearing a smock.

CLEARLY, I wanted to grow up to wear a smock.

The bubbling test-tubes image stayed in my mind for the most part.  When time came for college, I realized I hadn't put much thought into just what sort of job entails smocks and bubbling test tubes, so I became an engineer.

Along my journey to becoming a manufacturing engineer, I got to wear the occassional smock.  In the occassional lab.  I don't recall many bubbling test tubes, but there was a fair amount of grimy beakers which, it turns out, were much more interesting.  

And truth is, I found that career path pretty fulfilling until I got on the mommy track.  But (finally, I shall answer the question) the path I would follow if I had it all to do again is to be an...

Abby.

No really, I mean Abby from the TV show NCIS.

Now, I don't even watch the show.  Frankly, I find TV crime dramas rather ho-hum, and Mark Harmon's haircut bothers me.  But I really love the Abby character and I want her job.  And no, I did not steal my blog name from her.  If anything, she stole from me.

I even love her goth fashion as it works for her, and I would totally also wear it in MY lab.  Under my SMOCK.  But, to be honest, I would lose the bangs...

What's your dream job??
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