My son is sixteen

My son turned sixteen today. He's a junior in high school. Since I'm not working, I had the fabulous opportunity to take a birthday cake to his school for his lunch with his friends. I took the cake, plates and forks, and a gallon of milk with cups to wash it down. His friends sang "happy birthday" to him and devoured the cake. It seemed to be appreciated by all.

My husband and I are unabashedly proud of him. He is a year younger than his classmates, but he has a 3.9 average in advanced classes. He recently took the ACT and scored a composite of 30 (which is really, very good). He's just a fine young man and I'm proud to be his mother.

It almost didn't happen. When I was married before, I thought for years that I was infertile. But the Good Lord was keeping me from having a child by the man I was married to. Not until I met my current husband (the love of my life) did God see fit to allow me to become pregnant. Actually, once Johnny and I got married, I was pregnant within four months. It destroyed my goal of becoming an Air Force Officer, but - hey - I was going to be a MOTHER! And then, the dear Air Force doctors didn't believe me when I told them I had an unusually large head and a small pelvis, and I was worried about being able to deliver if my baby had a large head. So, without any gory details, let's just say my concern was justified. Thank God, my husband was with me throughout my labor, and he told the doctors that I'd been allowed to suffer long enough, my baby was in distress and it was time to intervene. They checked the records, found he was right (duh) and told me I needed a C-section. Well, I had told the earlier shift five hours earlier that I needed a C-section. But I was just the dumb woman in labor, I didn't know anything. The C-section went smoothly, and saved my baby's life and mine.

So, sixteen years later, I still adore my husband, and we have a strapping son who is 6 feet 4 inches tall, is loved and respected at his school, and makes his teachers and family proud.

Failure IS an option

I've been listening to a radio show (www.allamericangold.com) about how our economy is going in the long run. Yesterday and today, Joe Jaiquin was talking about coaching his basketball team and the importance of failure. It is not just an option, it is CRITICAL that our kids be allowed to fail, to learn that they must get up and try again.

Well, I'm taking this in a different direction. Sometimes instead of trying again, we need to learn to try something else. Have you climbed on that horse 100 times, only to be bucked off each time? Maybe you need a different horse, or maybe you need to ride a bicycle. Heck, even Walt Disney and Donald Trump declared bankruptcy and started over!

I've known since I became a computer programmer in 1981 (yes, I'm that old) that it wasn't the best possible job for me. It's a job, that I was able to do, that most people cannot. But it was never my passion. I worked with many people over the years who would slave at their computers all day long, only to go home and play on a home computer all night. Not me! I could not wait to get away from the computer. So why on earth did I get two degrees in computer science? Because I never wanted to admit that I made a mistake in 1980 picking the career. I never wanted to admit (drum roll please) that I am a FAILURE as a software engineer.

OK, that's done. Now what?

Well, the best. "funnest" most satisfying job I ever had was as an instructional designer for Lockheed Martin. Once that job went to just doing the scheduling and teaching, I got bored and hired my replacement. I need a teaching position where I will be constantly stretched to design and solve problems.

Whoa, that is WEIRD. I just got a robo call from Jefferson County offering me a job as a teacher in Thorton. Well, it's not a job offer, but it's notification that a position exists which the computer thinks I may qualify for. You must admit, the timing is remarkable.

I think I'll be a teacher when I grow up. =sigh= Time to go back to college.

The Importance of Friends

I have been a loner most of my life. I've made a few close friends, but when time or space has separated us, we've just drifted apart. No hard feelings, just too much going on to bother.

For the past two years, (perhaps as I've neared a BIG birthday ending in a "0") I've realized how much friends add to life. It's not just fun to swap stories about who-did-what-at-work or gee-I-have-an-odd-neighbor, it's a part of our psyche. Having a group of people you relate to helps you stay grounded and sane.

It's become even more important to me now that I'm unemployed. Within a few months, I have lost my job, discovered I have to make a big change to my diet, and undergone some uncomfortable medical therapy. That's a lot of change in a short amount of time. I have a wonderful, supportive husband and an understanding son, but....

It's been so good to go to my Friday night knit group, and find that life goes on as usual with my friends. One friend is talking about her husband's foibles, and upcoming vacation plans. Another is talking about her husband's new business, and a bimbo at her office that makes us all look smart and professional. Everyone is knitting, and showing off new yarns and projects. It is comforting, relaxing, and -somehow- centering.

Thanks, guys.

We have a joke in our family. "If there's a bone in the meat, Mom'll find it." No, this is not supposed to have any hidden dirty message. I have a bad habit of finding bits of bone in sausage or other meat, and hurting a tooth. I really hit one Saturday night. My wonderful husband had cooked up some beautiful "boneless" ribeye steak. I had cut off a bit and chomped into it. Well, there was a small bone chip in that bite of beef, and my front tooth hit it hard.

Now, this is the same tooth that 40-plus years ago, hit my sister's head in an unfortunate jumping-on-the-bed accident. It got a nice chip off of one corner back then, but was otherwise functional. I lived with it just fine that way for decades. Then about 12 years ago, my dentist asked me if I didn't want that fixed. I told him I didn't know it was fixable. I'd been in the Air Force 14 years, and those wonderful, ambitious dentists there never mentioned it. So, my dentist told me about the wonder of veneers, and talked me into having it done. After a good bit of discomfort and hundreds of dollars out of pocket, my tooth looked a lot better.

Until Saturday night.

That little chip of bone knocked out a bigger hunk of the veneer than my sister's skull had knocked out of my original tooth. I can't say the impact was painful, but it got my attention! The hole in my tooth felt as big as the Grand Canyon. It was rough, with sharp edges. I was afraid the sharp edges would cut my tongue, or the hole would make my tooth sensitive to temperature. Fortunately that wasn't the case. It just felt really weird, and made concentrating on anything else difficult.

So, I went to my dentist's office first thing this morning. I apologized, saying I didn't have an appointment. Then I showed the receptionist the hole in my front tooth, and she told me to come back in an hour, when the doctor had some available time. Whew!!! My new dentist patched up that awful hole with nicety and dispatch; it looked almost as good as new. We made a plan for a permanent replacement, and I got on with my day.