Questions for Bolt By Danny

Welcome back to everyone's favorite game show, Questions for Bolt. So here i am watching the end of my show and Bolt the Disney movie comes on. And so it starts the endless questions from Carter. Is this rated PG, is this a good movie, is that real, did they paint that guys eye green. OH MY GOD.Just quiet for 1 MINUTE. Well i guess thats what you get for getting a one of a kind brother. We should really send this to disney and ask them to the writers. They're going to be out of answers. Know one really knows because Carter is unpredictable.

But Mom, I Do Love You So Much

I get a lot of material from my little man.  The quips and the stories are nonstop, and I delight in it.   But, I have to stop and write about my big boy, my man-child.  All of eleven and a half, with a size nine men's shoe and a baby face with the same cheeks since the toddler years.  He's often too good to be true.  So much so that I find myself digging for drama in his life.  Middle school.  It's awful, isn't it?  So far, so good.  Sixth grade has been fine.  He's entering the teen scene here and there not wanting to get up in the morning and not wanting to talk to me in front of his friends.  For the most part, it's been a smooth ride with sixth grade humor and the focus on shows, music, friends, church, and family.  Good.  Great even.

But today was really special.  I picked him up from middle school after he'd been at "Real World Club" where typical kids hang out with the special needs kids.  Yeah, I know.  They went to a basketball game with the group, and he said it was fun.  He's something special.

He and I were riding in the car when I mentioned how much Carter is loving me lately.  (Carter gives me two to three pictures or cards with pictures of he and I holding hands everyday now.)  I told Danny, "You went through a phase like that too Dan.  You were madly in love with mommy for a while too."

To my surprise (and to his dismay if he knew I were sharing this), Danny said, "I still do love you like crazy mama.  Don't you know that?" a brief pause, and then  "How could you not know that?"

Took my breath away.  Better than anything Hallmark could ever put together.  That's for darn sure.

Smells Like...

If there's one aspect of Carter's sensory issues, I've truly understood from the beginning, it's the dilemma of the super-senser.  You see, I'm a super-smeller.  Super!  Not really.  It's a curse.  Smelling anything and everything within a half mile radius is truly a curse.  Oh, but the smell of bread baking or a sizzling steak on the grill!  Or the sweet smell of baby lotion and Dreft!!  Yeah, that's a bonus I guess.  The problem is most of life's smells are really not that appealing.  People, for example.  Not always smelling appealing.  Summer's not so much fun really unless you've got a chlorinated pool close by.  Sports.  Kids.  Sweaty kids.  They really smell like wet dogs (no offense to the dog lovers).  Enough said.  Don't even get me started on shoes.  Breath.  Yeah.  You get it.  Putting me on a crowded city bus or worse the el train on a summer day is like torture.  Truly, the best thing about winter (the God forsaken season) is that most smells are covered up with coats, car exhaust or just the smell of "freeze."  See, if you don't know the smell of "freeze," you probably cannot relate, but I appreciate your effort to understand.  And just think, someone like me is really helpful when you leave your coffee pot plugged in too long or your curling iron is scorching something in the bathroom.  Gotta look for the positives, right?  So, yes, I am proud to say that I acknowledge my super-smeller and try to celebrate it as much as one can.

So, when Carter walked out of day care today proclaiming that the day smelled like "2008," I understood.  Somewhat.  I mean, I have never named smells in such a colorful way, but I do get that life has certain smells that define it.  When he later said that it smells like June 20, 2008, I'm more intrigued.   Wishing I'd kept a daily journal because there's a part of me that wonders what we did that day and if there wasn't someone or something smelling a certain way.  Or was it just a Carter-ism?  Either way, I'm grateful.  He keeps me looking around a little longer, a little deeper, a little further.  Appreciating the moment.  "It smells like 2008."  What a great thought for the day.

Disco and Jesus

This kid of mine just keeps feeding me sitcom material.  And when he does, it's at rocket speed, nonstop, one right after the other.  I need to keep a recording device close at hand because you just can't make this stuff up...

It's the end of the swimming party, and my six year old son is sitting on the potty.  The following conversation is verbatim taking place in less than four minutes.

"Toot!"
"Hey mama!  That was a disco toot.  Did you hear it?  It was like..."
 He starts doing some disco dancing while seated on the toilet. 
"Toot!"
"Again, mama, did you hear it?  Another disco toot!  My doopa feels like dancin'!"

Then, realizing that without his swimsuit, he's sitting here in the buff. 
"Hey, I'm totally naked here.  That's embarrassing.  I should be on America's Funniest Videos." 
I reply, "No, actually, that wouldn't be appropriate."
"Why not mom?  They could pixelate my privates.  And still, mom.  Jesus was naked his whole life."
"Yeah, um, well, actually Carter, Jesus was not naked his whole life.  He wore clothes." 


Seriously God.  Thank you for the humor that lives in the words and thoughts of my little one.

You've Got a Friend in Me

"Hey mama!  Mom, mom, mom!  Come here!  Look in the sky!"
Carter is holding the front door open on a weekday morning before school.

"Look mom!  It's Toy Story in the Sky!  Look, see!  Just like Toy Story!"
He's pointing to the gorgeous and perfectly sky-blue sky with perfectly aligned
white puffy clouds.
I can't believe it.  He's absolutely right!  It does look like a scene from Toy Story.

"You've got a friend in me!  You've got a friend in me...."  And Carter skips down the
front stair singing the Toy Story theme song to himself and to me all the way to the car.

So simple.  So sweet.  So Carter.

Wisdom and Pinball Machines

Wisdom.  The never-ending search.  The permanent carrot on the stick.  I don't remember actually asking for it or truly, consciously desiring it.  Wisdom.  "It comes with age." They say.  "It comes with experience."  But they don't say, "It comes with bruising and aching and tears."  No one says, "It hides in the minutia of your 24-7 life."  It's too bad life - all things "life" is - doesn't come with an owner's manual, a program, a script.  No map.  No list of things to do - at least not one prescribed for us.  Who really knows what tomorrow will bring??? When you think about it to that degree, it's really frightening that we're all like a bunch of pinballs wacking against one bumper and jump-jumping against another with a jolt here and another jolt there only to crash into another bumper or even another pinball without warning.  But like a pinball machine, life just explodes with sounds and celebrations, points adding up on the screen like minuscule nuggets of wisdom growing and adding up with every bump, bump, jolt. 

I'm such a dork for analogies and metaphors.

But seriously, though, with each passing day, week, month, year of my life, I'm learning to appreciate the minutia more intensely than ever before.  Even the bumps and the bruises.  It sounds so trite to write it here, but who'd have ever thought that I could be grateful for pain and suffering.  "Uh oh!" her friends think aloud, "She's really finally losing it.  Time to call in for an intervention."  Too late.  God keeps taking care of that.  He keeps intervening and maybe He is making me crazy on purpose.  Oh well.  It's up to Him.  Not me.

How can a divorced (once I can afford the divorce) middle-aged (gross) overweight woman with two precious boys to raise - one with special needs - with ridiculous financial woes and lots of family drama to boot be so incredibly grateful for her life?  I don't know.  You might think I'm drinking or just delirious, but I don't think I am.  With all the drama, there's been so much reward.  Especially in my children. 

Could Danny be more amazing?  He's such a loving young man with so much concern and love in his heart - especially for people with special needs.  Where does that come from?  God.  He loves his baby brother with a heart that is much larger than his body could possibly hold.  His patience is limitless and his understanding is so beyond his years.  Danny Ackman is one of my favorite gifts from my creator and he teaches me how to be a better person every day of my life.

Mr. Carter James is pretty freaking awesome too.  He has brought me to my knees on every level and range of emotion possible.  From desperation regarding his health and well-being to hideous crazed moments of rage and panic and fear to fountains of tears from joy and pride in his simplest words in the quietest of moments.  Yet another favorite gift from my creator.  Definitely, a more exhausting one, but my boys are both my treasures none-the-less.

This pinball machine is gladly getting older and more mature, and while I'm grateful for the points I'm earning through experience developing wisdom, I could gladly be considered Out of Order to spend a little time in a shop with a quiet, wise repairman protecting us from the banging and pinging and wacking around.  Just for a while.  Because I know the rewards do pay off, and I am so grateful for the game, and if I have to keep playing, I'll just remember the score board and trust. 

Chinese New Year

Our five minute ride to the day care this morning with Carter... mostly one-sided conversation...
Mom, mom, mom!?
When is it Chinese New Year?
Why do they call it a new year?  It really isn't new, is it?  Isn't it the same as before?
When is it the year of the ox?  Why is it the year of the ox? 
What was it the year I was born?
Wasn't the first year the year Jesus was born?  When was that again?
Does everyone who lives in China speak Chinese?
Can we go to China someday?
What year will it be?
Do Chinese people live in South Dakota?

Thank God for google.

Valentine's Day

Oh what an event Valentine's Day/Season has become for our home.  My little boy who HATED drawing, coloring, writing, creating artwork until about August of 2010, has created more than 15 Valentine's cards for me in preparation for the big day. 

Each and every Valentine card that he received yesterday at his school Valentine party has been read and re-read and admired.  It's meant so much to him.  He seems to be filled with love and joy like never before.  It's precious and I don't want it to go away.

Danny's in middle school now, and not as interested in all things Valentine - or so it seems.  They grow up too fast.

"How did the Valentine's Guy die mom?"
What?  There was a Valentine's Guy?  Cupid?  Does he mean Cupid?
"Carter I'm not sure."
"Who invented Valentine's Day mom?  Did Lewis and Clark invent Valentine's Day?"
"No.  Lewis and Clark didn't invent Valentine's Day.  Where did you learn about Lewis and Clark?"
"In a book at Rogy's."

I can't keep up.  Thank the good Lord above for google.  And for Carter and Danny.  And Valentine's from sweet boys from heaven.

Snack Choices

Secret Snack is a daily occurrence for Carter in kindergarten.  We've determined that he needs (yes NEEDS) a snack mid-morning to remain the Carter we know and love.  Without a snack or bite to eat every few hours, Carter becomes someone else.  It's either a quick metabolism or low-blood sugar or something else. Either way, it's necessary for the good of the community.

We (the team of teachers supporting Carter at Creekside and I) planned his time with the special ed teacher for writing support mid-morning where he can eat his "secret snack."  The other kindergarteners aren't given the luxury of a snack because it's a half-day program and the time is too precious. 

Usually, I give him two items and water.  From what I've learned about sensory integration issues and the need for "input," which is another seventy blogs-worth of information, I try to give Carter something crunchy and something smooth or gushy each day.  For example, a banana and some pretzels or apple sauce and goldfish.

• The other day, he requested pretzels and goldfish.  Two crunchies?  That threw me off.  Well, Carter, don't you want something soft too?  Two crunchy snacks buddy?  "Yes, mom, they're very friendly together with the water."
• Another time, I'd bought waffle-like pretzels, and he said that he didn't like them.  "Don't make me eat those pretzels anymore mom.  They taste like sound."

What is it about 3:30 AM?

So living alone with my children isn't ideal for many reasons.  Seemingly simple things like having someone to help unload the dishwasher or check to make sure the doors are locked or even taking out the garbage...  And then there's the issue of 3:30 AM.  I could write pages about the fears that arise at 3:30 AM, and while most of them relate to fear over financial ruin and despair or the health and well-being of my children, family, and friends, occasionally there's something else.  Last night was one of those nights.

3:34AM, February 12th:  "Ring (well, actually not a ring, but an indiscribable musical ring-tone)!"  I jump out of bed and grab Danny's phone off the bedside table.  Rubbing my eyes, I look at the screen and it says 'new voicemail.'  I think, 'Really?  Now?  The middle of the night?  Who?'  Well, it was the night after the middle school dance.  Could some of his friends be having a sleep over?  With the age of caller id haven't prank calls almost completely gone away?  Could it be a text and a voice mail?  Curt's mom has called Danny's phone before thinking she was calling Curt...could it be her?  Is it one of my nieces?  OK, now I'm awake.  Danny is too because I don't remember his password to get into the phone's mysterious explanation for this rude awakening.

Danny's fiddling with the phone rubbing his own eyes trying to wake and solve the mystery for his soon-to-be frantic, but remaining-calm-on-the-exterior mom.  "No new texts.  Last one was at 7:56 when you picked me up from the dance mom." 
OK, but what about the voice mail? 
He searches received calls.  "These are just calls from before the dance.. you called me and Christian called me." 
OK, but what about the voice mail? 
Danny never checks his voice mail, so it's tricky.  Wait, what about missed calls first.  He goes to missed calls.  It's important to note that Danny (the sweetest and most wonderful 11 year old boy alive) has his own pace in life.  He should have been a Jamaican or a Bahamian.  You know, dude-like, getting the job done in his own time.  He doesn't know warp speed - except for changing into his swimsuit or snow gear, so this like everything he does is happening at a snail's pace.  Normally, I've accepted this about my precious boy, and I've trained myself to slow down the dial when listening to his stories or getting out the door.  But at that moment, I was working hard to hide my anxiety and show only patient curiousity to prevent his panic.

"3:34.  It says you called me mom." 

"What?  My cell phone called you?"  How?  What?  I look at the clock now.  It's 3:38.  What?  No.              

"It's the house phone number.  The house phone called me."

It took only seconds for me to go from zero to sixty in my brain.  "The call is coming from inside the house!"  Both a current thought AND a memory of one of those scary movies from the eighties where the killer is INSIDE the FREAKING HOUSE.  I probably could have single handedly "taken out" anyone who'd entered my home and threatened my children with the amount of fear-induced adrenalin coursing through my veins and capillaries.  But I'm the grown up remember.  The only grown up in the house that is CALLING MY SON'S CELL PHONE!  (Yeah, the 44 year old - how the heck am I 44 years old and in charge of these kids and this house all by myself?) I am the only adult in charge and it's 3:38AM.  AND THE CALL CAME FROM FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE?!!!!!

I'd felt only moments earlier that my thoughts were racing.  Now we were onto 'Fast and Furious' style thinking or panicking and fortunately rationalizing.

OK, the call is from downstairs.  Where is the phone?  Why would my home phone call Danny's phone at 3:34 AM?  Do I go DOWN THERE?  What if?  What?  This is crazy! 

Rationalizing - Could it be because the bill is late?  A warning message that the phones will be turned off?  OK, which ones are late?  Oh, all of them.  No, that's silly.  They don't call you at 3:34 AM about this stuff, do they? 

OK, this is Daddy and his "other-world" friends that like to play with me in this house.  Setting off the music box that is in the off position, making Elmo talk without functioning batteries, forever playing with the lights in Danny's and my bedrooms, and lately, the voices (did I say that out loud?).  The time is so Poltergeist or Amityville Horror, isn't it?  3:34.  OMG  Do I see shadows?  Really?  Oh Geez...

OK, stop.  No.  There's an explanation.  You know there is.  It's Verizon after all. 

"Danny, (only seconds have past since he told me the origination of the call, but I've had 30 minutes worth of thoughts pass through my mind)  listen to the voice mail."
"OK, how do I do that?  Oh, yeah, I remember I pressed this button earlier today when I.... and then.... so I think...."
(GREAT! one of Danny's random stories that starts in the middle again AND it does NOT relate to this situation!!!!) 
"Dan, just listen to the voice mail honey, OK?" 
I'm wide awake and so is Carter now. 
"Who is it Dan?" Carter asks. 
Carter and I watch Danny's face as the rather bright glow of his cell phone illuminates his face as he listens to voice mails. 
"Oh, that was just Christian earlier today...he was calling because....I couldn't find my phone..." (Oh my God.  This boy has no idea how freaked out I am and I can't let it on, but he has to stop giving me this seemingly non-relevant information right now!!!!!) 

Finally, THE CALL.  THE VOICE MAIL.    His face changes.  His eyes get bigger and he scrunches his eyebrows together in that quizzical and fearful way.  The sound is turned up so I can hear it but vaguely.  Danny's listening intently.
He says, "It's jibberish... I can't understand it.  Sounds like a TV in the background."

OH MY GOD!  It IS a ghost!  Jibberish?  Don't they have to replay the jibberish backwards or slowly to make out the message?  Crap! 

Well, wait a minute.  It's a prank.  Nobody wanted to follow through.  They were standing there giggling with their hand over the phone, right?

No, jibberish is definitely a ghost.  But our TV isn't on.  Daddy's trying to get in touch with me.  What is it?  Oh my God are we in danger?  WHO IS IN THIS HOUSE????????????

OK, breathing.  Breathing.  Laying in bed - calm exterior for the boys.  "That's weird. Well, let's just get back to sleep.  We'll figure it out in the morning.  Maybe a wrong number."

Seriously, what the heck is going on??????????

Then, it occurred to me.  Danny's phone had been missing and he had found it in a sweatshirt in his laundry basket.  When he told me about this earlier, I had thought he'd done quite a search AND was seriously impressed that he'd gone through the laundry basket when he usually doesn't look beyond the doorway.  But, he hadn't.
"Danny, did you call your phone earlier today to find it?" 
"Oh, yeah.  I did."
"What time do you think that was?"
"After school."
"Around 3:30?"
"Oh, yeah!" 
"So the missed call was 3:34 PM?"
"Yeah!  Isn't that weird?"

Yes, still weird, but so much less weird than I thought.

So Danny's phone spazzed out and called him to let him know that he'd received a voice mail exactly twelve hours earlier. 

Why? 

Who knows?

No prank call.

No family members trying to reach me in the middle of the night with another disaster.
No.

Just a little ghostly hello? 

Perhaps. 

You are MAGNIFICENT!

So it's the snowiest day of the year, and maybe my children's lifetime.  They've had a ball with all their friends building snow forts and attempting to sled down the hill.  I've had the great pleasure of shovelling the driveway where the snowdrifts are well above my knees.  Actually, the snow's been light, so the project isn't so bad.  And with great neighbors out doing the same thing, the task has been just fine. 

Well, it's about two hours into the project, and Carter approaches needing a drink.  His face is red as an apple from the cold and wind, and he's got two symmetrical drips of snot between his nose and lips.  Mom-o-meter kicks in.  "Time for a break!"  "No!  I want to be with my friends.  They will have so much fun without me!  I don't want to come in!  It's not fair!"  The devil that lives inside Carter's empty stomach is ugly.  Mom-o-meter reading:  Carter needs a snack and a drink and a 'warming.'

I remain calm.  "Carter, let's just dry your snow clothes in the dryer while you have a little snack.  Trust me.  It won't take long."

"MOM!  YOU ARE MAGNIFICENT!" 
"Really?  Carter, you think I'm magnificent?"
"I was being sarcastic."

Great.

Mom-o-meter reading:  Carter is eating special k with banana playing legos as the dryer drum rolls over and over drying his snowsuit and mittens and hat and scarf.  All is well.  Mom knows best.  And little boy, someday you will know that your mom has had a few moments of magnificence.