Stag Club

So my husband jokes with me all the time that he is such a patient husband (and I guess I am not a patient wife) that he will start a support group called HAMM or "Husbands against Moreno Mothers." Moreno mothers are the strong-willed women, wives, and mothers that are descendants of the Luz Moreno blood line. Our grandma or Lola Luz was an original and a pioneer in many ways. Definitely the matriarch of the family, raising seven children. Even in her 90's she was still very much sought after for advice by the family. She will be missed.

So I guess this husband's club called HAMM, that John is teasing about starting, is kind of a tribute to Lola Luz. My Dad knows about HAMM and has decided he should be President of HAMM, and John has appointed himself CEO of HAMM. John thinks that my uncles (married to my mom's sisters) should also be promoted to high offices among the ranks of HAMM members for time served.

John and my Dad have gone so far as to try to come up with a slogan, if you can believe this: "Be not afraid" ... or maybe "Be very afraid"... When John and the other husbands start in on this fictitious club, I just have to sit, smile, and listen. First of all, it's entertaining to see them joke around and plan future meetings and discuss who "should be recruited..." etc. They are like little boys giggling, high-five-ing each other, and carrying on like they are getting away with a naughty deed.

Don't get me wrong, the wives need support too. These guys are no picnic to be around sometimes. But I know there are days when it takes great patience and flexibily to be a HAMM member. The fact that they are still here must mean they really love us. Let them have their club.

21st Century Digital Stag

Lucas sometimes uses some terminology that is either computer- or game-related. Even a few years back, Lucas could recognize, and even read, certain gaming words like "quit" or "save" or "continue."

When Lucas received his first ribbon in swim class, the first thing he said was, "Look, Mommy, I leveled-up!"

When Lucas draws, he calls the little people in the scenery "characters." And usually the scenes in his drawings are depictions of scenes from his games.

Last time we were at Great America theme park, Lucas won a Sonic the Hedgehog stuffed toy. He was so excited, but soon after that, he told me, "Mommy, we have to unlock Tails (Sonic's friend and the other prize he wanted to win) next time."

When Lucas and I play "Connect Four" he calls himself "player one" and me "player two."

Lucas knows the word "calibrate" because the Play Station Move adjusts the player's body to the dimensions of the game.

I have to admit that if I did not live with these techie stags, I would probably still require a typewriter and carbon paper to write letters. Now I can publish documents as pdf's ( I know!), I can check my facebook updates on my smartphone (really!) and know how to manage a blog like this one! I wonder what these stags are learning from me?

No Stags Allowed

I have spent the last six weeks working in an all-girl high school. I have never taught at a single-sex school before. I have taught all different levels of school from 4th grade to 11th grade... never just girls. I did not realize the difference the absence of boys would make in the school day.

My first week, the young ladies (and yes, most of them behave like ladies) came in to my room while I was setting up and welcomed me. I was wondering what they wanted from me or what questions needed answered, but they were there simply to say "Welcome to Our Lady of Chastity School." By the way, I made up that school to protect the guilty and the innocent... he he he.

My second week, school was moving along smoothly. The young ladies were starting to wonder how long I was staying, and if I was married, had kids, and if I lived in the city. Even the way they asked their questions were delicate, respectful, and considerate. They were careful not to be too intrusive or prying into the substitute teacher's business. Most of them patiently raised their hands to ask questions, made eye contact while I spoke, and treated my classroom like a place of learning. Of course, these are teenage girls, and there are a handful of them who are loud, boisteous, and disruptive. But the percentage of them are way lower than in a mixed gender class.

I am taking over for their Biology teacher for a few weeks while she is on maternity leave. We are getting along very well, and we have the most interesting discussions... the kind of conversations only girls can discuss comfortably. Today, we discussed the 4 major organic compounds: proteins, lipids (fats), carbohydrates, & nucleic acids--- and that inevitably gave rise to the topic of weight loss. We discussed why (when going a diet) we lose weight in places we don't want to (like our boobs) instead of places we want to (like our thighs).

Another time last week, we were working with chemical model kits that resemble tinker toys. To build a molecule, you insert a wooden stick into a wooden ball. I was giving them instructions on how to properly insert the sticks into the black balls when I realized that I probably said the word "balls" about 17 times and NO ONE snickered or laughed yet. This would have happened in a mixed class of boys and girls.

The decompression chamber

Today, after work, I picked up Lucas from school and went home. John was working from home today so he was already there... in front of the computer... when we got home. Ian arrived a couple of hours later from his summer job.

The end of the day is usually time for, as John calls it, decompression. He was the first person I ever met to use that term and I thought he was being overly dramatic about needing to be left alone after coming home from work. Decompression, to me, sounds like the thing you do after fighting a battle or training a tiger or a really deep sea diving experience... really scary and difficult stuff!

The definition of decompress: to relieve of pressure (ok, that sounds like something you probably need to do after work)

Another definition: to return to a condition of normal pressure (yup, definitely necessary after a long work day)

So how do the stags in this household return to normal pressure? Tonight was a perfect example. John was already decompressing when Lucas and I walked in the door. John's typical decompression activities involve killing monsters on the computer, looking for bargains on slickdeals.com, or chuckling at random posts on reddit.com.

Lucas, upon walking in the door, kicked off his shoes, took off his jacket, sat at the computer and logged onto youtube.com to watch cartoons of Super Mario, Sonic the Hedgehog, or Lego Batman. I really have to keep an eye on that boy. Some youtube stuff is just inappropriate!


Ian's routine involves checking on the dailybunny.com. No, no, this is not a website with beautiful scantily-clad women of the Playboy magazines (you have a dirty mind!) It is a website dedicated to bunnies of the animal kind...one cute and fuzzy photo after another. Sometimes he video-conferences with other students from his Computer Science department at school.

Me? Well, if you are reading this, then you know that there is a 4th computer (yes, we have at least 4) being occupied by me. If I'm not typing something on stagnation, I am surfing QVC.com for jewelry, shoes, or handbags. Or I am reading other blogs by minimalists like Leo Babauta (mnmlist.com) or Jeff Yeager (UltimateCheapskate.com). Oh, oh, and don't forget the fabulous episodes of The Rachel Maddow Show on msnbc.com.

So after all this decompressing, the 4 of us should be relaxed and rejuvenated! Right? I'll get back to you on that one!

Stag Speech -part 2

Lucas saw Diane, his speech therapist for two years. By this time Lucas also had surgery, a myringotomy (insertion of ear tubes).

The surgery, called a myringotomy, is a tiny incision in the eardrum. Any fluid, usually thickened secretions will be removed. In most situations, a small plastic tube (a tympanostomy tube) is inserted into the eardrum to keep the middle ear aerated for a prolonged period of time. These ventilating tubes remain in place for six months to several years. (medicinenet.com)

Lucas' progress in speech suddenly took off after this surgery. One speech therapist said that when the middle ear is clogged like that, the child might be hearing sounds as if he is under water. I believe her. Especially when Lucas' pronunciation became so much clearer after the surgery.

After that, we noticed how much more talkative Lucas has become. He can talk about something non-stop for several minutes...even if no one is paying attention. I can honestly say that, some days, the only way he keeps me focused on his chatter is when he uses the phrase "hey Mommy" or "watch this".

Fast-forward to this summer: I was spending the day at home with Lucas and I noticed how much he was saying in such a short period of time. So I decided to write down everything he was saying as fast as I can. Here is some of it:

When Daddy get home, he can try the chicken with sticks. If he doesn't like it, he can use his fingers.

Want to try my chicken? (no response from me)

What to be my battle partner on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle game?

Mommy, watch this!... Heee Yaaaa!

Want to taste my french fry? Want to dip it? (no response from me)

I am getting fuller.

I can do this like this. (dipping fries in ketchup)

If Daddy doesn't like to eat with sticks, he can play DC Universe.

Mommy, watch this.

Want to come closer to me? This is whacking. (he whacks his fries onto ketchup)

I don't like fire. In camping, we'll just sit on a log, not the fire.

Watch this.

Look, Mom, it got two cracks (referring to his fries)

I'm full.

Wanna be my battle partner?

Want to watch a movie theater? I'm going to "Cars 2" on June 24.

Donatello's weapon is a staff. He only has one.

Leonardo has the long swords. He's blue (that's for Dad). He likes it.

Watch this. Watch this.

I wonder what his speech therapist will say when she sees him again at school.

Stag Speech

It all started when Lucas was at the doctor for a checkup. The pediatrician asked me how many words he was saying. I had to really think. Lucas was only two and a half. Why does she want to know? "Twenty. Or maybe twenty five?" I responded. "Hmm," she said. "He should be saying 200 words at this age." That's when our speech journey began.

His first speech therapist was a pretty lady named Karen. She spoke to him softly and blew bubbles during their sessions trying to get him to say the word "Pop"... or at least the "P" sound at the beginning and end of the word. He loved that. It was play-based speech therapy and the focus was sound production. Lucas was still pointing and grunting at this point. His appointments were twice weekly for 45 minute sessions. Now that I think back, Lucas worked pretty hard during his sessions mimicking Karen making "Ga, Ga, Ga" and "Da, Da, Da" sounds. And I worked pretty hard at driving him 45 minutes to his appointments in the middle of the day.

When Lucas turned 3, his case was transferred to the SF Unified School District. He had to go through one of the district's preschools to receive speech therapy. That's when we met Diane. She was an older lady with a "get-down-to-business" attitude. Along with speech therapy, Diane also taught Lucas the beginnings of letter formation and phonics.

Transferring to the Unified School district was also the start of Lucas' IEP (Individualized Education Program). It is a legal document drawn up by the special education department after an assessment of the child has been made. Lucas was tested verbally, visually, and using his motor skills.

The IEP should describe how the student learns, how the student best demonstrates that learning and what teachers and service providers will do to help the student learn more effectively. The wording on this document is enough to make a parent wonder if her child will be ok.

"Lucas will repond to commands containing regular past tense verbs... using simple sequencing cards with an 80% target achievement. Lucas will follow two-part related and unrelated directions that use concepts with 35% achievement."

How these people know whether Lucas has reached "target achievement" is lost on me. Being his Mom, I couldn't even tell you with certainty that Lucas can "answer who, what, when, and where questions in context during structured activity."

Nevertheless, I plugged ahead, diligently driving him to his speech sessions. John worked on his comprehension with Brain Quest books and activities. Our hopes and dreams for a college scholarship were fading fast. Oh well, better start saving money now...

(to be continued)

Martial Art Stag

Not a day passes when I find myself defending myself or dodging a punch or kick from the little Stag. This sounds worse than what actually happens. Lucas seem to think playtime must involve throwing a roundhouse or a hook at either Mom, Dad, Ian, or an imaginary opponent.

It starts before school begins in the morning. He rolls into bed with me for a few more minutes of snoozing (plus I think the body heat generated by John alone is very comforting and soothing). I will wrap my arms and my blanket around Lucas ready to smell his head and give him a kiss when i find a fist under my chin. What is that? He doesn't throw the fist. He just kind of forms it and places it gently under my chin as if to say "Good Morning! Watch your back!"

At morning assembly at school, while the Principal is talking, Lucas is crouched like a tiger (kung fu style) eyes focused on an invisible enemy while he throws a punch. The kid in front of him and behind him just glance at him and turn back toward the Prinicipal. Ironically, I have never received notes from his teacher for fighting, bullying, or punching actual kids at school.

When I pick up Lucas from school, he is happy to see me and gives me a sweet (and sweaty) hug and kiss as soon as he walks out of his classroom. But immediately after that, we pass by 2 sign posts and a fire hydrant that Lucas must kick on our way to the car. Again, they are not strong enough to cause any kind of damage, they seem to represent practice dummies or something...

During dinner, it's not unusual for Lucas to randomly kick under the table. He will throw a punch at my butt on his way to the fridge to get a popsicle or some juice. At tickle fight between us will usually involve a front kick or axe kick to fend off my artfully placed tickles (right below the armpits where the ribs protrude the most). I do remind him whenever he makes contact with my body or anyone else's that he need to be gentle so that he does not hurt anyone. I believe he understands that because his nature is so gentle and sweet. But when he does land a kick square in the middle of my tibia (shin bone), I wonder...

I can't help but think that we have a martial artist in our midst... John is sooo excited at that idea. Maybe we will find a training facility next to a therapist's office... just in case =)

Cheapskate Stags

With discussion on "the budget" all over the news lately, it made me think about our budget as well. Around the same time, I just finished a great book called "The Cheapskate Next Door" by Jeff Yeager. The book talks about different people's points of view on how to spend and save money. There are extreme cases in the book as well. Jeff Yeager mentioned a guy who would go on his business trips carrying burned out light bulbs and swap them with good light bulbs in his hotel room....REALLY! This same guy stole pool towels and toilet paper rolls too. Other cheapskates mentioned were dumpster divers (aka "Freegans"). Finally, some cheapskates consider underwear a luxury--- I'm not making this up.

As I was reading it I realized that I live with a cheapskate. Some common characteristics among non-extreme cheapskates sound very familiar: They HATE HATE HATE debt. This doesn't necessarily mean they don't have any. They hate the idea of it and try to get rid of it as soon as possible. They are not interested in keeping up with the Joneses, the Smiths, the Leungs, the Papadopulouses, or anyone else for that matter. Their homes are modest (small according to modern standards). They drive their cars until the cars cry out in pain asking to be put down (1992 Saturn)... or they use bikes and public transportation. They wear out their clothes before they buy new ones (from Costco!). And they do incessant research and price comparisons before a big-ticket purchase. ("Amazon vs. Best Buy... Ohhhh but I have coupon from Slick Deals...")

I think the most striking thing I learned about cheapskates is that they are not insulted by being called cheapskates. It's a badge of honor. They live well below their means and speed up their retirements, or they donate their extra cash to charities, or they find that they don't need to work so much to live simply and comfortably that they can spend more time with their friends and families... There might be a lesson here for all of us.

Is a dozen purses to much?

Stubborn Stag

Today I volunteered to hang up art work at Lucas' school. They are setting up an art gallery of sorts in the school lobby to show off the students' work. It seemed simple enough. Put some tape on the back of art pieces and stick them to the wall.

When I got to school, I met the art teacher Teresa who seemed really relieved that SOMEONE had signed up to help. Instead of papers to hang up, she started pulling out large boxes of what looked like recycling... soda bottles, milk jugs, straws, yogurt cups. I thought for a second that there was a miscommunication. I did not sign up for clean up crew.

Then Teresa pulled the pieces out of the boxes and told me that the students had worked on "found object" art. They had made birds of all different shapes, sizes, and species out of objects that would have been recycled anyway. Some of them looked exactly like birds and some looked like robot birds. The students found creative ways to use foil and doilies for wings and feathers. They used the spiral binding from a notebook to form talons... it was pretty cool.



The assignment was to hang the bird sculptures from the large wooden beams above the school lobby. Just when I was wondering which one of us was going to be climbing the ladder about 45 times to get the birds way, way up there, the school Principal appeared and introduced us to Steve. Because of a mix-up at the school district office, Steve showed up at our school as a substitute even though no had called for one. The Principal was nice enough to lend Steve to us to help. And he was really tall! Eureka!

While Teresa and I tried to get string around these intricate birds to get ready for hanging, Steve volunteered to do the climbing and the hanging. Teresa suggested that Steve secure the pins into the wood FIRST and then hang the birds after. I thought that was a good idea since it would make spacing the pins a lot easier. Steve said he could handle climbing the ladder, push pin in hand, with a bird sculpture hanging from the push pin, and securing the push pin into the dense wooden beam...all at the same time. Teresa and I trusted that he knew what he was doing.

CRASH! A bird fell down hard on the lobby floor. It came apart in 3 pieces.
"That one was way too heavy," commented Steve, calmly. I saw Teresa's eyes were wide with disbelief. I said nothing. But she replied just as calmly, "They are quite delicate too. It's okay. I can fix it." Accidents happen, I thought.

We continued with our roles: Teresa and I stringing the birds while Steve climbed and hung the birds. CRASH... a second bird fell down. This one miraculously survived the fall except one eye came off and had to be glued back. "That wooden beam is really hard. It's got several knots!" That was all Steve could explain. Teresa just muttered, "MmmHmmm." She is sooo nice. I would be pissed. After the third and fourth bird came down, Teresa once again suggested nicely that securing the push pins before hanging the birds might prevent more mishaps. Steve's response: "Ahhh, I'm alright!"

More crashes occured. So during the course of 3 hours, Teresa and I mended birds as well as strung them. 45 sculptures were finally hung up... some of them were hung up 3 or 4 times by Steve before they finally stayed. Where did they find this guy?

Too many Stags

I sometimes forget how outnumbered I am by the stags here at home. If you look around my home you will find Lego pieces, computers, plastic guns and bows and arrows, a dart board, science fiction paperbacks, the Total Gym, paper airplanes, and such. I don't get bothered by this "boy stuff" too much. It's just a matter of finding storage for the stuff. But sometimes I will be putting shoes away and I feel outnumbered:
No wonder I crave "girls day out" sometimes. Even shopping with my stags ends up being about boys ski jackets, lug boots, and Hanes briefs. When it's my turn to get something for myself, I usually wait until I can go out alone because the stags get impatient while I browse through the aisles.

The number of Stags in my life : My brother Leif has a son. I have two sons. My step-sister Ro has 3 sons. John's brother Andre has a son... see what I mean?

The energy in this home changes a little bit when a female comes over. My mom's visits are always nice because just the sound of her voice adds a girly-ness to the background noise of this man cave. My sister-in-law Tina adds her own feminine energy to this space with her delicious home made desserts and her sweet laughter.

The latest estrogen boost was from our son's friend. Her sweetness and style was refreshing and reminded me that there should be more of a balance between the Yin and the Yang in our household. It's easy to just let things keep going in the Stag direction... mud-colored couch, beige carpet, brown wood furniture, grey-toned electronic gadgets. Once in a while I will have to inject our household with some feminine details.

But I can tell this will not be easy. As I type this, Lucas and I are also making a "knight's castle" (his words not mine) out of a large cardboard box. The colors: red, grey, brown, black, green. I asked Lucas, "If you are a knight, then what am I?"

"You're the King," he said without hesitation. Great.

Grateful

John and I were discussing upcoming expenses he will have to take care of as the executor of his father's will and estate in Washington, DC. This topic always gets us both agitated. I think it's because our family is here in the West Coast and he has some very important and very costly business to settle in the East Coast. He cannot personally oversee the work being done by repairmen. He has a stack of papers that need his signature being faxed back and forth to the realtor. He cannot supervise the clean up and removal of items in the property. In the last year and three months, John has devoted so much time, effort, and most importantly, LOTS of money to this endeavor, and he is shouldering the burden alone. In addition, the drain on our finances will not end anytime soon. So I think discussing the matter, even casually, brings up a lot of stress for both of us.

All this is piled on top of the daily responsibilities of parenting, working, housework, etc. It has been a great weight on both of our shoulders. It is easy to look around and wish things could be better, wish we could share this load with someone, wish we were repairing a home of our OWN instead of living in an apartment, wishing this problem would just go away...

Then disaster strikes and puts everything back in perspective. A 9.0 magnitude earthquake strikes the eastern coast of Japan. Then a tsunami created by the quake washes away entire roadways, farms, and towns taking possibly 10,000 lives with it. Factories shut down. Food is scarse. And now the threat of radiation is hanging over Japan and neighboring countries as well. The news shows Japanese citizens, politicians, and even search and rescue workers in tears... almost in disbelief at what has happened to their country.

Just imagining a 20 foot wall of water coming through my home and carrying away everything with it makes all my problems seem small. This disaster was no one's fault. It just happened. Sometimes sh** just happens. I'm going to try focusing on the good and be grateful for all I have (problems too!). I am grateful that everything I hold dear is still here.

Silver for the Stags...

My mother recently gave me her set of silver plated cutlery. She has had this set since she was in the Philippines ??? Instead of waiting to bequeath it to me in her will, she gave it to me early partly to make sure it doesn't get lost in her move from one house to another, and partly (I believe) to see me and my family incorporate the pieces in my home. It was an important moment in my life to open the wooden chest and discover all the pieces that she has held on to all these years. The design on the handles is quite elaborate for my taste. I prefer simple clean lines on my eating utensils, but I felt honored to be able to pull these same pieces out that my mother used every Christmas, Thanksgiving, or other gatherings at her home.

Now, fast-forward 30 years: I will be my mom's age (hopefully). Will my Stags appreciate or even use this same silverware from their grandmother passed down to their mother passed down to them? Silver serving/eating utensils are not the type of thing stags spend time thinking about. Will it end up in a yard sale or ebay auction?

This brings to mind the items people keep to remember/think of someone. I have an Our Lady of Guadalupe pendant from my Grandma Luz. I also still have my wedding gown she made. I will never wear it again, but I just can't seem to part with it. My friend Mary Anne gave me a gold Nefertiti pendant that reminds me of her each and every time I see it... because she IS such a goddess. My friend Carla gave me a journal that reflects so much of her playful personality, it's not possible to see it without thinking of her.

Who knows what my boys will keep for themselves to remember me after I'm gone. Will it be my artwork? My jewelry? Or will they be non-material items? I hope their wives will keep and safeguard a few of my items for the next generation, for my grandchildren, as I tried to do for John's and my mother.

John did keep a few of his mother's things after she passed away. We have 2 framed silk screens from Thailand, a pearl brooch from India, a hand painted fan from Italy, and... of all things... a silver plated water pitcher. What do you know. Stags do appreciate silver ware.

Working at the Speed of Stag

I don't know if it's just the stags I live with, or if all stags work at a certain SLOW pace that make my blood pressure rise. As much as I love my stags, I cannot sit by and watch them take their time to do stuff. My husband now knows me so well. He knows that if I ask him to help me with a project or moving furniture or whatever, if he makes me wait too long, I will do it myself. I mean, really, why am I waiting so long? Is he operating on someone's heart? Is he solving Hilbert's Sixteenth Problem? No. He is killing monsters on his computer. He claims there is no pause button on these games... MmmHmmm.

Maybe the stag's tolerance for unfinished tasks is higher than a female. We females see underwear on the floor and pick it up. Stags lift their foot higher in order to walk over it. The stack of recycling that needs to be taken our becomes inversely proportional to my level of patience. There is hope, though. After 20 years, some stags show signs of progress and improvement. Maybe in another 20 years, I won't have to remind him anymore.

Romantic Stags

Valentines Day is off to a good start. At 8:30 this morning, I drove by a local flower stand at the corner of 19th and Ortega here in SF and there was a line of stags picking out their Valentine's Day presents for their sweethearts. John and I share the opinion that Valentine's day is so commercialized. "The perfect card, the perfect gift, the perfect date . . . Isn't there enough pressure in relationships without having to live up to some romantic ideal on Valentine's Day?" (http://mentalhealth.about.com/library/weekly/aa013100a.htm)

Yet, John's inner romantic still wins and he usually gets me something almost every year. John's gift to me, a bouquet of multi-colored roses arrived this morning with a sweet card. Commercialized or not, I love, love, love the presents from him...*sigh! It turns out that the romantic gene has been passed down to the first-born stag. Last night, Ian got all dressed up and smelling nice for his date with his girl. He asked his foodie friends for a good recommendation and made dinner reservations for a restaurant, Pisces. Armed with a present (a delicate pearl and Swarovski crystal necklace and earring set), he borrowed my car and picked her up all the way from Berkeley... well done, Son! He is off to a good start. Yes, the romantic gene strong in that one!

The little stag is at school right now cutting red construction paper into hearts. He will probably make a card for each of us here at home. Those cards are the best!

Signs of the Stags....

Welcome Year of the Rabbit, the fourth animal in the 12-year cycle of the Chinese Zodiac. Rabbit people (born in 1915, 1927, 1939, 1951, 1963, 1975, 1987, 1999, and 2011) are admired, trusted, and are often financially lucky. To celebrate the year of the Rabbit, I brought home two "money trees", also known as Pachira aquatica. It is commonly given during Chinese New Year and enhances good Feng Shui energy in the home. I don't practice Feng Shui, but I thought that the chances of me killing a low-maintenance, low-light plant are slim. I have a brown thumb, you see.

It turns out that some Chinese Zodiac signs get along better together than others. For example, the Dog (me) is most compatible with the Horse or Tiger and incompatible with the Rooster and Dragon. The Boar or Pig (John) is more compatible with a Rabbit or Goat. The Snake (Ian) gets along well with Rooster and Ox. And finally Monkey (such an appropriate sign for Lucas!) is most compatible with Rat or Dragon.... hmmmm. According to these Zodiac compatibility rules, our little household of wild animals is not very compatible. This might explain the chaos one can hear in the background when we are conversing on the phone.

On the other hand, Zodiac-Shmodiac, I think we get along just fine (most days).

The hyper-focused Stag

Our living room is small. Actually our entire downstairs is small. I can sit with my laptop in the dining room and still sort of be able to read John's computer monitor across the room while he's in the living room. If you've ever been to our place, you know! Today, I have been having trouble getting John's attention. I don't mean in a naughty way or anything. More like when I ask him a question from across the room, he doesn't move, doesn't flinch, and DOES NOT ANSWER for like 5 minutes. By the time he utters an answer, I am left wondering what he is talking about because I already forgot my question. When John is killing monsters, the eyes are continuously glued to the monitor. The ears don't work so well.

So, out of irritation, I pulled up my Yahoo messenger tab on my laptop and typed out a message to John. "This is your wife speaking," and then I pressed "send". I looked across the room to see if he notices the message blinking on the corner of his monitor. His head turned slightly toward the blinking, and I heard the keyboard clicking away.... "I am all ears," he responds.

The First Stag

The steam from the shower started to evaporate from the mirror when I heard someone call me.

"Phone call!" My grandma shouted. I barely heard her through the closed bathroom door. I thought Grandma was asleep already. That's weird. Who's calling me? I don't know a lot of people here. I just talked to Mary Anne less than an hour ago. Who else could be calling me? Carla?

"Ok, I'm coming!" I called back to Grandma. I put the phone to my ear and said "Hello?" while trying to balance the towel wrapped around my wet hair. "Hi. I'm John. My, ummm, Mom gave me your number."

I don't know how long I was silent. A flood of images started to rush past me.

One week ago: My Aunt decided that I should, no, I NEEDED, to go to my Junior Prom. It was April of 1988. I had just moved to her city in January. My Aunt was very concerned that I would miss out on a lot if I didn't try to go. I had a great argument against that. I just moved here. I don't know any boys. I had four solid friends at school and a few acquaintances. We had one boy, Paul, who hung out with us everyday. He was really sweet, but more like a girlfriend, not a prom date. Plus Paul already had a date for Junior Prom. I thought that was the end of our discussion about Prom.

Two days ago: After dinner, my Aunt pulled out a fuzzy black-and-white photocopy of some sort of class picture of boys in military uniforms. Hmmm. Ok. "He's really cute," my Aunt pointed at one boy. He looked okay considering his eyes looked like the fuzz or lint on the glass of the copy machine used to make this particular copy. I squinted to see more clearly. They all looked very similar. My five-foot nothing Aunt was a force when she decided on something. All my Mom's sisters are.

"He's half-Filipino," my Aunt's focus on that same boy was unwavering. "But HE is the one you should go to Prom with!" her finger moved to the fuzzy boy next to the first one. "I work with his Mom. She's the one who gave me this picture."

I wondered what she was up to.... "I guess," I muttered, not really paying attention. I guess I didn't really understand what she meant until she said, "His mom will ask him to call you to introduce himself." I was only 17, but I could feel a furrow on my brow starting to form. Call me? Who is this boy? He doesn't even go to my school. He's like in the Army, or something.

"He is a Junior like you. He goes to St. John's Military School." I still didn't fully comprehend what was brewing around me.

I think I said something like "Okay." I didn't give it much thought anyway because when a Junior in high school gets handed some random girl's phone number by his Mom and is asked to call, the answer, in most cases, is a swift and unadulterated "NO".

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So there I was standing in the hallway, dripping from parts that weren't dried off yet. "Hi!" I said a little to eagerly. I might have even followed with "How are you?".... more like "Who are you?"... I couldn't believe this was happening.

"My name is John. I got your phone number from my Mom." --- (how romantic!)

I tried to imagine the conversation at his house before he made this call:

Mom: John, call this number.

John: Who's number is this?

Mom: My co-worker's niece. You should call her.

John: That sounds awkward, Mom. I don't even know her.

Mom: Just do it.

John: You're serious, aren't you?

Mom: I told her Aunt you would call her.

I'm sure the actual conversation, if one actually took place, wasn't like that.Before either one of us said anything else, I knew he must really love his Mom.

the word stag

A stag is a male deer. In Old English, the word "deer" had a broader meaning: a wild animal of any kind. How appropriate. If you call my home on an evening when both my sons AND my husband are downstairs with me, you will hear wild animal sounds coming from the background coupled with the sound of the TV and the computer games.