A Couple of Months in the Life

So how long has it been since I've written about anything of import? Where are the posts about politics, the media, race, current events, and assholes?

I'm turning into a fluff blogger. And that's not going to change today.

Trust me, I'm still ranting about all those things, but I've just got too much going on right now to write a coherent piece about any of it. So today, continuing in the vein of bees, rats, and weather, I'm going to touch on all the little things that have been happening at Chez Cowbell, as Tony puts it, while I've been non-blogging. An update post, if you will.


MILESTONES

Teen Demon graduated from high school. She looked beautiful and happy. I was so proud of her. How did this happen? Even with 18 years to prepare, there's a lag in the parental brain. You end up sitting there during the ceremony, remembering the first day of kindergarten and trying not to rush the stage shrieking, "Give her back, I wasn't done yet!"

And those of you who think it gets easier after the first one, let me just quash that rumor right here. When the first one graduates and leaves home, it's a shock. It's hard in its own way. It's like your first break up -- the punch to the gut you never saw coming that sucks the breath from your lungs. But it seems more like an anomaly than a way of life. You come back from the airport to find that nest still plenty full with the raucous activity of the remaining fledglings. You can pretend the family is still intact, but one of you is off having a grand adventure. Or protesting the White House. Whatever. When the second one graduates though ... that's a tipping point.

By summer's end, I will have more children away in college than I do at home. I'm having some trouble with that. Anyway, congratulations baby -- you haven't always had an easy road, which makes me even more proud of your drive and motivation. I know you'll kick university ass.

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Male Offspring got his learner's permit. Willym, light a candle, please. You know how some people get addicted to gambling or crystal meth, and it takes over their life and they can't think about anything else, and if they go too long without it, they get shaky and kind of psychotic? Yeah, like that. Except without the physical and financial ruin. This boy thinks he was born to drive. Like it's his whole raison d'être. If financial success was determined by interest in driving, he'd have passed Bill Gates last week. I mean, the boy is like, "I'm going to check the mail." What? He's volunteering? Maturity is kicking in! "Can I have the keys?"

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Remember me writing last year about the advocacy group I helped start? Suffice it to say we've been insanely busy. We've been really proud to have helped bring about a couple of events for students and community recently that have had a big impact, and are gearing up for next year. All of that work has indirectly led to something else. I am currently going through the process of applying for my city's Diversity Commission. I've been through the first three steps, the latest being an interview with the mayor. Next step is the interview with City Council, and then they vote at their next meeting. So if you hear about a Commissioner Cowbell being appointed, that's me.



HEALTH AND WELFARE
The Bohemian got her first stitches. She, unlike her siblings, has no interest in driving. She bikes or does public transit. Last month she wiped out at the bottom of a hill -- on a curve, on a road with no shoulder to speak of -- slamming her head and various appendages into the ground. She nearly lost consciousness. She soaked a Good Samaritan's pink bath towel with blood. She scared the crap out of both of us.

The doctor, after reaming her a new one about not having her helmet on, scared us even more. "Eighty percent of bicycle head injuries are fatal," he intoned. Yeah, so are heart attacks, doc. Thanks for that tidbit.

The Bohemian is a responsible biker. She wears her helmet at all times in DC. The same helmet that is still sitting in DC, awaiting her return. She tried to wear her brother's helmet that morning, but it didn't fit over her hair. Reasoning that the park she was heading for had nothing on the mean streets of DC, she left without it. I'm so fucking grateful that she didn't come out with some kind of brain injury. That she came out of it at all. Make your kids wear their helmets, people. You can't count on them always being part of that lucky 20%.

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Male Offspring wiped out on his ripstick. Personally, I don't see how he rides that thing at all. It's got 2 wheels. That's it. Skates have more wheels than that, and you get one for each foot. In addition, the torsion bar that joins the 2 sections acts as an axis allowing each section to rotate. If that's not enough, the wheels themselves rotate. 360°. At will. The only thing that would make this thing any more unstable would be if they added a pogo stick component to it.

Anyway, the son wipes out, tearing up his hand and both knees. I get the following text message: "Can you bring home some of those really big Band-aids?" This is not the first time I've received such a text message. Parents, you know what I'm talking about. Anyway, the poor thing is unable to do dishes, what, with his injured hand and all. I'm sure his road to recovery will be long and arduous.


TRAVEL

The Bohemian is in Ghana. We took out a home equity loan for the clinic to protect her from malaria, yellow fever, typhoid, hepititis A, and the common cold. Oh wait, we don't have that much equity in our home -- better sell those shoes, honey. The clinic advertised "sliding scale fees". After the shots and pills were dispensed, they informed us that doesn't apply to voluntary travel. I guess they consider it akin to elective surgery or Botox. She's on a study trip for school, lady, not summering in a French chalet with her butler in tow.

Anyway, yes, she's there with a small group of music students and a couple of professors. She spent last Sunday in NYC, waiting for the rest of her group to arrive from DC. They missed their flight. Which means, of course, that they all missed the connecting flight from NY to Morocco, which led to them missing the weekly flight that goes from Morocco to Ghana. The Bohemian was not amused. I get a phone call as she's (finally) getting on the plane to Morocco, the following day.

The Radical Bohemian: (dramatic sigh) So, we're leaving. Finally.
Me: Oh good. Did they find another flight from Morocco to Ghana?

RB: No. As a matter of fact, they didn't. There is no other flight from Morocco to Ghana. We're now flying from Morocco to Togo.

(I can practically feel her eyes stabbing daggers into her professor's back)

Me: Togo? So ... how will you get to Ghana?
RB: Apparently, we're going to drive.

Me: Oh. Who's driving?

RB: I don't know.

Me: What kind of vehicle?

RB: I don't know.

Me: Well, is it a bus or private vehicle? I think that's a pretty rough drive. What about visas? You guys don't have visas to Togo.

RB: I don't know. I don't think anyone knows. Hey, we're boarding, I have to go ... I'll try to get in touch with you somehow...

Yeah. High times and adventure under the watchful supervision of responsible university staff. Anyway, she called yesterday, so I only had to worry for about five days. Actually, the Bohemian is a highly resourceful and experienced traveler, I wasn't too worried. She's fine and they did actually make it to Ghana. She was on a shared phone card, so I think she crammed about ten minutes worth of info into two minutes, but she sounded thrilled. Can't wait to get the full report.

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Male Offspring went to football camp in eastern WA last month. Fortunately, yellow fever was not a concern. He gloated about temperatures in the 90s and constant sunshine. He did this, of course, with a mountain range between us so I couldn't actually lash out in a moment of temporary insanity. The kid's no fool. He came back sporting the now traditional 'fro-hawk, but the guys kind of messed up with the clippers so it didn't have quite the shock value as last year's event. I am gearing up for another football season in the stands.


AT LEAST THEY'RE NOT ON DRUGS

Teen Demon got a tattoo. I'm not sure if it was at the same place where she got her belly button pierced. She'd been telling me she was going to do these things after she turned 18. In fact, she'd informed me of this fact many times, via text message. Teen Demon tells me all her important news and asks all the dicey questions via text message. Her generation should be called Generation Text. I fully expect to receive a text message rather than a wedding announcement.

Anyway, it's been nearly a year since Teen Demon turned 18, so I suppose one could say she's showed incredible restraint. It could be worse. One of her friends recently got a guy's name tattooed below her belly button. A couple of weeks after her 18th birthday. In big, capital, Olde English letters. Hip to hip. She met the guy on the Internet.  Sweet kid. He got her name as well. Same place, same style. This girl is a smart cookie and beautiful and funny to boot. So what happened? Young love, people, young love. It bites us all in the ass, doesn't it?

Anyway, Teen Demon got stars. Not sure what they represent, other than being cute and sparkly. Her reasoning involves stars "never going out of style, like some stupid fad". Or a guy's name. Hey, at least she's employing some sort of logic, here. And she didn't end up with a sun-turned-spider tattoo either, so there's something to be said for that.

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The Bohemian attended Pride with her friends, as per usual, with one small twist. She went in drag. She insisted on me calling her "son" that day, so she could get into character. Not sure what Male Offspring thought about me suddenly having two sons, but he said her goatee was pretty cool. To me, she just looks like the Bohemian whether she's manning up or wearing her trademark Bohemianesque skirts, but then, I'm her mom. She said she was actually passing, and even got a few looks from the ladies. The straight ones, I mean.


NEWS FROM A BROAD

Betty called from Iraq. I was so relieved. I'd been emailing her, and hadn't heard a word back. Now I'm not one to freak about that, and I know she's just a touch busy over there, but still ... I was a little worried. OK, a lot worried. Anyway, she called the other day, and we talked for about an hour, which was wonderful. She's doing well, but when I asked her how things really were, I got a long pause, a sigh, and "It's very stressful. Very stressful". She couldn't go into too many details, OPSEC and all that, but I could tell it's wearing on her. She's got five more months of the 15-month tour. If Dubya and crew don't extend them before that.

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OK, that's enough news for now. I know, how to handle all that excitement, right? Good point. Time for a beer.