Karen's Journey

We -- and the school -- are having a difficult time getting a certain someone to follow directions the first time. Compliance takes three or four reminders to achieve. It's not outright refusal to follow directions; it's just that he's requiring us to repeat ourselves repeatedly before deciding to do as he's been told. This drains the patience bucket quickly. I'm sure it falls in the brain drain category, but my brain drain bible is about how to respond to verbalized recalcitrance, not ignored instructions. I don't have any tricks for this one. So anything that anyone can share that is appropriate for an attachment-challenged, developmentally traumatized child, I'm all ears. Thanks!

Dear Mr. Ed, I'm the type of person who gives money to those guys at the highway exits holding up signs "Will work for food." I know they may very well spend it on alcohol, but I figure it's not my business to judge them. I'm the kind of person who brings the excess bounty of my garden to the food pantry instead of putting it out for sale at the curb, because I know that people going to the food pantry don't get fresh tomatoes; they get canned tomatoes, and if I've got more than I need, well, how better than to make someone's day -- someone who is going through tough times -- than to give them some fresh-from-the-garden tomatoes? I feed stray cats and sometimes even take one in to foster until he finds a forever home. Basically, I'm a softie. I also am more inclined to trust people than to be suspicious. You are the father of my son's friend. They go to the same school and same daycare. I don't know you really well, but enough to say he

When I was a teenager, we lived in an upper middle class community. Everyone's father worked as an engineer or researcher for Generous Electric. My family was a bit of an anomaly, as my father was a "lowly" computer informations systems specialist. No one back then had a clue what that meant -- laughable now to remember having to explain it to people -- and if he were starting out in that field today, he'd be getting paid as much as the fathers who were engineers and researchers. But still, he worked for -- ugh I can hardly cough it out, I hate the company so much -- GE, and we lived the GE family life. My parents overstretched on the housing budget to get us into that area so we would be in a good school district. So there I was, living in our suburban raised ranch house -- nestled among colonials and split-levels and ranches and other raised ranches -- living the upper middle class life, riding the bus with everyone who was just like me, or at least close to being

My Facebook status today is about how T can't run the annual Shamrock Run ( see my post from last year ) because he's got a whopper of a cold and a heck of a cough. And that he missed the Festival of Races last fall due to pneumonia. And for a kid who was born to run, he sure misses a lot of races where he would shine. And that I was disappointed that I'm not running due to injury, but more disappointed for him. I lied. I'm beyond disappointed that I'm not running right now. Hubs is 45 and running competitively better than he has in years. Of course, a new age group will do that for you. But when I was 45, we would pull up to the grocery store -- I got dropped off at the door so I didn't have to make the trek in from the parking lot -- and I would sit for several seconds psyching myself up for the pain to follow before opening the car door to get out. By the time we got to the cash register, I would be almost hopping, my foot hurt so badly, and that was even