Turning lefty

I have to say that I've been very proud of Biscuit's left-handed efforts.

I've talked before about his demand for independence, and that goes for using his left hand to do everything he can.

The first day of school, they had some worksheets to do while the teacher was collecting all the paperwork we had to fill out — emergency contact form, transportation form, etc.

I saw one worksheet in his homework folder, but when I took it out, I was quite impressed. He wrote all his answers left-handed.

It's not beautiful, but it is definitely legible. And right now, that's all that counts.

He's been doing everything left-handed this week — math and reading. I've been very impressed and very proud.

I told him, "Not everybody could just swap over to their other hand like that. You know that, right?"

He remembers me telling him the story about how he didn't decide which hand to use until he was 4. We would mess with him. We'd put his silverware on the left, and that's which hand he would eat with. And if we put the silverware on the right, that's the hand he'd eat with. So he tells everybody that him not deciding until just before school started is why he can be left-handed now.

But I told him, "This should show you that if you work hard and practice at something, you can do it."

I hope he remembers that lesson and applies it to other things in his life.

First day of school

Biscuit started the fourth grade this week. Can you believe it?! He's just growing up too fast.

He was worried about having to start with his cast, but I think he felt a lot better after the Open House last week.

He took flowers to his teacher, which seemed to mean a lot to her. Then she asked what happened to his arm, and he told his shortened, stock answer: "I got knocked down during a game at summer camp and broke both bones in my wrist," he said.

Then she said to him, "Don't worry. I got you."

He looked at her, then looked at me.

She held her left arm up and said that she had torn several ligaments in her wrist earlier in the summer and is still doing work to get it back right. And she is left-handed, so she told him she understood losing the power of your dominant hand for a while.

He grinned at that, and I could tell he was going to be okay with it.

The first day rolled around, and he got ready to go. The doctor told him to wear his sling for the first week to make a visual statement to all of his friends: "I'm injured. Don't bump into me."

He wasn't thrilled about that.

And then, we realized that with all his school supplies in his backpack, it was too bulky and heavy for him to manage on his own.

Since day one of kindergarten, Biscuit has insisted on walking into school on his own. When he was little, he couldn't say "by myself," so we still jokingly say "my byself" like he used to. And that's how he's started school every year so far — "my byself."

But we had to break the news that Jeff was going to have to go in with him on the first day, just to carry his backpack and help him get all his school supplies unpacked and into his desk and cubby.

He didn't like us horning in on his independence, but he knew it had to happen.

I picked him up, and he said his day was "Great!" And that's always good to hear.

Out of the mouth of my babe

A few things Biscuit has said recently:

Shut the door: I don't like it when someone leaves cabinet doors open. It just bugs me. And Jeff and Biscuit both know that and are really good about making sure they don't leave them open.

The other day, Biscuit got a plate from the cabinet and left it standing wide open.

Then he put a couple of slices of leftover pizza on the plate, opened the microwave, put the plate in, turned on the microwave, took the plate from the microwave, left the microwave door wide open and set his plate down on the table. Then he sat down at the table and started to sprinkle Parmesan cheese on his pizza. 

I looked at the two open doors, and just before I nagged him about leaving them open, I got a reminder as I saw him picking up his pizza slice with his left hand.

After thinking about it for a minutes, I thought that for a kid with a broken wrist, he did a great job of making his own lunch. And the least I could do was close the cabinet and microwave doors for him without saying anything.


Two against one: Jeff asked me a question the other night, and then questioned my answer.

I just looked at him and said, "Trust me."

He said, "Yeah, but are you sure that it's right?"

"Yes," I said. "If you weren't going to trust my answer, you shouldn't have asked me."

"Well ..." Jeff said. 

" Truuuuuuust me," I told him.

Biscuit was in the living room and heard the whole conversation.

"Dad," Biscuit said. "This is Mom we're talking about. Just trust her. You know it's the right thing to do."

"Yeah, Dad," I said to Jeff with a smile. "Trust me."

A day out

The timing of Biscuit's arm break wasn't ideal. Of course, if it had been even earlier in the summer it would've been even worse.

The problem was that we had to cancel the rest of his summer camp weeks. It's not like he could swim and play golf and tennis with a broken arm.

So then we had to figure out what to do with him.

My first thought was to look for another summer camp. I put out an all-call to local friends to see if anyone had any suggestions. But every non-active camp I could find was completely booked up.

Then I thought about a babysitter. But babysitting is a lucrative business around here. That was going to be about $10 an hour. I know it's been a long time since I did any babysitting, but I didn't make anywhere near $10 an hour! So you figure at eight hours a day, five days a week, that would've been $450 a week. To put that into perspective, we were paying less than $200 a week for his summer camp.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday are production days for my section, so I really need to be in the office on those days. And Jeff's schedule is completely unpredictable, so he never knows from one day to the next what his hours will be.

So Biscuit ended up coming to the office with me, sitting at the empty desk next to me, watching DVDs and playing on his tablet.

He did socialize a good bit. He knows everybody in the office, and they were all very gracious about taking up time with him. And we went out for lunch, too.

A friend met us for lunch one day, and she said, "If you ever want me to take him for a few hours, just let me know."

And I told her I would.

A couple of hours later, I got a text from her. She said, "When I said I would take him for a few hours, I wasn't just being a polite Southern girl. I really meant it."

And I thought, you know, I should take her up on it.

And I did.

We met her for lunch, then Biscuit left with her.

First, they went to the movies to see the latest superhero film. Then they went to the library branch near us. Biscuit checked out a couple of books, then the walked on a trail that goes out behind the library. Then they got doughnuts. Then they went to a local park to walk around.

There are two parks across the street from each other, but they couldn't be any more different. On one side, you'll see sidewalks and flowers, trees, manicured greenery and benches. On the other side, it's completely shaded and completely green. It's called the bog garden, and it looks a lot like home for me. It certainly doesn't feel like you're in the middle of the city when you're there.

You start out on sidewalk. Then the deeper you get into the trees, you step up on a boardwalk. And the boardwalk makes a big circle all the way around the park.

When you get to the farthest point away from the front, there's a pond where you can watch some ducks and cranes and fish and turtles.

And there's a little side path that goes up to a small waterfall.

Looks like he's staking his claim.

If there's moving water, you have to drop something in it to watch it float down the stream.

And there it goes, floating out of sight.

Biscuit really enjoyed himself that afternoon. And I got so much work done because I didn't have worry about him. It's really nice to have good friends, and I just need to remember that when they offer to help, let them.

Breaking the rules

Biscuit had a great time at his grandparents' house, as he always does. And as much as I worried about him, he was fine.

He had been there barely a day when I was getting text messages about their antics.

The doctor gave Biscuit three rules for his cast.

1. Don't get it wet. Yet here he is climbing down the ladder into the pool.

I got a text message with this one that said, "Rule #1. Broken."

2. Don't do anything rough and tumble. You know, like ride a four-wheeler!

My brother's text was, "Look at that face. Mom's gonna be so disappointed in me." 

3. Do not use your cast as a weapon ... as in, do not beat your cousin with it.

I got a text message with this one that said, "Rule #3. Broken."

I got these pictures one at a time throughout the day. And I did threaten to go down there and whoop up on somebody. But I knew they were teasing and would take good care of my boy.

Arm update

We took Biscuit for a checkup on his wrist and left the doctor's office with him very very frustrated.

They took an x-ray and said they would need to make some "adjustments," so he wanted us to come back a week later. He said he wanted to wait so Biscuit's arm wouldn't be quite as tender and swollen. That immediately told me it was going to hurt him. Basically, the bones weren't lined up perfectly straight, so they were going to have to straighten them.

Biscuit completely missed the part about his next appointment being painful. Although he is usually more logical about medical stuff, the cast he had at the time was uncomfortable, and he had to wear his sling all the time and keep his arm elevated.

"You mean I have to wear this thing longer?!" Biscuit said to the doctor. And he raised his voice a little.

I was torn about how to respond. I wanted to tell him he could ask all the questions he wanted, but he was not allowed to raise his voice like that. The other part of me understood how frustrated he was.

So I walked over and put my arm around his shoulders. And I didn't say anything.

As we were checking out, the woman making the appointments looked at the calendar, then got up and walked back where the doctors and nurses worked.

She came back a couple minutes later and gave us an appointment TWO weeks later instead of one like the doctor said. She had gone back to ask the doctor if it would be okay to wait another week, and he said yes.

So then I had the joy of telling Biscuit that he'd have to wear that frustrating cast for TWO more weeks.

Those were two longs weeks.

We got up for his appointment last Friday, and all three of us had stomach aches. And I can tell you there was nothing physical wrong with us. We were all just nervous!

I had been asking people to pray for us, send us good thoughts or positive mojo or whatever they had.

We showed up for his appointment and they took us back. Then we saw this medieval torture device sitting beside the exam table. I looked at Jeff, and he looked at me, and we both had big, round eyes wondering what in the heck they were going to do with that thing.

I looked it up on my phone, and apparently, you lie down on the table, and they put your fingers in those little mesh metal sleeves. With your hand elevated, they put a weight on the other side to stretch your arm, which lines the bones back up. I cannot possibly feel good.

They came to get him for an x-ray, and Jeff and I were pretty much panicking, wondering how much they were going to hurt our boy.

But the doctor came back in and said the bones had lined up, and no adjustments were needed! Yay for prayers, good thoughts and positive mojo!

The technician came in and told Biscuit that she would be replacing his cast. She needed to get some stuff ready, so she told him to pick out what color he wanted. I've seen colored casts, but I didn't realize how many colors they had. There was red, blue, green, yellow, orange, pink, white, purple and black.

The technician came back in and unwrapped his arm. It looked Frankenstein-ish because of the stretchy bandages from his first cast.

After she unwrapped it, she helped him over to the sink where she washed it. She said the water was warm, but Biscuit just started shaking. He said the soap felt like it was freezing him. 

The technician told Biscuit to hold his left hand like a basket. Then put his right wrist into it. She wanted him to hold it that way while she started the cast.

And of course, Biscuit picked red. It's still his favorite.

Jeff and I have never broken anything, so we've never seen a cast put on before. But I was happy to see that the first layer was soft cotton batting. I know that had to feel much better than the stretchy bandages.

Biscuit had been scheduled to go to my parents' house the weekend he broke his wrist. So once we found out he was getting a regular cast, we called and set the wheels in motion. We took him halfway there Saturday where they met us.

Biscuit took a nap on the way down.

I had a hard time letting him go. Actually, I told Mama that it was second hardest time I had letting him go, right after his very first trip there.

But of course, they're taking great care of him, and he's having a great time. I can't wait to see him this weekend.

Out of the mouth of my babe

A few things Biscuit has said recently:


Stormy weather: Biscuit has never been afraid of thunderstorms, but when thunder booms loud enough to rattle the windows, and lightning flashes so bright it lights up the living room, any person with a brain would be a little rattled.

"Ugh!" Biscuit said. 

"What's wrong, dude?" I asked him.

"I just want to yell really loudly, 'Don't push my nerves, lightning!' he said.

"I agree with that 100 percent," I told him.


Mixed up food: We were at a Mexican restaurant talking about all the stuff on the menu. I asked Biscuit what he was going to order.

"I think I'll have pepperoni pizza," he said with a smile.

"Okay, that sounds good," I replied.

He looked at me, clearly bothered that I didn't question him about ordering Italian food at a Mexican restaurant.

"Mom," he said, "do you not understand that pepperoni pizza at a Mexican place would be disgraceful?"

"I didn't know you felt so strongly about it, dude," I said.



Just 5 more minutes: Biscuits bed time in the summer isn't as regimented as it is during the summer. So during the school year, I have to nag him sometimes to go get ready for bed.

We were watching a movie one evening, and I knew Biscuit was not going to like missing the ending.

"It's time for your shower," I said one evening before school was out for the summer.

"But I want to see the Hollywood ending," Biscuit said.

"What do you  mean?" I asked him.

"You know," he said. "It's the best part, when everything comes out ok."

"Well, we have this on DVD," I told him. "You can watch the Hollywood ending another evening."

Ready to ride

Biscuit has figured out a few things about riding in the Barracuda.

1. He always wants sunglasses, even if the sun isn't shining, because they keep the wind from drying out his eyes.

2. The doesn't like the wind noise in his ears, and he doesn't have a hat that he can keep on his head. Anything with a bill on it will get whipped off by the wind. And he says he does not want to wear a bucket hat with a string that ties under his chin. I guess that wouldn't be cool.

3. About sunset, he starts to get chilly.

But I think he got it all figured out on our last ride.

He wore his sunglasses and noise-cancelling headphones. And he wrapped up in a beach towel. We keep the towels in the car to drape over the seats during the summer. Black vinyl can get HOT! So Biscuit wrapped one around the top half and draped the other across his legs.

Going lefty

Biscuit is doing real well to have two broken bones in his wrist. If you remember, it took until he was 5 before he decided which hand he wanted to use anyway. It seems like he's got some of that left-handedness left over. 

He's been brushing his teeth on his own. And he can handle bathroom stuff on his own. But yesterday, he was so proud because he got dressed and combed his hair, all by himself.

I made a big fuss and told him I was really proud of him. 

I tried to get my shirt on that day with one hand, and I can tell you, it's hard!

He been doing some pretty good playing, too. This battle was set up with all kinds of soldiers, including some that were cowboys, firefighters and police officers. They were the good guys.

There was a bad guys team, too. It was in front of Biscuit angled to the right. It was funny to watch him scoot across the floor to get from one side to the other.

We've realized that Biscuit will still have his cast on when school starts. So he thought he should practice writing his name with his left hand.

We went out for lunch, and the back of the kids' menu was blank. So we all took turns writing our names with our non-dominant hands — Jeff and Biscuit with their left and me with my right.

I think Biscuit's tongue must have helped him in some way. He wrote it better when his tongue was hanging out.

He's worried about school, but I told him we'd get everything worked out with his teacher. He's sad about not getting to play piano and guitar, but he is getting to play games on his tablet and watch a lot more TV and movies than usual. And he's not complaining.

Dinner conversation

Sometimes when Jeff is working late on music lesson nights, Biscuit and I go out to dinner without him. 

If we eat at home without Jeff, we have a bad habit of not eating at the table. We'll watch TV while we eat, so he'll watch a show on his tablet, and I'll watch a show on TV.

But when we're at a restaurant, it's just the two of us, and we have some of our best conversations during those dinners.

Last week, he had what I call a big-picture music lesson. He practiced actual songs on guitar and piano, but the conversation was bigger. He and his teacher talked about mindset and what you can do with your musical talents. They talked about different kinds of music and how much music can affect people.

So while we were waiting on our food at the restaurant, I asked Biscuit a question.

"What do you like about playing the piano?" I asked him.

"I've got three words for you, Mom: It's so fun," Biscuit said.

"I get that," I told him, "but tell me something specific."

He thought for a minute, then finally said, "Well, the piano is just so, so versatile. You can literally play millions of songs. All kinds of music in all kinds of places."

I thought that was a good answer.

Then it was Biscuit's turn to lead the conversation. He loves to ask questions. Like, "If you could only listen to one kind of music forever, what would it be?" Or "If you could only eat one food for a year, what would it be?"

Well the other night, Biscuit's question to me was, "If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?"

"I would want a gazillion dollars," I told him. "I could do a lot of good things with that kind of money."

"You'd be rich, Mom," Biscuit said. 

The server brought the check, and we settled up. I thought we were done with the conversation, but once we got outside and were walking to the car, Biscuit had more to say.

"You know, Mom ... some people get corrupted with that kind of money," he said. "But I know you, Mom. I really, really know you. And that wouldn't happen to you."

So dangit! If I every do strike it rich, I'll have to be on the straight and narrow!