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Burial

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There’s a cemetery on the grounds of Ethan’s school. It’s right next to the playground, just off the school’s parking lot. It’s creeped him out since he started there earlier this year (just weeks before his dad died).

Late last week, Ethan got in trouble during gym class and had to miss recess as a punishment. It was halfway through recess when a school aide came into Ethan’s class to let his teacher know that the kids would be coming in early. “There’s a burial going on and we want to respect the family,” said the aide in explanation.

Ethan’s eyes grew wide, tears filled them, and he freaked out. He got up from his desk and ran to the other side of the room. He started sobbing, wailing. He was uncontrollable.

His teacher, who was widowed about five years ago, hugged him close. She ended up sending him to the principal to calm down before his classmates saw him all red-faced and blotchy from crying.

This caused chaos to the rest of his week. He couldn’t get over the burial that had taken place days before (even though he didn’t see it). He was acting out in class, being disruptive and argumentative.

When his teacher told me about this, Ethan and I were on our way out-of-town. Ethan and I had a deal that if he was good all week, he could spend the night with me (without Lauren or my mom) and help me get set up for homecoming the next day – which I would be working as part of my obligation to my alma mater. Obviously, he had a tough week, and usually I’m a hard ass about this kind of thing, but I couldn’t punish him for being sad. When there was a funeral right there.

We left the school and walked to the car on Friday afternoon. Ethan was crying – probably because he thought he wouldn’t be allowed to go with me. He climbed into his seat and I sat on the floor of the backseat, just below his feet. We talked about how sad we were about the deaths of my dad and Mike. We hugged. I told him how much he meant to me. Then we went to homecoming. Ethan, too.

Since then, he’s mentioned the cemetery every time we pulled up to the school.Things like this are hard. It sucks that there’s a cemetery right next to the school. But there’s nothing we can do about that – the grave yard existed YEARS before the church or the school. There aren’t many burials, and I don’t remember there being any since Ethan started school there.

I doubt any of his classmates were fazed by the burial last week, but Ethan was. Most kids probably don’t give the cemetery a second thought. It’s just part of the school grounds. But it’s a constant reminder to a little boy who lost his dad and grandpa within years of each other.

It’s tough.

Loophole

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Sometimes Ethan is too smart for his own good. The latest:

Ethan missed a few days of school last week because he was sick. His homework was sent home with a classmate, and in the stack of papers and books was an envelope with a note from his teacher. It also included a graded math page, one of Ethan’s timed tests. It was crumpled from being shoved in the back of his desk. The note said the paper should have come home on Tuesday, but  that Ethan tried to hide it. The note said that Ethan missed 20 of the questions because he skirted the rules.

See, the teacher told the class that she would allow the students to finish any number they started on the paper when she called “time.” (She meant that if the answer was “20” and someone only wrote the “2” when time was called, she would allow the “0” to be penciled in before handing in the paper.) But Ethan interpreted that a different way. He found a loophole to her direction.

Ethan looked at the 40 problems on the page and scribbled a line next to every.single.question. This was his way of “starting numbers” so that he’d have a chance to finish them when time was called. So the 20 questions he missed still had a one-ish looking line next to them. Technically, he STARTED the question. He thought, based on the direction given, that he should be allowed to FINISH his answers. Obviously, the teacher did not allow this.

The situation might have been just a funny story, an example of how the kid is just too damn smart. But, the letter continued – Ethan completely LOST it when he wasn’t allowed to finish his test. He started screaming at the teacher. He was crying. He was incredibly angry. Ethan received a lecture on respect, lost some recess time, and was removed from the classroom until he calmed down.

On one hand, wow, he figured out how to get more time on a timed test. Go, Ethan. Even if the teacher didn’t allow it, the fact he thought of “starting” numbers is pretty awesome.

On the other hand, he cannot get THAT angry. He can’t disrespect teachers. He has to know when to give in and how to calm down. The world is not black-and-white, and Ethan really struggles with that. The problem comes from not seeing him get THIS angry when he’s with me. Maybe he knows he’ll have firm consequences if he carries angrily when he’s with me, or maybe I don’t present enough grey situations to warrant his outbursts.

Obviously, if Ethan is disrespecting people and demonstrating extreme anger (as was described in the teacher’s note), he has to be disciplined. (Ethan had to stay in his room all day Saturday, coming down only for meals.) It’s also something I brought up with his therapist in our meeting this week.

This parenting thing is hard…

Taking Off the Golden Handcuffs

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I learned the meaning of “golden handcuffs” today.

I was “walked down” to Human Resources this afternoon to discuss my resignation. It was about time – I submitted it 1.5 weeks ago, but it wasn’t turned over to HR until yesterday… It’s not like they were trying to convince me to stay; we didn’t mention it after the original I Quit conversation. Whatevs. (Sidenote: “Walked down” is employer code for an employee-HR meeting. They are not usually positive experiences.)

HR Chick opened a manila folder and pulled out my resignation email, quickly shutting the folder again. “I just need you to sign this,” she said, handing me a pen. I signed.

She opened the folder and pulled out another piece of paper, quickly closing it again. “This is information about COBRA and insurance. These are all the phone numbers you’ll need after your employment terminates.”

“OK,” I said.

She opened the folder, pulled out another piece of paper and turned it toward me. It was a regular piece of paper, nothing on it, except for a bright pink Post-It with numbers on it. “This is what you owe us for your relocation. If you’d only stayed on for a full year, this would have been reduced by half. But, you didn’t make it to the one year point,” she said.

I looked down at the paper. Two numbers were written with some words:

$5000 signing bonus

$81,657 relo

That’s $86,000. Eighty. Six. Thousand Dollars. Fuck.

I didn’t know what the cost for my relocation from St. Louis totaled. I figured it somewhere between $50,000 to $60,000. I was prepared to pay it back and walk away.

But EIGHTY SIX THOUSAND?!

Damn.

“OK,” I said. “Not sure what you want me to do with that.” I laughed a little, nervously.

“Well, some people just write a check on their last day,” HR Chick answered very nonchalantly.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” I responded. Visions of numbers running through my head.

“What kind of repayment plan were you thinking?” she asked as if this wasn’t an obscene amount of money.

“I’m not sure. I’m just learning the total sum. I would like a break down of that total.”

“I’ll see what I can do about a breakdown and I’ll talk to accounting about options others have used to pay back,” said HR Chick

I was pretty upset when I left the room. But the more I thought about it, this isn’t about the money. If it was, I wouldn’t leave this ridiculously well-paying job. If it was about the money, I’d stick it out to meet the one year point, and have the amount reduced by half. If it was about the money, I wouldn’t leave – I’m not going to make this kind of money anywhere, ever.

I’m leaving this job because my family needs me. And you can’t put a price on that. Screw the golden handcuffs. It’ll get figured out.

On a related note, I officially accepted an offer yesterday night that will provide the level of flexibility with the family that I need. It’ll be a totally different work experience than I’ve ever had, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to try. I just always thought it would be toward the end of my career, not in the middle. Unfortunately, the pay sucks – but it’ll be enough to pay bills and enjoy life a bit, with some adjustments to our lifestyle. It’s also only a one year contract, but has the potential (STRONG potential) to become multi-year contract or even a permanent job next year. I can’t say much yet, but will give details soon. It’s an exciting, and a little scary, change.

Dying Young

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Mike knew he would die young.

I remember the first time he told me that. We were in my dorm room cuddling. As he nuzzled my hair, he said he would die in his late 30s. The comment had nothing to do with anything that was going on – totally out of the blue.

“You don’t know that,” I said, trying to change the subject. “No one knows when they’re going to die.”

“I’ve always known,” he said. “I think it’ll be around 37.”

I pushed for details, but he didn’t have any – just the thought that he would die before 40.

Through our 20s, we talked about it occasionally. But by the time we were 30, neither of us brought it up again. Maybe it was too close to home. Maybe he forgot he ever told me. Sometimes I would think about it, but I’d always quickly dismiss the thoughts. When he turned 38, I was relieved. He died 2.5 months after his 38th birthday.

I don’t know if he ever told anyone else. I certainly never said anything to anyone. I’m not even sure why I’m writing this, other than I’ve been thinking about it for the last few days.

Did he really know he would die young or was it a coincidence? How much did he know? Did it contribute to his drinking (thinking – knowing – that death was coming anyway)?

The Kiddos

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Ethan and Lauren, holidays 2011

I’ve talked a lot about the kids on this blog, but realize that I haven’t included any photos. It’s not that I’m opposed to images of the kids, it’s just when I start writing, my mind is somewhere else. I’m thinking in words, not pictures.

Here’s one of my favorite photos of the kids taken in the last year. We were at the Jewel Box in Forest Park (St. Louis). Ethan was incredibly cooperative that day – he was posing and posing and posing like crazy. Lauren wanted to run, wanted to do anything except have her picture taken. This shot was toward the end of the session, Lauren too tired to run and Ethan finally sitting still also. Both kids would be asleep in the car 20 minutes later.