Do you remember the scene in the Disney movie The Jungle Book, and the four vultures are sitting around in a tree, asking one other, “So whatcha gonna to do?” “I dunno. Whatcha wanna do?” 

That describes my life, perfectly. I don’t often play the role of the leader, I’m more of a follower, and if asked what I want to do, I would shrug my shoulders, and answer, “What do you want ME to do.” Therefore, in times of adversity, I struggle with choices and mull over my decisions, often second-guessing myself.

My oldest, we recently discovered, is fighting his own personal demons, and has asked for help, and I struggle with what would be the best way to handle this situation. Part of me feels he’s making a bigger deal out of this then he should. Of course, he has always been that way—lots of drama, even over the littlest things.  In addition, he’s a teenage boy and isn’t it typical of teenage boys to make bad decisions in life?  Then again, this path he’s on can lead to very destructive behavior. Moreover, he has asked us for help, and I guess the best course of action is to give it to him, even if it means more therapy.

This is the same child for years attended therapy for apprehension and nervousness and received medications for anxiety and ADHD. Forever, doctors tweaked with drugs and doses and always seemed to be some sort of side effect; fast heart rate, dizziness, loss of appetite and sleeplessness. To this day, he still has trouble falling asleep, and although we were warned Ritalin-type drugs could stunt growth—that did not happen, as he is 6 foot, 8 inches, but he has not put on the pounds or muscles. One day, he had enough of the drugs and doctors and we weaned him off all meds. Now, doctors want my youngest son on medication, to help him focus, although he has not been officially diagnosed as ADD or ADHD. I want to say NO to it all; however, spending time home schooling him, I see he does have a problem with attention, although not as severe as my oldest.

So whatcha gonna do?

I dunno. 

I posted a new ficlet for Annette who wanted a Lee and Amanda story set around Halloween. 

Tears Into Wine

This story was actually a bit of a challenge as there are several Halloween themed SMK stories, in addition I wanted to set the story during season three and when looking at the air dates, Halloween would have fallen around the time of "Sour Grapes", and there are a couple of great tag extensions already written, so my challenge was to write something different, and this is what I came up with. I hope you like, Annette. 

A special thanks to Beth for proofing the story last night. 

Not that long ago, I dropped the two older boys off at a combined activity at a roller skating rink, and decided I was going to stay and skate as well. After all, I was a child of the 80’s, and during my middle school years, Friday nights were spent at the local rink listening to Hall and Oates, The Go-Go’s, Journey, doing the Hookie-Pookie and speed races at intermission, and skating was just like riding a bike, once you learn, you never forget, right?

My children never learned how to skate since roller skating rinks had long gone the way out with leg warmers, sleeveless sweatshirts, and beta machines. However, I purchased my ticket, laced up my shoes, and had visions of teaching my boys how to skate, while I lead them around the rink holding tight onto their hands. My friend, Andrew, asked if I knew how to skate. “Of course,” I answered. “At one time, I could even skate backward.” I then pushed myself off the bench and promptly rolled into the large orange lockers against the wall. I heard my children snickering behind me. Whoops, maybe this was not going to be as easy as I thought. Michael refused to put on skates, but Steffen tried and we went up and down the carpeted area on the side of the rink, until he grew tired and bored. Then, I slowly ventured out onto the rink. Cautiously taking tentative steps. Where was the confidence I had only a few moments ago?

I glided forward while pushing off with my other foot on the hard wooden surface, only once losing my balance and falling with a thud to my knees. “That’s going to leave a mark,” I thought, however after a couple turns I had found my steadiness and was enjoying the activity. Nevertheless, something wasn’t right—the music was all wrong and where were the lights changing the color of the floor? In addition, the clothes, arcade games and even the food was all wrong. However, we did the Hookie-Pookie in the middle of the rink, and speed races, although I opted not to participate. One time making a fool of myself was quite enough.

Later that night, I could feel the burn in my ankles, shins, and buttocks; however, it had been a blast from my past, and I enjoyed reliving old childhood memories, but next time I don’t think I will brag about knowing how to skate. 

I drove up the driveway and parked. My oldest son climbed out of the car and opened the back door for his date. (Yep, I had raised him right) and I watched them both ascend the stairs to her front door, then I adverted my eyes, offering them some privacy, and maybe to a deeper degree not wanting to know whatever or not he was going to kiss her good-night. I'm not ready, I tell you!! ! Not ready to let him spread his wings and fly.

When he folded his large frame back into the car, I caught a glimpse of the five-year-old boy he used to be, whom then transformed into this young man sitting next to me and I have no idea how this happened. In a few short months he will be reaching a new milestone as he crosses that threshold into adulthood (well, an adult in legal terms accompanied by privileges, as well as, other serious implications—old enough to vote, and old enough to die for our country) and I wonder why I am afraid.

Why is it hard to witness these new milestones in his life when I had no problems with the other firsts—first tooth, first word, first day of Kindergarten, but first dates, first kisses, and graduating from high school ties me up in knots? Maybe, it’s because motherhood started with him, or maybe it’s not he, but I, who is not ready to grow up. 

Why is it when sudden inspiration for a story hits you are either in the shower or driving in the car? The other night while coming home from taking my parents to the airport, I was thinking about the Scarecrow and Mrs King/Chuck crossover story I have been working on for the last several months, and scenes began to flash before my eyes in rapid succession. I was excited, the story had stalled out on me weeks ago and I loved where my mind was going, but also so frustrated driving down the dark, wet freeway. How was I going to remember all this when I got home? Quickly I called home, and my greater-half sleepily answered the phone. I told him to grab my yellow notepad I keep on my nightstand and write down the following words. I knew the words were not going to make any sense to him; however, I was afraid if I didn’t write them down, the scenes would have been lost, as I rattled them off one by one like some sort of strange short hand.

When I arrived home, I was exhausted, but the scenes keep taunting me, begging to be written. No, I had my cheat sheet, the scenes could wait, plus I had to get up in a few hours to take the oldest to Seminary. The blessing and cruse of being a mom and a writer. Sleep won.

The following evening, I dropped the boys off at scouts and sat in the foyer of the church with my trusty laptop balanced on my knees. My fingers lightly danced along the keys while scanning the cheat sheet every once awhile. The foyer was buzzing with activity. A couple of women sat down in the sofa across from me. My husband then came into the room and sat down in the chair adjacent to me. “How’s the writing coming? Can you read my notes?” I briefly nodded my head, but continued writing. From the other sofa, I heard Jane ask, “You writing a story?”

However, before I had a chance to answer Ed said, “I received the strangest phone call from Anne last night. She told me to grab a notepad and to write down Casey, heart, cop, bosom. . . ” he trailed off. I glanced over to the sofa and both Jane and Josephine arched eyebrows, looking at each other. I could feel blush rising on my cheeks. “Bosom?” Jane asked curiously. 

“Not that kind of story,” I quickly answered; however, I thought to myself, “Write yourself out of this one, Anne.”

When I was younger, I believed I had no talent. Zip, zero, nada, nothing.  Like Jan on the Brady Bunch, I also thought I was a "no talent loser." Both my younger sisters played the violin and when others asked what instrument I played, my dad lightheartedly replied, “The stereo.” 

I was lousy at sports, although tall for a girl. I just had no skill. I tried out for cheerleading, tried to learn a foreign language, and even tired to learn to play drums. However, just like Jan I didn’t quit, I just keep trying. I discovered a real love of theatre, and I did not realize until just a few years ago, I had a talent for writing and enjoy doing it.

Then earlier this afternoon, while walking down the juice aisle at the local super market, I saw woman struggling to reach the cranberry juice on the top shelf. I reached behind her, grabbed the item and handed it to her. My second talent. Not all talents require an audience. I am tall and I can reach those serving bowls or juice containers on the top shelf. I can grab items that others would require a step stool to reach..

I used my talent in a small way, and for that she was grateful.