Identity Crisis

First, let's enjoy the adorableness of this kid. This is three-year-old Shane camping on our stair landing. Such an imagination (that painted fish roasting on the fire--an older sibling's art project he snatched from the Gale Gallery) and that cute little smile!

Those simple, care-free days.

Now fast forward to this morning:

Me: (Gently prodding Nagging) Did you get the information for your project? How about the seminary reading you were going to do? Oh, and you need to make that phone call for your Eagle Project.

Shane: Um, you need to understand that I identify as Lazy and you are not allowing a "Safe Space" for me. Those are definitely micro-aggressions. I'm going to have to call you out on your mom privilege and bigotry against who I am. 

Me: (Laughing so hysterically I can't answer)

Shane: (Indicating with his hands the area around him) I'm declaring this a nag-free zone. None of your hate speech here. You should make this a place of comfort for me to be who I am.

The Truthist Takes the ACT

Shane took the ACT today.

 Anyone who knows Shane, knows that he does not look on the bright side. He is one to assume the worst case scenario in any given situation. We've discussed this here before and through the years I have come to appreciate this outlook on life. Things are usually not worse than Shane thought they would be because he expects that things will be terrible, horrible, no good, and very bad--in spite of his Pollyanna Mother's cheerful pep talks to the contrary.

 Last night before we had family scripture and prayer, Shane and I ran through the checklist of what to bring and got everything gathered and ready. Then we discussed our timeline for getting him there early and how things would go. The past few weeks we have had ongoing chats about the experiences with the ACT of his seven older siblings and he has had input from friends as well as online advice. 

So, it looked like he was as ready as he could be.

 Well, there was one thing we did not anticipate. 

When I picked him up, he jumped in the car and I asked him how it went. He said "Do you have any kleenex in here?"

I looked over at him and saw the dried blood around his nose.

A bloody nose! 

His  nose started bleeding right as they handed out the science section. It was the last section of the test. He said he felt the bleeding start so he put his hand up to his nose to check. Sure enough, the floodgates had opened and he leaned his head back figuring it was better to let it run down his throat than out on the test. 

But he did need to look down at the test eventually, and also write in his answers.

I give him full credit here for problem solving: he used his hands and his jeans to take care of the copious amounts of blood surging out of his nose. His multi-tasking was admirable. He had to read and wipe and read and wipe...and then write and begin again. 

What other options were there? 

He realized that if he raised his hand and asked for a tissue, it would turn into a full on HAZMAT crisis. The protocol for bloody noses is, as you can imagine, to treat it like there could be a serious blood-borne disease spilling out of a student's nose. Shane knows because he's been having bloody noses at inopportune times throughout his young life.

He didn't want to get dragged out of the room and have to take the whole test over at a later date. There was a close call when the proctor walked by and he had blood on his finger. He quickly stuck it in his mouth. 

 Don't worry, he just had a physical and his blood is safe.

We had a good laugh on the way home--that was certainly a worst-case scenario he didn't anticipate! 

I wondered out loud if any blood got on the test or his answer sheet. That could raise some concerns. We concluded that the ACT took everything he had and he had the bloody hands and pants to prove it. 

The blood-stained jeans

Out of the Mouth of the Truthist

We had the missionaries over for dinner yesterday. Shane doesn't love being the last one at home and having to be social in situations where it is just me and him and other adults, but he was very mature about it and was a good host at dinner.

 After dinner they shared a spiritual thought with us. They talked about the power of the Book of Mormon for changing lives and then asked us our thoughts on that. I didn't want Shane to feel pressured to say something so I shared a few experiences and then I looked at Shane and realized he had something to say. So I said, "I kind of blathered on there--did you have something to add?"

And he said:
"When I was 11 years old, I decided to read the Book of Mormon on my own. I read at night when it was very quiet and I could really take it in. As I was reading, it felt like a prayer. Heavenly Father was speaking to me through what I was reading and I knew it was true. All of it. That is when I got my  testimony of the scriptures and prophets and everything. I could feel it and I just knew it."

I managed to not embarrass him by bawling my eyes out. 

But it was hard. 

A Conversation With the Truthist

Now that Shane is in college, I get the joy of spending quality time with him on the drive back and forth to Waterbury. It affords me the opportunity to hear his startling insights on life.
Like this conversation we had today:

Shane: "School sucks." (because he had homework and a test to study for)

Me: "It's better than being dumb."

Shane: "But if ignorance is bliss, then I am being denied my Constitutional right to the pursuit of happiness if I have to go to school."

The Truthist Takes Manhattan

Shane and I took ourselves on an adventure to the Big Apple.

He missed out on our first foray into New York City so he let me know I owed him a trip.

I tried to put him off until the weather cooled down a bit--and maybe after tourist season when it's a little less  jam-packed. But he is persistent and I ran out of excuses, so off we went. I managed to sneak the above picture of us in the train station--he ducked for all of the other attempts. 

It was 10 degrees cooler than the last time I went and even a little breezy so I was enjoying the great weather. Since our Truthist had nothing to compare it to, he was sweltering loudly. I didn't have my in-house navigators with me so, left to my own devices, I may have become a little disoriented. It's a challenge to figure out where you are when you can't see past the big tall buildings and you are surrounded by a mass of humanity. But I think that is part of the charm of the adventure--wandering a little and seeing new sites you hadn't planned into the agenda. The Truthist doesn't see it that way. He kept demanding to know where we were. 

My answer: "New York City."

We saw this in front of a fire station at some point in our wanderings.

We found Shake Shack and even found a seat to enjoy our food in the air conditioning (not an easy accomplishment--it requires assertive, even aggressive hovering to snatch a seat). Shane wasn't sure how he felt about eating elbow to elbow with strangers. Two of whom were discussing "The Dark Knight" in great detail and with some colorful language. We were all so cozy there I almost jumped in with my opinion.

We left there and wandered through Time Square. It was amazingly crowded--clinching our plan to stay as far away from there as possible come New Year's.

From there we found our way to Rockefeller Center--and the Lego store behind it.

Passing this "Fair and Balanced" icon on the way:

Shane was somewhat impressed to see the headquarters of several familiar news outlets.

We also saw the Chrysler Building. Just for the record, a newbie might mistake it for the Empire State Building and make a fool of oneself in front of one's son. Or maybe I was just trying to give him a chance to feel superior. 

The craziest part of our adventure was finding our way back to Grand Central Station. We had a round-trip ticket for "off-peak" times. But the clock started ticking on our last return time and we got turned around. Shane was hot and tired and not willing to sprint about the city looking for the magical portal to all trains home. We jumped on the subway trying to get closer to our destination and asked several friendly security guards (not the one with the Uzi at Rockefeller Center--a little too intimidating) for directions. Due to some "lost in translation" moments--I don't speak or understand New York quite yet--we got to the Station just a few minutes late.  Since we were now in "peak" time anyway, we took a restroom break and purchased a New York Times to enjoy on the ride home. 

We found seats on the train to New Haven and settled in. 

After a few stops, the acrid smell of burnt rubber began to fill our train car. Shane was zonked out and I was enjoying the editorial section of the Times when we got the announcement that the brakes had gone out on car 221. Our car. We were all to move forward or back and find new seats. Which would be great except for it being "peak" time or in other words "rush hour". We had to wander like refugees as dignified businessmen and women and the hardworking people along the New Haven line avoided eye contact with us and guarded their empty seat territory carefully.

We finally just pushed into seats and sat awkwardly knee-to-knee with strangers who were expert in the art of riding a crowded train and resigned themselves to losing the personal space lottery for this ride.

The Union Station Clock--and beautiful American flag

We got back to Union Station and found our car and headed home. I try to allow my Truthist his less-than-rosy outlook on life and listened as he recounted every misery of the trip all the way home (in heavy traffic--still in "peak" hours folks!) I restrained from pointing out the amazing things we had seen. I bit my tongue rather than exclaim what an adventure it had been. 

Then he came home and posted on Facebook:

"Went to the big apple yesterday!! Saw time square, Rockefeller plaza, and the Chrysler building. But we got lost several times and it was super hot... Still fun, though!"

I think I'm winning him over to the bright side.