Making music in the house

The cacophony coming from my son’s bedroom sounds like a cross between a dying elephant and an old car horn, but we know he’s okay because that noise means he’s learning and progressing in band.

This past Tuesday, a whole bunch of parents escorted their sixth graders to the middle school’s common room in order to sign contracts that will hold us accountable to monthly payments making our children the proud renters by proxy of whatever musical instrument they fell in love with over the past couple of weeks.

My son picked the trombone.

At first, my husband, Chris, and I were worried about his selection because, aside from his skateboard, the boy has a less-than-stellar track record when it comes to sticking with new hobbies. Granted, band is a graded class which makes it slightly more influential when it comes to level of interest, but we have never once heard the child discuss a desire to ever touch or play a trombone.

Chris and I had pictured this active kid banging away on a snare drum or maybe just crashing some cymbals together like I did when I was in high school marching band. I would’ve done more in band, but I joined in the 10^th grade and couldn’t read music, so I got stuck with the “easy” stuff because no one wanted to bother teaching me from scratch so late in the game.

Chris played the flute and the French horn. Our son tried the flute, but his bottom lip is “substantial” in size and, because he couldn’t seem to sufficiently flatten it out, it kept flopping into the hole. The reed instruments, like the saxophone, were also posing a problem when it came to sound quality.

He declared that the trombone fits both his lips perfectly and, since he has long arms, he can reach all the notes. In addition, it was his feeling that the low brass sound is manlier than the high-pitched tone of the flute and the trumpet.

My best friend, Damon, played trombone in band. I remember all the spit that he used to have to empty out of it. My son was sure to request an old washcloth for this unfortunate consequence of his new passion.

Damon was also talented on piano and could sit down and play Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” like it was the easiest song in the world. Who knows? Maybe the trombone will kick off a love affair with music for our offspring and we’ll get to see him perform a masterpiece on stage one day.

Part of being in middle school band is that the kids have to bring their instruments home to practice and the parents are supposed to be encouraging and supportive no matter what sound comes out of their horns.

In all seriousness, this boy is making some fairly decent noise with his trombone. I wish he wouldn’t suddenly blast it right when I was walking around the corner and scare the tar out of me, but he’s got some solid sounds happening which is more than I would’ve expected.

To all you other new band parents, I hope your children are as excited as my son is. I can only imagine what the trumpets are sounding like.

Kids, keep plugging away and don’t give up. You’ll be glad you did one day. I heard somewhere that children who learn to read music are smarter overall. A parent can certainly have her dreams.

Second vehicle gets an upgrade

A few months ago, my husband, Chris, took a financial leap by purchasing a new vehicle. Okay, it wasn’t 100% new because it was formerly owned, but I wouldn’t be stretching the truth at all by saying this 2007 Toyota FJ Cruiser was gently used.

I knew he was in “truck love” when he brought it home for a test drive which included a sleepover in front of our house. This made it possible to see the truck whenever we looked out the window.

I had to admit, it was a nice-looking vehicle. It seemed tough like a Tonka truck, but it was black so it didn’t scream “I’m an over-sized toy!” In fact, it was almost begging us to drive it through a mud pit so we could become aware of its full potential.

He finally took me out for a spin which involved a very bumpy road in the woods. He tore through sand and over what may have once been innocent animal dwellings, but we wouldn’t have known because this truck wanted to rip a trail through anything and anywhere we were willing to drive it.

I asked if we would have to buy it if we wrecked it in the woods. We were on a test drive, after all.

He told me not to worry about it.

I checked out the interior and noticed the leather seats and the almost utilitarian lack of anything resembling carpet or fabric on the floorboards. I thought how perfect this would be for the spilling of drinks and possible incidents of motion sickness that would inevitably occur if he continued to bounce me around like he was doing at that moment.

When we returned home, he was giving me the sales pitch again. Considering that he sells cars for a living, I shouldn’t be at all surprised that I was convinced he should make this purchase.

A few days later, his old truck was sold and he took the cash from that transaction, walked it directly into the Toyota finance office, and placed a down payment on the FJ. Talk about money changing hands!

I was kind of concerned that Chris was putting so much faith in the fact that I was supposedly going to have a steady income flowing into the household coffers. I mean, what if I turn out to be a horrible nurse like Ratched from “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” or something else happens beyond my control and I can no longer work?

Once he put my financial fears to rest, I began thinking about how much he really deserves to have something nice to drive. He keeps me in a newer car because I’m usually the one carting the kids around and he feels better knowing I’m piloting something safe and reliable. This is why he’s always been the one to sacrifice and drive the older vehicle with no payment.

People talk sometimes about “stepping up and being a man.” I take for granted that I don’t have to worry about this with Chris. We argue about things and disagree when we don’t see eye-to-eye on issues, but when it comes down to the wire and I need someone to lean on or arms to hold me tight or just want him to take my side and agree that someone else is a total tool, Chris is always the man.

Enjoy your truck, honey. Just try not to tear up the woods too much.

Drama is her middle name

My little girl is nothing like me when I was her age. If I got upset, my chin would quiver and my eyes would water, but if I wanted to let out a hardcore crying spell, I’d likely go find a private place to release my emotions; preferably my bedroom, with the door shut, leaking tears into my pillow.

She is the total opposite. She tends to have a flair for the dramatic with her emotional outbursts.

The other night, she lost her second tooth which I erroneously believed was not a big deal seeing as how this has happened once already and she made five bucks off the transaction. I was wrong.

She wouldn’t let us touch it, of course, and I didn’t pursue the matter. I told her to go look in the mirror and wiggle it a little. The tooth fell out of her mouth and we applauded her accomplishment, but we didn’t factor in the amount of bleeding that would be involved.

For some reason, there was a lot of blood. She wouldn’t stop assessing it. Her face contorted into extreme concern for her own well-being and we tried to reassure her that it would stop, but she kept pacing about the house crying inconsolably and drooling because she refused to swallow.

This went on for about a half an hour until she finally went to bed.

I slipped two dollars under her pillow before I left for work the next morning and she told her daddy that you’re supposed to get two dollars for your second tooth.

A few nights later, I told her to get in the bath. She was rattling around in the toys when I heard her yell and then she came running down the hallway stark naked.

I couldn’t understand most of what she said until one word popped out of her mouth, “SPIDER!”

I hate spiders. I’m a big chicken when I see them because they really creep me out, but I try to act tough in front of the kids so I told her to show me where it was.

She was real jittery when we got close to the bathroom. It would’ve been the perfect moment to freak her out by tickling the back of her leg, but I refrained from psychologically scarring her forever. Sometimes I’m a good mom.

She pointed to the toy closet. I asked how big it was and she said “Medium.” That gave me nothing to go on.

My son brought me one of my work shoes which have all these gaps in the soles and I knew it wouldn’t be very helpful. Flip flops are the best spider killers, but last week, I was able to eradicate one with the toilet plunger. It was oddly satisfying.

I dug around in the toy basket while my bowels loosened out of anticipated terror when I spied a shriveled tiny dead spider on the floor.

I called her in to look at it and asked if this was the medium-sized arachnid she saw. She acknowledged that this was indeed the spider that attacked her. I did a mental eye roll and tried to remember that she is only six.

A piece of tissue paper was all that was required to clear the area of the nuisance, much to my relief. I can’t believe that I got my heart racing for that, but I still saved the day in her eyes so it was worth it.

The real final exam

For those who don’t know, last Thursday I took the most difficult exam of my life, the NCLEX. The National Council Licensure Examination is set up to assess one’s knowledge of nursing and, when passed, earns the right to practice in your state.

Most of my classmates had already taken the test. I straggled behind due to my decision to postpone payment, but because I was President of my class, I began telling everyone that I was fulfilling my role as a true politician by sending the troops into the battlefield ahead of me while I safely brought up the rear.

It wouldn’t matter when I took the NCLEX because none of us had the same test; not that I’d know because the first rule of NCLEX is that you don’t talk about what is on the NCLEX. That is no joke. They make you sign a form and everything.

The test can range anywhere from 75 to 265 questions and it automatically cuts off when it knows you have passed or failed.

The night before, I reviewed a few systems that I knew were my areas of weakness. For instance, I took a quick peek at maternity and pediatrics. Don’t get me wrong, I love pregnant women and kids, but I really don’t want to specialize in these areas

I’ll neither confirm nor deny whether or not I had questions about pregnancy and children on the NCLEX, but I will say that I am extremely happy I took the time to look over these subjects.

I drove myself which may or may not have been a good idea. I had the radar detector hooked up so I could speed on my way to St. Petersburg.

Having the radar only lets you know you’re about to get a ticket. By the time you get zapped, the police officer has already tagged you as a speeder. I’m not sure why I find it comforting to have in the car.

I got to the Professional Plaza early and signed in. They fingerprinted me, scanned both hands several times, and took my photo. I was also monitored by video while taking the test in case I looked like I was cheating in any way.

The NCLEX is serious business.

While I clicked my way through each question, I could feel both my blood pressure and pulse increasing. My palms began to sweat and I felt like I was going to be sick.

At one point, I was certain that I was answering every question wrong. When the computer stopped at question number 75, I was positive I failed.

I cried to my sister and my friend, Tonya, then I called my mom, my husband and, finally, my friend, Candy; talk about emotional support therapy! They all assured me I passed, but I couldn’t believe it until I saw it the next morning on the Department of Health website.

I feel blessed and fortunate to have succeeded.

After talking with some seasoned nurses, I’m also lucky to have done this in the computer age when we have rapid results. Years ago, these exams went on for days and outcomes were mailed months later!

I know I’ve worked hard for this, but I truly could not have done it on my own. My husband, Chris, has been my rock through it all and my family and friends are the absolute greatest. To all of them: I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Busy making things happen

Life has been a little nutty around the Hutchins household lately. We’ve been caught up in a whirlwind of activity that has been pinned in a vice grip of stress with moments of pure elation scattered throughout.

To begin with, my new job has produced its first paycheck which catapulted me to cloud nine. For someone who has been out of work for two years and focused on school, the opportunity to punch in and out on a time clock feels like a special privilege.

As soon as my pay hit the bank account, I called my husband, Chris, to tell him the news that I was now officially contributing to our household income. He said, “That’s awesome, honey. I’m going to pay the mortgage.”

It was nice to see those funds in the account for the brief amount of time they were there.

The pressures associated with my job stem from the fact that I have only very recently taken the exam that will either grant or deny me a license to become a board-certified Registered Nurse. As I sit here typing, I do not have the official results so I’ll save any further elaboration on this topic for another day.

I will say that trying to study for this exam has been a steady drain on my mental health and well-being, as well as the contentment of my family. I mean, how could a person realistically study for something that could have anything included in it that you learned over the course of two years from the content of nine hefty text books? It is mind-numbing.

Next, we had a primary election.

I get excited about these things and I try to get the kids involved, but that is a challenge to say the least. I dragged them both down to the Masonic Lodge anyway and showed them the difference in the ballots. The lack of interest from my son was almost palpable.

Not letting those two dampen my spirits, I happily bubbled in my choices and fed my ballot to the machine. When the assistant asked if we wanted stickers, the children were suddenly interested again and we all left feeling like we did something important.

Chris and our son both had birthdays this week too. Chris is now 40 and our boy just turned 12 years old, his last year before he becomes an official teenager. Both of these milestones were obviously emotional, but for different reasons.

Finally, school begins next week and I was able to escort the children on tours of their new schools.

Middle school will be a change for my son because he gets to have several different teachers. I can only hope they are ready for him. Unfortunately, he can’t play basketball on the school’s team until next year. He’ll be over 6 foot tall by then. We need to get this kid on track to support us one day.

My daughter is out of kindergarten and on to elementary school. She is incredibly excited about the transition and wanted to hang out in her new classroom as long as I’d let her.

She walked over to the magnet tablet and spelled “mom” for me which melted my heart. This was so much better than her last adventure in spelling.  

That’s what a former coworker, Jim, would call the “scuttlebutt” of my life lately. Now that everyone’s caught up, I think I’ll try to catch up on some sleep.

Love to be social without the drama

I love Facebook. It is social media’s answer to the telephone, letter writing, and photography in a modern, instantly updated, drama-filled, interactive-screened shell.

I currently have 401 friends, but don’t jump to any conclusions because I don’t actually have this many friends in real life.

Sure, I’m personable, fairly easy to get along with, and extremely huggable when I allow people to touch me, but 401 is a big number and I am only one person with two kids, a husband, and not a lot of spare time these days.

In reality, most of these 401 “friends” are people who are alumni of either Avon Park or Palm Bay High School. It is pretty cool to keep track of how they have done over the years. I’ve never had any mortal enemies, so it isn’t like I am spying on anyone to see if they turned out bad.

Several of these school friends are people I actually run into fairly often. Thankfully, Facebook has taken away that awkward moment when you see someone at the grocery store and panic because your mind has failed in its search through dusty memory files to dig up that person’s name who knows yours, but for some reason, you can’t seem to recall theirs! I now know that person and where their daughter goes to dance class.

There are also family members on my friend list and Facebook makes it easy to hear how their lives are going and see their families growing daily instead of just on the holidays or sad occasions that draw us together.

There are also my friends who are former coworkers. Some of these are people I lost contact with and Facebook helped me find them again, years later, in different careers and on new, exciting paths in their lives.

Then there is another group I am friends with on Facebook with their own category: people I’ve never met. These are folks I’m pretty sure are safe to know in the virtual world and I suppose I wouldn’t mind meeting in person, but I’ve just never had the opportunity.

They are friends of friends who like the same things I like and think I said something funny to another friend or I thought they were funny. In short, we’re all pretty sarcastic and were drawn to each other based on this common trait.

On the down side, as I previously stated, Facebook can be full of drama. I love to debate and have discussion, but I don’t put people down and I don’t cuss on my page. Civilized disagreements should not be some kind of elusive dream.

Still, I was recently defriended twice because of my beliefs. Once was because I told someone I agreed with on a political viewpoint to stop calling another friend names who had the opposite belief. Yes, you read that correctly.

Another time, a friend defriended me because I was supporting a candidate from the other party instead of my own. Seriously.

For future reference, I love Facebook and I love debate for what they are, but I don’t love a political party enough to cuddle up with it at night and call it my partner forever and always. I married that person. His name is Chris. If anyone wants to see those papers, I keep them in a file for quick access.

If Facebook disappeared tomorrow, believe me, I’d be okay. I’ve really got all I need right here.

Precious memories come with a price

This past week, a very important milestone was reached in the life of our 6-year old daughter: She lost her first tooth. I was beginning to worry that she’d never let this one go because it had been wiggling for about 5 weeks.

I remember when I was growing up and all the adults would offer their assistance when you told them about an unstable incisor. For some reason, they thought the best course of action was to shove a washcloth in your mouth and grab ahold of the slippery surface so they could pull it free.

What was the purpose of this expedited detachment? I’m still not sure.

I think it was my dad who told me that, when he was a kid, his dad did the “doorknob tied to a length of string that was tied to the tooth” setup which quickly yanked the offending unstable object out of the dental lineup forever. I’m pretty certain this was done solely to give children nightmares.

If you ask any credible dentist, I’m sure they’ll tell you to never do this. I’m just glad it was never done to me.

My best lost tooth happened thanks to a big wad of grape bubble gum. I had about 5 pieces in my mouth that I was happily chomping on when, all of a sudden, I crunched down on my tooth. The gum had pulled it free in a very painless manner, but the feeling of chewing my own tooth was a little unsettling.

With my children, I never felt the need to force their teeth free, but opted instead to let them fall out in their own time.

This brings me to the topic of the Tooth Fairy.

Even though I’m philosophically opposed to the whole idea of the Tooth Fairy, I’d be the biggest jerk in the world if I took that away from my daughter after letting my son have some fun with it.

The big question is, how much does this dental sprite think a tooth is worth, you know, with inflation and all?

I asked my daughter, “What do you think the Tooth Fairy is going to leave you tonight?”

Let me just fill in a little gap here and say that her tooth fell out at children’s church. The previous week during children’s church, she wrote “Boob” on the dry erase board. It’s debatable whether or not she’s been exceptionally good overall.

She thought for a moment and said, “Hmmm, I don’t know. Ninety dollars?”

“WHAT?” I was astounded. That is an expensive lower central incisor (number 25 for all you dental folks).  Assuming it weighs about one gram, her tooth was worth roughly twice its weight in gold, which is, at this moment, selling at $51.08 per gram.

I explained to her that a first tooth was special, but that was a lot of money. She reduced her estimate to forty followed by thirty dollars, but I was still not encouraging about her prospects.

I told her to think a lot less and she said, “How about eleven dollars?”

I asked how she arrived at that number and she responded, “Well, it’s more than ten!”

After all that manipulation, we slipped five bucks under her pillow. I know that is still way too much for a tooth, but her excitement over finding that money was worth every dollar.

One thing is for certain, we are discovering that daughters are way more expensive than sons.