Another artist I have supported in absentia.  Lyle, love ya, but something came up.  Another fucking storm, is what.  So in spite of my last-minute efforts to give away two reserved-seat tickets to last night's performance, nuthin'.  Wasted.  Fuck.

Our lives have been ruled by weather since Little Sioux and I am starting to resent it.  I don't resent Stan, not at all.  I resent the storms.  Stan still panics with loud thunder and we spend most of even small storms in the basement.  He curls up on the floor and cries and shakes.  No matter how hard you hold the kid, he's still going through that storm again alone.  It's sobering.  I am helpless.  Yet he does want me near, so I guess I'm some kind of half-ass comfort.

There has been a lot of talk about heroism, comments like "they are all heroes," and discussion of heroism badges for all the boys.  Stan has a really hard time with it.  He feels like a fraud, he says, because he was scared, because he "didn't do anything."  And yet the week after Little Sioux he went right back out to Scout camp at Camp Cedars (another week of thunderstorms).  And since then he's been helping others who've been affected by storms and made T-shirts and is designing a Scout patch that memorializes the loss.  That sounds pretty heroic to me, but he's 13.  Heroes pull babies out of burning buildings or cinder blocks off trapped park rangers. 

We're on vacation next week in Iowa, and is looks like another week of fucking storms.  We'll just have to know where safe shelter is at all times.  I've never looked forward to winter quite this early before. 

I notice the accomodations we are making.

+= +

I'm mad at Frank who thinks sorry is enough and is now mad back.

I asked him to pick up Stan at the house on his way downtown this morning.  Stan's Red Cross project is downtown today.  It's on Frank's way and was even at the time he'd normally be passing our 'hood.  Bunny left town this morning for Maine, so I needed to return home after my morning call and take the other two kids to daycare.  Well Frank forgot.  So I had to leave work to run Stan downtown (he was late) then run the other two back out west to daycare (they were late) then return to work (after an hour gone and my weekly report not even sent in yet for approval and the last day before vacation so yes, pretty fucking busy. 

Just a reminder that I can rely on no one.  If it's got to happen, I have to do it, period.  I don't have time to delegate AND remind AND double-check AND do it myself anyway.  And yet, that's what I did.

He didn't bother to ask if I was still free for lunch.  Smart.

Find it funny that I finally upgrade to Premium then abandon the site for weeks?  Me too.

I have nothing to say, is all.  Only events to record, and that’s boring.  Because I keep stamping things down and then it takes something to get them back up.  And that something isn’t wine, so I don’t know.

I need it to stop storming.  Stan just got used to rain and clouds and we have another mega-decibel thunderstorm with 60 mph winds last night.  Now Norway’s afraid of thunder, too.  He cried about the “monster” that was coming to get him.   Yeah, we’re big on monsters right now.  Kid will no longer sleep in his own bed, but will consistently fall out of anyone else’s.  Ollie is sick of sharing a bed with him.  So am I.  I got the kid railing thing finally up from the basement so he didn’t fall out last night, once he finally fell asleep. 

Stan is going to DC with the other Little Sioux scouts to have lunch in the Rose Garden with the President.  Assuming nothing comes up, of course, like invading a country as a last-ditch effort to leave office with positive ratings.  He is in the negatives, right? 

Oh I have to tell you:  when Stan found out they were going to meet the President, his first question to me was:  Will it be Obama yet?

And this:  Norway is obsessed with CATS.  He loves Rum Tum Tugger the best, but is horrified/fascinated by Macavity.  This isn't helping the monster issue, but he still begs to watch it Every Waking Moment.

It’s better; he is less volatile but still storm-wary.

My sister took the younger two for the weekend so it was just Stan and I.  That was good.  Even though I had to work, I still had ½ days Friday and Saturday that were just me n him.  We worked in the yard and went out to dinner, mostly.  Hung out.  Sunday, the short ones got home and the general chaos resumed.

Storms expected this afternoon.  Stan is at a day camp at the university.  I had to tell the leader (who is a cop) and her response was, “Well we’re police officers; we’ll keep him safe.”  Dude, you totally missed my point.  I said the storm would make him nervous and uncomfortable, not I’m afraid the storm will hurt him. 

More changes at work.  Meeting in 20 minutes to determine if I work Tue – Sat instead of Mon – Fri.  I have mixed feelings.  I’d agree to a trial period, certainly, but not sure about “permanent,” whatever that means.  It would mean (in theory) no more 12 days in a row twice a month, covering weekends in rotation.  Also means no more soccer for Ollie (or any other Sat AM team sport.)  Be nice to be off on a weekday for Dr. appts, etc., but will change all vacations a bit, and I already have rooms booked for July, Sep, and a Christmas weekend cabin at a big state park.  Not sure, not sure. 

15 minutes.

It’s stormy.  I see it.  I feel it.  Frank called me on the cell phone to tell me that thunderstorms are popping up all over, from the west and moving east.  Popping out of nowhere, just dropping from the sky.  I love thunderstorms.  I hate thunderstorms.  I feel like something’s been stolen from me.  We’re driving out to camp and I’m desperately afraid.  I’m not afraid, I’m frightened.  It’s a different word.  Frightened reminds me of Wizard of Oz.  I’m frightened, Auntie Em, I’m frightened.  It’s totally different from afraid, it’s more childish, more helpless.  I used to love to stand outside and watch the storm and now I just want to count my children, I want them all with me, I don’t want them to be separated from them.  I don’t want to be at work, I don’t want Stan at camp.  But Stan is out at camp and we’re driving out to see him and there are storms all around.  It’s not raining on us right now but I can see the lightning which makes me afraid that it’s thundering where Stan is and I know he’s frightened too. 

I feel like something’s been stolen from me.  I watch the weather obsessively.  I watch the Weather Channel.  Is that cell going to split?  Is it going to go around us?  Because it often does.  Is it going to go south?  Because it often does.  Is that a flicker of yellow in the green?  Is that a flicker of red in the yellow?  I can’t stop watching the Weather Channel even though I know it doesn’t provide very good local weather coverage.  I watch it because it’s on all the time.  I flip over and watch …something … for a few minutes, then I turn it back.  Is it a flicker of something?  Is it a rotation?  Is it lightning?  I know he’ll be frightened if it’s lightning.  I feel like something’s been stolen from all of us.  I don’t like this at all.

Watch this movie.  Stay up late, turn off the phone, have your children watch it with you, sitting close together on the couch, talking during the quiet parts about the significance of this or that. 

Rated R I guess because he says "fuck" a few times.  Plus the shirtless Danish camper.

There is no shooting or killing or blood (except as relates to hunting in the woods).  There is no sex.  There is no drug use.  CSI Miami is more offensive than this movie (and I like CSI Miami).

The book is excellent.  The movie is excellent.  Do both, in either order, but get ahold of one of them and get it in your head (and heart).

It is beautiful, and tragic.

I am obsessed with weather; I watch it constantly, worrying about Stan out there camping at Cedars.  A lot of the Little Sioux boys went ahead with their camping plans.  Best thing for them.  But these storms are not. 

God bless humans sometimes.  One of the troop leaders called me Monday night with some bogus merit badge question.  Then said, Oh, you know, Stan is right here, would you like to talk to him?  Cell phones are a no-no at Scout camp (assuming you can get a signal, which usually you can’t) and I was bowled over with that leader’s consideration.  Stan was fine.  I think he called for me.  I am feeling bowled over a lot lately.

I’d promised Stan that if a tornado watch or severe thunderstorm warning were announced for his area that I would drive up and either stay with him or bring him home.  One was announced yesterday, but looked like it was going to head south.  Then it didn’t.  I was working from home (Norway has tonsillitis and a fever since Monday evening) and was stalling, trying to get the stupid Thursday report done.  My laptop lost the SSL VPN connection to the server at work (happens sometimes) and I chose that as a sign to put the report off til Friday.  We got to the campsite about an hour before the skies turned black, the trees bent over, and sheets of wind soaked anyone who was not inside four walls.  Neither Stan nor I enjoyed it one bit.  We were inside the dining hall by the time the serious rain and wind started, but it was still frightening.  Little Sioux stole my enjoyment of storms.  I think it will come back.  I hope it will.

I thought nothing about telling my boss I’d be working from home Tu-We-Th.  I’ve been working from home since this flood situation started, almost 24/7.  So many of our group were on vacation, and so many customers are hurting badly and at great expense because of flooded out transportation routes.  I tried to care.  I didn’t really.  I only want to be home with my children.  I got an award for performing “above and beyond the call of duty” last weekend.  (Not kidding about the 24/7 coverage… I was on conference calls all day, during the night at 10 pm and 2 am and on the phone in between.  I haven’t opened the award yet.  It’s some money and probably a nice write-up.  I haven’t had time.  And I am not at all the only one working like this during this crisis.  My boss, on the other hand, was on vacation and just returned Tuesday.  He didn’t like it that I told him on my way out the door that I’d be working from home.  I told him I’d been working from home at night for the past 4 days, I could sure work from home during daylight hours.  Of course, the difference is a sick, whiny child who must be comforted… but still. 

Stan got some of his gear back!  Many items were recovered from the South shelter.  They were beyond stinky with mildew, but a few washings have restored some of his clothes to normal.  I think his boots are ruined, and the tent and sleeping bag were not worth bringing back (they said).  The tent and bag were cheap and expendable (which is why they were Stan’s in the first place, him not being the most careful guy in the world….)  and he’ll be able to pick out a new one of each at some point, thanks to a donation that is being heavily advertised around here.  Because this pisses me off, I’m not going to say who this donation is from, although if the Scout Office gets their wish, you’ll see it on fucking CNN. 

I told you that Canfield’s was the first merchant to offer donations of camping gear to the boys.  Then there was “some delay” in getting those items to the boys.  I didn’t know this at the time, but apparently Canfield’s and the Scout Office hate each other.  To me, that makes the offer all the more poignant.  The Scout Office immediately went to another outfitter, got them to match the offer, then published the alliance with the OTHER outfitter and not Canfield’s.  Canfield’s is the only other place in town, besides the – surprise – Scout Office – that sells Scout uniforms and other stuff.  I was shocked to hear (then again… not that shocked) that the Scout Office would be so petty as to reject Canfield’s in this way… to go out of their way to undermine an offer made in sincerity.  Like I said, fucking politics and bureaucracy is the ruin of this otherwise productive organization. 

Canfield’s or otherwise, Stan has still received none of it.  It seems so gauche to ask, “may I please have my donation” but geez.  They’ve all taken credit for the generosity in the newspaper.  Share it on out with the boys already.  And again I sincerely hope that the reason for the delay is that they are helping first with funeral and other expenses for the boys who were seriously hurt or killed.  I sure as hell hope they have distributed some of the thousands of dollars being collected in the various victims’ funds.  Unfortunately, I doubt it.

Argh, this is hard to look at. 

The pre-fab building at right is where the parents waited.  Also in the mud around the pre-fab building, smoking cigarettes and dodging the lurking media.  It was solid mud, huge puddles of water, and pitch black outside when we arrived about 8:30 pm.

The camp is forward along the road you see, then up and around to the right.  Right where that motherfucker is.

The Scout Office said Canfield’s Sporting Goods was the first retailer to call and offer donations of camping equipment.  They are the working man’s Cabela’s – no fancy animal dioramas or waterfalls, no restaurant or hot dog stand, just hunting, camping, fishing equipment, military surplus, AND a large Scouting department.  Canfield’s is where we have bought every uniform, patch, and handbook since Stan started as a Tiger cub in first grade and I had no doubt they would step in to help.  Other retailers have called to offer gear, including Dick’s, and there are many, many people looking for ways to help by offering money, time, prayers, and words of support.  Canfield’s is donating a tent and a sleeping bag to each camper from Little Sioux.  Lawlor’s Sporting Goods (also local) and a radio station are trying to sell 5,000 “Omaha Cares” T-shirts by Wednesday for 15 bucks each, donating 10 to the Victims’ Fund.  They’ve asked folks to wear them Wednesday. 

Aside:  Several boys, including Stan, who were at Little Sioux went yesterday to start a new week of Scout camp at Cedars.  None of those donations came in time so they had little choice but to buy new stuff on their own.  It’s really unfortunate – so many people want to help right now, but red tape as usual ties up everything.  That, that blasted bureaucracy is my number one problem with the Scouts (and most of the US Government).  For us, it’s okay.  We have enough money to do this, but I know it is a hardship for other boys.  I hope that other Troops pulled together to share gear. 

One donation that was extremely appreciated:  the Scout office replaced his uniform – with all the badges and pins and loops that he could remember and describe to them.  They organized volunteers to stay up Friday night sewing so that the boys could wear complete uniforms to Josh’s funeral Saturday.  I can’t begin to describe how much that means to me … and to Stan.  He wore just a blank shirt to the memorial service Thursday evening and felt bad about that.  It’s funny how much those uniforms mean to the boys.  This is me; this is what I have done and what interests me; this is my place in the organization. 

Every time I think about those ladies so carefully making sure they had the right patches, checking the handbooks to ensure they were putting them in the right places, sewing carefully through the night…I just lose it.  If you’ve sewn on patches, you know – it’s a bitch.  I am so thankful for this practical and immediate gift…I am without words.

During the funeral, one of the many comments that brought the crowd to open weeping:  “Josh didn’t get to make Eagle (scout), but he got his wings.”

There are a lot of wings around town (and around the country) lately.  We’ve gotten so many calls and messages of support, thank you, I thank God for you, I bless you.  It helps so much. 

Stan is up and down on a sickening roller coaster of emotion.  Family and friends help; staying busy this week at camp will help.  He feels terribly guilty, not just for surviving, but because he feels like a fraud.  We’ve heard story after story of the heroism of the boys.  It’s very nice; we’re very proud of all the boys. 

But

“I didn’t do anything, Mom,” he said the other day.  He was crying.  “They’re making us out like we all worked together to save those other boys, but our group wasn’t allowed to leave the shelter. We didn’t help at all!”  Several of us have assured him that he did exactly what he was supposed to do.  That he is not a fraud because the unit performed heroically.  “Win as a team, lose as a team” isn’t just something applied when you lose. 

Stan received a 3-page, typed letter the following day from a high-level official at the Scout office.  This man knew Stan, and described in detail what made him so proud of Stan.  He included past actions and decisions and accomplishments that Stan has made and he talked for a paragraph or two about the specific issue of guilt – guilt for surviving, guilt for not doing enough, guilt for following when he thinks he should have led.  He may or may not have heard of Stan’s specific feelings, but he knew that Stan was in the South shelter.  Stan has read and re-read this letter, as have I.  I can’t say more; it was a priceless and very timely gift.

Stan has spent a lot of time with my sister since the event; this is good.  I have been hatefully working 14-hour days with no time off; the Midwest flooding has impacted our business disastrously.  I’ve wanted so badly to be at home, but we had too many people off on vacation to even consider it.  It makes me realize that I don’t want a kind of job where I can’t be home to take care of something like this.  Sure, I have a good job and an understanding boss, but when the shit hits the fan, I can’t leave.  I guess I’ve been really beat over the head with this.  Okay, I get it:  Life’s too short to spend it all at work.  

Stan is home safe.  He lost everything but the clothes on his back and an arm band showing that it was his turn to be Assistant Patrol Leader.  “I would have been Patrol Leader today,” he said this morning, fingering the badge.  He looked up at me.  “They said I could keep this.  I just kept rubbing it.”

The boys were in two separate groups separated by a hill.  One group got hit; the buildings were leveled and lives were lost.  The other group didn’t get a scratch.  When I saw Stan I looked him all over, I grabbed his hair and held on to him tight, tight and thought, Jesus, God, my baby.  And thank you, thank you, thank you.

It was a horrible night.  Unimaginably bad, just waiting.  My brother T was with me; he’d offered to drive us in his 4x4 when he heard I was leaving.  We drove through a tornado, a flood, an unbelievable show of lightning all around us.  We talked about pulling over as the radio urged us to do.  Then an ambulance passed us and we didn’t bring it up again.  We saw two more with lights flashing moving south in the oncoming lane.

Hearing nothing is awful.  Watching parents get calls is awful.  Mothers and fathers collapsing in relief.  Mothers and fathers freezing in fear and running to the door.  Hearing names read is awful, when your son is not on the list.  Meeting the other parents’ eyes is awful.  “Is it your son?  Or is it mine?” 

T and I said almost nothing.  “Do you want to go outside?”  Yes.  “Do you want to go back in?”  No.  But I can’t stand the thought of missing something, anything. We told each other that the longer it went, hearing nothing, the more likely Stan was just fine.  We’d already heard about his friend C, the only other boy from his Troop – C was at a hospital in Onawa with a bump and some scratches, but fine. 

We waited and drank coffee and smoked cigarettes.  We told each other that the parents of the worst-hurt kids would have heard first.  We found out at 1130 that we were wrong.  We heard the names of boys taken to 3 area hospitals, then a list of about 50 names of boys who were taken to Mondamin High School on a bus – boys that were perfectly okay.  Stan was not on any of those lists either and T and I started to crack.  Then the officer told us that the 4 fatalities were all scouts.  He said that the parents of the fatalities had not been notified.  They had not been able to identify two of the boys yet.  He sliced the throats of everyone in that hall.  We were in that pause with no breath at all, right before toppling over.  The other parents, those who had heard their sons’ names, had been rushing out to their boys.  Our huge group was much smaller and we looked in horror at each other in the worst lottery in the world.  “Is it your son?  Or is it mine?”

I can talk about this because it wasn’t my son.  It was awful and horrible but an hour later a list finally had Stan’s name on it and he was fine.  I bent over in half and almost threw up.  We ran back through the mud and in the car I started to shake.  It was raining again, with more lightning again, and we drove to Onawa to pick up C, then back south, finally, to find Stan, my baby, my heart, my life.

20-year class reunion activities start Friday evening.  Today is Wednesday.  Is there any possible way in the world I can lose 50 pounds in the next 50 hours?  Aside from, like, a flesh-eating bacteria?  Or, like, a flesh-eating Great White Shark?

Hell.

I can hit the tanning booth.  I can whiten my teeth a little.  I can find something to wear that's somewhat flattering. 

Then I think, these people didn't like me in high school, why do I care if they like me now?  Well I guess that's why I care now.  A kind of "see what you were missing" type deal.  Instead I am dreading the "so... are you married?" question.  I don't want to tell these people I have three kids but never married.  These people are not my friends.  I was one of those prudes in high school.  My first boyfriend wasn't until after I graduated. 

Since I stupidly registered my kids for the family picnic on Saturday, I guess I can't say I have no children.  I'd be better off claiming to've invented Post-it's. 

I also signed up for the Friday night cocktail party and the Saturday night dinner. 

Well.

I'll go Friday night for a little while.  It could be fun, who knows.  I'm sure everyone else got fat, too.  And then I just reserve the right to leave and never return.  So I'm out 30 bucks.  I haven't seen 99% of these people since the 10-year reunion, who cares.

Hm.

Maybe I could finish the 2007 nano novel by Friday.  That'd be neat.  Not to talk about, necessarily.  Just to know. 

If not, there is that nasty cut on my foot.................

I know you know that movie, it's too easy.  So tell me what now-famous actress starred in an 80's TV sit-com about two other nerdy/alt-cool girls.  And tell me the name of the TV show.  Since the winner is going to be BettyC again, the prize will be a hand-delivered bottle of red wine. 

And speaking of alt-cool girls... Saw this movie last night - how totally fricking excellent. I want to hang out with Juno, too, but I'd never be cool enough.