Seeing the good...

For a couple of hours this morning, I became "Juror #2."

Over the past decade, out of five times being summoned for jury duty, this is the fourth time I've served -- one shooting/homicide trial, one theft and two (including today's) were drug possession. I began dreading the whole thing; getting dragged through someone else's dirty laundry and, ultimately, making a decision that was going to negatively affect his/her life. Leading up to today, all of the trials ended with a guilty verdict.

Imagine my surprise when, as the State and defense presented their cases, I saw a glimmer of hope. I really believed this guy was innocent. The prosecutor likened the elements of this case to one of the answers on a Magic 8 Ball: "All signs point to yes." However, all signs clearly did NOT point to guilt. I won't go into the minute details of the case, but suffice it to say that this guy was a drug abuser (crack cocaine being his drug-o-choice), which he ended up admitting to the arresting officer. In a surprising, bold move, the defendant actually took the stand. I've never seen that done in any trial so far. He admitted being addicted to crack last year -- he was unemployed and his life was "a mess." (His words.) During the past year, from the information he gave, we learned he was now gainfully employed by a company who more than likely used drug testing either in the hiring process or periodically on the job... or both. I really got the feeling that this individual was trying to turn his life around, despite the State's attempt to convict him of drug possession. They had three points to prove: that he knowingly possessed crack cocaine. Lab tests proved the substance was cocaine -- check. And, while it wasn't on his person, the baggie was in his car -- check. It was the "knowingly" part that hung them up. He testified under oath that it wasn't his. Whose was it? Well, he had a passenger in his car the night he was arrested. The details that came forth firmly convinced not only me, but my five fellow jurors that the drugs in possession were most likely the property of his acquaintance. Seriously. We deliberated for about a minute and a half. And I'm not entirely sure you could even call it deliberation -- we all felt exactly the same way.

After delivering our verdict and being dismissed from the courtroom, another juror and I were chatting. She said how hopeful she felt for the guy, and also had the distinct feeling he was really trying to make a fresh start. I agreed and told her that was exactly how I felt. I added that I find myself, time and time again, looking for the good in people. Unfortunately, more times than I care to recall, I have been proven wrong... disappointed... duped. One might think by now I'd be jaded to the gills, and walk around all brooding and cynical. Nope. I just can't do it. Even when I've given someone the benefit of the doubt for the umpteenth time, and was surprised when things turned around and bit me firmly on the ass, I'm still not able to make myself believe most people are simply awful to the core.

So, today was a good day for the defendant. It was a good day for me -- to be able to feel that familiar optimism and stand firm on my belief that he wasn't your average Joe Junkie, just looking to beat the system for now. I firmly believe that guy didn't leave the courthouse today and immediately ring up his dealer on speed dial for a quick score. I think he went home, changed out of his suit and went to work for the rest of the day. I sincerely hope he also took a minute or two to thank his lucky stars he found six optimists out of 40 or so people to decide his case today.

If you are looking for my brain, it's over there in the gutter...

So, we're driving home from school the other day, and we happen to pass a guy walking along side the road. Coincidentally, it's the same stretch of road where last week I saw a guy (not the same one) walking along in freezing temperature, carrying a huge bouquet of red roses. (My subsequent Facebook posting about this guy prompted general consensus that he was a stalker, not the hopeless romantic I believed him to be.) But I digress...

As we approached the guy, I saw that he had his head bent over and his hands were fiddling with something in his waistline area. He was in the process of zipping up his jacket. I heard Jack and Charlie pipe up from the back of the van, distinctly catching Jack say, "Dude, that guy's p--..."

Now, I clearly heard up to the "p" sound, and jumped to the conclusion that Jack had finished that sentence, "...playin' with himself." And, really? If you only glanced up at him, it actually might appear so -- if you're 10 years old and have a finely honed sense of "boy humor."

In mock exasperation, I said, "Jack... the guy's not 'playing with himself"... he's just zipping his jacket."

Immediately, gales of laughter erupt from the boys.

Jack says, "Mom, I said, 'that guy's pimpin'.... but 'playing with himself' works too!'" And more laughter ensues.

Nice. I spend a fair amount of time trying to keep their boy brains out of the gutter, and where do I end up?

I pity da fool...

...who makes fun of my boy today.

So, yesterday afternoon was cruising along like any other when I received a phone call from the boys' dad. Seeing as how we usually communicate very nicely via text, when I saw his name on my cell caller ID, I knew something was up.

Me: Hello?

Ex: Hi,... yeah, I just got a call from school. I guess Charlie and another boy had a run-in on the playground while playing football -----

I'm going to stop here for a minute for some backstory. Every day, rain or shine, come hell or high water, Jack and Charlie and their friends play football at recess. They have as much enthusiasm for the schoolyard version of the game as they had when they were on their PAL team this past fall... which means they tend to get into heated discussions over bad plays. I immediately took "run-in" as code for "Charlie got into a fight with another boy and is currently sitting in the principal's office." This explains why the next image that popped into my head was of young Charlie perched on his bed all weekend, in a grounding for fighting at school. Let's resume the conversation, shall we?

Ex: (continues)... and the nurse says he's got a pretty good goose-egg above his eye. She doesn't think he's got a concussion, but figured it might be a good idea for him to be picked up now, rather than wait for the end of the school day.

Let's pause again for a moment, mm'kay? Knowing full well that the boys also have a tendency to tackle during these games -- without the luxury of helmets and pads -- "Punishment Mom" was replaced by "Worried Mom." Quickly.

Me: I'm on my way.

I now know that Bobby and I are fully capable of being out the door and driving toward school within four minutes. Good to know.

When we reached school, I was led to Charlie lying on a cot in the clinic, holding an ice pack to the left side of his face. I had him take it off, an saw this:

I think I audibly gasped... probably saying something along the lines of, "Ohmygosh,Charlie!" I asked him if he'd seen it for himself, and he said no, so I snapped the picture and showed him. (You didn't really think I was just randomly taking photos of his injury for kicks, did you? I assure you, it was out of necessity, not having a mirror handy.)

Apparently, he collided face-to-face with his friend Jonathan, just after he'd caught the football. KA-POW. The recess aides assured the nurse that there was definitely no rough play involved-- just a matter of the boys being in the same place at the most unfortunate time. Jonathan's injury was similar, but I was told his entire eye had swollen shut, and he was at the ER getting things checked out. So, Charlie got out of school an hour early and I bought him a Sprite at the McDonald's drive-thru to comfort him. (By the way, when the HELL did they stop making McDonaldLand Cookies?! I was going for a true Mom of the Year moment, wanting to make the injury "all better" with a box of cookies. Now, all they sell is chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin. There is a permanent ban on chocolate in the car, and he doesn't care for oatmeal raisin. Plan thwarted... thanks A LOT, Ronald McDonald.)

Last night before bed, Charlie was a bit apprehensive about going to school today. He was afraid the other kids would make fun of how his eye looked. I assured him no one would do that... but then I thought, how do I know this for sure? I decided I would offer Charlie an escort to his classroom and survey the reaction. He can either accept or decline -- I will be fine with either choice. My guess is that he will be the center of attention for a while, which he won't mind for about, say, ... 10 minutes. After that, he (like his mom) will start to cringe and want to be left alone.

He may feel fine, have no concussion and not even so much as a headache. But I still have my "Worried Mom" cap on, which will quickly turn into "Protective Mom" should any wiseapple fourth grader try to make fun of MY Charlie and his puffy eye.

No one can say I wasn't warned...

A few weeks ago -- Christmas Eve day to be exact -- I returned home from a long afternoon of errand-running to find this on the boys' bedroom door:

Yes, it reads, "Beware of Children. P.S.: We Bite."

On sticky notes, no less.

Responsibility is a lost concept...

I read earlier that the young gentleman who is accused of trying to pull off a terrorist attack on an airplane (on Christmas Day of all days!) has entered a "not guilty" plea in court.

Excuse me. WHAT?!?!?

Dude! Your underwear exploded! How do you even begin to plead "not guilty?" Were they not your underwear?

The mere fact alone that this guy is currently being treated for burns in the general underwear-wearing" area should be a pretty good indication that he, in fact, did it.

I eagerly await the dog-and-pony show called his trial.

No room at the inn, but a hot meal in the stable...

This morning, the kids had a weather-related school delay. I let the boys sleep, and settled myself onto the sofa with my new NY Times crossword-puzzle-a-day calendar (best birthday give EVER from my wonderful husband!). A little while later, Jack came downstairs and curled up next to me.
Jack; Mom? Are crossword puzzles hard to do?

Me: Mmm... sometimes. But this one seems pretty easy so far.

Jack: Can you find a clue for me to solve?

Me: Sure.

I scanned the list of clues and found one -- 31 down, "A gift of the Magi." It was five letters, beginning with "M." I knew it was "myrrh," and hoped with Christmas just two weeks ago, he'd remember the answer.

Me: OK, Jack. Here you go. (I pointed to the clue.) Remember the three Wise Men? It's one of the gifts they brought to Baby Jesus.

Jack: Gold?

Me: Well, remember... they brought gold, frankincense and....

Jack: (thinking really hard) Um... a ham?

After we both stopped laughing, Jack rationalized that after all that work of having a baby, Mary must've been hungry.

Great minds think alike

So, part of our Christmas week festivities was taking three of the kids (two 10yo and 7yo) out to see the new James Cameron epic, "Avatar."

The first thing that was noticed--by all three boys--was in the opening credits when it read "A film by James Cameron." This sparked their interest because James is Jeff's brother's name. James Cameron. They all about lost their minds at the coincidence. Very cute.

We proceeded to be impressed and dazzled by the outstanding visuals, enhanced by the 3-D glasses (which boosted our admission price by at least $5. Each.), and the only aspect of the movie that make me wince was the now-and-then swear words. The boys have all heard my classic lecture about words they hear and words they can say and knowing the difference.

Near the end of the movie, Jeff (who, I should explain, is an avid sci-fi fan) and I assessed that "Avatar" is like, "Ferngully" meets "Full Metal Jacket" (meets "Harry Potter"-with those freakin' flying dragon/birds... whatever they were; and "Alien" (as an honorable nod to Sigourney Weaver). I think we may have even thrown in "The Matrix" because of the whole cloned-alien thing they had going on, too. We laughed and thought ourselves to be oh-so-clever until a few days ago when I read this.

You have to scroll down a bit in the post, but you'll clearly see that the author and an aquaintance ALSO drew the connection between "Avatar" and "Ferngully."

Apparently Jeff and I aren't the only clever ones. And, since I just gave you such an easy link... I highly recommend checking out The Polymath Chronicles. Very funny, neat blog.