Operation Dental Drop – Day 3

Well, it appears we’ve forgotten about the no eating in the morning thing because someone I know and love is sitting on the bed begging for chicken.

I lie to him of course, and assure him that he will be able to eat very soon. Poor thing has no clue.

He’s pulled his Dad down onto the bed and has him in a choke hold, giving him a big hug.

He says, “Daddy Brad, you’re my friend.”

Brad is struggling to breathe and I’m telling him to let go of his Dad but he’s got a death grip.

“Let go of Dad, son.” It is not a request. He lets go and Brad stands up and sort of sways back and forth like he’s been wrung out to dry.

“Well that was fun,” Brad says.

“I suggest you wave at him from across the room,” I say, and then WHOP! A pillow; right up side the head.

It appears my son has just challenged me to a pillow fight. If we were at home there would be no mercy because I’d pick the pillow up and clobber him, and we’d go at it until the feathers fly, but since we’re in a “tell room” and I do not wish to disturb the people in the rooms around us, I do not respond.

Whop! Another pillow.

“Ignoring you,” I say and he says, “Come on Sherry!” So I disappear into the shower out of range. It seems as good a time as any to get dressed for the day.

I stay in the bathroom long enough to fog up the mirror and when I come out he’s laying on the bed watching The Parent Trap on his portable DVD player that several people in the church gave him last year for his birthday. He takes it everywhere along with an old ice cream container with a blue handle that holds most of his DVDs. They are out of the original packages, of course, how else would they make good Frisbees?

He’s watching the dance scene where Haley Mills takes the scissors and cuts the back out her sister’s dress and then only her panties are showing.

He calls me over to the bed. “Mom, watch!” he says, and then the 2 girls get into a knock down drag out fight and are pulling each others hair and the punch bowl slides down the table and splashes all over the Boy Scout leader and the fruit flies everywhere, and the cake lands in a lady’s face. Charley is rolling around on the bed kicking his feet in the air and laughing his head off. I think about this for a moment and come to the conclusion that the world would be better off if we would all just get over ourselves, and roll around on a bed kicking our feet in the air.

He’s laughing out loud now, and I tell him to hush, but I have to admit it’s pretty funny and it beats hearing him beg for food.

He turns down the volume on the DVD player; now if only Charley Palmer came with volume control.

It’s 6:45 a.m. and luckily it’s time to leave for the hospital. Brad and I decide it’s time to slip out the back door so he won’t have to pass by the continental breakfast in the lobby, and since we are not allowing ourselves a cup of coffee in front of him it seems the best thing for us as well.

I go to the lobby and ask the desk clerk if he will deprogram the room key because Charley wants one of his own and he’s so nice; he just goes and gets him a new one. This is a big deal for Charley who feels like pretty big stuff getting is own room key.

I say, “Son, now you have a key you can use on your room at home.”

He’s no dummy. He knows that’s not going to work, and says, “Stop it Mom.”

Still, he’s in the back seat turning the credit card-like key around and around in his hand.

“Where goin’ Mom?”

“We’re going to the Dentist so he can fix your teeth.”

It’s pretty quiet in the back seat. I think he’s trying to figure it all out but bless his heart he has no clue.

God be with us.

Out of the car now and on our way down the hall to the waiting room. Charley says “Hi!” and has slapped a high 5 to at least 10 people along the way. Doctors, nurses, anyone. Some seem amused and happy to say hi to him, while others appear to be sleepwalking with hot coffee in their hand. Sure hope the caffeine kicks in before they perform his surgery.

Cameron is already waiting for us when we arrive. It’s over an hour drive to the hospital from Coker Creek where he runs the Coker Creek Village Camp and Conference Center. Cam is like a big brother to Charley. He takes him over to the camp and lets him play basketball and swim in the pool and Charley just loves him, except when Cameron pays too much attention to the horses and not to him.

Charley runs over and gives Cam a hug and they sit together and Cam is trying to joke around with him but Charley is hungry and grouchy and not sure about all this. Brad and I are so glad to see Cameron.

It’s not been that long since we arrived and they have already ushered us back to the room where they will prep Charley for surgery. He’s sitting on the bed but we are experiencing a bit of interference, as the hospital gown has been shoved onto the floor and he has ripped the identification bracelet off of his wrist has sailed it across the room.
The nurse has left the room to go make him another bracelet and says she will make an extra just in case.

Charley is showing Cam his Parent Trap movie and they are watching the dance scene. He pauses now and then and says, “You comin’ my birthday?” and then looks over at me and says, “I like him.” He blows me kisses from across the room and then calls me over to sit in the chair beside him. He hugs me and says, “I scared, Mommy,” and I could just cry buckets.

I tell him I’m right here and he says, “I like you,” and then tells me he’s scared again, and then says “Get out!” It’s clear that he’s getting pretty agitated so I ask the nurse to give him something to calm him down. She returns shortly with a Valium but the pill is green and he’s used to taking white pills so he refuses to take it. Brad and I step out of the room so the nurse can deal with him, and he takes the pill and a nurses aid helps him change. Cam peeks through a crack in the door. “He’s changing into his gown,” he says and gives us the thumbs up.

Well, the gown is officially on, but he’s livid because they took his pants, and he’s yelling for Dianne. We aren’t sure if she’s arrived at the hospital yet but Brad steps out and finds Dianne, Ruth, and Ronald (Ronalt, as Charley calls him) in the waiting room.
Dianne comes into the room and Charley gives a big sigh of relief and says, “Thanks the Lord,” and then hugs each of them.

Dianne says, “You’ll be fine, Charley,” and he yells, “I NOT fine, I scared,” and then says “You my friend,” and then looks at me and says, “I go Dianne’s house?”

Dianne is a wonderful friend. She and Ronald are brother and sister and Ruth is Ronald’s wife. They had a brother named Tony who they adored. Tony passed away a few years ago at the age of 45 and they miss him terribly. They all have first hand knowledge of what it means to have a loved one with Downs Syndrome. Since Brad began serving this church in 2006 they have treated us like family and it seems Charley has given Tony a way to live on through him. We are more than grateful; we are humbled by their devotion to our son.

Charley’s nurse has stepped into the room and I ask her if she can arrange to have his beard shaved during surgery, but she says that’s not part of the deal, and sorry about that.


Charley calls us all over to his bed and gets us in a football huddle. He says “You fix my party?” He’s talking about his birthday that is coming up in two weeks and of course, the presents. Don’t forget the presents. He’s a man with a plan though and proceeds to go through it step by step just to make sure we know what we are supposed to do…

We are to fix his party while he stays outside and then we are to call him in and everyone is to yell “Surprise!” and he’s going to act surprised. Next, he will open presents, blow out the candles on his Batman cake, and then collect the loot and Cameron will help him take it next door to the house and he will disappear into his room for the remainder of the day. The rest of us will stay next door at the school house and party. This is the routine every year, and we’ve got it down to a science.

We tell him we will all be at his birthday party, and he says, “Now give me my pants.”

Moments later he’s asleep. It appears the Valium has taken affect.

In Charley verbiage, “Thanks the Lord!”

The rest of us hang out in the room and take turns standing and sitting because there aren’t enough chairs. There is not one complaint about how tired they must be. They are the best of friends. We are surrounded by love and support, and I know that Charley knows he’s loved.

We hold hands in a prayer circle as Ronaldt asks God to watch over Charley. He’s snoring in the background and I just have to smile.

It’s been nearly 5 hours since they took us back to that room. Charley has had a nice long nap and is awake again. Now I’m wondering if someone might give me a Valium.

He’s wondering what’s going on and says, “Mom, I scared.”

I say, “Of what?” Dumb question, I know.

He says, “Of Doctor.” He’s looking around at the hospital equipment and I tell him, “Doctor is going to help you honey,”

He buries his head in my shoulder. “No not; Dr. don’t know me,” he says, “Now give me my pants!”

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, they come and take him to surgery. Brad and I walk down the hall with him and we both give him hugs and big kisses and tell him how much we love him and that we will be right here when he comes out. I watch with my heart in my throat as he disappears around the corner.

We’ve had visits from some of Brad’s clergy colleagues, and I don’t know what we would have done without the support of our friends. They may never know how much it meant to us to have them there. They stay with us for most of the day until he is out of surgery. The Doctors have just called us back to the waiting room and have told us that there were some complications and they removed 10 teeth. He may have some of his adult teeth drop down, but some will be permanently gone. They say he’s a trooper and that he should be fine and he’s been sent to the recovery room.

About an hour later he calls for his Dad who returns and says that now he’s calling for me and it’s my turn to go see him. As I come through the door he’s holding his arms out and wants a hug. He’s agitated and not out of the anesthetic yet, but is able to form his words clearly. “Mom, what happened to me?” He says.

I tell him they worked on his teeth.

He says, “I scared, Mom. I scared of Doctor.”

I squeeze his hand and start wiping the blood from his face. “It’s okay now, I’m here.”

“He says, “Now I go to Dianne’s house?”

As far as he’s concerned he’s done what he needs to do and has earned his trip to Dianne’s where she will let him lay on her bed, spread his videos all over the floor, hoard the clicker, and she will bring him chicken and milk. He just loves to go to Dianne’s.

So far the hospital has been good to us but I can’t accuse the nurses in the recovery room of being kind. They seem pretty anxious to get him out of there, and I don’t think he’s nearly ready to leave. Still, they start prepping him for discharge. Brad is staying with him while I traipse around Knoxville trying to find a pharmacy to fill a prescription for pain medicine because there isn’t one at the University of Tennessee Medical Center and it’s getting late. I’m afraid all of the drug stores will close if I wait any longer.

The cell phone rings. Its Brad calling to tell me that Charley is throwing up and that he will be staying a little longer to make sure he can keep some water down.

Finally. He’s home. It takes us 45 minutes to get him out of the car. He’s so groggy and combative that he’s swinging at us and refusing to move, and now he’s vomiting again. Our friend Graham is here ready to lend a hand so he and Brad can carry support him as he walks up the stairs. One of us might have to sleep beside him in the car tonight, and I’m wondering why the hospital didn’t keep him overnight.

I finally just crawl in beside him and hug him and tell him how much I love him, and would he please get out of the car, and that I have a surprise for him, and that all he has to do is come up the stairs and get into his bed. I tell him what a brave, big boy he is, and he allows me to grab hold of his pant leg and put his foot out onto the ground. Now if I can just get the other foot out, we’re halfway there. Come on son, just one more foot. Just a few minutes more. You can collapse in your bed and I will tend to you all night. Come on, please, do this one thing for Mom.

He forces himself out of the car and is leaning on me. I help him up the stairs and he’s wait-a-minute, he’s wobbling. He might fall over. Somehow he makes it into the house and down the hallway to the bed.

Manna from heaven, his head is on the pillow.

I look into the face of my wonderful son and there is only one thing left to say.

“Thanks the Lord.”

Well, it appears we’ve forgotten about the no eating in the morning thing because someone I know and love is sitting on the bed begging for chicken.

I lie to him of course, and assure him that he will be able to eat very soon. Poor thing has no clue.

He’s pulled his Dad down onto the bed and has him in a choke hold, giving him a big hug.

He says, “Daddy Brad, you’re my friend.”

Brad is struggling to breathe and I’m telling him to let go of his Dad but he’s got a death grip.

“Let go of Dad, son.” It is not a request. He lets go and Brad stands up and sort of sways back and forth like he’s been wrung out to dry.

“Well that was fun,” Brad says.

“I suggest you wave at him from across the room,” I say, and then WHOP! A pillow; right up side the head.

It appears my son has just challenged me to a pillow fight. If we were at home there would be no mercy because I’d pick the pillow up and clobber him, and we’d go at it until the feathers fly, but since we’re in a “tell room” and I do not wish to disturb the people in the rooms around us, I do not respond.

Whop! Another pillow.

“Ignoring you,” I say and he says, “Come on Sherry!” So I disappear into the shower out of range. It seems as good a time as any to get dressed for the day.

I stay in the bathroom long enough to fog up the mirror and when I come out he’s laying on the bed watching The Parent Trap on his portable DVD player that several people in the church gave him last year for his birthday. He takes it everywhere along with an old ice cream container with a blue handle that holds most of his DVDs. They are out of the original packages, of course, how else would they make good Frisbees?

He’s watching the dance scene where Haley Mills takes the scissors and cuts the back out her sister’s dress and then only her panties are showing.

He calls me over to the bed. “Mom, watch!” he says, and then the 2 girls get into a knock down drag out fight and are pulling each others hair and the punch bowl slides down the table and splashes all over the Boy Scout leader and the fruit flies everywhere, and the cake lands in a lady’s face. Charley is rolling around on the bed kicking his feet in the air and laughing his head off. I think about this for a moment and come to the conclusion that the world would be better off if we would all just get over ourselves, and roll around on a bed kicking our feet in the air.

He’s laughing out loud now, and I tell him to hush, but I have to admit it’s pretty funny and it beats hearing him beg for food.

He turns down the volume on the DVD player; now if only Charley Palmer came with volume control.

It’s 6:45 a.m. and luckily it’s time to leave for the hospital. Brad and I decide it’s time to slip out the back door so he won’t have to pass by the continental breakfast in the lobby, and since we are not allowing ourselves a cup of coffee in front of him it seems the best thing for us as well.

I go to the lobby and ask the desk clerk if he will deprogram the room key because Charley wants one of his own and he’s so nice; he just goes and gets him a new one. This is a big deal for Charley who feels like pretty big stuff getting is own room key.

I say, “Son, now you have a key you can use on your room at home.”

He’s no dummy. He knows that’s not going to work, and says, “Stop it Mom.”

Still, he’s in the back seat turning the credit card-like key around and around in his hand.

“Where goin’ Mom?”

“We’re going to the Dentist so he can fix your teeth.”

It’s pretty quiet in the back seat. I think he’s trying to figure it all out but bless his heart he has no clue.

God be with us.

Out of the car now and on our way down the hall to the waiting room. Charley says “Hi!” and has slapped a high 5 to at least 10 people along the way. Doctors, nurses, anyone. Some seem amused and happy to say hi to him, while others appear to be sleepwalking with hot coffee in their hand. Sure hope the caffeine kicks in before they perform his surgery.

Cameron is already waiting for us when we arrive. It’s over an hour drive to the hospital from Coker Creek where he runs the Coker Creek Village Camp and Conference Center. Cam is like a big brother to Charley. He takes him over to the camp and lets him play basketball and swim in the pool and Charley just loves him, except when Cameron pays too much attention to the horses and not to him.

Charley runs over and gives Cam a hug and they sit together and Cam is trying to joke around with him but Charley is hungry and grouchy and not sure about all this. Brad and I are so glad to see Cameron. I think we both breathed a huge sign of relief.

It’s not been that long since we arrived and they have already ushered us back to the room where they will prep Charley for surgery. He’s sitting on the bed but we are experiencing a bit of interference, as the hospital gown has been shoved onto the floor and he has ripped the identification bracelet off of his wrist has sailed it across the room.
The nurse has left the room to go make him another bracelet and says she will make an extra just in case.

Charley is showing Cam his Parent Trap movie and they are watching the dance scene. He pauses now and then and says, “You comin’ my birthday?” and then looks over at me and says, “I like him.” He blows me kisses from across the room and then calls me over to sit in the chair beside him. He hugs me and says, “I scared, Mommy,” and I could just cry buckets.

I tell him I’m right here and he says, “I like you,” and then tells me he’s scared again, and then says “Get out!” It’s clear that he’s getting pretty agitated so I ask the nurse to give him something to calm him down. She returns shortly with a Valium but the pill is green and he’s used to taking white pills so he refuses to take it. Brad and I step out of the room so the nurse can deal with him, and he takes the pill and a nurses aid helps him change. Cam peeks through a crack in the door. “He’s changing into his gown,” he says and gives us the thumbs up.

Well, the gown is officially on, but he’s livid because they took his pants, and he’s yelling for Dianne. We aren’t sure if she’s arrived at the hospital yet but Brad steps out and finds Dianne, Ruth, and Ronald (Ronalt, as Charley calls him) in the waiting room.
Dianne comes into the room and Charley gives a big sigh of relief and says, “Thanks the Lord,” and then hugs each of them.

Dianne says, “You’ll be fine, Charley,” and he yells, “I NOT fine, I scared,” and then says “You my friend,” and then looks at me and says, “I go Dianne’s house?”

Dianne is a wonderful friend. She and Ronald are brother and sister and Ruth is Ronald’s wife. They had a brother named Tony who they adored. Tony passed away a few years ago at the age of 45 and they miss him terribly. They all have first hand knowledge of what it means to have a loved one with Downs Syndrome. Since Brad began serving this church in 2006 they have treated us like family and it seems Charley has given Tony a way to live on through him. We are more than grateful; we are humbled by their devotion to our son.

Charley’s nurse has stepped into the room and I ask her if she can arrange to have his beard shaved during surgery, but she says that’s not part of the deal, sorry about that.

Charley calls us all over to his bed and gets us in a football huddle. He says “You fix my party?” He’s talking about his birthday that is coming up in two weeks and of course, the presents. Don’t forget the presents. He’s a man with a plan though and proceeds to go through it step by step just to make sure we know what we are supposed to do…

We are to fix his party while he stays outside and then we are to call him in and everyone is to yell “Surprise!” and he’s going to act surprised. Next, he will open presents, blow out the candles on his Batman cake, and then collect the loot and Cameron will help him take it next door to the house and he will disappear into his room for the remainder of the day. The rest of us will stay next door at the school house and party. This is the routine every year, and we’ve got it down to a science.

We tell him we will all be at his birthday party, and he says, “Now give me my pants!”

Moments later he’s asleep. It appears the Valium has taken affect.

In Charley verbiage, “Thanks the Lord!”

The rest of us hang out in the room and take turns standing and sitting because there aren’t enough chairs. There is not one complaint about how tired they must be. They are the best of friends. We are surrounded by love and support, and I know that Charley knows he’s loved.

We hold hands in a prayer circle as Ronaldt asks God to watch over Charley. He’s snoring in the background and I just have to smile.

It’s been nearly 5 hours since they took us back to that room. Charley has had a nice long nap and is awake again. Now I’m wondering if someone might give me a Valium.

He’s wondering what’s going on and says, “Mom, I scared.”

I say, “Of what?” Dumb question, I know.

He says, “Of Doctor.” He’s looking around at the hospital equipment and I tell him, “Doctor is going to help you honey.”

He buries his head in my shoulder. “No not; Dr. don’t know me,” he says, “Now give me my pants!”

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, they come and take him to surgery. Brad and I walk down the hall with him and we both give him hugs and big kisses and tell him how much we love him and that we will be right here when he comes out. I watch with my heart in my throat as he disappears around the corner.

We’ve had visits from some of Brad’s clergy colleagues, and I don’t know what we would have done without the support of our friends. They may never know how much it meant to us to have them there. They stay with us for most of the day until he is out of surgery. The Doctors have just called us back to the waiting room and have told us that there were some complications and they removed 10 teeth. He may have some of his adult teeth drop down, but some will be permanently gone. They say he’s a trooper and that he should be fine and he’s been sent to the recovery room.

About an hour later he calls for his Dad who returns and says that now he’s calling for me and it’s my turn to go see him. As I come through the door he’s holding his arms out and wants a hug. He’s agitated and not out of the anesthetic yet, but is able to form his words clearly.

“Mom, what happened to me?” He says.

I tell him they worked on his teeth.

He says, “I scared, Mom. I scared of Doctor.”

I squeeze his hand and start wiping the blood from his face. “It’s okay now, I’m here.”

“He says, “Now I go to Dianne’s house?”

As far as he’s concerned he’s done what he needs to do and has earned his trip to Dianne’s where she will let him lay on her bed, spread his videos all over the floor, hoard the clicker, and she will bring him chicken and milk. He just loves to go to Dianne’s.

So far the hospital has been good to us but I can’t accuse the nurses in the recovery room of being kind. They seem pretty anxious to get him out of there, and I don’t think he’s nearly ready to leave. Still, they start prepping him for discharge. Brad is staying with him while I traipse around Knoxville trying to find a pharmacy to fill a prescription for pain medicine because there isn’t one at the University of Tennessee Medical Center and it’s getting late. I’m afraid all of the drug stores will close if I wait any longer.

The cell phone rings. Its Brad calling to tell me that Charley is throwing up and that he will be staying a little longer to make sure he can keep some water down.

Finally. He’s home. It takes us 45 minutes to get him out of the car. He’s so groggy and combative that he’s swinging at us and refusing to move, and now he’s vomiting again. Our friend Graham is here ready to lend a hand so he and Brad can support him as he walks up the stairs. One of us might have to sleep beside him in the car tonight, and I’m wondering why the hospital didn’t keep him overnight.

I finally just crawl in beside him and hug him and tell him how much I love him, and would he please get out of the car, and that I have a surprise for him, and that all he has to do is come up the stairs and get into his bed. I tell him what a brave, big boy he is, and he allows me to grab hold of his pant leg and put his foot out onto the ground. Now if I can just get the other foot out, we’re halfway there. Come on son, just one more foot. Just a few minutes more. You can collapse in your bed and I will tend to you all night. Come on, please, do this one thing for Mom.

He forces himself out of the car and is leaning on me. I help him up the stairs and he’s wait-a-minute, he’s wobbling. He might fall over. Somehow he makes it into the house and down the hallway to the bed.

Manna from heaven, his head is on the pillow.

I look into the face of my wonderful son and there is only one thing left to say;

“Thanks the Lord.”

Operation Dental Drop…Day 2

Note to self…buy bananas; I hear the potassium helps with leg cramps.

I’m not sure when last night ended and today began because just about the time I started to drift off the muscles in my calves would tighten and I’d jump out of bed and run around the room howling. The last one happened at around 5:00 this morning and I must have made some serious noise because Charley came out of his room to see what the commotion was all about.

“Mom, you okay?” he said, wiping his eyes.

“I’m okay son; I just had a Charley horse.”

He said, “Huh?”

I said, “A Charley horse is a leg cramp.”

Uh oh, wrong word alert.

“I NOT a horse,” he said, “and, and, and, don’t call me my name!”

“Sorry son.” I kissed him on the forehead and said, “Everything’s fine, now go back to bed.

So. I guess you could say the day started off on the wrong foot.

It did, however, end on a great note.

We decided to get a hotel room near the hospital to make things easier on us in the morning and to keep you-know-who, the Phantom of the fridge from food after midnight.

We arrived in Knoxville early evening and I’m taking Charley for a swim in the pool. I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt because heaven forbid anyone should see me in a swim suit, and this is proof that I love my kid. I wouldn’t do this for anyone, I wouldn’t do this for Brad, I wouldn’t do this if you paid me a million dollars, but for him? The body is now in the pool.

He’s got on his red swim trunks and is asking for his blue goggles. I tried to think of everything but I have forgotten the goggles and he will just have to keep his eyes closed like the rest of us.

We swim for a long time and he’s having some fun but not as much fun as if he had his blue goggles. He says his eyes are burning and I tell him that’s the chlorine in the water and to keep his eyes shut, and to stop splashing me or I’m getting out.

After a while of him dragging me around the pool by my feet he decides he’s had enough and it’s off to the next adventure which will include his Dad going to McDonald’s and bringing back a milkshake, chocolate of course.

This might be a good time to explain that he can’t eat after midnight.

“Son, you better eat a bunch tonight because as you can see there’s no refrigerator here and you won’t be able to eat anything in the morning.

He says, “Yes I are, Mom.”

I say, “No you aren’t, and this goes back and forth for a few minutes, when he finally says, “Fine, I no eat the morning.”

“Well, I think he understands,” I say to Brad, and I look over at my wonderful son who is stretched out on the bed with the clicker in one hand and a chicken nugget in the other.

He does not know it but I’ve slipped him a sedative to help him sleep through the night and now he’s sitting up on the bed playing with his DVD player, laughing and talking to me and says “You’re my mom,” and somewhere mid sentence he starts to wobble back and forth, and oops, there he goes, he’s fallen over and his head has landed on the pillow.

It appears the night stalker is down for the count.

I kiss him on the forehead, cover him up, and whisper, “See ya in the morning, son.”

Life is good.

Gosh I hope I don’t have a Charley horse tonight.

Operation Dental Drop – Day 1

Note: I don't know why there is a duplicate of this entry but I can't seem to delete it. So...when you get to "Thanks the Lord," that's the end, just skip to the next entry titled "Mr. Sand Man."

Operation Dental Drop - Day 1

We aren’t exactly sure how it is going to happen, but somehow Charley Palmer is getting admitted to the hospital on Friday to have his teeth pulled. Not his wisdom teeth, but several of his teeth. The dental office is calling it a mouth restoration. Brad and I are concocting a plan to have him parachuted in and dropped down into the surgical wing.

From talking with other parents of children with Downs Syndrome, it seems our son is not the only one who has struggled with bad teeth. He’s 19 years old and still has his baby teeth. The plan is to have the baby teeth pulled so his adult teeth will drop down and he will have teeth, or as Charley puts it, he will have “real teeth.”

Today is the day of his pre-op. Oh joy, oh bliss, oh Lord! He’s already mad at us because we picked him up from school. This is not allowed because he likes to be able to point out my car when the bus passes the library.

Charley has informed us that we have interloped. “Daddy, why you uppin’ me at school?”

And Brad says, “We have an appointment.”

Charley says, “No pointment Dad, no uppin’ me again.”

This means I would appreciate it if you would not pick me up at school in the middle of the day, thank you very much, I can ride the bus home all my myself if you please.

We don’t dare tell him where we are going exactly. If I say the word hospital, he might not get out of the car. He doesn’t like the hospital, even for a routine dental visit, so we think it best to let him know on our way there. But once in the parking lot the gig is up.

“What doin’ Dad?”

“We are going to see the Dentist.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s going to see about fixing your teeth,” I say.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

This gets him excited and he runs and attempts to climb over the wall of the ramp.

“Most people walk up the ramp, son,” I say, “See? No one else is climbing the walls.”

“Watch Mom,” he says and flings his leg over the concrete.

“You’re gonna rip your pants son.”

“No not,” he says.

I almost wish it would just to make a point, but no such luck, his pants are still intact.

Once in the waiting room they call Brad to the desk to sign some papers. Charley has to go too so he can give them permission to talk to us on his behalf. He is of legal age now and we have Power of Attorney for him but we have forgotten the papers which are out in the parking lot so the thing to do at the moment is to have him give permission.

Charley starts to cry. “I’m scared Mom,” he says.

“It’ll be okay,” I say and give him a hug. “Just go to the desk with Dad.”

He goes up to the desk and cowers behind Brad. The girl behind the little window asks him if it is okay for her to talk to his Dad on his behalf. He peeks out from behind his Dad and says “yea,” and then comes back to where I’m sitting. I’m busy collecting coke and coffee cups people have left on the tables in the waiting room, and depositing them in to the trash, because Charley has a tendency to want to pick up cups and drink from them even if they aren’t his.

One of the dentists comes out of the back and is walking us over to the next office we need to go which is registration. On the way she tells us that he has to go to two different offices; one for registration and the other to see the Anesthesiologist, and both offices will need to get a blood sample.

As in two times?

Brad and I exchange glances. “Over my dead body,” I say, “Do you honestly think that once they stick him with a needle he’s going to permit it a second time?

Charley has a tendency to run. He always has. If something spooks him, makes him mad, or upsets him, he takes off running, and honey, I can’t run that fast. He usually runs until he gets winded and then the throws up. I assure you, I’d rather crawl naked through broken glass. Most of the time he’s running into the country side on the mountain where we live. But I get a bit worried if he runs when he’s near traffic or parking lots because he doesn’t watch for cars. Try having some sanity when that occurs, I double dare you.

“He’s terrified of needles,” I tell her. It is clear from talking with the dentist that she has no clue as to why I might not want him to have to be stuck twice because she keeps walking and turns her remarks to how nice and sunny it is today, and aren’t we glad the rain has stopped.

Well, now we are in another waiting room. Charley has just come out of the restroom and sits down, gives me a big grin and waves to the baby across the room. He notices the cute girl behind the desk and says, “She’s hot mom.”

“Knock it off son,” I tell him.

“Oopsie!” he says, realizing that his fly is down. “My flier down.” He says struggling with the zipper on his pants and then sits back down on the chair cross-legged Indian style. Then he starts picking at his fingernails. He does this when he is nervous.

I go to the window to ask if it can be arranged to have enough blood drawn in this office and send some to the next office so they will only have to stick him once.

The girl behind the plate glass window tells me to sit down; she’ll call me when she has a moment.

She does not call. I go back to the desk again. She ignores me.

I decide to ask the nurse on our way back to the lab.

She says he does not have to get his blood drawn in their office, and tells me not to worry about it. If I’d had a thousand dollars I’d have given it to her right then.

The dentist comes in and gives Charley a high 5 and then a low 5. He introduces himself as a Dr. Belack. Charley repeats his name, “Dr. Moveback.” There is a medical student with him who looks like he has a board up his back. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone so stiff.

The dentist obviously knows Downs Syndrome people. He begins to ask Charley if he likes policemen.

“I like girls,” Charley says.

“Who’s your favorite musician?” he asks.

“High school musical.” Charley says.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“I like chicken”

The dentist begins the routine questions.”

“Any chest pain?”

“No.”

Coughing? No. Pains in the joints? No..headache, fever, been sick recently? No, no, no to all.

He picks up the light and looks into Charley’s ears.

“Are there any brains in there Doctor?” I ask.

Charley blinks his eyes at me. He does this when he doesn’t like what I’ve said.

“Do you smoke?”

“Yes.” Charley says.

“Only the smoke that comes out his ears,” I say.

Another blink.

The dentist leaves to write up his report.

Charley says, “I’m not leaving with my teeth.”

I tell him we are just getting him prepped for Friday, and they will take his teeth out then.

“No not,” he says.

The dentist says goodbye and shakes Charley’s hand.

Charley says, “I like him,” and then he hugs the medical student.

Now we’re on our way to the office of the Anesthesiologist.

“Welp, I go home now,” he says.

“One more office to go,” I say, and Brad opens the door to our next stop.

“Oh no, this again,” Charley says.

He’s got that right.

I wonder if taking him to three separate offices is a good idea after all. Charley has sunk into a chair and is looking bored. That’s not a bad thing when you have an excitable child. We sit there for about 45 minutes. He sees another cute girl behind the desk and starts moving his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx.

“This is not a pick up joint,” I tell him.

“Stop it Mom,” he says.

Brad and I have worked ourselves into a near meltdown over the anticipation of them drawing blood twice.

We jumped the shark in the last office. No blood drawing there.

The nurse finally ushers us to a room and asks all of the same questions we were asked in the last office.

I tell her Charley is terrified of needles and she says they can wait to draw blood on the day of the surgery and they can sedate him first.

I tell her she is my new best friend.

She asks if there is anything else she can do for us.

“I don’t suppose you have a sucker?” I asked.

“For him?” she points to Charley.

“No, for me.” I say.

It’s been a long day and we are finally on our way home in the car. We decide on ice cream cones to celebrate the no blood thing.

All in all it was a successful day. Day 1 of Operation Dental Drop is complete. I don’t know how we escaped without Charley having his blood drawn, but as Charley puts it, “Thanks the Lord!”



We aren’t exactly sure how it is going to happen, but somehow Charley Palmer is getting admitted to the hospital on Friday to have his teeth pulled. Not his wisdom teeth, but several of his teeth. The dental office is calling it a mouth restoration. Brad and I are concocting a plan to have him parachuted in and dropped down into the surgical wing.

From talking with other parents of children with Downs Syndrome, it seems our son is not the only one who has struggled with bad teeth. He’s 19 years old and still has his baby teeth. The plan is to have the baby teeth pulled so his adult teeth will drop down and he will have teeth, or as Charley puts it, he will have “real teeth.”

Today is the day of his pre-op. Oh joy, oh bliss, oh Lord! He’s already mad at us because we picked him up from school. This is not allowed because he likes to be able to point out my car when the bus passes the library.

Charley has informed us that we have interloped. “Daddy, why you uppin’ me at school?”

And Brad says, “We have an appointment.”

Charley says, “No pointment Dad, no uppin’ me again.”

This means I would appreciate it if you would not pick me up at school in the middle of the day, thank you very much, I can ride the bus home all my myself if you please.

We don’t dare tell him where we are going exactly. If I say the word hospital, he might not get out of the car. He doesn’t like the hospital, even for a routine dental visit, so we think it best to let him know on our way there. But once in the parking lot the gig is up.

“What doin’ Dad?”

“We are going to see the Dentist.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s going to see about fixing your teeth,” I say.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

This gets him excited and he runs and attempts to climb over the wall of the ramp.

“Most people walk up the ramp, son,” I say, “See? No one else is climbing the walls.”

“Watch Mom,” he says and flings his leg over the concrete.

“You’re gonna rip your pants son.”

“No not,” he says.

I almost wish it would just to make a point, but no such luck, his pants are still intact.

Once in the waiting room they call Brad to the desk to sign some papers. Charley has to go too so he can give them permission to talk to us on his behalf. He is of legal age now and we have Power of Attorney for him but we have forgotten the papers which are out in the parking lot so the thing to do at the moment is to have him give permission.

Charley starts to cry. “I’m scared Mom,” he says.

“It’ll be okay,” I say and give him a hug. “Just go to the desk with Dad.”

He goes up to the desk and cowers behind Brad. The girl behind the little window asks him if it is okay for her to talk to his Dad on his behalf. He peeks out from behind his Dad and says “yea,” and then comes back to where I’m sitting. I’m busy collecting coke and coffee cups people have left on the tables in the waiting room, and depositing them in to the trash, because Charley has a tendency to want to pick up cups and drink from them even if they aren’t his.

One of the dentists comes out of the back and is walking us over to the next office we need to go which is registration. On the way she tells us that he has to go to two different offices; one for registration and the other to see the Anesthesiologist, and both offices will need to get a blood sample.

As in two times?

Brad and I exchange glances. “Over my dead body,” I say, “Do you honestly think that once they stick him with a needle he’s going to permit it a second time?

Charley has a tendency to run. He always has. If something spooks him, makes him mad, or upsets him, he takes off running, and honey, I can’t run that fast. He usually runs until he gets winded and then the throws up. I assure you, I’d rather crawl naked through broken glass. Most of the time he’s running into the country side on the mountain where we live. But I get a bit worried if he runs when he’s near traffic or parking lots because he doesn’t watch for cars. Try having some sanity when that occurs, I double dare you.

“He’s terrified of needles,” I tell her. It is clear from talking with the dentist that she has no clue as to why I might not want him to have to be stuck twice because she keeps walking and turns her remarks to how nice and sunny it is today, and aren’t we glad the rain has stopped.

Well, now we are in another waiting room. Charley has just come out of the restroom and sits down, gives me a big grin and waves to the baby across the room. He notices the cute girl behind the desk and says, “She’s hot mom.”

“Knock it off son,” I tell him.

“Oopsie!” he says, realizing that his fly is down. “My flier down.” He says struggling with the zipper on his pants and then sits back down on the chair cross-legged Indian style. Then he starts picking at his fingernails. He does this when he is nervous.

I go to the window to ask if it can be arranged to have enough blood drawn in this office and send some to the next office so they will only have to stick him once.

The girl behind the plate glass window tells me to sit down; she’ll call me when she has a moment.

She does not call. I go back to the desk again. She ignores me.

I decide to ask the nurse on our way back to the lab.

She says he does not have to get his blood drawn in their office, and tells me not to worry about it. If I’d had a thousand dollars I’d have given it to her right then.

The dentist comes in and gives Charley a high 5 and then a low 5. He introduces himself as a Dr. Belack. Charley repeats his name, “Dr. Moveback.” There is a medical student with him who looks like he has a board up his back. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone so stiff.

The dentist obviously knows Downs Syndrome people. He begins to ask Charley if he likes policemen.

“I like girls,” Charley says.

“Who’s your favorite musician?” he asks.

“High school musical.” Charley says.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“I like chicken”

The dentist begins the routine questions.”

“Any chest pain?”

“No.”

Coughing? No. Pains in the joints? No..headache, fever, been sick recently? No, no, no to all.

He picks up the light and looks into Charley’s ears.

“Are there any brains in there Doctor?” I ask.

Charley blinks his eyes at me. He does this when he doesn’t like what I’ve said.

“Do you smoke?”

“Yes.” Charley says.

“Only the smoke that comes out his ears,” I say.

Another blink.

The dentist leaves to write up his report.

Charley says, “I’m not leaving with my teeth.”

I tell him we are just getting him prepped for Friday, and they will take his teeth out then.

“No not,” he says.

The dentist says goodbye and shakes Charley’s hand.

Charley says, “I like him,” and then he hugs the medical student.

Now we’re on our way to the office of the Anesthesiologist.

“Welp, I go home now,” he says.

“One more office to go,” I say, and Brad opens the door to our next stop.

“Oh no, this again,” Charley says.

He’s got that right.

I wonder if taking him to three separate offices is a good idea after all. Charley has sunk into a chair and is looking bored. That’s not a bad thing when you have an excitable child. He sees another cute girl behind the desk and starts moving his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx.

“This is not a pick up joint,” I tell him.

“Stop it Mom,” he says.

Brad and I have worked ourselves into a near meltdown over the anticipation of them drawing blood twice.

We jumped the shark in the last office. No blood drawing there.

Finally, after about 45 minutes the nurse ushers us to a room and asks all of the same questions we were asked in the last office.

I tell her Charley is terrified of needles and she says they can wait to draw blood on the day of the surgery and they can sedate him first.

I tell her she is my new best friend.

She asks if there is anything else she can do for us.

“I don’t suppose you have a sucker?” I asked.

“For him?” she points to Charley.

“No, for me.” I say.

It’s been a long day and we are finally on our way home in the car. We decide on ice cream cones to celebrate the no blood thing.

All in all it was a successful day. Day 1 of Operation Dental Drop is complete. Mission accomplished. I don’t know how we escaped without Charley having his blood drawn, but as Charley puts it, “Thanks the Lord!”

Mr. Sand Man

Bless your poor, pea pickin' little heart. It's been a long hard day. You're exhausted. You yawn. You stretch. You rub your eyes. You think you'll turn in now. Kicking off your shoes, you wiggle your toes, put on your night shirt, and there it is, the comfort you have been waiting for...your cozy little bed, adorned with fluffy pillows for your head and downy blankets, all inviting you to count some sheep and sink into a well deserved slumber. It won't be long now. Sleep is just moments away. Restful, peaceful relaxation is just within reach. And why not? You deserve it. Good night, sleep tight.

You start to nod off, when...ROOOOOAAAR!

That's what it sounds like. There's no mistaking it. It's the sound of a freight train; only we don’t live anywhere near the tracks. It literally shakes the house. There is no house big enough to disguise it, and no marriage deaf enough to ignore it. It rattles the windows. It makes you grab onto the sides of the bed and hold on for dear life. Shake, rattle and roll. It is...your spouse. Your SNORING spouse. Well, at least someone is sleeping. And there you are, sitting and staring at the object of your affections, entertaining all kinds of things you'd like to do in order to obtain some peace and quiet, though they probably aren't legal. Anyone who has ever lived with snoring knows exactly what I'm talking about.

When my husband and I were first married, we fought over this subject many times. "I can't sleep!" I would yell. "What?" He would answer, dreamily. "I SAID, I CAN'T SLEEP! PLEASE STOP SNORING!"

At one point I called my mother.

I think it was 2:00 a.m. and I said "Mom, I can't sleep. He won't quit snoring."

Expecting sympathy got me nowhere. Why? Because she was snoring on the other end of the phone.

Last night was no exception, and I might add, it’s a good thing we live in the country or the noise pollution police might very well have knocked on our door.

Let’s see now. There was the sound barrier breaking sound of you-know-who, the man of my dreams. I attempted my famous slapping the bed beside him with a pillow routine and then pretending it wasn’t me, and that worked for about 20 seconds. Then it started all over again.

Next there was the volume of Charley’s TV.

I opened his bedroom door.

“Son,” I said, “It’s the middle of the night. Turn that down.”

He smiled and said “I did.”

I said, “Turn it down some more. And go back to sleep, you have to get up in the morning for school.”

He said, “My belly’s growling.”

I said “That’s not your belly, that’s me growling, now turn it down.”

He said, “I did.” He thinks because he has plugged his speakers into the TV that takes care of the noise.

“On second thought, you are not allowed to go back to sleep,” I said. “Since you insist on keeping me up all night then you have to stay up too.”

I could have sworn I heard a dog barking and looked out the window, but quickly realized it was me, and since all my pleading was getting me nowhere, I went back to bed. This time I pulled the covers over my head. Of course, there was no ventilation under the blankets and I couldn’t breathe, but hey, I had assumed the position. That should count for something, right? Come on sleep...come to Mama.

Hold it, what’s that sound? Well knock me into next week, it's the sound of silence. The object of my affections has stopped snoring. Finally, now I might be able to sleep. So I lay there for who knows how long, and wouldn’t you just know it? I'm wide awake.

Do not get out of the bed. Think of how tired you’ll be in the morning. What ever it takes, stay in the bed. I’m just drifting off to sleep when the lights come on.

Mr. Insomnia, Charley, is making his nightly trek to the kitchen to steal an armful of yogurt and give me a break; he’s running down the hall back to his room. I hate to have to tell him but this is not the 5K, and we don’t have asphalt in our house. Just a simple narrow hallway not intended for a marathon, and of course, he can’t turn the lights off on his way back down the hall because he’s afraid of the dark. A monster might get him, right? Or I might get him, whichever comes first.

Mr. Oblivious, Brad, is still sleeping of course, but my guess is he’s faking it so he won’t have to be the one to turn off the lights.

So I wait until Charley closes the door to his room and then I get up, turn the lights back off, and crawl back into bed.

"Now hear this… I’ve had about all the action I can stand for one night."

The lights are off, the husband has stopped snoring, and the kid is back in his room. Time for some well earned shut-eye, right? And I did it. I actually start to drift off back to sleep until...I realize I'm freezing.

“Get off the covers Brad,” I say, giving them a good yank.

“I’m not on the covers,” he says.

“Yes you are,” I say.

“No I’m not.”

“Well someone is, and it’s not me.”

"Maybe it's Mr. Sand Man," Brad says.

And then, out of the darkness; a familiar voice. “It’s me, Charley Palmer,” the voice says.

I grab the flashlight. Sure enough, it’s our 200 pound 4 year old in a 19 year old body and he’s wedged his way in-between us. Well at least someone has a blanket.

"Get back in your own bed," I say.

"No not," he says.

"I'm telling on you to Mr. Bailey," I say.

"No not." he says. (Charley doesn't like it when I tell on him to Mr. Bailey. That's his teacher)

"Mr. Bailey won't like it that you kept me up all night," I say.

He starts to laugh.

"Stop it Mom," he says.

It's full fledged three alarm sleep deprivation extravaganza, and I have an eternal child sandwiched in-between me and Brad to prove it. It doesn't happen that often, but when it does we just have to laugh. He's just a big kid. The only thing missing is the cat. And why? Because she's the only one getting any sleep.

“I wait for you, Daddy.” This is something he says to Brad every morning. He waits for Brad to get up and then the two of them go into the kitchen and make the coffee together.

Next he turns his attention to me. “I sorry my TV loud Mom.”

“Apology accepted, now be quiet, okay?”

“Remember? The speakers helpin’ you sleep.”

“Sure they do, like a sledge hammer over the head.”

He thinks this is funny but my tone of voice tells him it’s not that funny.

“Mom, you mad at me?”

I have to think about this for a moment. Am I mad? I'm lying on the bed with the fan blowing on me and no blanket. It's 4:00 in the morning and if I'm not careful I might get 5 minutes of sleep until the snoring starts up again and someone I know and love has done his level best to make sure that I'm not the one doing any snoring; at least not in my lifetime. I think you could safely say I'm the opposite of glad.

“I love you mommy.” He says.

“I love you too honey,” I say.

Brad starts to snore again.

"Mom, Dad's keeping me awake," he says.

"You're both keeping me awake, I say.

Charley starts to laugh. “Daddy, be quiet,” he says.

“Why don’t you both be quiet?” I say.

“Mom, you order the Shadow Zone yet?”

Okay that’s it.

“Stay right there,” I say and get out of bed. Seconds later I return with the camera. The flash goes off and they both groan. Right in their faces! A direct hit.

“Darn picture, that camera,” Charley says, wiping the blinding light out of his eyes.

“Mom must need a picture for her blog,” Brad says, giving me his you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look.

Okay its official; we’re all awake, and now we’re all mad.

The Charley Zone

On mornings when Charley is scheduled to work he comes out of his room (that is, when we can get him up), and sits on the couch. I’m usually sitting at the desk working on the computer. That’s okay as long as I don’t open my mouth, but oh buddy, if I do? It’s the kiss of death! Dad can talk all he wants to, but my verbiage is not allowed.

Like this morning. Brad said, “Honey, why don’t you ride with us? We’ll drop Charley off at the van (that’s where he catches his ride to Athens where he works at the sheltered workshop), and then we’ll go to breakfast.”

I stopped typing. "Did someone say breakfast?" As in French toast?

“You type Mom.” It was not a request. In other words, would I please butt out?

“We’ll need to take the green car,” I said.

“No not,” Charley said.

Did we really need to talk about this right that minute? Perhaps we could have made our plans out of earshot, but no, we continued to make matters worse by opening our big mouths.

“How about Huddle House?” Brad said.

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

“You go to work!” Charley said.

“Don’t you want me to go with you?” I asked.

“No not Mommy head.” (He’s not allowed to call me a butt-head, so he calls me a Mommy head instead).

“I heard that,” I said.

He started to laugh.

“No not.”

“Dad and I are going out to breakfast, would you like to go? We could leave early,” I said knowing fully well he wouldn't take us up on that because he hates to eat in restaurants. Trust me; he didn’t get that from Brad and me.

“No Mommy, you go to work!” he said.

I can read between the lines; he didn't want Brad and I to be in the same car because if we were then that meant he didn't get to ride in the red car alone with Dad, just tooling down the road like two cool dudes.

I get it. I’m an interloper.

Likewise, it’s the same for me at nighttime. He wants me all to himself and tonight is no exception.

My son has a way of letting me know when he wants something. It goes something like this:

He comes to the door, peeks in and then backs up. He’s not ready to come in, he just wants to know that I’m there. He fades back into the shadow to formulate his plan. I can hear him in the hallway practicing what he is going to say, and just when he thinks he’s got it, he’ll step into the room. Now. You must understand that if he even gets a hint that his Dad is coming down the hall, he’ll retreat and wait until his Dad is no longer within earshot. Not that he doesn’t love his Dad, it’s quite the opposite. He adores Brad. It’s just that in his brain night time is reserved just for me. Also, I think he thinks he can only deal with one of us at a time. Go figure. So he hovers in the doorway for a moment to make sure the coast is clear.

I'm at the computer again.

The boy has entered the room.

He's going to say something.

He's standing over me.

Any minute now there will be some request spilling out of his mouth.

Silence. More hovering.

Maybe he needs a little encouragement. “Hi son,” I say.

“You’re my mom.” He says.

He usually says this when he’s buttering me up.

I stop typing and look up.

“Sherry honey,” he says.

Uh oh, here it comes, he’s repeating the sweet talk he’s heard Dad say and he sees no problem whatsoever with using it on me. I wonder what he wants.

I better answer him or he might stand there all night.

“Hi son, what’s up?”

“Shadow Zone.” He says.

“What?”

“Shadow Zone.” He says again.

As in Vincent Price with fangs?

He’s wanting a video and thinks I can blink my eyes like I Dream of Genie and when the smoke dissipates he will have the movie.

“I don’t like Shadow Zone,” I say, “It’s scary.”

“I love it,” he says.

“How do you know?”

“I love it,” he says again.

“I don’t like it.”

Next he tries flattery. “Sherry darlin’...”

“Oh, now it’s Sherry darlin’ is it?”

“Mommy, you order Shadow Zone.” He points to the computer. He means do not pass go, do not collect $200, it’s a full fledged movie emergency.

He likes to see his videos arrive in the mailbox.

“Sorry son, the internet is down.”

“Huh?” he says.

“That means I can’t order it right now.” He knows I'm stalling because he's got his arms crossed and giving me that look as if to say prove it. "Come on, Sherry," he says.

"Sorry, no can do," I say.

“You got money,” he says. Oh really? Says who?

“Not for that,” I say, “you’re not getting that movie.”

“Yes I are,” he says.

“No son, it’s scary.”

“It no scare me mom.”

“It doesn’t?” I say.

“It no scare me, cause it don’t know me.”

"What's that again?"

He continues to explain. "I not scared Mom, it don't know me."

So that's the secret. If it doesn't know you it can't scare you. Well I guess that’s logical. Perhaps I should try that the next time I look in the mirror before my morning coffee.

“Son, I don’t think so,” I say.

Now he’s massaging my shoulders. That turns me to mush and he knows it.

“You know I like that,” I say.

“Now you order the Shadow Zone?”

So I pull up the Amazon website and search around until I find The Shadow Zone. I was right, he’s talking about Vincent Price.

“That’s it!” he squeals, pointing at the movie. “Order darn Shadow Zone!”

I tell him I will think about it.

Maybe he will go away now.

“Welp, I go my room now,” he says, and turns off the lights leaving me completely in the dark except for the light coming from the computer monitor. He’s heading towards his room.

Shut the door. Come on son, shut the door. Do it. The door shuts.

Whew, for a moment there I thought I might actually have to order that movie.

I turn my attention back to the keyboard. I may be sitting here in the dark, but hey, it don’t scare me cause it don’t know me.

Wait a minute, I just heard something creaking. Something’s opening. It’s his door. Something’s lurking in the hallway. Something’s just outside my door.

A face appears in the darkness. Yep, there's no question about it...I'm in the Charley zone.

“You order that movie yet?” he says.

“You go back to your room yet?”

“Stop bugging me,” he says.

“Then you stop bugging me,” I say.

He comes over and throws his arms around me.

“I love you mommy.”

“I love you too son.”

“Welp, I go my room now."

“Welp, I got an idea, why don’t you go to your room now?”

“Stop bugging me!” he says.

“Goodnight my love.”

He gets half way back down the hallway again and then wouldn’t you just know it, he’s lurking again.

This time he whispers in a scary tone of voice, “You got the Shadow Zone?”

Two can play at this game. I sneak to the door and whisper in my scariest voice, “Only the shadow knows…”

The night the lights went out in Coker Creek

Not that I want all of our dirty little secrets out there but all right, brace yourself.

Brad came back from church Wednesday night (around 8:00) and said “Now hear this, they’re turning the lights off at 12:00 midnight and they won’t be back on until 6:00 tomorrow morning. They have scheduled electricity turn offs here in Coker Creek. For those of us who don’t have a generator that means no lights, no toilets, and one 200 pound insomniac boy who is afraid of the dark.

Brad and I talked about last Easter when we had that terrible storm and the lights went out. Yes, we had candles. Yes, we had flashlights. Yes, we had a full blown three alarm all night-long slumber party. Charley was so scared that the three of us had to come out to the living room and stay up all night. (Gone are the days when the three of us can fit into the same bed, and even when we do I’m the one who gets nudged until I finally go over the edge and I’m not just talking about the bed).

Charley was on his bed crying. And yelling, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be scared,” I said in effort to comfort him. “We’re right here with you.”

He grabbed the phone. “Call the tricity man.” Hated to have to tell him the electricity man was the culprit.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because the electricity man is working on the electricity. It’s going to take a few hours, but the lights will come back on.”

“No! Call the tricity man.”

And so the conversation continued.

So. What to do? Do the rational thing and go to bed? Sleep like everyone else on this mountain? That would have been the sane thing to do.

But no. We proceeded to run around the house like 3 chickens, gathering everything we could carry, pile into the car, and drive to a hotel in Madisonville (about 20 minutes from here.)

Going to a “tell-room” as Charley calls it is one of his favorite things to do. And why wouldn’t it be? He gets to lie on the bed with the clicker in hand and monopolize the TV and each chicken from McDonalds. Who were we to deprive him of that, right? The way we saw it, we could sit up all night and wear ourselves out trying to calm him down, or we could find another place to sleep.

Brad went to his room and opened the door. “Son, do you want to go to a tell-room?”

That’s not the first time we’ve run away from home, but it is the first time we’ve run because of an electricity turn off, and I have no idea why because there was enough electricity generated by our rushing around trying to get out of there that we could have probably read by our own light.

He was packed in about 30 seconds and first in the car.

As we pulled out of the driveway Brad said a prayer for our safe travels and off we went. To the tell-room.

All the way there we did our best to justify our decision.

“Do you think this is stupid?”

“Do you think we are overreacting?”

All the typical questions you might expect from someone who is on the run, and rightly so. Who does that? Who hears of an impending electric shut-off and then run like thieves in the night?

“He’s so afraid of the dark,” Brad said.

“Poor thing,” I said, “He’s just beside himself.”

“He’s hysterical.”

“He’s having a melt down.”

It sure was quiet in the back seat. I turned around. “He’s asleep,” I said.

But forge ahead we did, and got to the tell-room.

I went in to get the room key. “Are there any rooms on the bottom floor?” I asked, “My son is too heavy to carry up the stairs.”

“No.”

Did we want a smoking room?

“No”

So up the stairs we went and Charley lay down on the bed.

With clicker in hand he assumed the position. Two seconds later he was asleep again.

And there sat Brad and me. Looking at each other.

“Well, I sure am glad we ran away from home tonight,” I said as I crawled into bed.

“Yea,” Brad said, “And aren’t we glad we treated him to a tell-room?”

“Uh huh, even if he did sleep through the whole thing.”

And as for me and Brad? Well let's just say the lights were on but nobody was home.

There was only one thing left to do.

Wouldn't you know it? We turned off the lights and went to sleep.

“Yes I are” a TV Star

“I be TV Mom.”

It’s been a long day and I’m dozing in the chair. I’m dreaming, of course.

“Mom, I be TV.” Maybe I’m not dreaming.

I open one eye. There stands my son. He has his CD microphone in his hand, ready to break out in song. Maybe he’s just assuming the position. Wait a minute, he’s starting to sing. I want to put my hands over my ears because he’s incredibly tone deaf, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. Still, there is a thing called self preservation. The hands go to my ears. Someone is not getting the message, because he has just turned up the volume. Honestly, how loud can a boy sing?

“See? I star!”

I say “You wanna be on TV?”

He says “Yea, can I Mom? Pleeeeease?” Like I’m a talent scout and can snap my fingers and he’ll be on American Idol.

I say “Why do you want to be on TV?”

He whispers as if someone will hear him, “Girls.”

I say, “You think if you were on TV, then girls will like you?”

“He says, “That’s it!”

I say, “Son, girls already like you.”

He says, “No Not.”

“Well I’m a girl, and I like you.”

He says “Stop it Mom.”

So I say, “I bet if you ask any girl if they like you, they will say yes.”

He says, “I be TV,” then he runs to his room to get his high school yearbook, flips to a page and points. “Her!”

Uh oh, he’s talking about a real living breathing girl, and he’s got a crush.

“Jessie!”

“She’s cute,” I say.

“And HOT!” he says.

“Consider this your first and final warning,” I say, “Watch your mouth.”

He laughs out loud. I’m not a bit shocked by his choice of words but he doesn’t have to know that. Nothing makes him happier than to think he’s ruffled my feathers.

I say, “I bet Jessie likes you.”

He says, “No not, boyfriend.”

I say, “Jessie has a boyfriend?”

He says, “Uh huh. I be TV.” And then he slumps down into the couch and crosses his arms. He’s mad.

So I say, “Son, sometimes people already have boyfriends; it has nothing to do with you.”

“She no love me Mom.” Now he’s groaning.

“I’m sure she likes you, son.”

“Me date her mom.”

“But son, you can’t go around dating other people’s girlfriends.”

“Yes I are!” he says.

It is clear the conversation has hit a brick wall.

“There, there, that!” He’s pointing at the TV.

Zac Effron is on and I was right, he’s been watching way too much High School Musical.

He says,” I be a mouse MOM,” (which in Charley language means I wanna be famous).

Don’t we all?

I look at my lovesick puppy. My heart breaks for him. He’s a 4 year old in a big body – how confusing it must be to see all the other guys at school having girlfriends. After all, he just wants to walk off into the sunset hand in hand, and why not? We all want a little romance, don’t we?

I’m gonna have to think of something. “Son,” I say, “why don’t you show me some of your friends in your yearbook?”

He hasn’t let me look at the book since he got it, and that was back in May. I don’t know why but he’s allowed everyone else to see, but it was off limits where Mom was concerned.

Well guess what? He’s letting me see it now, because he’s flipped through each of the pages at least 25 times. The flood gates have opened and when we sat down to look at the annual, it was Monday. Now it’s Thursday. I’m exaggerating of course. Or maybe not. And here we sit, looking through the yearbook making up for the lost time when he wouldn’t even let me see it. I may be 95 years old by the time we are finished.

He points to a girl in his class. “That’s Sammie!”

Then he points to Miss Tudor, and says “I like her!”

He proceeds to point out all of the faculty in the book. “See? Miss Morgan.”

He points to Mr. Bailey. “He’s my friend,” he says.

I say, “Charley you wouldn’t see Sammie, and Tudor, and Bailey if you were on TV.”

He says, “Huh?”

“And you wouldn’t see me or Dad either.”

“Why?”

I say, “Because you’d be in TV land.”

He says, “Huh?”

“TV land, you know, that’s where all those famous people live,” I say.

“Where?”

“It’s far, far away.”

I can tell he’s thinking about that because he’s quiet.

I say, “Why don’t you stay here with me and all of us unfamous people? We’re not exciting, but we love you bunches, Charley.”

He says, “You’re my mom,” and then starts flipping through the pages again.

So far tonight I’ve missed MASH, Paula Deen, the Evening News with Katie Couric, Judge Judy, and Burn Notice. Some of my favorite shows. I’ll tell you what I haven’t missed though. I haven’t missed the TV one bit. I’ve had a ring side seat on the Late Night Show of Charley Palmer, and aren’t I glad? You can’t buy entertainment like that. Who’d-a-thunk it? I didn’t have the TV on and haven’t missed a thing.

Kitchen Caper

It’s 3:00 in the morning. I open the door very quietly and hover in Mom and Dad’s doorway sort of shifting from foot to foot. Whew! They are asleep. Now I can sneak to the kitchen. Hmm, maybe I better turn on the hall light. It won’t bother Mom because she’s asleep. I better turn on the lights in all of the rooms on the way just to be sure there will be lights on when I come back. I don’t like the dark, you know.

Maybe I better turn on the kitchen light too. No one will know that I’ve snatched all of the yogurts. I grab as many as I can hold and creep back down the hallway.

I’m quiet as a mouse. I peek back in Mom and Dad’s door. Still asleep! See how quiet I am?

Uh Oh, did Mom turn her head? Is she waking up? Mayday! I better hurry and get to my room before I am spotted. I slam the door and turn my TV on (loud volume, of course, otherwise I might not wake the dead).

I think I heard something in the hall; I better go check.

Mom is standing in the hallway. Now that’s a sight. Look at those frumpy pajamas. She has turned the lights back off. Rats!Now I’ll just have to sneak back out and turn them all on again, when she’s asleep again of course, which she says will be in another life. I don’t worry about Dad, he could sleep through a sonic boom, at least that’s what Mom says, but then she says she thinks half the time he’s faking it so he won’t have to be the one to get up and turn off the lights.

She says I slammed the door and it woke her up and that maybe next time I should just go quietly into the night. Don’t know what she means by that, but she seems to get some satisfaction from saying it.

She says “Son, I don’t know if I can go back to sleep.”

I say, “Sorry,” and give her a sheepish grin.

She says, “Could you PLEASE turn down the TV?”

I say, “No thank you.”

She says something about me being an insomniac.

I say “Don’t call me my name!”

There she goes, rolling her eyes again.

Honestly, I don’t know what her problem is, the lights have been turned back off. They couldn’t possibly be shining in her eyes and disturbing her.

Work

WORK

I had to work today. When I came home Mom asked me ”How was work?”

I said, “Good.”

She said, “What did you do today?”

I said, “Lunch.”

She said “What else did you do today?”

I said, “Break”

What does she think I’m gonna do; work all day?

Honestly, sometimes she doesn’t know nuthin’.

I'm Walkin', yes indeed, I'm Walkin'

Well bless my pea pickin' little soul, I thought Mom was gonna have a melt-down today. I don't know what she got so excited about. You see, Graham gave me his old pair of cowboy boots, and well, being from Texas and all, I thought I better try them out so I decided to walk to work this morning. The only problem was, it's 41 miles and the boots didn't fit right, and my feet were wobbling, but I didn't care, I was strutting my stuff. Dad caught up with me in the car, and Mom was in her car right behind him. Mercy sakes, they were both hollering out the window telling me to get in the car, you'd have thought I'd broken the law or somehting, and wouldn't you just know it, I wasn't sure which car to get in, so I finally got in Dad's car, and off we went. He drove me all the way to work! I'm not sure what he was mumbling, but it was under his breath. Then Mom and dad exchanged some horrified looks out their car windows at each other and Mom rolled her eyes. That's one of her many talants, you know. She doesn't just roll her eyes, she rolls them until you get the message that you are in the dog house but good.

Mom said she loved me lots, and I'm not supposed to be out walking on the road because it's too dangerous. I told her I was sorry and I would never do that, "ever ever again," then she said she loved me again, and if I ever did that again she'd flatten me like a bug, and don't think she couldn't do it.

I've packed my bags and am ready to go to Dianne's house tomorrow. I just love Dianne. She lets me bring every last one of my videos and DVDs and the I spread them all over the floor and flop on the bed and she brings me chicken and milk. She's not as grouchy as Mom about the condition of the room because she knows I'll pack it all up and take it with me when I leave, and she even gives me a parting gift, and it's a real fun day.

Welp, till next time, if you think you've got it bad, just try walking a mile in my shoes...or better yet, try walking 41 miles in my boots!

Later dudes,

Charley Palmer