Category: Uncategorized

For me, more than Stink. 

At an informal parent meeting on Wed, I was told to brace myself for the fact that peers would be more important than parents this year. Hairdos would trump propriety, and social obligations would outweigh homework priorities.

In my heart of hearts, I wish I could say this wasn’t true. That MY kid was still a mama’s boy. that MY kid would still hug and kiss his mom outside the classroom door – to hell with his skinny jeaned posse!

While some of my wishes have been granted – he still hugs me on occasion or mutters “Love you!” while sinking his curly mop into my shoulder (Oh, God, my shoulder… he’s getting so tall) – he has, true to the warnings, started to show real signs of maturity.

 

And while this naturally brings out the weepy eyes in this mama, there is also a sense of pride and gratefulness. Despite my big worries about T.S. and it’s effect on his future, he really is just like any other boy – finding his way, navigating friendships, and loving a good fart joke.

 

Today, he brought a new kid home – one that shares the same faith background as him as well as his very namesake! The two of them barely spoke. They barely looked at each other. But at 6:45 I got a happy text from this boy’s mama. “My Stink said he had so much fun today! Let’s definitely get the boys together again soon!”

 

Sounds like a good plan to me. 

 

Happy weekend. Hug your amazing tickers for me!

 

Check out more posts about Tourettes at the New Jersey Center for Tourette Syndrome where this blog is syndicated.

My husband’s job of 14 years, not the tics. (Got you excited, didn’t I?)

Before you all go telling me how sorry you are about the big sad scary loss, let me tell you that this is the best thing that has ever happened to us. He was OVER his job. With the new changes comes new opportunities for us as a family – GREAT opportunities. We walk the kids to school every day, pick them up together, shop together, cook together and hang out all the time. It’s awesome.

No work for him means I get to go back to work! I’ve started writing 2 times/week for an old producer who has 3 shows up for a series. There is talk of her hiring me full time for production on the set. But first.. I need a sample script. Which I don’t have – not an updated one anyway. Still, she read my book and thinks that it would be a great sample script as all the material is there.

And yet… yet….as awesome as that all sounds, I would really like to publish the Mom-moir sucker first. Plus I have a full time job interview tomorrow for a decent company because, well, I hear health benefits are kind of important. And food. I can live on rainbows and hope, but my kids cannot. I need to do what is best for all of us.

I tell you all this because, for some reason, I am not in fear at all. It’s been nothing but excitement and expectation. I swear, T.S. taught me that. I have really learned to live with uncertainty and to create my own norm. It took a while, but how wonderful it is here!

Stink’s tics are pretty low, though there are some vocals now. (I’m thinking a week of Halloween parties, gluten, school, tests and a pending Disneyland Trip are the culprit. Ya think?)

Keeping this short, but wanted to thank you all for your wonderful comments and support. I could not be so balanced without you. I hope I have given you as much centering as you have given me.

So, on a Halloween note, let’s take a show of hands: Who is letting their kids just go plum crazy on Tic Trick or Treat and stuff themselves full of more candy than we have complaints about  T.S.?

* Pic of my little Calvin at last night’s Boy Scout Halloween party post pie-eating contest. Grandma’s fat sausage Chihuahua, Lily, will be dressed as the tiger, Hobbes, for Thursday.

If there’s one thing I’ve discovered about my kid is that he can be a bit of a manipulator it’s important to stop and really talk to him. This means when he is complaining about school, or crying about some kids on the yard, I can’t just take it at face value. It’s time to really pay attention and dig deeply. One friend in particular encouraged me to really hear my son out – to tell him that we were on his team and would support and protect him no matter what.

And so, that’s exactly what I have been doing. I have been going out of my way, as has Rex, to sit and talk with him about the dynamics of class and the playground. Of course I would take him out of school in a second if I thought major damage was being done. But sometimes kids are awful. This does not mean we need to vacate. It means Stink needs to use his voice to change the situation the best he can, and what he can’t change, we deal with then.

In navigating the past month’s ups and downs, it has meant really talking to Stink, but staying detached and focusing objectively on the situation. Given this kid was literally attached to me for nine months, then spent the better part of the last decade tethered to me like emotional velcro, the task of staying centered is not an easy one.

But, having been at this parenting thing for a while, it’s exactly what I put into practice. Turns out, the play yard situation has indeed improved – something that wouldn’t have happened had I yanked him out of public school at the first sign of trouble. Together, with my husband, we spoke to his teacher yesterday about his lack of joy for school.  She set us at ease that part of this is fifth grade hormones and academic pressures. But a big part of it, we found out, was that Stink feels there’s no fun.

Me: “What specifically isn’t fun?”

Stink: “All the test prep. That’s why I want to be home schooled.”

(Side note: Wanting to be home schooled to get out of school work is far different than wanting to be home schooled because kids are being mean to him, hence talking a bit more deeply and really pushing him on the subject.)

Rex:  “What do you think being home is going to achieve?”

Stink: “I don’t know, but it’s more fun. There’s also the computer.”

Me: “It’s always the blipping computer I am going to bomb that sucker!!!!!!!!!! I know you want to play more video games, but it’s not good for your focus, especially now that you’re off your focus pills.”

Him: “Even on the pills, I find myself always thinking about playing video games. It’s what I really love.”

(Side note: I have often thought about taking away the computer all together, but here’s the deal: If a kid loved ballet and only focused on that, is taking away ballet going to make her study more at school? What if Bill Gates’ mom took away his interest. Instead, why not use the interest to motivate him to do the boring stuff?)

Me: “How about we let you play 30 minutes/day during the week IF you get your homework done. And IF you take up a sport to get your energy out, especially since you don’t have a pill to calm down your spinning but fabulous brain.

Stink: I would love that!

Teacher: I will say his focus has dropped, but it’s not affecting his school work at all. He’s really learning all the material.

Stink: See, Mom?

Me: Okay, but are you sure the kids at school aren’t—

Stink: NO ONE IS BEING MEAN TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I believe him. This is a child who is not depressed. This is a kid who cannot hide pain or sadness. He’s a con-artist, but not a great bluffer.

So that’s where we are at. My kid is not being bullied. My kid is thriving academically as far as tests go. My kid is just lazy and wants to sit on his butt and play computers all day.

Please tell me your thoughts on using an obsession/passion as bait to accomplish the school work?

PS: As always, I would like to encourage you that parenting and tics and everything in between is best run as a marathon, not a race. We’re gonna have good days and bad ones, and it’s best to pace yourself!

* Pic taken at his school’s Kids’ Dash. As you can see, he is clearly miserable.

Check out more posts about Tourettes at the New Jersey Center for Tourette Syndrome where this blog is syndicated.

Call it the Fall winds, the thrill of the spy themed Christmas music he’d been practicing or just the excitement of being in a crowded room of children dressed as masters of espionage, but Stink was HYPER AS HECK on Thursday. He dashed out of the practice room like a bat out of hell. Every person he’d pass he scream, “Eat! Your! Vegetables!”

Rest assured, that trio of words was not some wonky verbal tic. It was likely something from his script or some improv that tickled his fancy. He was probably just reliving the high. But honestly, it was inappropriate to say the least. I’m all for eccentric theatrical artists. I’m not a fan of scaring young babies out of their strollers with bug eyes and legume threats – especially if the veggies are not GMO free. I mean really, for gosh sake, I live in Los Angeles surrounded by lots of organic minded mamas. I could get sued.

I was annoyed. I was frustrated. I was tired. But I was also, in retrospect, elated, because one thing I was not was embarrassed.

Not ONCE did I think, “What will other people think of my child’s behavior?” My entire response was based on the interest of my own child to act with respect and dignity for himself and those around him because good behavior is important to function in this world. Other’s reactions are inconsequential.

For someone who started this blog out of the need to suppress tics for Stink’s sake, my sake and, truthfully, to not have others have the wrong opinion about my precious boy, I have come a long way.

If any of you are worried about what other people will think about your kids, I want you to know that I’ve been there. I still dip my toes in those waters when people don’t circle the wagons around him when he needs it most – when friends let him down – when my own “friends” make veiled excuses why their kids can’t hang with my kid as much for whatever social climbing b.s. they choose to participate in.

I get sad about human behavior, but I don’t get sad about my kid, because in the end, he is on this earth to make a difference as Stink – not a shadow of someone else who, for this small moment in time, might seem like a “cool” kid but in the long run will be facing their demons while my eccentric art kid is at Harvard or Art School doing a thesis on the “Dance of Vegetables.”

Today, as I finish up (I do mean finish) the epilogue to my book, I am ending a long few years of silence… of breaking away from the noise and clanging of social group chatter. I am coming up for air refreshed and more balanced than ever before. Although painful at first, taking time for me was incredibly liberating, because it forced me to face a lot of demons in my life, from my marriage, to my own writing abilities, to my children. What I discovered, in going to battle, was how to draw boundaries and rise up stronger than ever before with an amazing husband, children and a few true friendships by my side.

So much good has come out of this refinement process, but the greatest has been to live in future. People might quote meditation as being the best thing because you’re present, but for a mother of a son who might have a hard day of ticking, the idea of living in the presence of incessant head nods and throat clears sounds like hell. During these times, while of course working to accept the moment, I find it so helpful to look at his future – one where he has risen above social norms and become stronger and greater because of adversity. When I look at my son as the beautiful adult he will be because of the tapestry that T.S. and his eccentric personality has painted, I am much calmer in my present.

In closing, I am reading Brene Brown’s book Daring Greatly.

In it, she speaks of her famous T.E.D. talk on vulnerability. She lectures about how, in talking to people about connection, she often hears about their deepest shame. She reveals that it isn’t until we face our shame and love ourselves from the inside out that we can connect to others.

I have a lot to learn and love about myself and others, but when my son vollies inside jokes at unsuspecting strangers and my only thought is “Stop that!” and “Oh, that reminds me, we need to buy brocalli” I know I have transformed more than I could ever have dreamed possible.

I encourage you, too, my readers, to dare greatly, focus on the future, and always eat your vegetables.

Andrea

As I limp toward the final chapter of my book and procrastinate promised, I have updated my supplement page! Based on feedback from several of you who have issues slogging through all the blog’s info, I created an individual Supplement Page here.

In addition to that page (which will be updated as Stink’s needs change) I have also created new pages for book reviews, media events and more. I will plug in the information a bit at a time, but meanwhile, look around and tell me if you think this is helpful or over-optimization.

In closing, most of my blogs will be found right where you always find me – here! If I add anything new, I will always link from here to the page, such as this from the New Jersey Center for Tourette Syndrome

Check out more posts about Tourettes at the New Jersey Center for Tourette Syndrome where this blog is syndicated.

Well, I didn’t really cry today at all. I just screamed. I mean, SCREAMED.

It was only an unmade bed. It wasn’t like my kids committed murder. But it was one unmade bed too many. How many friggin’ times do I have to ask them to do the same thing over and over and over? And really, I don’t buy the “it’s developmentally appropriate for kids to forget” argument because they never seem to forget how to turn on the video games or open the fridge when they want to. Instead, it’s just what they don’t want to do that causes all sorts of selective hearing.

I am well aware that I have a lot to be grateful for, and in the long run when I’m old and gray, I’m going to miss the times my sweeties were in the house. In fact, I’m pretty sure they KNOW I am aware of it which is why they have been taking advantage of me more than usual lately. You know, because they can.

So today after school I apologized for being a harpie over some fries at cheese Wendy’s. I didn’t care that they weren’t organic, GMO, dairy free. I was just glad that my husband – although he lost his job three weeks ago – was with me.

I was grateful that, while my son cried yet again outside men’s room, I was able to give him a hug and remind him that fifth grade anywhere is just no fun.

I was relieved to hear that he wasn’t crying about being bullied so much as he was upset about being bored.

But most of all, I was grateful because we didn’t bond and eat junk food in the kids room.

Because that bed is still not made.

And that would really piss me off.

I’m not a fan of helicopter parenting. Part of that results from the fact that I was always too busy socializing with other adults than to actually pay attention to my son freaking another three year old out about some Scooby Doo zombie mystery. (Or spitting with bulls-eye precision down a plastic volcano at an indoor play yard. That went over really well with the yuppie parent in the Ugg boots who called Security on me when I told her to buzz off and stop acting like a Nazi.)

My flaws aside, I do believe that our kids have to fight their own battles or we’ll end up with adult babies who cry the moment their boss tells them their perfect presentation actually was more of a bomb than Miley Cyrus’s latest performance. It’s up to us to teach our kids how to navigate tricky waters – not row the boat for them.

But when does the boat get so full of water it’s time to call in the rescue? I know that with my son and his “bully” situation, we’re far from calling S.O.S. on the P.O.S.’s.  But, truth be told, I went behind his back and confided in a fellow mama (whose kid is friends with one of the bully kids) to have “the kindness conversation” with her son.

Is that too sneaky? Stink specifically asked me not to talk to a teacher or Principal Jay, fearing I’d make it worse. Citing the many times Stink negotiated with my terms, I am telling myself I didn’t, inherently, violate his trust. But did it? Would you have done the same?

And furthermore, do you think I was too hard on my son when I told him that those kids just didn’t like him, like in the last post? A few of my friends had looks of “ewww” on their faces when I told them the story. I saw it as being practical and enlightening. They saw it as a bit harsh.

Would love your opinion.

PS: One of you wants my vitamin supplement list for tics. I will do that next post for you. I will say for now, however, we are off the focus pills. Intuniv was great for 1.5 years, but my kid wanted a break from feeling tired and sleepy. He said it made him feel less like himself. So far he’s doing fine with moderate exercise, great diet, good sleep and moderate computers. My motto is always to go more drastic when a kid’s social, emotional and academic life are threatened. (Maybe I need to remember that advice with the bully situation also!)

For those of you who read my post a few weeks back, you are aware that Stink had a rocky start to school. It got a bit better, but then it kind of went downhill again.

Turns out the same kids who have been giving him a hard time since kinder are back at it again. This time, instead of making comments about his tics, they are just doing the passive aggressive “we don’t like you” dance. Actually, they might have actually said the words “we don’t like you” at one point, but since our school does not allow for this sort of talk, it progressed into silent avoidance.

For whatever reason, I am not falling apart emotionally over this. Part of the reason is that Stink really knows who he is and it doesn’t define him. Also, while I’m not a fan of the mob mentality, I also know that not all kids are going to get along all the time. That’s just not reality.

Of course it bothers me – enough so to write a post about it – but the way I see it, there’s a balance between teaching your kid that the world doesn’t revolve around them and teaching them how to stand up for themselves. And, since I’m such a big fan of an upgrade, this balance always includes transformation, both for my kid as well as the child who is hurting enough to lash out at my kid.

Here’s a conversation we had last week on the subject. Pick and choose what works for you and feel free to give suggestions!

Stink:  Linus and Chuck are being mean to me again at lunch.

Me: What is the problem exactly?

Stink: Whenever we play handball, they don’t want to do the “trampoline” which is a cool move I made up.

Me: Maybe they don’t like that rule. Sorry, dude, but you can’t control everything.

Stink: I know that. But I have to play their rules, like the “rainbow” and the “snowball slider.”Plus, they go out of their way to pick me last.

Me: Oh. (Starting to bristle.) Well that’s not cool. (Insert new approach.) Why don’t you play with your other friends at lunch instead?

Stink: Why would I do that? I like handball. Why shouldn’t I be able to play that?

Me: Good point. Why don’t you talk to them about it?

Stink: I did, today.

Me: And what did they say?

Stink: Nothing. (His eyes fill with tears.) They just went to the other side of the handball court and ignored me.

Me: Oh. (Now I’m mad.) That must have hurt your feelings.

Stink: It did.

A tear rolls down his cheek.

Me: (Putting on my therapist hat) Well, you know that kids who talk to you like that are lashing out because they have a hard time at home or they just feel bad about themselves.

Stink: I know. But that doesn’t make me feel better.

Me: Of course not. So this is where we need a plan.

Stink: (Eyes lighting up.) Like what?

Me: I go in dressed like a Mama sumo wrestler and squash them like a bug. It’s entirely up to you. 1. You can decide you don’t want to play there. 2. You can talk to them.

Stink: I already told you I did that.

Me: I know! Congrats – you’re half way there! So now we’re at #3. You can talk to someone on yard duty. If that doesn’t work, #4 is to talk to your teacher and suggest a PLC. (Translation: A PLC is our charter school’s hippy dippy language for Peaceful Learning Circle. The kids sit on the rug Pow Wow style and talk about their feelings with the teacher acting as moderator. It implements communication and fosters connection. It’s actually quite helpful. I find when I employ a similar technique with my husband – as opposed to falling on the floor and pounding my fists into the hardwood because we disagree over the price of organic asparagus – it proves quite effective.)

Stink: I can’t do a PLC because one of the kids is in the other class. Besides, the teachers talk about bullying all the time. It doesn’t make a difference with Linus and Chuck.

Me: You can talk to Principal Jay. He just told you last week he’d work with you if you had any problems.

Stink: I know. (Arms crossed.) But if I talk to Jay, and he talks to the kids, then those boys will hate me even more and I don’t want that!

Me: Then that leaves you with Option #1 – Don’t play with them. Avoid them. Move on.

Stink: But I want to play handball!

And so, like the many looping conversations in my brain from a few years back when I was trying to figure out how to solve Tourettes, around and around we go for ten minutes.

Until I’m exhausted and can’t take it anymore.

Me: Sounds to me like you really don’t want a solution to this problem. You want to complain, but you don’t want to take the necessary steps needed to rise above it.

His eyes light up as he lands on the Lottery Ticket solution.

Stink: I know! You can home school me!

Me: No way. That’s me fixing the problem. I won’t resort to that until you have done everything in your power to fix it yourself.

Stink: But I can’t fix those kids, Mama. They won’t change.

Ah, now we’re where the magic happens. As a mother, I find myself teetering between pride and enthusiasm for internal growth and wanting to vomit on kitchen tile.

Me: I get it. I know what it’s like to want to change something so bad but no matter what I try, I can’t. And so I must fix myself. And so must you.

Stink: How?

Me: Acceptance. You must accept a few core things.

Stink: Like what?

Me: Well, you can start with the one basic truth which, as sad is this sounds, is this: They don’t like you.

Stink: You really think so?

His face is sinking. I look him straight in the eye.

Me: Yup. (I shrug my shoulders and say it slowly for emphasis.) They. Don’t. Like. You.

I give him a second to let that sink in.  If this were a movie, it would be the equivalent of taking a machine gun and blasting my kid to bits. But, since magic happens in the movies, my kid would also miraculously rise up from despair thanks to some healing words.

Me: The fact is that you are smarter than them. You are kinder than them. You are funnier than them and, in the long run, you will be far more successful than them. But for now, you just have to get through fifth grade and hang out with the kids that do love you.  There are so many!

Stink: I know. But I just don’t understand.  Why they would act like that?

My son is looking at me with such concern – my beautiful boy who, despite being relentlessly obstinate and stubborn at times, doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. He is caught between being a child and being a teenager. I take a chance and tell him a few more core truths about life.

Me: Some kids are really broken, baby. We need to extend kindness and grace and forgiveness.

Stink: But what if that doesn’t work?

I finally admit defeat and go for the jugular.

Me: Just remember that they’re assholes.

I’m pretty sure I’m not going to win Mother of the Year for my choice language. But given the huge grin that spreads over my kids face and the conspirational nod of his head, I’m pretty sure he finally got the point.

The End.

 

My kid did not like the beginning of fifth grade. To start with, his best friend moved to San Diego. For seconds, his other two buds are in the other class. For thirds, as part of a “responsive classroom” technique, all kids were put in groups of four or five and told to go to lunch and recess together. I’m certain this was done as a way to eliminate cliques and get clashing groups of kids working together in an Odd Couple meets Kum Ba Yah Seratonin Rainbow Connection sort of theory, but it wasn’t flying with Stinker. Sadly, he was put with a few kids who weren’t exactly in his fan club last year. (Those issues were resolved, but some hurts remained.)

After talking briefly to his teacher, I decided to write a letter to the principal. For five years I’ve played “Nice Mama” while I befriended every mean kids’ mama in an attempt to have all parties learn: one to show grace, one to show flexibility, all to show forgiveness and kindness and all that Good Samaritan crap.

This year, I didn’t have it in me. My husband was undergoing major work stuff, it has been hotter than hell, the pressure is up to finish my book and I was worried about my upcoming Baptism where I would be forced to make my “declaration” as well as go into full body submersion for Christ. Or, as my best friend’s husband likes to put it, “Go into the Dunk Tank for the world’s holiest wet tee-shirt contest.”

I caught the eye of the principal the third day of school, a kind man we’ll call Jay who has more fashion sense than Nate Berkus and a bigger heart than Oprah. He gave me the “I’ll set up something tomorrow” walk by confirmation. “My son wants to be homeschooled,” I interrupted him.

“Meet me in the office in twenty.”

And so I did.

With my son – who was not so happy to be sitting in the Principal’s pad on the third day of school.

Picture a lovely gray wall, arty table with elegant striped slip covers, Jay in a fabulous purple checked Oxford and my son – slumped with his Mario shirt and size nine feet tapping the floor.

Jay: So, Stinker, I hear you’re having a rough year.

Stink: I guess.

Jay: Let’s start with the positive. What do you love about fifth grade?

Stink: I don’t know.

Jay: What do you not love?

Stink: I don’t know.

Jay: What do you love about your teacher?

Stink: I don’t know.

Jay: What do you not love?

Stink: I don’t know.

This continues as Jay patiently looks at him with eyes as blue as marbles and kind as water.

Jay: You know, Stink, I got an email from your mom, and she says things aren’t amazing, but if you can’t talk about it, I can’t help you. And we all know your mom can talk, but you’re a big boy. In the fifth grade. So how about we shelve this…(Jay looks over at me with a confidential nod) until you feel you can get straight with me.

Suddenly, tears well up in Stink’s eyes. He’s trying to hold back the emotion, but one of them pops right off his cheek onto Mario the Plumber’s noggin.

Stink: Well, there is something….

Jay: Tell me, Stink.

Stink: Well…. it’s not my teacher…

Jay nods in empathy.

Stink: And it’s not the work…

Jay continues nodding.

Stink: And it’s not the kids….

Stink’s voice is really starting to crack now as he trails off.

Jay: What is it, Stink?

Big sigh from Stink, who finally, in a rush of held back emotion, explodes: It’s my MOTHER.

If a principal could have whip-lash, I am pretty sure Jay got it. As the victim of my son’s unexpected driving maneuver, I caught Jay’s glance with 1/3 horror, 1/3 fear, and 1/3 laughter. This was gonna be good.

Jay: What, exactly, do you mean?

Jay shrugged his shoulders at me. Is it okay to go on? he seemed to ask. I gave him a look back that pretty much said What the Fuck. We didn’t need words. If every gal needs a gay husband to understand her, I was pretty sure at this moment I had found my mate for life in that principal.

Stink: It’s just… well… my mom lets men service her on weekends to pay for my school shoes doesn’t let me play computer games like all my other friends’ mothers. It’s just not fair.

Jay: You mean, that she limits your time?

Stink: YES! You see, I have plants on Toon Town that I need to water every day. But I’m not allowed on the computer during school time. (Starting to well up with tears again) And it’s all I can think about all day long because my plants are going to die!

Jay: (Straight at me) I didn’t see that one coming.

Now I’m laughing out loud. I can’t help it. But Stink is not amused.

Stink: You’re not listening, Mama! I’m really scared about my plants! AND. YOU. DON’T. CARE.

Jay: (Pointing out an orchid in the center of the table.) Stink, I have a real live plant here you can come in and water every single day if you want to.

Stink: It’s not the same thing!

Jay: No, it isn’t.  (Then) And you know what else?

Stink: What.

Jay: I used to have that pouty faced look down pat. And my mom was like your mom which meant sometimes she got played. But not for long. And I’m going to call you out on this one. There might be something else other than plants going on here, but either way, my door is always open for you when you want to talk. Do you know that?

Stink: Yeah.

Jay: You are a bright, beautiful, loving boy who is going to have an amazing year. And I’m here for you. Okay? (Stink nods) Now give me a hug.

Stink gives him a half embrace.

Jay: What kind of hug is that? Give me a real hug.

So he does. And then I do, too. If I could, I’d have hugged that man all day long. And then I’d have licked his shirt because it reminded me of the world’s prettiest sherbert popsicle.

Folks, I don’t have the answer for why my kid likes virtual plants more than real ones. I don’t always know what to do when kids are being mean to my kid. When does he fight his battles? When does Mom step in? But I sure know this: Fifth grade is hard for lots of kids, not just ones with T.S.. I can’t break down over every little “I want to be homeschooled” threat. I will keep a close eye on my kids’ love for computers – is it addiction (doubtful) or just his wiring (likely). But I will always be grateful to a wonderful educator named Jay.

To prove it, the next day, I left Jay a little something in his office. It was a real live plant with a card. The card read: “Thank, Jay, for all you did. Please water this sucker every day.” Love, Andrea