Learning and Growing, I Guess

I put colored lights on the tree. I know, I don't recognize myself. I mean what? I am a white-lighter all the way. You?

I mean, there are teams for this, right? Is it like how there are Elvis people and Beatles people? Or am I overthinking it? If I'm overthinking it only a little, that's probably the right amount for me.

Somewhere along the way, the last few years, there started being all these different whites at the store. There's warm and cool and LED and bluish and faceted and free-range, probably. I mean which white is white? And so it's like my signifier has lost its referent. Which is a painful condition, but let's not detour into Post-Structuralism this close to Christmas.

So today I was down in the basement finding Hank's fat Santa pillow guys and I saw this big coil of multi-colored lights, like the heavy duty kind that you're really supposed to use outside. And they're on this big reel and I could just picture myself so easily unwinding that baby around and around the tree. So I brought it upstairs and just like that, we stepped boldly away from the land we have known.

Not to overstate the importance of this choice even one tiny bit.

I mean, what will it look like with our ornaments on it? I will be sure to keep you posted during this adventure of my sensibilities.

In other news, it rained a ton all over the Hundred Acre Wood. And no tennis was played.

During a brief let-up, Hank ran outside to see what the foster daughters were up to. He came back inside and told me the girls were burying a snail they had got at the beach. A snail that was dead, he clarified. I nodded or made some noise of acknowledgment, I'm not sure, I was doing something else.

"Mom, I'm sorry if I crushed your happy mood," he said. I tuned back in and assured him that he had not crushed my mood and that while it was a shame the snail was dead, it was not an unnatural thing or surprising thing, etcetera.

And he said, "I just really wish I could have met that snail while he was alive."

And I had to lurch back through the kitchen doorway so I could silently laugh without him seeing me, but it was a laugh that was almost a sob.

Holidays!

xoxo

Christmas Shopping Coup

Someone got taken to see Thor tonight, and got a slushie. It was thor excthiting! 

Y'all! I have to tell you about my shopping caper. OMG. So if you have a little boy, you have probably heard of Skylanders Swap Force. It is the latest iteration of the Skylanders game, and it's coming to rule us all. For those not in the know, Skylanders is a game that comes with a little portal that plugs into your xbox or whatever, and you put real actual toy Skylanders guys on the portal, and then they appear in your game and you can run them around the virtual world. The people behind this are evil geniuses, because they get you to buy the game and the portal, and then they get you to buy all the different guys. Which causes me to become best friends with the twenty year-old down at Game Stop, because only he can get me the Super Rare and Unobtainable Eye Brawl guy. Thanks Josh.

Whatever. Bear with me.

Okay, so Swap Force necessitates a whole new portal set up. Of course it does. So the "starter kit," which comes with the game, the portal, and a few guys, is $65 or $70 on Amazon. Only lately did Hank start talking about wanting it, and I thought I'd keep an eye out for a deal sometime in December. Then today I was perusing Want Not, and she mentioned that the Starter Kit is $37 on Target's website. They were sold out on there, but I checked store inventory and thought, okay, maybe my local store will price match the website. I left the kids to watch each other and went up there.

The kit was $49.99 on the store shelf. Which if I hadn't known better, I would have thought was a great deal. The kid working in the electronics section seemed frightened to be spoken to. So I carried the box with me up to customer service. Will you price match your website? Sure Ma'am! Oh, but wait...this item is out of stock on the website so we won't price match.

Did you get that? They will match a target.com price only if the item you're holding is still available on target.com. I said, "But, I could go into Walmart and THEY would match the price on Target.com, in stock or not. Why don't you sell it to me here?" I mean, these people don't know that I don't shop at Walmart.

I thought this was so strange and annoying. It's that weird thing where you're holding out money to someone and they can't figure out how to take it. But a manager came over and confirmed, no, the kit is $49.99 because it's sold out online. I thanked them and walked away, but then realized that with my Target debit card, which gives 5% off every purchase, and the little extra 5% off coupon I got from the pharmacy rewards program, the thing would be $40, so okay. Not $37 but close. I went through the checkout and bought it.

Then, THEN, I was home and had stashed the Skylanders in the gift closet. (God forbid the kids ever figure out I don't just keep birthday gifts for other kids in there.) So I'm doing my thing at home, and Hank, who is a natural-born fixer, comes to me with this coupon he has unearthed. It's a coupon for $10 off the very starter kit I'd just bought. He goes, "Hey mom, maybe we can use this!" Then he nudged it onto the edge of the dining room table and backed out of the room. Let me underline: He had no idea I had just made that purchase. It was a total coincidence, or else part of the weird matrix of synchronicity that conditions all of our actions. I vaguely remembered seeing this coupon come out of the multipack of chips I bought for school lunches. Hank probably had it in his tickler file. I swear.

So I thought, "Yes, I would absolutely drive up there and return the kit I just bought and re-buy it with this coupon." I would still have my ten percent off that I'd used earlier, so by the power of Maths I figured the kit would be $32. Then I got busy and made dinner and stuff, and then Hank reminded me that I'd said we could go to a movie, so off we went. Matt met us at Thor, and took Hank away afterwards, so I could do my errand.

Oh my lord, you're not still reading this!

So I roll back into Target at 9:30. I get another starter kit off the shelf and take both up to customer service. I tell the now-different clerk what I'm doing. She says she can take care of it all in one go. So she returns the one I bought. Then she looks it up online, for some reason, and she goes, "Look, it's $37!" I'm like, "Ah KNOW! OMG!" Actually I said, "That's even better!" So she rung it up for $37 and then scanned my $10-off coupon, and then I had my little percentage-off cards, and with tax and junk that thing was $26. When there was a good chance I would have eventually paid $65 for it. An absolute HEIST.

I didn't even ask her to match the online price, she did that all herself. And a woman behind me was there to pull some maneuver involving the same game--I think she was there to see if they would match the online price, and she goes, "I wish I hadn't met you, because then I wouldn't know there was a coupon!" And I was like, "It's from a bag of chips."

Then I went to the back of the store to get some beer and as I walked back by, that woman was kneeling down rifling the chips. So I strolled over to her and pointed her to the right ones. And I considered that a good night's work. Sisterhood is powerful.

Then I came home and explained it all to Matt in a hushed voice, and I said, "Give me the highest of fives!" And we very solemnly clasped hands over our heads.

And, scene.

Suggestible

I had our cable tv turned back on around the time of the US Open in September. We had been streaming-only for years.

So now the kids see some commercials.

So last night we're in Target shopping for our Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes. And the kids are having fun thinking, selecting, comparing, and fitting different combos of items, Tetris-style, into the boxes.

Then we were finishing those up and Hank goes, "Oh, Mom, can we get just one thing for me?" I gave him a wary, mother look, with my eyebrows slightly raised and a "go on" face. You parents are familiar with this face.

He goes, "Can we get Febreze Tranquility? Because I've been having a hard time going to sleep. And if we can get it, I'd like the 'quiet jasmine' one."

So this is some kind of room freshener/oil diffuser that touts its aromatherapeutic properties on some commercial that I haven't even seen. And it's not the kind of thing that I'd ever even be aware of, much less buy. Just not a part of my world.

But y'all. The way he said it! So sweetly and earnestly somehow, with an air of, "Well here's a product that will solve a problem, we should give it a try." And he enunciated each word so carefully. I had the debunking and dismissal right on the tip of my tongue. I've issued similar dismissals a thousand times in my parenting career.

So what I said was, "Okay, I think that would be down that aisle." And we went and he knelt down and picked out the 'quiet jasmine' scent and we bought it.

I think I knew that I could say, "Buddy, that stuff doesn't work like that, we don't need it," or similar, and he would accept it instantly. But I thought he would feel a bit foolish to have asked for it so credulously? I don't know. Now we own some quiet jasmine. It does not smell actually bad.

Tonight Laura was away at a sleepover, and after dinner out, Hank and I wrapped up on the couch and watched Monsters University. Then, at bedtime, he asked me to help him activate the little fragrance thingie, which I did. As he carried it upstairs, he goes, "I feel sleepier already."

The Boy in Digest Form

At Sliding Rock near Brevard, NC

The other day, I looked at the shaggy, sheepdog-headed Hank and said, "Do you want to get a haircut today?"

"No," he said.

"Well when do you want to?"

"The last day," he said.

"The last day of what?" I asked.

"The Last Day," he said.

Oh. Well, I am not dumb, I know that when the actual Last Day comes, it's going to be tough to get anything done, right? You show up somewhere and people are like, you just had to wait until the Last Day? Also, as a facebook friend pointed out, currency will be worthless on the Last Day. So I waited until the Last Day I could stand his hair, which was Sunday, and then we got it cut and it was fine. Turns out it didn't steal his essence or whatever the hecks. And then I got him a double cheeseburger.

****

This afternoon, Hank came in from the school bus and brought his buddy in to play. Before they ran off, he came through the kitchen and said, "Mom, I wanted to say thank you for all the work you do for us around the house."

(!!!)

I said, "You are very welcome, bud. I love taking care of you." He nodded, like this answer did not surprise him. I wanted so badly to ask him, "Who or what put it into your head to say thanks to me?!?" But I did not want to invalidate or dishonor his impulse, you know? I wouldn't have asked another adult where he got the idea to say something nice. I wanted to give him full credit. So I did and I do.

****

 Just now, at bedtime, I lay down in his bed for a minute and we had our hugging ritual. The ritual is called Hugging Time, and we hug while we sing "hugging time" to the tune of "Stepping Time" from Mary Poppins. I don't know, it's our thing. We sing one chorus that way and then he turns over and goes to sleep.

But tonight, after hugging, he said, with a sudden note of distress, "Mom, I'm afraid to go to school tomorrow. I did something really bad!"

Whoa. I didn't think it could be anything really bad, or I would have heard about it at least three ways before bedtime. But I said, "Well what was it?" He wouldn't tell me. He goes, "It's embarrassing! And I did it in front of fifth graders!"  Okay, so then I'm like, did you fall down or something? And I'm imagining some farcical scene of slapstick mortification. But then he came out with it.

"I accidentally said who I have a crush on in front of the fifth graders! On the bus!"

"Okay," I said. "Well let me tell you a secret. Fifth graders are not interested in first graders or first grade things. They are only interested in fifth graders. They will not remember."

"How do you know?" he asked. "Because," I said, "I remember being a fifth grader and that's exactly how I felt."

"But," he probed further, skeptical. "When you were in fifth grade, did you ever hear any really good first-grade information?"

Like, this is premium intel, Mom. Really good first-grade information. Nobody could fail to take an interest in a tidbit of this significance.

So I said I would drive him to school in the morning.

The End.

Stouthearted

Two turkeys

Last night, Hank came to where I was sitting. His face was grim, but his shoulders were squared. He was resolved on something.

"Mom, can I have a napkin? I'm ready to pull this tooth out." He pointed to a very wiggly bottom tooth.

This was kind of huge. He looked like someone who is trapped by a boulder and needs to saw off his own arm: He's made his decision and he's terrified, but he is drawing up his courage. It was killing me from the first moment.

He insisted he didn't want me to do it, so I walked with him into the kitchen and handed him a paper towel. "It's ready to come out," I said. "Just pinch it up from the gum."

He probed and poked around his tooth for a long time. Or it probably only seemed like a long time. He would give it the gentlest of tugs, with no result. Finally, when it seemed like he had worn out his nerve, I said, "Do you want me to do it so, so quickly?" One instant after he said yes, the tooth was out, and he yelped, "Ouch! That didn't hurt!"

With the scary part behind him, he grew expansive. "You know," he said, "that's the first tooth I ever lost on purpose."

"What happened to the others?" I said.

"Well," he said, "they always just came out on their own. You remember that one got stuck in a banana. And Harrison kicked one out."

Here I was lamenting this brief instant of pain I caused by pulling his tooth out, while his buddy apparently KICKED HIM IN THE MOUTH on the trampoline and I never even heard about it.

We sealed the tooth in a baggie.

"Mom," he said, "since I know the Tooth Fairy isn't real, can I have that dollar?"

I was taken aback. When had we reached this state of affairs? I had some memory of getting tired of lying about stuff to the kids. Or maybe we sacrificed the Tooth Fairy to save Santa?

"No way," I said. "You don't just get handed a dollar. You have to go through the ritual." This was the answer he seemed to expect.

So then I put the tooth in its baggie on the counter and forgot about it and so did he.

Ritual.

Weekendly

EB hid all the eggs in the backyard. I don't know why that chair is there.

My sister has a LOT OF NERVE. On my SubMat facebook page (you click that little fb logo up there on the left and "like" my page and then you don't miss a minute of her 'tude), she's all, "Um, blogging 'every day in March.'" This from someone who hasn't blogged in a coon's age. And I was like, March is a long month, gah, and then my Dad helpfully pointed out that there's a difference between metric March and Imperial March. Or something to do with the switch to the Gregorian calendar?

Anyway, I think I liked having my previous post at the top of the page for a couple of days. And we had kind of a whirlwind weekend here so far.

We celebrated Easter with the kids on Saturday morning, because Laura has since headed to the beach with her friend's family for Spring Break and wouldn't be home on Sunday morning. Matt the Easter Bunny hid two dozen eggs out in our backyard, which is a lot of ground to cover and a lot of different terrain. Before long, the kids needed hints. He requested a garbage bag, I brought it to him, and he told the kids that for every few pieces of litter or broken plastic crap they gathered, they would get a hint to an egg location. So they were out there picking up trash and finding eggs at the same time. Truly, he is the Master of Revels. Also, his hints rhymed:

"If not at first an egg you see, get thyself to the crook of a tree."

"If eggs you seek, follow this command: look deeper down into the sand."

There were a bunch of these, each more poetical than the last. I sat on the porch drinking coffee and cracking up, proud to have helped him pass his genetic material into the next generation of humans.

I spent the rest of the day helping Laura get ready to go, with a few bumps in the road. She had recovered from her virus and went to school on Friday, and was feeling fine, but then Saturday afternoon, she went for a run with Matt, and came home complaining that her ear hurt. I was all, damnation. I didn't want to send her off with another family for a week if there was a chance her viral head cold had turned into an ear something. So we headed to the clinic at the CVS. That place looked like an extras casting call for "Walking Dead." There were about six people ahead of us and the nurse was at lunch.

I thought, "To heck with this, I'm calling my neighbor." One of Hank's little buddy's mothers is a pediatrician. They live around the corner from us, I see her almost every day, and I have never never sought her medical opinion or asked for a bus stop consulation. I don't know, I just feel like it's an imposition? Though she has never said anything that would give that impression. But I texted her and asked her if she would look in Laura's ear, and she came right away.

She couldn't get her little ear flashlight to work, but she said the easiest thing, given that Laura was going out of town, was to prescribe an antibiotic and call it a day, so she phoned the pharmacy from my kitchen and we were all good. Normally I would have just kept a watch on her and not gone for the ab's, but Laura was nearly in tears because she thought her trip was imperiled. And I didn't think it was an ear infection, I thought it was exercise-induced ear pressure. But I am not that kind of doctor. Anyway, my neighbor told me several times that she was really glad I'd asked her, and I thought, well maybe she became a pediatrician because she wants to help children, even if they just live around the corner. And her husband is a plastic surgeon, so between them, we're covered.

Later, to Matt, I was like, "That was so convenient!" And he was like, "Having the doctor come to your house? Yes."

As Laura gathered her things together to get out the door, her ear pain lessened and lessened until it seemed she'd made a full recovery. I think my ear-pressure diagnosis was correct. Humanities PhD power! So I delivered her into the care of the other family. Matt and I feel comfortable with her instincts and judgment, as well as with that family, so I'm thinking she'll have a wonderful week. My biggest fear is drowning, and I told her not to go past her knees in the Gulf, which she won't because she thinks there are a lot more sharks than there really are.

Then Matt and I, the carefree parents of one child, threw all our stuff together and headed up to the mountain house, late. Hank fell asleep immediately, and we rode along companionably. One fun topic for musing was, if our family life were a sitcom, who and what would be the best potential spinoffs? Like Archie Bunker spun off the Jeffersons, who were the Bunkers' neighbors. Following that template, we thought the telegenic black family around the corner (my friendly kitchen pediatrician!) would make good viewing. And we conceived of a hipster office comedy involving Matt's twenty-something employees.

I guess the two of us have already talked about all the important things.

Now I'm just telling you everything that happened to me since we last spoke. Sorry.

I hope you have had a wonderful weekend. xoxo

Her Drama Faculties Are Undiminished

Laura woke up in the wee hours of this morning with a very high fever and a sore throat. Ruh roh. Also chills, headache, the works. Strep was my first thought. I turned off her alarm clock, dosed her with meds, and as soon as the pediatrician's office opened, I called and got her a morning appointment.

Her fever had slowly come down by the time of the doc visit, but she was feeling very poorly as we drove over there. She is never sick, so we were both sort of in a state of dismay.

I asked, "Did you manage to get back to sleep after you first woke up this morning?"

She sighed and looked at the passing trees. "No," she said. "Every hour was like a decade."

Gracious.

The quick strep test was negative, it's just some virus, so there was nothing for it but some good old-fashioned being waited upon--hand and foot--by mama. So that's what we did. We came home, installed her on the couch, and I set about bringing her different drinks, hulling her strawberries, arranging her throw blankets, and feeling her forehead. And no school tomorrow either.

And I know she felt bad, because darned if she didn't stay on that couch until she went up to her room at bedtime. This is unthinkable for her--she is go-go going during all of her waking hours. I offered to bring her something to read, and she was like, "I don't feel like I can focus on anything." So she watched Ferris Bueller. Then she watched War Games, I guess she was in the mood for a Broderick festival. Then she played some Xbox Lego Lord of the Rings ("Don't tell Hank"), then she watched Dancing with the Stars, then, after Hank came home, she watched a show about dinosaurs.

I made a big pot of delicious chicken noodle soup, and she managed to eat that as well as strawberries, toast with cheese, some chicken pot pie, a banana, and popcorn. I figured that was enough nourishment for basic life support.

At one point I ran out to the store for more provisions, and I got a text from Matt. He said he wasn't sure if he was getting sick, but he felt tired, achy, and enervated. He did allow as how these could all be symptoms of the nine-mile run he did this morning. And I was like, let's hope so, I can't advise you because I wouldn't know anything about what it feels like to have run that far. For me it would feel like being dead. But one sick person at a time!

The soup seems to have restored us all, mostly.

Hank is fine. He has a new watch that lights up, and it caused quite a stir in the classroom, with people asking him the time repeatedly. He mentioned that he instituted a policy to deal with his sudden popularity. The first three times you ask him what time it is, he'll tell you for free, and after that it costs a penny.

I didn't know what to say to that, exactly, as I had my hands full with other things.

I hope you are feeling well.

These Boys

These boys who live in this house, I mean. They keep my attention from actual dawn until I lay down my head at night.

In two weeks, Matt is doing that Tough Mudder race. Have you heard of this? They have them all over; it's basically a twelve-mile obstacle course that combines trail running with various feats of physical endurance. I think there's, like, climbing over walls and shinnying through a corrugated pipe filled with muddy water. Also there are live electrical wires you have to dart around? And maybe fire? It sounds made up but I think it's real.

Anyway, a bunch of guys from his company are doing it as a team. And one guy's wife. We were at the company Christmas party when I first heard this discussed, and a few people were like, "Come on Becky! You should do it! Jen is doing it!" And they started to make those noises like they were going to cajole me into it. And Matt was like, "Don't even. She's impervious to pressure, y'all." I mean, there was no way. I don't like to run and I don't like elective dirtiness and I feel zero compulsion to be one of the boys.

So there's no way I would have signed up for that, but I am an enthusiastic supporter of the effort as it is undertaken by others. They have been training for it quite diligently. Just now as I was climbing into bed, Matt was down on the floor doing his last set of push ups. Which inspired me to drop and do the ten push ups I can do. Or, I mean, I might be able to do more than ten, who knows. It's like the question of how high can a kangaroo jump? Nobody knows, because nobody has ever known how to really motivate a kangaroo.

So he has been training, but I think he is now in the phase of training where you doubt your training and whether it has prepared you. I don't know, he's tough, and as I said to him, you can do anything for three hours. Hee! I think that whatever happens, it will be a good story for him to tell. Hank is quite interested in this whole thing, and we'll be there to watch and cheer.

Speaking of Hank, I'll leave you with one other moment from my day. He and I went into Target to buy dog food. As we wheeled the cart down the aisle, he said, "Mom, what kind of car do we have?" I answered that we have a Kia minivan. He asked why we got that kind of car, and I answered, distractedly, that we had wanted a minivan and that was a nice one.

"Okay," he said. "Well, I would have appreciated a Cadillac."

Indeed.

"Oh, for sure, me too," I said. I winked at the woman down the aisle who had whipped her head around to see who this little bon viveur was.

Taking this child anywhere usually involves some amount of winking at strangers. Sometimes shrugging.

Then we went to Mother-Son bowling with his school. I played Laser Tag, y'all. I may have gotten really into it.

xoxo

Don't Wanna Miss A Minute

Yesterday my dad interrupted a lengthy phone chat I was having with my mom. He just wanted to tell me how much he loves me and admires the person I've become? Nope. He wanted to say, "Tell her she owes me a blog post for Saturday." And now for Monday but I know nobody is really keeping track RIGHT?

We'll make it up as we go. I'm realizing I need to make time during the day to blog, because once night falls and the stars appear over the village green, and all the people are snug indoors, there are just too many things competing for my attention: parental duties, marital leisure, basement ping pong, the hope of an early bedtime, and also Matt and I have started watching Justified.

Since last we spoke, Troy the rat trap checker came back. We were both glad to see each other. He went up in the attic and informed me that we'd murdered another flying squirrel, and I received this news with equanimity. Then I went to play tennis, where my friend said, "Oh, you paid the exterminators what? You should have called me, I have a guy."

I should have called her. She always has a guy.

Then I took Hank to karate and Laura to swimming and made a black bean and sausage soup. Laura and I nearly both lost our minds over her math homework. What's a hectoliter, quick!

Then it was today. Now I'm just telling you everything I did.

This morning I went to tennis team practice and then hung around and hit with some of the girls. The weather was gorgeous, and after three hours out there playing, all my cares had flown away. I had lunch with Matt, grabbed Hank, and checked Laura out of school to take them both to the dentist. It was there that my joy turned to chagrin.

The kids go back and then in a bit the dentist ushers me into his office and goes, "I have bad news." First of all, I have an allergy to the words "bad news," and I only want to hear them when it is bad, bad news. He told me that Hank has four cavities, which will have to be remedied in two lengthy appointments, probably involving some kind of sedation. Poor bud!

There was a fair amount of implicit judgment floating around about my slatternly ways of letting him brush his own teeth instead of doing it for him. I dunno, he has one of those spin brush things and I thought he was doing okay. But he was not! And now I am covered in shame.


Obviously Chick-fil-a was called for.

So there we repaired to nurture our spirits and kill a little time before I could drop Laura at swimming. A number of waffle fries found their way into my mouth. Laura ate a pile of chicken and then some of her brother's food. After a few minutes she goes, "Is it weird that I'm hungry right now?" I encouraged her to wait twenty minutes and then reassess. The girl can eat.

We chatted as Hank went to and from the play area. I petted Laura's hair and said, "Your hair is really  long, do you want to get it cut before spring break?" "Not really," she said.

Hank looked at me and said, with all the accumulated wisdom of his six years, "Just let the girl do what she wants."

Not bad advice.

But even with such charming company as those two, I stewed and was glum about Hank's dental situation. Laura, sensing the mood, goes, "Are you, like, traumatized right now?"

"No," I said, "but I was just realizing that one of Hank's cavities costs the same as killing one flying squirrel."


So basically everything is fine here. Now you're caught up. How are you?

At The Crack of Doom

Laura had to be on deck for a swim meet at 6:45 this morning, forty-five minutes from our house. When I first opened the email containing the session times, I winced in an exaggerated fashion. Like, I pulled my shoulders up around my ears. I have written before of my dislike of scheduled things, and when the scheduled things are early in the morning, I am like BEYOND GAH.

A meet on a school day is a new thing for us. This particular meet is Friday, Saturday, AND Sunday, and Laura is swimming all three days. At 5:45, I rolled out of bed, put on jeans, and pulled a fleece on over the camisole I slept in. I nudged Laura and in ten minutes, we were out the door into the dark. She had packed her backpack the night before, she has always been easy to get going in the morning. I got her a sausage biscuit on the way because if it is still dark outside, there is no such thing as a healthy breakfast. Just please hand over the grease and bread. I had a banana, because banana and coffee are two of my favorite tastes together.

We got to the meet and found seats in the bleachers. I said, "Didn't you bring anything to read or do?" She said, "I never bring anything." And then she sat there and watched every event. I remembered, duh, this is her sport, she wants to watch it being done. A big sign on the far side of the room had that pool's records for each event, for men and women. We studied the list; Michael Phelps's name was all over it. Then, watching the 15-18 boys swim a long, grueling medley, Laura gestured toward the records and said, "Michael Phelps would be done by now." That made me laugh. I said it sounded like she was quoting the worst coach in the world, just comically non-motivating. "You know, guys, Michael Phelps would be done already. He'd be dried off and eating an entire pizza, probably folded in half like a taco. Step it up."

Then she swam her events and it was all good and we were out of there at 11:30. But even though I had nothing demanding on my schedule for the rest of the day, to my friends I was all, "You GUYS, OMG so early! And driving down to Chamblee! But it's for the children!!!" Then we got Hank, had lunch, saw Fabienne the cleaning lady out the door, relaxed for a little bit, and then went up to the playground and tennis courts for Laura's lesson. I watched some of my friends play and enjoyed the sudden turn to gorgeous weather after the raw, bone-chilling and spirit-breaking, chilly-damp soul funk we've been enduring.

Matt had to get Hank ready for school and this is how that went.

The whole family has been going pretty hard all week. The tennis, y'all, good lord. I had five tennis matches or practices between Tuesday and Thursday night, including two three-set, three hour grinders. (Winning!) Funny how you can feel two different ways about two different matches you won. One I was annoyed about, because we never should have let those ladies take us to a third set--we played like utter goofballs and the pace was so slow you would have cut your own throat--and the other I felt absolutely triumphant and glowing about, because we lost the first set and had our hands full, these girls were good. It did not look good for us, but we adjusted our game and took the match. I ran from side to side for three hours--nobody who has known Becky for a long time would have recognized me. I don't even know, it's like I'm a stranger to myself.

That night I ate the whole world, then climbed into bed feeling various pains. That's not usual for me, but my toes hurt, my legs hurt, and my elbow was sore from overuse. I resolved to take today and tomorrow off from tennis. I turned down a match and I even turned down an invite to a St. Patty's Day party tonight, because I think we were all craving some downtime. Also the party hosts are loud, prone to drunkenness, famously volatile, and on the brink of divorce. Which is basically the same as saying, they're on our mixed doubles team.

I KID. THERE ARE ONLY LIKE TWO COUPLES ON OUR MIXED TEAM WHO FIT THAT DESCRIPTION. lol j/k

Matt is taking Laura to her meet tomorrow, otherwise there is no way I'd be awake and blogging. God bless you all and God bless America. xoxo

Bring Your Own What?

Hank's Kindergarten teacher has sent home a letter and a permission form for Bring Your Own Technology. BYOT, as they call it, is widespread in our school system, but with Laura I don't remember it being a thing until she was in the fifth grade.

I remember the middle school orientation at the start of the year, where it quickly became apparent that it was basically required for each kid to have some kind of device they could do certain tasks on and use to read their online textbook. Parents were saying, "So should I just buy her an ipad, or some other kind of tablet? A laptop? Just say the word." I was like, "Do whut?"

I don't have an ipad. I have my beloved iphone 5 and a four year-old laptop that, though nice in its day, is now missing the left-sided shift, capslock, and 's' key covers. 

Not being able to hit the left-side shift has done interesting and probably permanent things to my typing.

Laura has an ipod touch that she got a couple Christmases ago and a Kindle Fire that she spent her 11th birthday money on. (That kindle is nice--I think those are a good deal.) Her Kindle Fire is what she takes to school and works on. Hank has none of this. He has a Nintendo DS that he plays with sometimes. He has our xbox, Legos, and the air and sky. I have not been inclined to put a smart phone-type object into his six year-old hands. Having that kind of thing is not part of his six year-old life.

Really, it's not even about the money, at a certain point it's about the having, maintaining, and keeping up with all of these small expensive objects. And indeed, since our older kids started doing BYOT in school, I know of a handful of lost and broken devices among my friends and neighbors.

Of course, the teacher writes in the letter that no child will be left out, that it's not mandatory, that there are a few classroom devices for kids who don't have one, etcetera. On the way to school this morning, Hank brought it up. "Mom, the permission form for BYOT is in my folder." (The way he says BYOT, with emphasis on each letter, is adorbs. Bee, Why, Oh, TEE.)

I said, "Well bud, what are most people doing for BYOT?" He had the precise metrics: 16 kids in his class have an ipod touch, he said. And Christopher and Max have ipads. The remaining six of them can use the classroom computers and the three classroom ipods. 

Having to use one of the classroom devices sounds fine to me. Hardly a deprived situation, right? And he didn't complain or whine about it. I just said, "Well honey, you don't have an ipod, I don't think you really need one." 

But this morning I told Laura that I would like for her to do her brother a favor and lend him her ipod every Friday, with the understanding that if it gets lost or broken, I'll underwrite the loss, and she was fine with it. 

What do you think? Is this the norm where you are? 

Of Buckets

We are in the mountains this weekend with Matt's mom and brother. It was a very quiet day today. Highlights were: Staying in bed until 11am while Betty tended our children, playing boardgames, inspecting a mudslide that has buried one of the mountain roads, and washing rich brown mud off of two dogs.

Mudslide or landslide? I don't know the difference.

Hank can somehow read now and that has expanded his game access.

During an afternoon hot tub with the kids, they asked Matt to give them riddles and puzzles. This is one of their favorite things. He came up with a set of questions that everyone had fun with, and I thought you might like to use them with your littler people.

He started by telling the kids that they had two buckets, a five-gallon and a three-gallon, and they were standing on the shore of a lake with unlimited access to water. They must come up with exactly two gallons. How to do it?

After some cogitation and false starts--Laura wanted to just eyeball the amounts of water in the buckets, Hank wanted to go get two gallons of milk and compare--even Hank realized that five minus three is two, and that you fill the five-gallon, pour as much as will go into the three-gallon, and you are left with a certain two-gallons of water.

One of the ground rules was that Hank was allowed to guess and think aloud, but Laura couldn't speak up until she was exactly sure of the correct answer. When she broke this rule, Matt ordered her to get out of the hot tub and run a lap around the house. Hank was then like, "Can I run a lap?" and wanted to use the physical challenge as an escape from thinking about the problems. Eventually we let him run a lap too, because why would I prevent a child from running around outside in a wet bathing suit on a winter day?

With that basic bucket puzzle theme established, with the five and the three-gallon buckets, Matt built up to asking them how to get one gallon, how to get seven gallons, etc.

I admit the seven gallons stumped me for a second. I have no ego in this area and I don't mind saying.

Play around with it, it's fun!

After the kids got out and went inside, we were like, "Yeah, those two are bright enough but I don't think they're exactly geniuses." I just have to trust that with their other strengths, they'll make their way in the world somehow.

That's the scene here today. What are y'all up to?
xoxo   

Varying Levels of Mastery

Just now, Hank came home from Kindergarten and announced that he had his report card. I looked over it and noted that he had high marks in each area of assessment, except he had just a 3 out of 4 in "Language and Vocabulary Acquisition." This is the child who, as he handed me the report card, said, "Prepare to be dazzled."

Somehow I feel that he will make himself understood in this world. Or that is my hope.

He is branching out all over. On Wednesday, he went to his first after-school meeting of the Lego Club. When I picked him up, he said, "I learned a lot about the history of Legos." I told him I was very interested to hear it. He told me that Legos were first invented in 1289. I allowed as how that seemed rather early to me, and he said, "Well, they were made of wood back then."

Yes, I suppose they would have been. Or carved out of bone by Vikings.

And speaking of wood.

At Laura's middle school, the kids rotate through a series of elective classes every nine weeks. Or "elective" isn't really the word, because they don't choose them, actually. Laura got to choose a year-long chorus class, and then the other classes could be PE or health or something else. I like this system, because I don't think kids really know what they like, necessarily, and they should just be made to try things.

So Monday she came home, having started a new quarter, and announced that she was enrolled in Woodshop. Y'all, the look on her face when she told me how the floor was covered ("just abolutely covered") with wood shavings. It made me think of the time we paid her to eat a pickle.  Anyway, back to woodshop, I was a bit mystified, because her schedule says "Engineering and Technology," and I figured this would be a computer lab. She said that the teacher presides over a computer lab and the woodshop, and told them that they would be spending most of their time in the shop. This will be interesting and new.

.....

Her exposure to new areas of craft may have left her feeling extra venturesome. Yesterday I went to work out with Pretty Neighbor in the afternoon, and accidentally left the house locked up. I didn't know it was locked; I figured Laura would get off the bus, let herself in, and be waiting for me there.

When Hank and I arrived back home, sure enough, she was waiting inside. She said, "Where WERE YOU?" I was like, where am I ever? What's wrong? She goes, "You have to hear MY STORY." I was all, okay! What!

She told us that she'd come home, found the front door, back door, and basement door locked. I was like, "Yet here you stand, in the house, how did you get in?" She had gone down to a basement window, removed the window air-conditioning unit, and climbed right in.

That's how I found out that our house could be broken into by a preteen girl. Or really by anyone. I praised her resourcefulness, but wondered aloud why she didn't use her phone to call me. Or to come look for me at the only one or two places I could be. And that A/C unit is heavy! But okay.

Later she said, "I'm kind of glad that I got locked out. When I put my leg up over the windowsill and hopped in, I felt..." and then she trailed off and just made a kind of finger-waggling gesture, like, happy jazz hands.

A girl's first B&E is very special.

I hope your reentry to school and routine has opened some new vistas for you. xoxo

To Feel Yourself Beloved on The Earth

Hank just got home from school, and I surmised that his teachers had hugged him goodbye for the Christmas break, because he smelled deliciously of different, overlapping perfumes. I was snorfling all over him, enjoying them, and I said, "Your teachers must have given you hugs!" And he said, "Yeah, and Mr. Russ did too."

Mr. Russ is the school bus driver. And that's closer than I ever thought I would get to old Russ. But still sweet.

How are y'all? We are still here. The news from Newtown took away my impulse to blog the last few days. I just didn't want to add any words to the situation. And all of the things we had going on this busy, December weekend seemed too light. Trifling. You know. I appreciated this post by Lecia, where she talks about her feeling of reverence in her ordinary days, and also this one by Elle, where she's thinking about bell hooks and MLK and a world perspective. Lots of things to think about. We stayed quiet around here, and I think everyone else did too. Traffic into my inbox all but ceased. We went about our business.

I know we've all read lots of people on our fb feeds and elsewhere talking about hug your children, that they hugged their children extra tight, etc. That's a parent's reaction to this, of course. But it made me realize, you know, I already revel in these kids every day, I truly do. I am drinking them in every minute, and couldn't enjoy them more. I wrote about it one time. I will never fear that I've missed any opportunities to love them, and I know they feel it.

On Monday morning, I walked Hank all the way up to the door of his school, kissed his face, and watched his shaggy head until it bobbed out of sight. I thought how we are all just doing our best, and hoping for the best.

Now the kids are home until January 7. I hope you are well. On Dasher!

I Mean, Kids Will Believe Anything: Kindergarten Gingerbread Hunt

J'accuse!

Every Friday a different mom comes into Hank's class to do some kind of cooking activity with them. My day was approaching and I was low on ideas. It might have been Bloody Marys if the teacher hadn't come to the rescue. She had it all figured out.

I went to the class in the morning and read that Gingerbread Baby book to them. Then I pulled out the supplies I'd brought, and using a big sheet pan we got from the cafeteria, I shaped a big gingerbread man. The kids loved watching this. We gave him a few rudimentary decorations--eyes, mouth, buttons--nothing too fussy. Then we took the big pan to the cafeteria, where the lunch ladies were already our confederates.

We handed over the big gingerbread man to them, exhorting them, "Please keep a close eye on him! And whatever you do, don't open the oven door too early! These guys are very crafty and quick!" They promised that they would guard him carefully, and then they slid the pan into the big industrial oven. The kids watched this as carefully as if they were UN nuclear facility inspectors.

We went back to the classroom and read the next in the Gingerbread Baby series, Gingerbread Friends. As we finished, one of Hank's teachers came running into the room, the sheepish lunch ladies right behind her. "You guys! You'll never believe what happened! The good news is, your little cookies are ready, but the big one that Hank's mom made got away!" (She had pre-prepared little individual men for them to decorate, and the ladies bore them in on a sheet pan.) "He's running loose in the school, he could be anywhere!" she said.

The kids absolutely erupted. One little boy clapped his hands to his forehead and said, "I knew this would happen!" They were all on their feet and ready for action. A few ran out into the hall and peered in all directions. After a few moments of complete frenzy, the teacher drew their attention to a little card that had been taped outside the door. As you might imagine, it said "Run run run, as fast as you can..." and it had a little rhyme with a clue for them to solve.

The clues were pitched right at their level, and the clues led us from the classroom, to the gym, to the nurse's office, to the library, to the front desk, and finally, right into the very heart of darkness, the principal's office.

The teacher appointed Hank to go up to her desk and politely state our business. The kids all crowded around and he said, "Um, Mrs. B, we are looking all over the school for our gingerbread man who got away, have you seen him? He is brown?"

The principal was actually chewing when the class came in, and the cookie man was lying right there on her desk. She had partly covered it with a piece of paper, but the sharp-eyed kindergarteners spotted him.

It was so hilarious. They were kind of outraged with her! She said, "I wanted to eat him for breakfast!" And one girl goes, "You should eat breakfast at home." Like, please lady.

So maybe now the kids believe that baked goods can become sentient and develop volition, but that it's okay to eat them anyway. I don't know. But it was the cutest dang thing!

I'm off now to eat a special lunch at school with Hank, part of an absolute parade of merriment that is unfolding over the next few days. Are y'all hip-deep in this stuff now? I love it all. xoxo

Everybody Needs A Little Encouragement

Two days ago the kids and I were driving in the car. Laura mentioned that all of the eighth-grade girls are toting around sacks of flour, pretending they're babies, and they have to care for them for a class assignment.

I asked her if the boys were doing that, and she said she hadn't seen any.

I said, "Well that's dumb, I mean, men have to care for children too. It takes two people to make a baby."

From the back, Hank piped up. "No no, the moms can make the babies but the dads have to encourage it."

I carefully and gently reached across to the passenger seat and placed my hand over Laura's mouth, and she slid down in her seat, shaking in silent laughter. I said, "Well that encouragement is very important."

****

Today is my birthday! It has been going just swell. Matt and I had lunch out. While I was tucking into my pineapple mojito, his conversational opener was, "Here's one way I've become a douchebag."

And then it was something about LinkedIn. But I thought, I will never stop being entertained by the people in this family and the things they think of to say.

We are getting a sitter and heading out tonight, and then next weekend, Matt got us tickets to an Australian Open Wildcard tournament here in town, the finals day. Sweet! We're so very sporty now!

I hope y'all have a good evening planned. xoxo

Frugivore

This guy, Hank! 2 years old.

Hank loves fruit. I mean, he loves fruit, he always has. I sometimes find apple cores or banana peels upstairs because he has sneaked up there to eat his fruit in private. Maybe it is tastier if it's clandestine. As though I have ever denied the child fruit.

This afternoon, right after school, he asked for a "regular banana and also a banana cut up with little dabs of peanut butter." I clarifed that he wanted to eat a whole banana, and then have a banana with peanut butter. He means for me to pipe the PB out of a baggie like I do. I said, sure, eat the banana and then you can have one with peanut butter. He protested that he wanted them together, but I was firm. So he ate a banana. Then he said, and I kid you not, "Mom, now let's move on to the little dabs of peanut butter." Oh, indeed. Let's move on. So I cut another banana into little circles and then piped the peanut butter onto them and he will never move out of the house or marry.

A bit later, his little friend from around the corner was visiting. Hank led him into the kitchen and said, "Would you like a tangerine, which is a small orange?"

If facebook hadn't existed it would have sprung fully into being at that moment, that's how fast I updated my status. I had to share my pride in both his politeness and his considerate desire to explain completely. I mean, what if his buddy had been put off by the exotic citrus terminology? "Do not be dismayed, friend, by 'tangerine,' it will be familiar to you as an orange, though somewhat smaller and less acidic."

And for some reason, as I sit to write to you, before I go to bed, that is the moment from the day that I wanted to tell you about.

I hope you found something memorable in your day. xoxo

Constitutional

At Deep Creek.

We didn't do much today and we didn't start that until after lunch. It was gray and wintry-looking here, without actually being very chilly. Matt and the kids and I headed to Deep Creek, our favorite summer tubing spot, to walk in the woods. I like this time of year for a hike; with no leaves you can see so far through the woods. You can see the shapes of the ridge tops and hills. When we got down to the river, we kept marveling at how different it all looked with bare trees. Or different-yet-familiar, like it had been remodeled. Let's just open up this space here and get some more light in.

As I snapped this picture, Hank was reaching into his pocket for a little bag of skittles he'd saved from the movie the other day and brought along. We laughed remembering that the last time he'd walked this trail, he was about two-and-a-half, and he'd had candy in his hand then too. It was February, and he'd been given a little Snoopy Valentine that contained exactly three pieces of chocolate. Even though he was a toddler, he made the journey carrying that heart box in his hand, and he rationed the candy as he went. While we all stood around with no snack and no candy, he would pause, sit carefully down on the ground, and have a chocolate. He had one at the beginning, one in the middle, and one at the end. I remember that he was so little, he was still wearing a one-piece outfit that snapped up the legs. He was potty-trained then, but just barely, and I remember several breaks to "go pee pee like a bear." Today he said he remembered that day, but I think he just remembers our recitations of it.

As we walked today, the kids wanted to do riddles and puzzles, so we dredged up every one we could think of. Laura solved the Riddle of the Sphinx but was completely stumped by, "What state is tall in the middle and round on both ends?"

Then there was leftover-eating and hot tubbing. Another highlight: I took the pie tin containing the last piece of pumpkin pie into the sun room with Betty, closed the door to children, and and had a long catch-up session on the entire extended family. As we talked, I finished my piece and ate every remaining morsel of pie, mashing the crumbs with my index finger. When I was fully up to speed on all goings-on, the plate was clean. All's right with the world, but we are sad to see that pie go.

What is up in your domestic citadel? Are you still in holiday isolation? I have not even bought anything online. Asceticism! xoxo

Summer Flashback: Ate at Joe's

During my lengthy summer blog hiatus, we got to go spend a week with Matt's family at his brother and sister-in-law's lake house in Western Mass. Chris and Robin were awesome hosts. This was a week of many new scenes for us, and we loved it all: The lake, the perfect temperatures, and the pretty little towns. One day we went to the Norman Rockwell museum in Stockbridge, which is well worth seeing for all the Saturday Evening Post covers alone. Then we went to the Joe's Diner that you see in several Rockwell paintings from the 50's. It's in Lee, and if Robin hadn't taken us there, I never would have noticed it. It is a tiny hole-in-the-wall place. But guess who was there? The actual Joe, seen in this painting.

"The Runaway," 1958.

My runaways, 2012. With the authentic Joe!

Joe was quite happy to pose with the kids. Recreating the painting was his suggestion.

Cousins: Laura, Kay, Hank, and Abby

The museum is on a really pretty piece of land, and they've moved Rockwell's studio there from in town. That was my favorite part. It's a cute little house that looks like a barn. This was a great outing to do with kids, because they really get down with the whole illustration thing. The museum had a neat scavenger hunt of stuff for the kids to find in the paintings.

Outside Stockbridge

In the studio. L, Abby, and Kay compare two different versions of "Mosaic."

Hank wanted to be sure everybody saw his pirate flag, which was actually from a Howard Pyle exhibit at the museum and had nothing to do with Rockwell. But you know, yarr!

Thank you for indulging me in this nostalgic look back at July. It was just a simpler world then, you know? xoxo

A Nerd-Shaped Hole in My Heart

The game company boys flew the coop last Tuesday, Election Day. Matt wanted to commemorate the event, so I snapped this picture in front of one of their many acres of white boards.

Incidentally, it was for these white boards that Matt broke my perfect, decade-long record of never, never writing an Amazon review. Suddenly, in my name, there were these detailed, thoughtful comparisons of various white board surfaces being published. But he cannot comment on my blog. (I know, honey, now it's a thing.)

So today was the first day that we had no house guests around and Matt was off working in the new place. It was quiet.

I got up at 6:15, got Hank up and dressed, fed him breakfast, made his lunch, and got him on the bus.

From 7 to 8 I watched the Today Show, chatted with Laura, and made her breakfast.

From 8-10 I lay back down and went back to sleep.

From 10:30-12 I went to tennis practice.  There were only five of us, and the coach introduced us to a one-handed backhand volley.

I came home just after noon, and this was when I felt the lack of Matt in the house. Normally I would come in from my morning activities, and he would be bustling into the kitchen to get lunch, or having a chat with his partner Lincoln somewhere, and I would be all, "Hey, you won't believe what so and so said!" Or, "I just got my butt kicked/kicked some butt," etc. Instead, silence.

In place of that interaction, I stood at the sink and diligently, carefully dissected and ate half of a pomegranate. I looked out my windows at the falling leaves. You cannot eat a pomegranate except somewhat meditatively.

Then I tidied the things. Then I watched the end of Dial M for Murder and folded a lot of laundry. I never can exactly track all the business with the latchkey.

Then at 2:45 I met Hank at the bus stop, and he brought a little buddy home to play. I presided over that business and made a quiche. Hank talked to me about a food drive at his school, then climbed up into the pantry and loaded his backpack with non-perishables.

At 4:45, Laura walked in the door with many things stored up to say, having apparently not gotten the chance to talk enough during her school day. I absorbed her info and redirected her into homework and fed her an emergency cheese quesadilla.

At 5:45, I loaded both children into the car and delivered the quiche to my neighbor. Then I drove Laura to swimming. She has been absent from swimming so long, due to play practice, that she joked that she was going to ask a lifeguard to keep an eye on her.

At 6:15, Hank and I went into Publix for a few things. Then we went home and I made a soup out of some of the things. Hank is still processing the presidential election, and he had to tell me the results of his canvassing of the elementary school teachers. Only one vote for Obama in his exit polling.

At 7, I called Matt and asked him to swing by and pick up Laura when her practice was over, which he did. They got home just after 8. We all ate some more and he watched an Avatar with the kids. Then they read some Hobbit and got into bed, and that brings you almost up to the present moment.

All this is to say, my day was pretty much like it always is, except I never know where the time goes and I felt a little bit more lonely for parts of it, but not in a bad way.

I am sorry that this post is not more exciting. I hope that you too are bearing up under such trials as may come your way. xoxo