Snow!

Whoo-ee!

I just don't get them, Mom!

Last week at school Theo was in the 'music' rotation for resource class. Normally this is not his favorite. Science tops his list with gym a close second. But last week in music the topic was folk dancing. You might think this would give a second grade boy the heebie-jeebies. Not Theo. On Tuesday he came home from school, sat down for a snack and gave me this speech:

Mom, I just do NOT get the boys in my class. I mean they do NOT like to be paired with a girl during folk dancing in music. They won't do it- they kind of freak out. Me? When it comes time to pair up for the dance I make CERTAIN that I am between two girls so that I will end up with one for sure! Today it was Caroline. She is the greatest. We laughed so hard....

Throughout the week he continued to come home shaking his head at the stupidity of his fellow male classmates. They just did not get it. He on the other hand had manuevered his way into dancing with Lucy, then Caroline again, over to Maddie, back to Lucy- each partner carefully and skillfully pre-identified and then the teacher's choosing methodology slyly and quietly manipulated to land him in the arms of the girl of the moment.

Second grade. Oh boy.

Skiing!

It has been delicious to be able to get out on skies on a regular basis before Christmas. Admittedly the snow is not deep, but it is enough and is a welcome break from the dreadmill and the stinky unventilated cardio room at the Y. Last weekend the sun was out, the wind was not, and the temp was in the 20's. I convinced Eli to head over to the local golf course with me to check out the skiing. We found a little skier-groomed classic track circuit and did a quick loop. Eli is efficient and strides out beautifully on the flats. Hills make him nervous. After one loop his hands were frozen so we went back to the house. I will find his warmer mittens for the future. He was done, but I was not, so I loaded Theo into the car and returned to the course. Theo is a different animal than his brother on skies. He is not efficient nor particularly 'beautiful' as he strides out. But his attitude is fabulous. He falls about every 20 feet, but he is never on the ground for more than 3.5 seconds. One thing he has mastered is the quick recovery. And the wipeouts don't seem to mar his mood at all. And hills. They do not make him nervous. They make me nervous when I am with him. He points downhill and tucks. And lets out some whoops and hollers. Then falls, jumps up, tucks, hollers, falls.... We did the one hill out at the golf course at least 20 times. Then Theo headed off into the distance - veering out of the tracks and off into the deeper snow. He stopped every now and then to scratch a 'T.L.' in the snow as he went along. For 'Theo's Loop'. His aunt and uncle had trails named after them over at Theodore Wirth this fall, and Theo is not to be outdone. So if you are down at Highland skiing around and happen on to a path marked with his initials and dotted with little nest-like indentions every 20 feet from his wipeouts, you are on the soon to be famous "Theo's Loop". But you might want to keep that to yourself. Theo is thinking about asking for a fee from all users. Right now his price is set at 1 cent per loop, so it is still affordable. But I sense a rate hike in the near future.

Clearly, I do not understand

Last night as I walked by the boys' room I saw Eli's little sparkly eyes peeping out over the railing of his top bunk. It was nearing 10 and I fully expected him to be asleep. He called me in. Then he explained to me how he had JUST realized that the answer to one of the problems on his continental math test (these very challenging logic/math tests he takes every few months at school) was 5. He had put 8! But now that he is thinking about it, the answer is obviously 5! He then explained his reasoning- which I did not come near understanding, but listened to patiently. When he finally summed up, I said, "Looks like you have it figured out, now close your eyes and get some sleep." From Eli: "Mom. Clearly, you do not understand the mental anguish I am in." Clearly, I don't.

Post-Dinner Pronouncements

Tonight after a nice dinner conversation that centered around math and how much both of my sons enjoy their math classes, as Theo was working his way over to help me with dishes, he stopped in the middle of the kitchen, cleared his throat and made this pronouncement: "I have learned something over MUCH time. And I have studied this for MUCH time." Pause. "Older brothers NEVER get in trouble." At this point, Eli, the elder statesman of this particular brotherhood, injected his much studied theory.

"NO. As a matter of fact it is YOUNGER brothers who never get in trouble. The older brother always gets in trouble."

Theo respectfully disagreed. I then took the two of them by the scruffs of their necks and said, "Let me tell you two something that I have learned over MUCH years-forty of them. That is that it is the MIDDLE child who always gets blamed for everything."

To my astonishment, both of them readily agreed. And then from Theo:

"Yeah, and I am the middle brother in this family."

"No, I am the middle brother!"

Apparently there is a need for more studying on this issue. That, and some more work with numbers.

Kitchen Renewal by the Amish Envy Club

It's been awhile since I have praised the genius of the Amish Envy Club. This is a group of four families who gather four times a year to undertake home improvement projects. Each family gets to claim a Saturday. The other families show up with tools, sandwich fixings, their kids, and good attitudes. What could have been a weekend with one spouse grumpily working alone and the other one unhappily herding their children out of the way becomes a party. Theo woke up this past Saturday saying, "It's Amish day! Amish day! When do they come?" He then went to the window and waited for the next two hours. When the families did arrive the pack of boys quickly disappeared up to the legos and the adults got busy redoing our kitchen floor and taking care of some other small projects. Little Harriet stayed close to mom and dad- but there were no noxious chemicals in this project, so that was fine. She was a fabulous help tamping down the carpet squares by stomping on them. And just about when she would be getting bored the swarm of boys would be coming through and they would catch her up in their tide and get her laughing for a while.
We spent the day chatting and laughing with friends, watching our boys delight in the company of like-minded kids, and getting a new kitchen floor. The old lineoleum was completely worn out when we moved in 7 years ago. Now, because a delivery did not arrive in time, the 'intestinal' chandelier (so named the day we moved in by a friend who was sure we would be replacing it immediately) still sways magestically in the dining room. The new light should arrive any day and I think we can replace it without the aid of the Amish Enviers.

Our project was just the right size for an Amish Envy Saturday. After a hearty communal dinner the crew departed and Jon only had about an hour of work to finish up while I put the boys to bed. Well, the cabinet doors that were removed for cleaning and possible restaining still lean against the wall in the dining room, and will probably still be there in 2010. But that's how it goes. Yesterday I stopped by the Spencer household, the site of the last Amish Envy meeting in October, to drop of a left over stuffed animal and saw that a ladder still leans against their garage. Propped there in late October from the Amish roofing experiment. For the record, the roof appears done. The ladder is just there as a reminder of good times.

Lawsuit?

After writing my last post about my near death experience with the foam roll, I'm thinking, hey, where was my product warning? I mean, think of all the warnings on packages these days. One of my favorites is on Papa Murphy's pizza cooking directions. First they tell you to remove the plastic wrap before putting it in the oven. Really? All these years and I just thought that their cheese was kind of extra glossy. And there is some product that you cook in an oven on a pan and they warn you that after 30 minutes at over 400 degrees, CAREFUL!! The pan WILL be hot. Thanks. I think the Foam Roll company has been a bit nonchalant with their responsibilities here. Sure, the solid piece of cylindrical foam looks benign, but I think we all know that is just a facade. It is clearly dangerous. Something should be printed on each piece of equipment- something like: WARNING: Using the Foam Roll while wearing a hooded sweatshirt could result in asphixiation and certain death. Please dress appropriately and use under proper supervision at all times. Who am I kidding- I'm sure it is on there. But if it's not, I am calling my lawyer. I am owed. Big time.

Workouts gone wrong

Ok, so I think we all have workouts that go a little wrong....like that time I did the body pump class at the Y in a pair of dark work socks because I had forgotten gym shoes, or the runs that feel off from the first step out the front door. But then there are the workouts that come close to severe bodily harm.

For example:

Last night I dug the old Foam Roll (capitalized because it is indeed the trademarked name...) in order to try to work some knots out of my shoulders. I'm going to insert a picture of this particularly benign looking piece of equipment so you can see what I'm talking about.

The trick to undo shoulder knots is to lay down with the Foam Roll beneath your upper back. You then lift your hips off the ground and gently roll back and forth on the FR, usually experiencing some nice release in tense muscles. Only last night I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt. And when I rolled one way I rolled that damn hood right up under the FR, neatly cutting off my supply of oxygen to my brain. Now, you may be thinking, why didn't you just roll back? Well, I could have thought that thought too if I hadn't been working with an oxygen deprived brain. Luckily I had enough wits about me to reach up and unzip my sweatshirt, thus saving myself from certain disaster. I am lucky I was not wearing a pullover. Jon chuckled away when I related my experience and said, "Kind of reminds me of a treadmill story..."

Of course, he wasn't talking about a run-in he had with a treadmill. He was talking about me. I know that I have told this story often, but I don't believe it has been committed to paper for posterity. Ok. It's January, quite a few years back, and I am a new user of the Midway Y's cardio room. A few weeks earlier a friend had talked me through the directions for all of the machines, and so here I was going for a nice slow run on this dread mill. Now, I far prefer to get my exercise outside and love to cross country ski. But this day must not have been skiable, so inside I was. I had my new MP3 player strapped to my arm and was trying to forward through a few of the 13 songs that particular model held, but I was not getting to the song I needed to hear. After a few more moments of struggling I realized that the thing was strapped on upside down. So I took my eyes off the prize and started messing around with my armband, while continuing to run.... Somehow I tripped up and went flying off the back of the treadmill. Landing in a heap behind it. Because I am always cool and nonchalant, I took that moment there huddled on the ground in a heap to make the necessary adjustment to my MP3 thing. Like I had planned on that dismount all along. Then I took a sneaky look around. Now the little cardio room was PACKED because it was shortly after the new year and people had not yet given up on their resolutions. And I had been in the front row of machines. But no one behind me was even snickering. They were all staring forward, continuing with their workouts as if this happened everyday. So I got up, brushed myself off, and stepped back on. To the back end of the moving treadmill. I think I got two steps in before I was thrown off again. Landed in the same heap. Looked around slyly. No one was even looking the slightest bit amused. I could not believe it. This time I got up and mounted on the side, firmly grabbed both side rails, then air-ran above the treadmill for a few seconds before cautiously lowering down into contact. And this time I made it until the clock ticked down. Upon completion I looked down at the treadmill below my feet and saw a streak of blood was painted right down the middle of the tread, destined to circle away for years- a constant reminder to anyone who followed me to keep their eyes forward and concentrate on what they are doing.

I had two nice stripes of 'rug burn' from knee to ankle, one on each leg. Let me tell you that it was lucky I was home alone when I took a shower! I howled. Dang. I can't believe how many times I have told my kids that a skinned knee will only hurt for a second. I was crippled for at least a week. I have returned to the dreadmill since, still don't like it, but have managed to stay upright until my ride comes to a complete stop.

This is probably the place where I should mention the weight room and a friend and a medicine ball and me and a wall. A mirrored wall at that. But I won't. Suffice it to say that for that episode all the fellow lifters pretended not to notice, but because I was blocking their view of themselves in the mirror, I did see a few smirky grins at the corner of mouths. But no eye contact. I like this about the old Midway Y. The people there try their hardest to help you keep your self respect. It takes some effort on their part and I do keep testing them, but they seem up for the challenge.

As I think about these problems I have, I have to note that I seem to have inherited these tendancies directly from my parents. My dad has had a number of classy bike wipeouts, but Jean is the one who has had the more spectacular incidents. I will quickly relate two that I remember:

Once while biking with a bunch of pals she somehow got her pedals connected with someone else- they were able to separate but Jean careened right off of the bike path and into a bog. She sunk quite a ways. For the record, my dad, although he did indeed grow up as a Midway Y member, could not keep a straight face. He chuckled away. I think he chuckled for the rest of that bike ride.

The second incident involves a water park. And me as a angsty teen. We went down one of those longish innertube rides and when the family plunked into the wading pool at the bottom, one after the other, us kids were HORRIFIED to note that the ride had somehow completely ripped open the back of my mom's swim suit. I don't know if we told her, or if she felt the surprising breeze on her back side. And the thing was, her towel was back at the top of the slide. Mine was more wisely stashed at the bottom. But I did not lend it to her. I needed it to put it over my head to hide my shame! If memory serves me correctly we made that poor woman sashay awkwardly back to the top in order to reclaim her towel so that she could cover up. Mom, I'm sorry. I do hope Eli and Theo have a little more compassion, because it appears as if they will need it.

Ode to a Fourth Grade Teacher

I am not a poet, but I wish I was. I would sit right down and write an ode to Eli's fourth grade teacher. That woman is a wonder. I get the pleasure of volunteering for an hour a week with a group of 6 fourth grade boys. And believe me it is a pleasure. I would have never guessed. My job is to facilitate a book club, but my role is really to observe and be amused. The boys each have a role to play and preparations to make and they do it and it is fabulous. The conversation amuses and delights me to no end. I love this new lingo they use when talking about books- making text to world connections or text to self connections or whatever. Today we were having a rather wide-ranging discussion about the book Shiloh. The discussion leader had asked the question, 'Does Judd treat his dogs fairly'. The boys dug into that word fairly and picked it apart. I loved watching one of them gnaw on something another had said and then his face would light up and he would spurt: "I made a text to world connection..." and then share that connection. They were making so many connections they got into using a sort of short hand: "I made a T-T-M". And while I would sit there trying to puzzle out what T-T-M stood for, they would barrel off down a path about talking how the book relates to slavery and Jim Crow laws. Wow. And the teacher sidles by and stands behind them and watches and she's glowing too. And the thing is, I don't think discussions like these are the exception- this is the rule in her classroom. She has given this crew the tools to dig into these issues and then she lets them roll. She has created space where the expectation is that they will think and they will think hard, and better yet, they will enjoy it. And these boys do. Fourth grade boys. Love it. Love her. I hate to think of Eli moving on next year after being with this teacher for two years. But my hope is that Theo will get to slide right in. Maybe by the time he is moving on I will have figured out all the shorthand they use- I'm still puzzling over T-T-M.

Black and White

The other day while I was driving somewhere I had Theo in the backseat. He was talking. A lot. Apparently he was fed up with the injustice in the world and needed some time to vent. He's seven. Here is his monologue:
Mom, have you ever thought about what would happen if all the humans on earth just started eating way too much meat? I mean think about! We could all die! Because if we ate too much meat we would eat all the animals and then there would not be enough protien and we would all die.
Have you thought about that?
No. Not really.
Well, I just see the world a little differently than everyone else. I just see differently.
Agreed.
I mean, I was at DuNord and I was laying on the dock looking in the water and I saw a fish, and I just saw it differently. I mean, like the fish is just like me, but a fish, and I don't want him to eat me, so why should I eat him? So I just eat a little bit of fish. Not too much.
Makes me wonder if he would mind if a fish ate just a little bit of him...
I guess I am thinking about all this because I was playing with the neighbors and one of them mentioned that they love McDonalds. Do you know what I call McDonalds? McMurder! That's what! And BurgerKing in MurderKing!! White Castle is.....is....Death Castle!
It was here that I was wondering how he was going to get out of this...we don't eat at these places often, but in the past he has declared quite a taste for the old White Castle slider....but then:
Well, I guess Death Castle maybe could just be White Castle because their burgers are so small! They don't use up as much meat! But McMurder for sure.
Clever loophole the child created for himself. But wait, now he has segwayed to a different topic:
And trees! I am just never going to cut down a tree again! I mean people could use other stuff to build houses and furniture and stuff. Like trees that have already fallen down....and driftwood!! There's lots of driftwood. Have you ever thought of that?
I giggle a little about the image of a driftwood house. It has some advantages- it would be lightweight? At this point we park. Next to a telephone pole....
Take this telephone pole for example!!! It doesn't have to be made from a cut down tree! It could just be a planted alive tree. Just stick your street light on it and put some wires attached to it!!
By this time he is all but beating his chest and ripping off his shirt, his ire is so riled. Luckily we had arrived at our destination- a friend's house. He walked to the door still mumbling about trees and the stupidity of humans, then was immediately whisked into a fast paced game of Uno and forgot his passionate tirade. For the moment.

This whole speech made me chuckle, but also got me a little nervous. I mean, we do express our opinions around Eli and Theo, but we try not to indoctrinate. We hope they draw their own conclusions. And Theo has, but the severity of them is a little too much. Of a mirror? Maybe we should tone down the political discussions around the dinner table. For the record, I have never called McDonalds McMurder. I do like Death Castle however, and may start using that one.

Blue sky

It has been a hard fall. I admit that September was glorious with opportunities to bike everywhere in unseasonably warm weather. But October came in wet and dark. In a matter of weeks we had lost two lovely men- both named Lowell- to cancer. Saying goodbye to these two fabulously kind, generous men made the sky over us lower and darken. It seemed like every day was wet and dark and tinged with sadness. And then we got news about a nephew's brain tumor. He's nine. This surely did nothing to lighten our skies.

But here's the redemption, or the hint that it is on the horizon: The first Lowell, my uncle Hap, was celebrated at a memorial service that was simply amazing. I cried through the entire two hours, but left feeling inspired and uplifted. Hap had figured out how to live fully, and by sharing stories with us, his family had given us keys, secrets, to living our own lives large. It's up to us to follow through- but the inspiration provided by Hap and his loved ones is hard to forget, to ignore. And the second Lowell, Jay's dad. When Theo heard that he had died it looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. He became deflated. And Theo barely knew Lowell. But he had a bond with him, because that is what Lowell did. When he talked to you, his eyes sparkled and you felt like he was your own personal cheer leader- wishing you the best. To know him at all was to love him. Another life well lived, well loved. And the cousin- everyone is optimistic that the surgery will go well. His parents astound me with their ability to keep perspective. They have spoken what to me sounds like a mantra: Everything is treatable. It's treatable. And the waiting is almost done- the surgery later this week.

So November has come and with it some sun. And warmth. This past weekend we actually had some spare time. Jon got out for a lovely bike ride and I took the boys to the park. I was chatting with an old friend while the boys hit the swings. After 10 minutes they brushed by me and Theo said, "Mom, have you even seen what is right behind you?". I turned to find a small group of people manipulating a hot air balloon. It was unclear what they were trying to do with it. If they were trying to launch it, it was not going well. But no one seemed distressed. A little closer scrutiny showed that the ballooneer (balloonist?) in question was my neighbor, Jake. Eli and Theo spotted their friend Javi, Jake's son, frolicking around the edges of the rainbow colored fabric. We headed over to say hello and offer help. Turns out that Jake and his parents were simply airing out the ballon after it had been stuffed in its trailer during our damp October. We got involved grabbing a seam and pulling the fabric out, slowly turning the balloon over, bringing the damp bottom up to the top to expose it to the sun and the wind. Then they trained a powerful fan into the opening to get air flowing through the fabric. The balloon came to life, billowing and pulsing off the ground. The boys had found a football that earlier Javi had lost beneath the fabric and were busy playing 500. I took the moment to lie down on my back near the edge of the balloon. The sun warmed my cheeks as I watched the rainbow fabric flutter and billow and fly above me, framed against the perfect blue of a Minnesota fall sky.

Slick 'er down

Today was picture day at school. Theo's hair is tough to mess up. He has this thick wavy hair that stays close to his skull no matter what it has been through. Not the case with Eli. His is always winging this way or that. This morning Theo's hair was showing a bit more spunk than usual. I called him into the bathroom and offered up an array of hair product. He chose to use Jon's and asked if I could stick the front part up a bit. I could and I did. He checked out the results, was generally pleased- flexed his lips in the old Billy Idol sneer for a while, and then spotted a tuft of hair on the side doing its own thing. His comment: Mom? What's going on there?? He made a face at himself then said, "Slick 'er down woman!"

Crackin' me up

I just went on my first run since back in August. I've been nursing a knee/hip injury of some sort and have taken to biking everywhere instead of trying to run. It's been fun. I would like to state for the record that I biked to work for the entire month of September. Didn't drive once. Granted, it was the driest, warmest September in ages and my work is only 3 miles away AND I only work 3 days a week, but bike I did. I've been biking to the grocery store, my class over by the dome, target, my parents' house (and they live in a different STATE!). If I keep going at this rate I just might go rig up the 30 year old burley as a grocery/errand cart, string it up with some christmas lights, add a rearview mirror or two to my helmet and get really serious about bike commuting. We shall see.
But today it is in the high 40's and misting which is my absolute favorite running weather, so I cracked out the new running shoes and headed out. It was lovely. I tried to ignore the irritating strain in my knee, but in terms of lungs and heart, apparently my biking has been doing me fine. So I end with this short little burst up the hill on Niles to Brimhall and I'm feeling really good, like I am almost thinking that runners are on to something. I slow it down to a walk (which, really, isn't slowing it down much) and I'm passing by a neighbor's house where much construction is going on. My eye follows the trenched out sidewalk up to the door and what do I see? A huge rear end smashed up against the glass as someone is bent over apparently working on the floor inside. Much more flesh than pant. Framed just perfectly. I am still chuckling.

Eli's rolodex

This past Tuesday we gathered up a crew of friends and relatives and caravanned back down to the Pizza Farm to celebrate Jon's 40th. It was a cool, mostly cloudy, evening, but we were bundled appropriately. Darkness descended much earlier in late September than back in August when we had first made this journey. The farmers have strung some christmas lights up around the ordering/stone fire area, but the rest of the farm is free of artificial light. MaryBeth and Tim tried to keep the cold and dark at bay by firing up a fancy candlabra, but it only lit the immediate surroundings. Beyond that circle lay the night, and our boys delighted in it. The crew of kids started out with a rather civilized game of sharks and minnows, but before the first minnow was caught it had devolved into a melee of crazed happy running and tackling and glee. This continued on unabated while the adults continued to eat and chat and relax in the lovely country evening, removed from our phones and our computers and our lives. Too soon we had to pack everyone up and return to the cities.

Once I had the kids snuggled down under their warm comforters I asked, "Did you guys have fun? I have such great memories of running around in the dark as a kid and you guys don't get a chance to do that as much."
They both murmured their assent, and then Eli added as an afterthought, "I felt kind of like a feral brawler."
"A what??"
"I don't know, a feral brawler, those words just seem to fit how I was feeling."
I chuckled, thinking that feral conjures up images of barn cats and my boys certainly had been tussling around like a pair of wild kittens. Then the next day I did a quick search of the word 'feral' just to see if I had the right word in mind. Here's the wikipedia definition: a feral organism is one that has escaped from domestication and has return, partly or wholly, to a wild state. The introduction of feral animals or plants to their non-native regions can disrupt ecosystems....However, returning lost species to their environment can also have the opposite effect, bringing damaged ecosystems back into balance.

I read that definition and then marveled at my son's ability to name something. His brain is like a giant rolodex of words and when he needs one he gives it a spin and then plops his finger in and pulls out a word that fits the need to a T. The whole time we had been at the farm I was thinking about how busy we had been lately and that how it would be so much easier to just skip going and continue on with the hectic pace of our lives, but once we were there it felt so great to step out of the race and sit back in the dark and enjoy the moment of quiet (if you could ignore the screams of glee/fright from the kids) and be with friends. I felt like we had escaped momentarily from 'domestication' and had been returned to a more natural state, and I felt a little closer to balanced. The kids were not relaxing or reflecting, certainly, but they were loosed of their rules, their homework, their routines, and set free into the night, and were happier for it. So here's to more frequent evenings full of friends, fun, and feral brawling.

First light

This morning, just as the first light of dawn was creeping into my room, Theo stumbled in as well. He was still so sleepy his eyes were barely open and he quickly burrowed into the covers next to me. After a nice warm snuggle he rearranged himself and flung an arm over my neck. I lay still for a moment and then whispered gently into his ear, "Um, Theo, you're choking me." He turned his head slightly, slit open his eyes and said, "That was my intent."

Fencing?

For a while now the boys have been under the impression that they want to become fencers. Not as in shady characters who sell your stolen goods for you (a profession Theo shows great apitude for) but as in athletes who wield pointy weapons and heed french commands. Now, Jon grew up a runner and I was all about team sports, so we are feeling a bit out of our league here. And I admit, I have this little nagging thought at the back of my mind....but aren't fencers kind of....kind of....nerdy?

Eli dabbled in this sport last spring by taking an after school introduction to fencing class at my school, Avalon. This did not lend us any insight into the nerdy question- Avalon students are in a category all their own and if you want to apply the label NERD to them, be warned that it will not stick to these slippery, unigue, cagey souls. Yesterday, as I was giving a tour to a prospective family, we walked past a girl wearing a construction helmet, a pair of metallic silver leggings, and some bright red go-go boots. She looked up from her task to give us a perky little salute and a wink. Odd, for sure, but nerdy? I fear they have found the secret of how to elevate themselves above this petty little label. They live their nerdiness large, and in doing so they break right through that barrier and emerge into a whole new, lovely, realm. So as Eli suited up in the basement of Avalon and faced off his with Avalon partner, a lad named Blue- so called not for the unremarkable color of his eyes, but for the hue he applies to his nails, his lips, his hair- how was I to judge this sport? One thing I did note is that the instructors, a brother/sister combo, were fabulous- confident, disciplined, big hearted, and worthy of much adoration from their clients- many of whom were just 1-2 years younger than these classy coaches.

This fall we decided to look into getting the boys signed up for lessons and settled on the Twin Cities Fencing club. We went as a family to watch a lesson from the sidelines, and what I saw was very heartening. There were a handful of younger kids, all of who seemed like healthy, sweet kids. Then there was this trio of twelve year old boys. There was something about them. A twelve year old boy can be a very awkward thing, but these three, they stood tall, they looked each other in the eyes, and they played fair. On the spot, watching these three take turns dueling each other, I decided that there might be a whole lot to like about this odd sport my boys have taken a fancy to.

Lessons were to start the next Wednesday and the day started early, with old anticipatory Theo up at the crack of dawn wishing the day away so that he could get his hands on a weapon. Jon marched them off that evening and they came back glowing, Theo proclaiming that Wednesday was his new favorite day, even better than his precious weekends! So we're in. Who knows how long it will last, but for now we're committed to spending Wednesday evenings in a secret little stinky two story basement of an apartment building up on Holly Avenue. We'll see where this takes us.

On a side note, my brother Dave will undoubtedly be relieved to find out that this fencing club provides all of the equipment for the little fencers. Old Dave is sure he had his career as a Pro Football place kicker cut short when he couldn't deal with the shame of having to wear homemade football pants back in the sixth grade. I have had some little laughs picturing my boys wearing fencing helmets hastily fashioned out of chicken wire and duct tape.

Convenient

Now that school is back in session, Jon and I are trying to make sure we get the boys back into the habit of helping out around this house. This usually takes the form of drying the dishes after dinner. The other night it was Theo's turn, and as Jon washed, listening to Theo gab away, he wasn't paying too much attention to what Theo was doing with the dried dishes. But then Theo placed one final dish and called out, "Dad! Aren't I being convenient?!?" Jon turned to find quite a sculpture park of Theo's dried dishes. He had carefully balanced them on top of each other in little configurations so that they all fit on the counter closest to him. Now, my definition of convenient is when the boy with the dish towel gets the dried dishes into the correct cupboards and drawers, but upon eyeing up Theo's creation, I had to admit that he sure was....something.

One last jump into summer

Our friend Deb had been telling us about her family's cabin up on Lake Namakan for a few years. It sounded idyllic- a little island that was all theirs, out in the middle of the lake that acts as a border between Minnesota and Canada. She had invited us up for one last summer hurrah- to spend Labor Day weekend at the lake. It sounded great and we wanted to go, but I had been in the throes of getting school up and running for a new year, the boys were edging into their pre-school anxiety that hits each fall, and in the past week Jon, Theo, and I had all been taken down by 'flu-like symptoms'. And it was a 6 hour drive plus 1 hour boat to even get to this place. It sure seemed easier to spend the last weekend of summer at home recuperating and gearing up for another year. But then we checked the forecast, 70's and sunny, and we decided to go ahead and jump right into one last summer adventure. Thank goodness we did- this place turned out to be just what we all needed, a comfortable adventure in a foriegn land (It was across the border line in Canada and we needed to show our passports at a little outpost that is reached only by boat or floatplane) to round out a great summer.

This 1.5 acre wilderness is a boy wonderland, covered in white pines, mossy outcroppings, colorful toadstools, and plenty of rocks for clamboring. The little cabin is completely comfortable, but with no electricty or water is an outpost enough to make you feel like you're on an adventure. As it is on an island, the boys could head off into the woods with parents having no worries about them getting lost. They spent their time turning sticks into ancient weapons, conquering mythic beasts in fabulous battles, throwing themselves off the rocks into the warm waters, creating rock dams, reinforcing castle walls and running free. They coaxed the parents onto the unihabited nearby island for a parents v. children game of capture the flag that had us all hooting and hollering and sacrificing much skin in our quest through the brambles for the dishtowel that served as the sacred flag.

Saturday evening we were treated to a lovely sunset on the west side of the island and then as we walked east, back to the cabin, drank in the glorious full moon as it rose above still waters.

After a lovely weekend we packed up the boats and headed back to the mainland, refreshed and ready to tackle the new year.

Dreaming in Norwegian

Last night I went in to feel Theo's forehead after he had fallen asleep. I was hoping hoping hoping to find it cool so I could justify sending him off to the last day of daycamp. Luckily I found him resting peacefully and cool as can be. I readjusted his covers and started tiptoeing away. Behind me I could hear him stirring. I froze, hoping he would roll over and get back to sleep. He rolled over, right into the wall, grunted, let out a sharp call of "Uff-da!" and then dropped back into his dreams. Now I do not think we use that phrase around the house with any kind of frequency so it kills me that in his unconscious slumbery state he let loose with a little Norge swearing.

Lose a little, gain a little

Theo and Eli are saying goodbye to summer with one last week out at daycamp. I have to say it was a brilliant move on my part to sign them up. The tension of the upcoming change in our schedule has them both a bit on edge, whether they realize it or not, so they are tempted to bug each other a bit more regularly than usual. Camp keeps them occupied and seperated, two things I would have had trouble doing this week as I gear back up for the onslaught of new students at school. They both love camp, although they go about showing this in different ways. Eli gets off the bus and on the way home thoughtfully shares with me the highlights of his day. Theo kind of jumps off the bus, eyes wide, clothes fantastically dirty, and his back pack much lighter than when he left in the morning. He is having so much fun he simply does not have time to keep track of his stuff. In one day he managed to lose his hat, raincoat, shorts, underwear, and swimshirt. Luckily he had a swimsuit to wear home. Sheesh. But it doesn't bother him a bit. Eli, on the other hand, checks and rechecks that backpack before heading out to the bus.

At daycamp they spend all day outside, in the middle of a field of plants that all send allergens straight to Theo's respitory system. I like to think of it is that he loses a little, gains a little- loses much clothing, comes home with many allergens working magic in his body. His eyes get red, his nose drives him wild with itching, he sneezes, and gets oh so wheezy. This week he managed to get hit so badly that he had to take a day off to recuperate and shake a fever. This was torture for him. He was sitting in the hallway shaky with fever when he heard me say that he would not be going that day. Immediately he struggled to his feet and said, "Look Mom! I can stand up! I can walk....I can....do....a....jumping....ja" and then, plop, back to a seated position, defeat written across his face. Poor guy. Luckily, one day of rest and relaxation got him to a place where he could rejoin the last day of fun today. Just in time to scatter his belongings to the wind one last time.

Winding down

The end of summer is within spitting distance. I think I could hit it with a watermelon seed if I tried. I have to say that the summer of 2009 has been an all around delight. I loved the slightly cooler weather, the boys got along splendily (except for when they didn't- but that was limited), and we managed to take some fabulous outings with fantastic people. We just got back from a quick tool around southeastern Minnesota. It is lovely down there- the farm fields were bursting with the dark green of mature crops while the grasses were starting to get coppery in the sun. The Amish were clopping down the shoulder of the highway in their buggies and the sun came out everytime we felt we needed to warm our bones a bit. Before we left I was stressing a bit about getting our camping gear all packed it up, but watching the boys delight in zipping into their sleeping bags, or toasting a marshmellow to Sage-level perfection, or puzzling with their pals Siena and Paloma over the destination of a geocache, made the really quite minor pack up more than worth it.

Dunord in pictures

Clockwise from top left: Haakon and Lars munching, Ye Olde Barrel Sauna, the jigging circle, relaxing after the canoe derby, my fabulous bow, the entire crew in front of Canada Jay, Theo in his happy place, Eli amongst the blueberries, and Wally pumping us up for our annual campfire perfomance as the St. Croix Singers.

HUDDLE!

I have wondered ever since we drove away from Camp DuNord if the Irish Jig Huddle tradition would work outside of the magical sphere that is family camp. Would our four families gather some night for a reunion dinner and adhere to the command to huddle and jig if someone called it out? Right in public? And would it work? There was something about the darkness and the mood and the space that made our huddling raucous and undeniable out at camp last week- would it work here in the cities? Would we be as enthusiastic? Because a huddling jig is nothing without full on enthusiasm.
Well, this is what I know. I was at the neighborhood pool the other day with my boys when I noticed Theo looking shy and a bit nervous- I followed his gaze and saw that he had spied Kira- a DuNordian pal. I think he was going to play it cool, but then Kira spotted him. I was watching from the sidelines and was pleased as punch to see Kira run up to Theo in the middle of the kiddie pool, grab his shoulders and start doodle-de-dooing at the top of her lungs. Theo looked surprised for only a second, then he threw back his head and belted out the tune with her, both of them highstepping it and kicking up water. They finished with a fist pumping 'Hey!' and then instantly turned to go grab Eli. He, being a bit older and trying for an attitude of maturity every now and then these days, remained aloof for the first measure. But then I saw "What the hell" pass over his expression and he jumped right in. I giggled away watching the three of them being taken over by joy. Later, Kira bumped into me on the diving pool deck. Upon recognition she instantly grabbed me and started dancing. I joined in, wholeheartedly. Without our whole group to back us up, the tune was a bit foreshortened and not as loud, but every bit as joyful.

Women in their forties

I hit forty back in January and I thought I was taking it in stride. In fact I barely thought about it at all. But then in early July I did a triathlon and when I got to the body marking station they asked me my age. I had to think about it and came to the conclusion that I was indeed 40. I told them the truth and they etched it in permanent marker on my calf. 40. There it sat. I have to admit that several times during the race I looked back there to see it. Shocked me each time. But the race ended (I like to think I finished with dignity. I had hoped that I would hear some astounded gasps as I whisked past people and they saw my age and then spontaneously yelled out 'She's 40????' in a tone of disbelief, but that never happened- the only gasps were from my own ragged breathing.) I washed the number off my leg and then forgot about it again. Until my physical. As I sat in the flimsy paper gown on her table, my doctor kept tossing out the phrase, "Well, women in their forties....." I let her say it a few times, but then I realized she thought she was referring to me and I had to put a stop to it. I made her rephrase it to "Woman in her forty." I mean, clearly, I am not in my forties for at least 5 more months. She was a sport and humored me. But 'woman in her forty-one' is not going to cut it, I can see that already.

Traditions

We just got back from year seven at family camp. Year seven. I can hardly believe it. Each year that we have made the annual trip to a little 'cabin tent' in the woods it becomes a little more fun, but also more complicated. You see, my kids love tradition. So if we did something the first year and they liked it, we have to do it the second year. And then new things get tried and make the 'can't miss it' list. I thought that this year might be different, because I was sure we had maxed out the options the year before. The kids love to partake in the official camp offerings like nature notes, polar bear swim, counselor hunt, but I think they love even more the little things that we think up as a group- like the overly dramatic bus where we make that shuttle ride into a roller coaster complete with hands in the air and full on screaming. And the time trials that occur after bridging each other off the bus- we wait at the top of a steep descent and chant out each group member's name as they sprint full on down. This year that briefly became the time trails circle of death when Jon took his turn while waving an axe over his head. Don't try that at home.

One great tradition is age groups where the kids go off with counselors for two hours and the adults get free time. And of course, we have our own traditions during that time. A few days during the week we head to the woods for trail runs. And as tradition demands, each run is punctuated by a few stops to graze, butts up, in the blueberry patches. Another adult tradition is to drop the kids, run to the canoes and paddle as quickly as possible to a cliff jump locale. This one has to be fast because it is a 45 minute paddle each way, and I, for one, need some time on the top of the said cliff to talk myself up to the plunge. Well, this year, that tradition was altered a bit. (For the record, Cousin Shannon tried to alter this one two years ago when she opted to RUN down the cliff face instead of take off in a leap. No one has followed her down this path however). This year, we dropped the kids, made a beeline for the canoes, jumped into 3 of them and headed out across the bay. But the further we paddled out, the stronger the wind became. It was blowing us into the channel but we all knew that we would be fighting mighty headwinds on the way home, so we had a quick conference and decided to break with tradition and turn back without jumping. And then the new tradition was born. Or atleast I hope it becomes one, because it caused me to laugh quite hard. As we were sitting there chatting, all three canoes nestled next to each other, someone decided to do the old jettison the other canoe backwards to get a head start trick. This started the bumber car/rally/derby that was our trip back to the beach. All canoes went pellmell forward, racing, and if someone caught someone else they were grabbed and jettisoned, or t-boned, to the delight of everyone. Yes, we were all adults, but certainly not acting like them. And it was hilarious. I can't wait until next year's canoe derby.

On the last night we happened upon another new tradition and this might be the one that puts us over the top next year. After the last campfire we were standing around waiting for the shuttle. The adults were chatting peacefully while the kids were playing a new game they had learned called Ninja. It was getting unruly so I called out a huddle and instantly the 16 of us who were there were huddled up, arms around each other, looking expactantly for the next order. I had nothing to offer....and then Kira stepped into the middle of the circle and someone told her to get back to the huddle, this was not an Irish jigging circle (whatever that might be...). Spontaneously someone broke into highspirited doodle-dooing of an irish jig like song and instantly it was taken up by every other member of the group, with high stepping dancing popping out left and right. It ended with a huge "HEY!" and then broke up, kids back to Ninja, adults to chatting. After a few moments, someone couldn't resist and called out HUDDLE! Everyone instantly dropped what they were doing (some kids mid-ninja chop) circled up, and after a brief attempt at a serious conversation, the jig escaped out of us once again. Here's what I love- this was a group with kids aged 4 to 14 and every last one of them was enthusiastically doodling and jigging with abandon. And the adults- we were fully participatory as well. The shuttle pulled up, we giggled our way on, and as we were waiting for the last two members of our group to join us a huddle was called and we rocked that bus with a quick tempoed jig that had the bus driver hooting and clapping along. Just then Wally and Kara, the last members of our group, climbed on, looked around bewildered, and then joined right in. When it finished Wally asked, "When did this happen?" Seconds ago. But it will last forever, I hope. But of course also fear. How will we be able to do anything next year if anytime someone remembers to call out HUDDLE! we all drop everything and jig? But then again, why do anything besides jig?

Hysterical

Last night I went over to my cousin Wendy's house for a salon. Not a place where you go to get your hair done, but this other type of salon. I try to say the word confidently, but I have no idea what a salon is supposed to be- I just knew that everyone there would probably be more sophisticated than I am. But I gathered up two good pals and we were salon-bound. This was a gathering to celebrate the publishing of a book by a friend of Wendy's. I have met this woman a time or two and she is funny in that great kind of funny way. She doesn't seem to be cracking jokes on purpose, in fact she doesn't seem to be cracking jokes at all. The stuff that comes out of her mouth is just always chuckle-worthy. Apparently she is an English Prof and used her sabbatical to research current American humor. And then she took what she had learned and wrote a memoir. So after a bit of general salon-ing we gathered in the living room, Sara took a seat on a stool up front and she commenced to read a chapter from her book. At first I chuckled here and there, and then the woman next to me started laughing so hard that I couldn't help but laugh at/with her. It got to the point where I even wiped a tear or two. And then it ended and we clapped and she dove into a different little tale. Almost right away this one hit my funny bone and set me off down the trail of good hard laughter. About ten minutes into it I was firmly out of control. Laughing, weeping, sniffling, snorting, sweating. There was one point where I felt a bit of panic creeping in. I was so thoroughly out of control with laughter that I was sure that one of my friends was going to have to give me a swift slap to the face to bring me back to my senses. Or maybe even take me out back and shoot me. Really. I didn't see how I was going to regain control. But then the tale was over. We clapped. I wiped my eyes and let out an occasional last guffaw or chortle, but eventually was able to settle back down to talk quietly with my friends while chuckling continued to break out around the room. I found that my cheek muscles hurt. It was fabulous. Sara Ford is the name. The book is on a small scale release, but can be found at Amazon.com. It's titled "Apparently I Know Who Satan Is." I can't guarantee that it will have the same effect on you, but why not risk it?

Secrets

The other day my neighbor stopped me in the street as I was peeling out, already late for work. But Michelle had a tip and wanted to share it. Having Michelle for a neighbor is like having a concierge for your street. She knows what is happening, where it's happening, and who should be there. But it's not about hipness or a cool factor or something like that- her tips are for good clean family fun. And this one was one she promised I would love. It was about an organic farm that makes pizzas out of ingredients grown on the property. But only on Tuesday nights. And only pizzas. You have to bring your own chairs, blankets, cups, drinks, snacks- everything but the pizzas. And you have to carry out your trash. Oh, plus it's 1.5 hours away. I admit, the pizza did sound delicious. But it also sounded like a lot of work. She was making the pilgrimage the next day and I agreed to round up my troops and join her. But then we got rained out and I put it on the back burner, thinking that it sounded great, but too much trouble.

But the very next week we went. And I can't tell you where it is because then I would have to kill you. It's such a fabulous experience that I want to share it, but I don't want it to get to be any more discovered than it is. This last Tuesday was just one of those fabulous summer days that demands that you eat outside. So we gave a last minute call to some friends who seemed the most likely to agree to a last minute car trip to an unknown destination. And they were in. The drive was lovely- raptors soaring, corn fields waving, deer prancing- hopefully that is not enough detail to give away the whereabouts. Then we turned off the highway and onto little backroads. After a few miles with NO sign of any pizza parlor in sight- we were clearly headed away from any sign of civilization (the last town we passed through was population 82) and into the cornfields to meet an unspecified doom. But then we turned one more corner and suddenly there were parked cars along both sides of a dirt road. And people getting out with picnic supplies. We followed suit, a little uncertainly. We trekked down the road a bit, and then all of the sudden you hear this hubbub. A true hubbub. Murmurs, laughter, glasses tinkling, and you come around this tree and in this grassy shady yard are hundreds of people all decked out in various levels of picnic-ness. The setups ran the gamut from the basic blanket to tables with tablecloths, cloth napkins in napkin rings, goblets, candelabras...everything! And every last person was smiling. Even those still waiting for pizzas. And the wait is considerable, but it passed in the blink of an eye. We wandered the grounds, fed the goats, watched people play lawn games, and took notes for what we were going to bring next time. We knew there would be a next time even before we tasted the stone oven fired pizzas. That definitely sealed the deal. Jon did point out that after waiting two hours for ours to be delivered, we might have exclaimed over cooked cardboard, but these lovely pies were the real deal. I tell you that I had a silly smile plastered to my face the whole time we were there, it was all just so fabulous. It was like there was this invisible dome over these acres out in the middle of nowhere that encased this perfectly happy bubble of loveliness. Which is why I really probably have to tell you where it is- this kind of treat needs to be shared, and even if you do decide to go and make my next wait for a pizza longer, I think I'm ok with that- because I have taken notes and I now know to bring snacks and lots of them. Plus a few bottles of wine. And I do think there might be no nicer place to kick back and wait for dinner. So I'll tell you this--it's....it's....it's somewhere in Wisconsin. Enjoy.

Beefy

I journeyed up to the Northwest Y the other day to swim in their lovely outdoor pool. And then I left half of my swimsuit in the lockerroom. The bottom half. I hate losing things.
Anyway- today the boys and I were driving to the library to see a supposed 'comedy juggler' ( for the record- he was NO Bill the Juggler...not even close.) and I suggested to the boys that maybe later we should go to the Highland Pool for a swim since it was getting nice out. Here's their conversation:
Theo: But Mom doesn't have a bottom half of a suit!!
Eli: She has a different one- or we could make her a bottom out of some cloths.
Theo: Yeah! Like bandanas. (They do have many uses afterall).
Eli: Theo! Would you REALLY want to use your bandana again after it has been on Mom's butt?
Theo: Ohh...well, other cloths.
Eli: But they are not waterproof- we'd have to figure out how to make them water proof...
Theo: We could put a bag around them or something.
Eli: Welllllll.....it would have to be a really big bag. Mom does have pretty beefy legs.

BEEFY LEGS??? I let them know that I was feeling a bit of rage at that comment. And now Jon just called and said he had been at the Y and retrieved my poor lost swimsuit. So now I don't need their stupid cloths and beefy leg bags- but I am taking them to the pool and holding them underwater until they take that back!!

New Shoes

Theo can be a little tough on a pair of shoes. Give Theo several months in a pair of Eli's old hand-me-downs, add 4 days on a river and that is a recipe for shoe blow-out of major proportions. So the kid needs a new pair. We looked real quickly at Famous Footwear but the guady factor of the kids shoes sent me into a major fit of decision paralysis. Today Theo and I made a quick swing through Target and we found a nice pair of gray 'running' shoes as Theo calls them- it was very important to him to get running shoes. The only problem was that they had shoelaces. Theo hasn't had a pair of shoes that require actual tying since....ever. But he thought they looked fast, and I thought the price and guady factor were both quite low so we bought them. Put them on in the parking lot. I tied them of course, with a promise of a lesson once we got home. When I pulled up in front of the house Theo popped out, did a few funny little stretches (he also pulls these stretches out during the middle of soccer games- apparently last night while he was stretching out his hams mid game someone kicked the ball, it bounced off Theo's knee and into the goal- that's where stretching will get you!) and then took off around the house as fast as he could. As he sprinted back to me at the car he caught his breath, said "And that was just a jog" and then bent down to dust off the new runners.

For the record, he has quickly become a shoe tying champ. I now feel confident that I will be able to send him off to college someday.

Oh- and there were no bugs!

That might be the greatest advantage the Namekagon had- atleast this time around. There were virtually no bugs. Of course a deerfly or horsefly would come by every now or then to check us out, but I would kill it dramatically and call out "And let that be a lesson to your brothers and sisters!!!" and that would be the end of that. There was the report of one mosquito one evening in Sam and Becky's tent. And really, it does only take one mosquito in the tent to drive you a little wild- but with that one pesky critter cooped up in their tent, we were doing fine. Ticks were spotted here and there, but never with their heads buried in our flesh. Bugs can ruin my attitude pretty quickly- so we were all lucky to be spared the fate of an ornery Gretchen.

Canoe Tripping

It has been a long long time since I have packed everything I needed for a few days and pushed off in a canoe. Too long. Getting back out there has whet my whistle for more. But I am definitely a river gal. I'll do the Boundary Waters because you can't say no to that- but the Namekagon has many attributes that should not be overlooked- the first and foremost being a rip roaring current. When your bowsmen are in the single digits age-wise and more prone to resting their paddles on their knees while they study the stunning dragonfly than giving you a little muscle power- currents keep you moving. The Nam is moving along so quickly that when the boys jumped ship to float alongside they were whisked along at such a clip that it elicited whoops and hollers that were 45% glee/55% panic.

I know that the BWCA has crystal clear waters, but so does the Nam. During our two sunny days I could not pull my eyes from watching the river bottom float by- I was enraptured with the sight of the mighty sturgeon that would coast by- prehistoric in appearance and beyond belief in size. I promised myself that if I saw one while the boys were in swimming I would not say anything until they were back in the canoe. But then a fish glided by right below Eli and I swear that they were precisely the same length and I bellowed "Oh!!!!! Look!!!!! There's a sturgeon as big as Eli!!!! Right BELOW him!!!!" Eli kicked it into high gear downstream while the sturgeon, unruffled, continued up the river. To Eli's credit, he remained in the water for atleast another hour. I would have leaped into the canoe in a single bound. Eagles often soared overhead and we saw some amazingly large turtles. Sure they were snappers. They looked like they could have snapped a child's leg right off. Luckily, despite much time in the river instead of on it, none of the boys came to any harm.

We started off with two days of the best weather you could hope for- sunny skies, light winds, warmth that got you in the river, but didn't roast you when you were in the canoe. After two days of this we were hit by rain. We were lucky enough to get everything packed up before the first drops, but the second we got in the canoes it started to drizzle. This turned in to an all day rain. After a drizzly lunch on the river bank I watched Eli climb back into the duffer's seat. He, who does not like even one grain of sand in his shoes, had done a fabulous job of wearing wet, sandy shoes each day in the canoe. But I saw his distaste as he looked down into the gritty sandy wet bottom and contemplated sitting in it. As we paddled away I saw him shivering and asked, "Eli- are you doing ok? Are you cold?" His answer, delivered matter-of-factly: "Mom, my present state leaves MUCH to be desired." I had a hearty laugh- of relief as much as humor. This rain had been getting me down and I worried if it was going to ruin the trip for the boys. But no, they seemed to be getting through it just fine- granted, there was much to be desired- but they were not complaining. We drifted downstream through the pouring rain trying to solve two-minute mysteries and before we got to the end of the second one the sun was trying to peep through. Later we did have to weather two pretty stunning storms, but by then we were in our nice little tent reading Huck Finn and delighting in being in out of the rain- even if our protection was only whisper thin- it was enough.

Heading out

We are on the eve of a departure for a little trip down the Namekagon with Becky D and her son Sam. Jon is not joining us. It's not that he wasn't invited, exactly....but it was pitched as a mother/son outing and if he wanted to come along he was free to do so. For some reason he has decided to sit out. He is in the throes of training for a half Ironman (he prefers to call it a 70.3 and when you are moving your body under your own power for 70.3 miles in one outing, then I see why you wouldn't want it called a HALF anything) and sitting on his rear in a tin canoe soaking up the rays for four days is probably not a highly rated training regimen.

Anyway- the boys and I have been gathering up our goods for the last few days and at one point I introduced them to the single most important piece of canoe tripping equipment- the bandana. When they gave me skeptical looks I listed off a few uses. They came around. Wanted one for their very own. Now. So the next time we were out and about we found some and they grabbed one each. They brought them home and compared them to my old ones and I am happy to report, found that their new stiff ones did not measure up...yet. I told them that of course a good bandana had to be broken in, so they honestly spent the next several hours wetting them down, wringing them out, running around the house holding them aloft to dry them....over and over and over again. I admired their dedication. They are starting to get a little supple. The bandanas- not the boys. There is more work to be done and they are eager to do it. I am sure they will come back from our escapade with true canoer's bandanas- and they will deserve them. Becky and I are bringing two canoes so these guys are going to have to spend a lot of time in the bow getting us to where we need to be. Wish us luck!

Suddenly Salad

Here's another fabulous habbit Theo has picked up this summer: When we are home for lunch on these lovely summer days I ask the kids what they want to eat. Theo immediately and unfailingly has been answering with a shout, "A salad! And a pita sandwich!!!" Then he swings out the porch door, slips on his flipflops and heads to the garden. From the kitchen window I can see his little head down there at lettuce level, selecting just the right greens for his personal chef salad. Sometimes he spies a ripe peapod and grabs one or two of them to pop into the mix. Then he plops his harvest into a waiting little tupperware of HOT water (for some reason he needs it HOT) and swishes them around. After that it is over to the hose, a handful of greens clutched to his chest. He uses the hose to rinse the leaves as he marches around the yard. I don't know why he feels the urge to march while rinsing, but he does. His shirt often also ends up rinsed, which is fine and mostly needed. Once they are rinsed to his satisfaction he tosses them into a papertowel that he has already laid out on the grass and then gathers them up and brings them in. If there are some raspberries in the kitchen he will toss them in with his greens, add a dab of dressing and dig in. I never have the pita and the hummus ready for him because I am always too absorbed in watching his little ritual to do anything but smile contentedly. I promised Theo that I would NOT mention what the end result of so many berries/smoothies/salads in his life might be. Let's just say that if you happen to be hanging out in the path to the bathroom when he needs it, you will be run over.

The Hardy Boys of Summer

For a good long while now Eli has been floating through life without sticking his nose deep into a book. This is big news. The kid is an astonishing reader, in regard to fluency, speed, and depth of understanding. I have been amazed to watch him plow through what seems to be atleast half of our local libary's kid section. To give an idea of his efficiency- he once read The Two Towers from The Lord of the Rings in a weekend. Anyway- for a while now he has traded the novel for comic books. And he does devour quite a number of them, but we've seen more of him as he works his way through this break in his reading. I think it has something to do with the fact that his ability far outstrips his content comfort level. So on some unconcious level he has told himself to hold off until his social knowledge matches his reading skills. But I digress. As Eli has fished around, trying to find the next great book that will recapture his attention, Jon has not been shy about name dropping. What should I read? is almost always answered by Jon with....The Hardy Boys! Jon and Eli took a brief foray into the land of these dectective brothers a few years back, but since then Jon's old blue-covered hard backs have been sitting untouched on the shelf.

Recently Jon got more proactive and took them all off of the boys' shelf and stacked them up near Eli's old reading chair. And it worked, Eli dived in. He's read two since yesterday. After he finished one this morning he came up for a breath, and as is his custom, found a parent do to a little debriefing. We got to talking about the some of the old time language and had a little laugh over the frequent description of the Hardys' "stout friend Chet". Stout is used often. Poor Chet. Never smart, or handsome, or wily, just stout. And then Eli commented on how the boys often used radios to communicate, or even telegrams. This got us off on a thread about wondering if they were rewritten today (are they? Eli thinks there is a modern author who has taken up the tale) how things would be different. The Hardy's would email, facebook, text to solve their crimes. And then Eli was able to weave in other new trends by coming up with a plot that involved the Hardys twittering to solve the crime about how old Stout Chet was cheated out of his victory on The Biggest Loser. He just went off on this riff that pretty much smacked those Hardys right down into 2009- gave me a hearty chuckle. Love that kid.

The Smoothie Meister

Theo is a fan of the smoothie. Luckily we are smack dab in the high season of our raspberry patch and have a plethora of strawberries, both fresh and frozen, from a recent outing to a pick-your-own farm. So in the mornings Theo will stumble down in his pjs, and while still bleary eyed he will get out the blender, a mixture of berries, maybe a banana, and a touch of juice and yogurt. He follows no recipe and no two smoothies are ever the same, but they are all delicious. It is a joy to watch him wake up as he concocts his magic brew. He oohs and ahs over the color and texture, adding ice or juice to get it to right where he wants it. He can't quite negotiate getting the whole lid off by himself, so he just pops off the little top part which he calls his window and plops in the ingredients as needed. The whole process is delightfully independent of me- although I sometimes try to give him advice which he rarely heeds. By the time he is clamboring up into the cup cupboard he is fully awake and ready to start his day- he grabs a glass, pours himself a healthy dose of his homemade elixer, and off he goes. He has never been much of a breakfast eater and he continually runs at just a faint dewdrop above dehydrated, so this selfmade liquid breakfast is a cureall. I am currently stocking the freezer with the daily harvest of 'extra' berries, hoping we can keep this trend going past the berry season.

Little laughs

As we were trying to get the kids into bed tonight we realized that we had failed to pick up a refill of one of the FIVE drugs Theo is currently taking for his asthma (see below). I decided that even though I did not feel like walking down to Walgreens right then, I felt even less enthusiastic about dragging the freshly laundered sheets up from the basement and making the beds. So I headed out down Brimhall with a touch of a bad attitude. But then I got to the old Walgreens pharmacy counter and said that I was there to pick up a prescription for Theo Sage-Martinson. The pharmicist could not see the hyphen in the name when I said it aloud (quite surprisingly, that happens often), so looked at me blankly and asked, "And which one of those would happen to be his last name?" I told him it was two of them, Sage and Martinson. He grabbed the drugs and as he was scanning them said, "You know, that's a pretty cool name, it means the wise son of Martin." I said, "I know, good thing too, because the other sons of Martin are complete dumbshits." And he guffawed. Which made me smile. Now you out there who might count yourselves among the other Sons of Martin, I apologize. I didn't mean it. The guy just set me up and the comment slipped out, surprising both of us.

Sucks to your as-mar

Maybe you haven't read Lord of the Flies- but I was forced to read it in high school and the line "Sucks to your asmar" has been passing through my mind often lately. As in SUCKS to Theo's asthma. The kid is currently on 5 drugs. 5. Ok, one of them is for pink eye, but the other four are attempting to join forces and beat his lungs into shape so that he can get more oxygen in and less coughing out, and therefore I can get more sleep. Which is the bottom line. Or maybe the bottom line is that Jon and I kind of suck at being the parent of a kid who has pulmonary issues.

Earlier this spring, after about 4 years of trying to treat Theo's asthma with a nebulizer, we watched old brother Pete swirl up a batch of drugs for his son, Max, who has a propensity for croup and ends up with the little fishy mask on with some regularity. We watched the familiar motions of opening the vials and pouring them in the contraption, and then Pete put this little stopper thingy on the end. Stopper thingy? We never use that....but we looked through our neb case and sure enough, we had one of those. So the next time we had to fire up machine for Theo we put on the stopper thingy, and boy oh boy did that elongate the nebulization process. Hmmm.

And then this week, Theo would seem great during the day but go to bed and the wheezing, the coughing, would set in with a vengeance. So Jon and I did a little thinking.....what could it be about his bedtime routine that could trigger this? Could it be the moldy book (soaked it in the river last weekend...oops...big library fine) that we should probably toss but are at the climax so can't stop reading to him? Or perhaps it was a mistake to wash all of his bedding last week and hang them on the deck to dry on a day that was great for line drying due to the 30 mph winds. Could those winds have been carrying all the pollen in the tri-county area? Seems so. Tonight we paid up our fines to the library and got ourselves a second, fresh, copy of the book- the moldy one is now ours to keep, but me thinks we should give it the old heave ho- and we washed all the bedding and dried it in the drier. And we used the stopper thingy on the neb. We're hoping that we are turning over a new leaf here and that the boy will rebound. Sometimes I wonder how I ever passed that parenting license test that they give you.

Looking forward

The boys have been talking a lot about our upcoming pilgrimage to Camp DuNord. My favorite comment so far came from Theo yesterday musing about the 5 hour carride up to Burntside Lake. "Mom, what I like best about the carride is two things. One is getting out at Ely and eating at that one restaurant and the other is when we pull up down by the tents and we start unloading all of our stuff and we get to run around from tent to tent and remember everything from last year. But Mom, my most favorite thing is that moment when we are outside our house before we even leave and you guys are packing up the car and then we're ready to go and you get in the car and you shut the door. That is my most favorite moment ever. When you shut the door and we're finally ready to go!" I just love that something about his little radar out into the world has identified that moment as it- the big moment when you are finally ready and actually poised to move out, but you haven't gone anywhere yet and everything, every possibility, is still out there in front of you. Just waiting.

Localvor-acious

I am a locovore wannabe. I really really love the idea of only eating food that is grown locally. But the reality is that we are in Minnesota and I would weep throughout the winter, dreaming of fruit. I know that there are canning techniques I could learn, but I guess the bottom line is that I want to be a locovore and I want it to be easy. Which is not going to happen. But summer is upon us and today I had the most delicious salad with the tastiest greens and strawberries- all from our garden. I did have to wrestle the berries practically out of the beaks of a few grackles which have been picking us clean, but I did come away with a handful. And tonight when we pulled into the garage we could see the beacon-like glow of the first red raspberries. Of course, that deep red color is a beacon for me as well as for the entire local society of vermin and fowl, but I have already managed to pop a handful of ripe ones in my mouth, still warm from the sun. And right now Jon is downstairs washing and storing box #2 from the CSA we decided to join for the season. I'm proud to report that we managed to eat all of box 1 the first week AND we could identify everything that was in it. Today I had to take a guess on one of the greens- I think it was the beginning of the soon to be dreaded Swiss Chard- but this first batch looks delicious. That lunchtime salad still makes me smile- it was just so dang lively. Here's to eating local! In the summer. When it's convenient. So I'm a lackluster locovore- but tonight I am a happy one.

The Namekagon

Becky, the mom of Eli's good school pal, and I are planning to take my boys and her youngest out on the old Namekagon for a 3 night canoe trip later this summer. So I dug out our river map that I am sure is atleast 15 years old. The last time I have spent time up on the Nam must have been in the early 90's- almost 20 years ago. But looking at the names of the campsites- Whispering Pines, Norway Point, Snake River Landing, Little Yellow Banks, Sandrock Cliffs- it all comes back. I suddenly had a very vivid sensory-filled recollection of nudging a canoe up on a gravelly landing and then unbending my back and stretching into a standing position....squish squashing in my wet shoes-sand and grit invariably caught around my toes-up to the campsite to check it out. I remember the feel of crispy skin that was cooked in an aluminum canoe all day everyday on 6-9 day trips- one trip after the other all summer long. The word sunscreen had not yet been coined. It was SunTAN lotion, or even, as Amy calls it, Tanning Butter. I remember the joy of flopping out of that tin cooker and into the refreshing chilly depths of the river, and then climbing back in as we approached rapids. I remember the days it rained all day and you paddled along without rain gear because everything was already wet anyway, then it would rain all night- and the joy of finally finally getting sun at a time when you could lay out your sleeping bag, your towel, your shoes, your tent. I remember sitting on my ammo box (our inefficient, super heavy 'dry boxes') after dinner, poking at the fire with a stick while someone stirfried the brownies. I remember the brownies!! And the fruit cocktail, the spam, the salami, the alpine spaghetti, the cheese. The gloopy, sweaty, unrefrigerated cheese. I remember trying to de-greasify our hair by washing it with sand. Sand. But we thought it worked, and so it did. I remember the swimming holes and the biffies and the wobbly old picnic tables- the campsites that caught evening breezes if you positioned your tent just right, and the ones that roasted you alive in evening sun. I just wish I could remember which campsite was which....it all blends together now. But looking at that map made me realize that it doesn't go away- two decades have passed, but just reading those names made me feel it, smell it, hear it, live it, once again.

haircuts

As Jon was firing up the razor in the backyard last night I was lying back on the deck, enjoying a breather after a great summer day, but anticipating some complaining from the kids for being conned into visiting "Jon's strip down to your skivvies hair salon". Theo was first, and to my surprise stepped up to the stool and said, "Take it all off Dad! I want it short. I mean short!!" So Jon did. The kid is not bald, but looks it from 20 paces. After the cut he sidled over to me, shirtless and rubbing his fuzzy head. He looked down at me lying there on the deck and said, "Mom, I'm part fat guy (rubbing his pasta-full tummy), part buff dude (patting his 'muscles'), and part nerd (pointing to his nearly hairless head)." Then he leaned down real close and stage whispered, "And maybe a little bit handsome??" Definitely.
Pictures to follow soon!

Confidence

Theo has attempted climbing walls in the past, but has never found great success. This past weekend out at Camp St. Croix the stars aligned. He had a fabulous 'belayer' who was shouting out encouragement, he was feeling confident and secure because he is starting to own Camp St. Croix, and, most importantly, his cousin was on the rope next to him and heading for the bell at the top.
Theo on his way back down after ringing the bell!