Yesterday I biked home from work as fast as possible, rushed into the kitchen, warmed up some leftovers as Eli and Theo ran pellmell up and down the stairs. I was quickly washing up the dishes as Jon and Theo sprinted down to his soccer game. Minutes later Eli and I jumped into the car to go watch. Yes, we drove, even though the fields are 4 blocks from our house. But the game was from 6 to 7, and I had to be back at my school by 7 to watch and grade some senior presentations. So the driving would win me an extra 5 minutes at Theo's game on this hectic night.
Eli was given the choice to stay at the game, be dropped at home, or join me for the presenations. Lucky for me, he chose to be my date for the evening. We got to my school too late to listen to the young man who had converted his car from gas to run on used vegetable oil. I have heard him say that he now has a constant aura of fried chicken about him, since he gets his oil free from a greasy little place down the street from school. We got there just in time to hear one of our National Merit Finalists present about his year-long writing project. I thought this was perfect for Eli, since he spends so much of his time writing himself. He listened intently as Lee described how the year had gone, detailing his 'failures' and what he learned from them, chuckling a little when Lee read his ode to Costco, smirking at the mock-angry letter to the fellow student who cut Lee's piece from a lunch-time poetry reading. Lee then read a little fictional piece that was actually more of a performance than a reading. By the end, when Lee had set his paper in flames, Eli was dying of laughter. I do love bringing him somewhere that will induce that all out belly laugh. Eli doesn't usually do extremes, so the fact that he was tearing up a little was quite beautiful to watch- all produced by the efforts of a fabulous young man's high school project.
Then the next student got on stage. This was also a fabulous young man who was going to talk about his poetry. He is passionate and confident, and quite an orator. But the poems are fresh, they need a little more seasoning, a little more aging, a little more time spent soaking up poetry of others. Eli, my sweet fourth-grader, could sense this and was casting me sideways looks. Then came the Q&A, and someone asked the presenter which poet he found most inspirational. The student responded passionately about this poet from Atlanta, whom he had watched read her poems on youtube. About abstinence. Eli immediately shot me a glance and whispered, "Ms. Williams would KILL me if I used youtube as a source!" On the way home he got the giggles in the backseat, thinking about the youtube resource. Then he said, "If someone would have asked me that question, I think I would have said Langston Hughes." The windows were open and I couldn't hear well, but after a moment I realized that he was back there reciting Dreams by Hughes. The kid just loves language and I could hear him repeating the lines to this short poem, turning the words over in his mouth, tasting them, savoring them. Taking quiet pleasure in someone else's art. It was a fabulous way to end a frantic evening, sitting out front in our parked car as Eli finished up reciting another short poem.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Bike fever
As this loveliest of Minnesota spring keeps rolling along, my bike fever gets stronger and stronger. I started out commuting to work when the forecast called for sun. Then I decided to ride even if it might rain on the way home. Last week I came to the startling realization that I can even ride in rain on the way to work, because, get this, I dry! I've taken to running any errand possible on my bike. I think I can stow about $150 of groceries in my two panniers and backpack. I wish my boys didn't drink quite so much milk, but it all adds to the workout. Today was so blessedly glorious I had to get out for just a ride, beyond my usual bike errands. I took off around the lakes in Minneapolis and was cheered by the many other cyclists out and about. I also realized that I was not as far gone with my bike fever as some others. The small woman with the huge cello on her back passed me by like I was standing still. And the guy with the homemade trailer who was biking his kayak over to the lakes made me smile. It made me think of my friend Kari, in Chicago, who commutes 2.5 hours round trip by bike daily. She is so dedicated that a few years back she biked to her wedding gown fitting, then threw the newly altered and pressed dress into her pannier. Love it.
Thinking of you, Andrew
This past new year's day my old pal Andrew passed away at age 38. And now I'm sitting here trying to figure out what to say at his memorial service we are holding out at Camp St. Croix in a week. The guy was just so much larger than life that it is nearly impossible to believe that he's no longer here. My kids regularly pester me to tell them an 'Andrew story' and I do and I love it and we all laugh and then it hits that there are going to be no more new Andrew stories. That sucks. When I was around Andrew, his light just shone so brightly, it makes the loss seem ever so much darker. Thank goodness we do have so many Andrew stories to remember. Here are some of my favorites:
The time on a 'night off' from our counseling duties when a small group of us went to the DQ in Hudson. Andrew had with him a small can of sardines (where did he get them from? We were all living out at camp, was this a common midnight snack for him?) and somehow he talked the 12 year old employee into making him a sardine blizzard. I can't imagine what the equipment smelled like after that. For how long did blizzard consumers imagine that their favorite treat had a somewhat fishy smell this time around? In truth, he had been grooming the counter staff for the sardines for weeks. During previous visits he had produced more palatable mixins such as Lorna Doones and graham crackers- each time persuading a young employee to break a rule and mix in Andrew's secret treats. Anyway, the sardine blizzard was horrendous. If I'm not mistaken he made us each try a bite. Then a convertible of rowdy boys sidled up next to us and were getting a little territorial. Andrew offered them the blizzard as a peace offering. They grabbed it, hooted, and peeled out down the road. Within a block we heard a horrible scream and the blizzard was chucked onto the road. We did not stick around to see if they were coming back to thank us.
On the epic backpacking trip in the Yukon back in '92: Andrew and John had so many crazy things in their bags. One of them was the red plastic handset from a child's toy phone. As we were driving along through that bleak unpopulated landscape toward our next destination Andrew would make a ringing sound then 'answer' his phone (this was before cell phones- I don't even think those gigantic 10 pound car phones had come into existence yet) and have long conversations with imaginary people- mostly food delivery types. He'd order us up a spectacular pizza and then pass the phone up to Steve at the wheel so Steve could give the delivery guy our address. Steve had no choice but to play along, although it pained him to do so.
Checkers. Night after night in the tent in the yukon Andrew demanded that I play checkers with him. Now, I never liked that game and I'm not so good, but I'm also not dumb, but man, could he make me feel so. I swear I could only make two moves before he had captured every last one of my checkers. And believe me, he pounced on them and shouted out 'king me' with glee, each and every time.
That trip was the perfect opportunity for Andrew to play his endless pranks- the army men that were set up all over my sleeping bag after I feel asleep, the marionette, Maria, who gave directions when we were lost, the endless shenanigans of Benny, the dismembered ventriloquist doll that every good backpacker knows to pack, the scratch and sniff Mr. T stickers that got plastered all over the Yukon- I bet that at one point the stickers out numbered humans in that territory, the endless 'song game' where Andrew tricked me into singing Rockin Robin on the hour, every hour, the bandit eye mask that he would don as he emerged from a clump of bushes- he was a constant and consistent source of laughts, but the trip was also the perfect place to witness Andrew's compassionate side.
During those endless Yukon twilights, when the sun didn't really ever set, Andrew and I spent hours chatting awat in the tent. He told me all about this woman he was falling for, Tina. I had only met her a time or two, but the way Andrew talked about her made me fall in love with her as well. And the way he helped me out when the physical part of our trip got hard. That time as we made a frightening river crossing, the boulders clanking past our legs underwater were deafening and the river just above freezing. I honestly don't think I would have made it if I had not been holding the hand of Andrew and our other pal Andy. I remember how I just wanted to crumble down and quit about a yard from the opposite bank and Andrew and Andy literally dragged me out of that river. And later, when my feet started to go numb and I became a stumbler- of course it gave him a chuckle (as it did me), but he offered to lighten my load, despite the fact that his pack was filled with ventriloquist dolls, marionettes, and army men. He had room to make my load lighter.
And isn't that what he did best? Despite the fact that the load he was carrying was often heavy, he was always able to lighten the load of those around him through his tremendous gift of humor and bright shiny intelligence? The man did not do ordinary. He lived large, and those of us who happened into his circle every now and then, he knew how to bring us along for the ride, how to turn the most mundane moment into something memorable and fabulous. I am so thankful for the years we got to share and the stories I will always have tucked away in my heart. I know my boys will keep asking for Andrew stories, and I look forward to each retelling, each opportunity to remember a little something else about this sweet man.
The time on a 'night off' from our counseling duties when a small group of us went to the DQ in Hudson. Andrew had with him a small can of sardines (where did he get them from? We were all living out at camp, was this a common midnight snack for him?) and somehow he talked the 12 year old employee into making him a sardine blizzard. I can't imagine what the equipment smelled like after that. For how long did blizzard consumers imagine that their favorite treat had a somewhat fishy smell this time around? In truth, he had been grooming the counter staff for the sardines for weeks. During previous visits he had produced more palatable mixins such as Lorna Doones and graham crackers- each time persuading a young employee to break a rule and mix in Andrew's secret treats. Anyway, the sardine blizzard was horrendous. If I'm not mistaken he made us each try a bite. Then a convertible of rowdy boys sidled up next to us and were getting a little territorial. Andrew offered them the blizzard as a peace offering. They grabbed it, hooted, and peeled out down the road. Within a block we heard a horrible scream and the blizzard was chucked onto the road. We did not stick around to see if they were coming back to thank us.
On the epic backpacking trip in the Yukon back in '92: Andrew and John had so many crazy things in their bags. One of them was the red plastic handset from a child's toy phone. As we were driving along through that bleak unpopulated landscape toward our next destination Andrew would make a ringing sound then 'answer' his phone (this was before cell phones- I don't even think those gigantic 10 pound car phones had come into existence yet) and have long conversations with imaginary people- mostly food delivery types. He'd order us up a spectacular pizza and then pass the phone up to Steve at the wheel so Steve could give the delivery guy our address. Steve had no choice but to play along, although it pained him to do so.
Checkers. Night after night in the tent in the yukon Andrew demanded that I play checkers with him. Now, I never liked that game and I'm not so good, but I'm also not dumb, but man, could he make me feel so. I swear I could only make two moves before he had captured every last one of my checkers. And believe me, he pounced on them and shouted out 'king me' with glee, each and every time.
That trip was the perfect opportunity for Andrew to play his endless pranks- the army men that were set up all over my sleeping bag after I feel asleep, the marionette, Maria, who gave directions when we were lost, the endless shenanigans of Benny, the dismembered ventriloquist doll that every good backpacker knows to pack, the scratch and sniff Mr. T stickers that got plastered all over the Yukon- I bet that at one point the stickers out numbered humans in that territory, the endless 'song game' where Andrew tricked me into singing Rockin Robin on the hour, every hour, the bandit eye mask that he would don as he emerged from a clump of bushes- he was a constant and consistent source of laughts, but the trip was also the perfect place to witness Andrew's compassionate side.
During those endless Yukon twilights, when the sun didn't really ever set, Andrew and I spent hours chatting awat in the tent. He told me all about this woman he was falling for, Tina. I had only met her a time or two, but the way Andrew talked about her made me fall in love with her as well. And the way he helped me out when the physical part of our trip got hard. That time as we made a frightening river crossing, the boulders clanking past our legs underwater were deafening and the river just above freezing. I honestly don't think I would have made it if I had not been holding the hand of Andrew and our other pal Andy. I remember how I just wanted to crumble down and quit about a yard from the opposite bank and Andrew and Andy literally dragged me out of that river. And later, when my feet started to go numb and I became a stumbler- of course it gave him a chuckle (as it did me), but he offered to lighten my load, despite the fact that his pack was filled with ventriloquist dolls, marionettes, and army men. He had room to make my load lighter.
And isn't that what he did best? Despite the fact that the load he was carrying was often heavy, he was always able to lighten the load of those around him through his tremendous gift of humor and bright shiny intelligence? The man did not do ordinary. He lived large, and those of us who happened into his circle every now and then, he knew how to bring us along for the ride, how to turn the most mundane moment into something memorable and fabulous. I am so thankful for the years we got to share and the stories I will always have tucked away in my heart. I know my boys will keep asking for Andrew stories, and I look forward to each retelling, each opportunity to remember a little something else about this sweet man.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Soul Patrol
About 12 hours after moving our two new companions (not pets, remember), the rabbits, into our home, I broke into a cold sweat. It suddenly hit me that somehow I had been talked into taking responsiblity for two more souls in this world. You're thinking, they are only rabbits. But still. Their destiny is in my hands. And if I screw up, give them toxic dandelions or accidentally step on them some dark morning, it's on my head. I can't even tell you the anquish I felt when we had some catepillar mishaps. Here we had removed these eggs from the wild (ok, our alley) and brought them into our home, caged them, and became responsible for their diet and safety. One or two drowned in the water jar which really teared me up. And then one escaped. Once I realized he was on the loose I examined the whole porch and eventually sat down to examine the treads of my shoes. You should have seen my hesitation. I took a deep breath, lifted my shoe half up, almost looked, and set it down (lightly) again. Then gathered up my spirits and tried again. Thank goodness he was not there- I eventually found him cruising on the underside of the table- because if I had squashed him I would have been a puddle. I know I am not alone with my sense of anquish -we once gave catepillar eggs to a friend with two small girls. The dad was very thankful and gave status updates quite regularly. But then the story came to a sad end- the family had been gathered around and actually saw one monarch emerge from the crysallis, they waited patiently while it dried it's wings and got ready for it's first flight. And they watched breathlessly as it lifted up and away from them, fluttering into the......grill of an oncoming car. The whole family was devastated. Rightfully so, I think. I can squash bugs outside as I walk through the grass and not have a second thought. And my windshield has been caked with bugs after evening drives through country roads with no real tax on my conscience. But once I purposefully take an animal in, give it a home, then the story turns.
And these rabbits are supposedly tricky. They are animals of prey and so are experts at masking illness and injury. That crazy Companion Rabbit Society warned that if the adults in a home did not do adequate poop patrol and failed to see a change in consistency, or a slow down in production, we may miss the window to get them to the vet and save their very lives. I don't want this power! I didn't realize I was signing up for this! I was chatting with a friend yesterday whose old dog is in decline. Things are looking a little grim and she is wrestling with end of life questions. I understand her discomfort with this type of responsibility.
So for now, I monitor the poop quite closely and I ponder what this aversion to this type of responsibility reveals about my character....
And these rabbits are supposedly tricky. They are animals of prey and so are experts at masking illness and injury. That crazy Companion Rabbit Society warned that if the adults in a home did not do adequate poop patrol and failed to see a change in consistency, or a slow down in production, we may miss the window to get them to the vet and save their very lives. I don't want this power! I didn't realize I was signing up for this! I was chatting with a friend yesterday whose old dog is in decline. Things are looking a little grim and she is wrestling with end of life questions. I understand her discomfort with this type of responsibility.
So for now, I monitor the poop quite closely and I ponder what this aversion to this type of responsibility reveals about my character....
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Walking through history
Ok, I admit that as a young traveller, I was that kid who stayed in the car at the Lincoln memorial because I was in a good part of my book. And that young adult who moved through museums quickly- I got tired, so tired, by reading the little plaques that explained things. I enjoyed looking at things, just didn't have much time to learn about them. This all changed in Peru. I fell in love with the Incans. I wanted to know more more more. I was astounded by their stonework- enthralled by the story of how they would move these 7 ton rocks over 5 kilometers of mountainside. I mean, they got them across rivers by damming up one side, pushing the rock to an island, undamming, then damming the other side to complete the crossing. And the way they cut them to fit together so perfectly-they have withstood 5 centuries of earthquakes. The cuts looked like they were made by lasers. I'm thinking they did have lasers. Or had the help of aliens. No one really knows how they did it. Their fortresses and temples are all aligned to the stars and functioned as calendars and almanacs. Their handle on astrology astounded me. And then there is their irrigation systems- they were true hydrolic engineers. Their systems still provide water to many farms in the area. And the thing about the Sacred Valley in Peru, even if you are boxed out of visiting Machu Picchu due to landslides, even if the railines to this wonder of the world reopen the day after you leave, you will not be disappointed. Our entire stay was one long walk through a fascinating portion of the world's history. I'd go back in a minute.More Peruvian memories
One highlight of our trip to Peru was spending some time at Jackie's school. The boys each went to an English class where they were asked questions. And then we went to an all school assembly where the candidates for the 'student council' were giving campaign speeches. 
s pretty quiet. But then Teresa started to just talk to us and believe that we were understanding it all. In time we did. Or most of it anyway. The boys did come to learn the phrase "Escuchame Jacquelyn!" -a favorite of Teresa's. These last pictures are taken in Ollantaytambo, a small town in Per
u's Sacred Valley of the Incas. Theo is drinking 'mate de coca' on the roof of our hotel, a tea which is supposed to help with altitude sickness. I think it also made him a little hyper... Eli is peeking out of an Incan fortress wall. This particular was built in the shape of a llama (most Incan sites are in the shape of some animal- a panther, a condor, a puma) and was a five minute walk from out hotel.
u's Sacred Valley of the Incas. Theo is drinking 'mate de coca' on the roof of our hotel, a tea which is supposed to help with altitude sickness. I think it also made him a little hyper... Eli is peeking out of an Incan fortress wall. This particular was built in the shape of a llama (most Incan sites are in the shape of some animal- a panther, a condor, a puma) and was a five minute walk from out hotel.And here are the boys in our 'lobby'. The flowers were incredible. I great treat for eyes accostumed to a white/gray minnesota winter.
I hope so....
When we were in the Sacred Valley of Peru we got the idea that riding on horses up to some seldom visited Incan ruins might be a good idea. I would like to go on record as never needing to be on a horse again. I think I knew this in part of my self before we set up this ride, but now I know it in my whole being. Especially my knees. And my back. But this story is not about me and horses- it is about my sweet guy Eli. You see, the morning of the big ride Eli came up out of a sniffly sleep to rush to the bathroom for some quality time. Seems as if the different foods and such were catching up to his digestive system. This had happened to all of us in Costa Rica last year, but in that case we were sure we had brought a virus with us from Minnesota and we just tried to power through. Eli didn't say much about it, but I know that he was pretty miserable for much of that trip. So this time we decided to be proactive and on the advice of a travelling aunt we stuffed a couple packets of Immodium AD in our luggage. On the morning of the horseback adventure I popped some into Eli's mouth. He asked if there were any side effects and I assured him there were not.
In this picture we are almost back to the hotel.... Eli looks fairly alert and upright. I look like I am done. Theo is leaning a bit to the left. The guide kept trying to fix his saddle to get him upright. I told them that this is also how he rides a bike. His center of balance is just a touch skewed and he goes through life leaning a bit to the left. I always make sure to walk on the right side of him on a sidewalk. If you walk on his left he crowds you right off....
We set out on our horses up through a gorgeous valley, sharing the path with ancestors of the Incans who were heading out to Palm Sunday services in their red ponchos and fabulous hats. Soon we were up high, the horses tracing along ancient Incan terraces. It was an amazing ride- the green terraces were sprouting wildflowers of every color- not only were we there at the tail end of the rainy season, but the Incan irrigation system is still functional, so the hillsides are alive with color. Hummingbirds are flitting around and we are craning craning craning for the sight of an elusive llama. Our guides only speak Spanish, and Jon is nearest to the guide, getting an earful of history and geography and geology. He is able to tranlate parcels and makes up the rest. I manage to ask about our chances of a llama sighting. We have been shut out so far. (Later, in the Pisac market, we will be offered to take our picture with a woman in her Incan garb with what we think is a baby llama in her lap. Closer inspection proves it to be a goat. Still cute. Still cost 3 soles for the opportunity). I find out that we are too low for llamas. They only live in the highlands. If these are the lowlands, I will never see a llama in the 'wild'. We are high. My knees are knocking as I look over the edge to watch the rocks my horse dislodges and sends sliding down down down. My head is a little spinny and I know that if I was walking and not on top of this horse my lungs would pop right open.
After a really quite breathtaking ride we arrive at the ruins. We pull our horses to a stop. Except for Theo. He ambles right by and disappears around a corner, not going too fast, but not stopping either. A little yelp of "My horse is heading for a ledge!" is hard for me to translate, but the guide interprets my panicky eyes accurately and wanders over to catch Theo and his horse and lead them back to us. We all gratefully dismount. My legs are afire and I have real trouble walking. After a few steps I'm back in action and eager to check out our surroundings. Not Eli. He is crumbled on the ground, already half asleep. Apparently there are side effects to his medicine- extreme sleepiness. He dozes as we explore. And then it is time to load back up on our horses and head back down. It took us two hours to get up here, I am hoping hoping that it is faster on the way down because as soon as I am back on that horse all my little pains flair up. We rouse Eli and he is helped onto his horse. His eyes can barely stay open. And here's why I love that kid to the ends of the earth. When I asked him if he was ok, if he thought he could make it, he kind of woke up a little, assessed the situation, shrugged his shoulders and murmured, "I hope so...." And we were off. Eli was riding behind me but I kept turning around and checking him out. He was dozing and would kind of lean lean lean one way, then shudder awake and reset. Then lean lean lean the other way. Shudder, sit up, and repeat. When our horses would get close I'd ask again, "Are you going to make it?" I never got anything more than that tired, "I hope so...." No complaining, no whining, just quiet perseverance and a general hope for the best. This is truly the attitude he brings to most unpleasant undertakings. A parent really couldn't ask for much more.
We did finally make it down, back to our hotel. I thought my legs were going to crack right off. I had visuals of someone cracking the wishbone of a chicken. Except it was my legs. We all rolled off, gave our guides a big thanks, and limped back into our hotel. Eli immediately went over to the box of Immodium, found the side effects panel and informed me with a tired smile that he was not supposed to operate heavy machinery after taking these drugs. Oops. 
In this picture we are almost back to the hotel.... Eli looks fairly alert and upright. I look like I am done. Theo is leaning a bit to the left. The guide kept trying to fix his saddle to get him upright. I told them that this is also how he rides a bike. His center of balance is just a touch skewed and he goes through life leaning a bit to the left. I always make sure to walk on the right side of him on a sidewalk. If you walk on his left he crowds you right off....
Friday, May 7, 2010
Tall Tales and the Truth Commission
Theo's relationship with the truth is quite fluid. His narratives slide in and out of the river of truth so frequently that it is a wonder he doesn't get dizzy. There doesn't seem to be a motive for his exaggeration- he rarely spins the tale to make himself look better or braver or stronger- it just seems like life as he lives it is not colorful enough so he puts a little extra gloss on everything. Here's an example:
Last weekend we had the lovely Amish brothers and sisters over for a work day in the backyard. My boys were thrilled to introduce their rabbits to the crew of kids, and the kids did seem to like them, but then they were on to bigger and better things. Later, when I asked Theo if the kids liked the rabbits, Theo said, "Oh yea, I brought Harriet up and she asked if she could bring them outside. But then she thought about it and said that we better not because there were predators in the backyard and she wanted to keep the bunnies safe." Oh really? Harriet is two. When she is with her Amish brother-pack she rarely opens her mouth, so busy is she trying to keep track of the whirling mass of fast-moving boys. I hardly think she was giving Theo a treatsie on the predatory habbits of the neighborhood birds. When questioned by Eli, the Truth Commissioner of St. Paul, Theo did back down a little, but couldn't completely give up the story. He was adamant that Harriet was making soaring motions with her arms, clearly indicating through pantomine her fears for the rabbits.
This type of story escalation, then the abrupt and scornful interrogation by the truth commission, then the backpedalling but stubborn refusal to completly back down, is the usual pattern of conversation here these days. Theo is starting to get a little weary of it. Right now his reaction is not to tone down the tales, but to start each one with the disclaimer, "You probably won't believe me, but...." When I hear him so unabashedly tell us his version of the truth, part of me worries a bit about our shared trip through his upcoming adolescence, but the bigger part of me decides to just sit back and see where this ride might take us. He does make it an interesting journey.
For the record, Eli does not look like he will ever tire of his role as the interrogator.
Last weekend we had the lovely Amish brothers and sisters over for a work day in the backyard. My boys were thrilled to introduce their rabbits to the crew of kids, and the kids did seem to like them, but then they were on to bigger and better things. Later, when I asked Theo if the kids liked the rabbits, Theo said, "Oh yea, I brought Harriet up and she asked if she could bring them outside. But then she thought about it and said that we better not because there were predators in the backyard and she wanted to keep the bunnies safe." Oh really? Harriet is two. When she is with her Amish brother-pack she rarely opens her mouth, so busy is she trying to keep track of the whirling mass of fast-moving boys. I hardly think she was giving Theo a treatsie on the predatory habbits of the neighborhood birds. When questioned by Eli, the Truth Commissioner of St. Paul, Theo did back down a little, but couldn't completely give up the story. He was adamant that Harriet was making soaring motions with her arms, clearly indicating through pantomine her fears for the rabbits.
This type of story escalation, then the abrupt and scornful interrogation by the truth commission, then the backpedalling but stubborn refusal to completly back down, is the usual pattern of conversation here these days. Theo is starting to get a little weary of it. Right now his reaction is not to tone down the tales, but to start each one with the disclaimer, "You probably won't believe me, but...." When I hear him so unabashedly tell us his version of the truth, part of me worries a bit about our shared trip through his upcoming adolescence, but the bigger part of me decides to just sit back and see where this ride might take us. He does make it an interesting journey.
For the record, Eli does not look like he will ever tire of his role as the interrogator.
My sweet peacock
Today is Theo's birthday. Last night, under the cover of darkness, Jon went around and tied little streamers to various pieces of Theo's goods. This was no blown out affair, rather kind of a ragtag covert operation. Theo didn't seem to notice the streamers trailing off the back of his breakfast chair, but when Jon sent him up to brush his teeth, he came back downstairs with the brush gripped in a fist, streamer hanging off of it, a sweet cheshire grin on his face. Then he saw his lunchbox, his raincoat, his backback, his sweatshirt. Each discovery brought that flash of white and a devilish glow in his eye. As it was raining out, I assumed that Theo would de-streamer his stuff before he headed out to walk to school, but he was having none of that. He donned all of the pieces proudly and then hurried off down the sidewalk, trying to stay out of the puddles. It was no use, the streamers on his shoes were quickly drenched and bedraggled. No matter. He still loved them. As we approached Expo he saw a friend on the steps and quickly bounded off to greet him, streamers flying behind him.
Two hours later I was walking through the halls of Expo to volunteer in Eli's class. I passed Theo coming out of his math room. All of his outerwear regalia was shut up in his locker, but sure enough, the dirty beat up streamers were still trailing of his shoes, and just this little touch was putting quite the stagger into his stride. There is no doubt that this child of mine enjoys the opportunity to feel special.
Two hours later I was walking through the halls of Expo to volunteer in Eli's class. I passed Theo coming out of his math room. All of his outerwear regalia was shut up in his locker, but sure enough, the dirty beat up streamers were still trailing of his shoes, and just this little touch was putting quite the stagger into his stride. There is no doubt that this child of mine enjoys the opportunity to feel special.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Therapy Jar
10 years ago, when Eli was just an infant, and one long, hard, feverish (me, not him) day, I left him in his crib to bawl while I huddled in the kitchen trying to find solace in a pint of ice cream, I developed this mental image of the therapy jar. It's just a plain old Mason jar. Rather large. Dusty. It sits up on a windowsill in my mind. And everytime I have a parenting mishap I mentally slip my spare change into the therapy jar to save away for the counseling my mothering will surely necessitate. I'm not actually setting aside any cash- just mentally preparing myself for the fact that I am going to have to come up with money for the bills at some point. I like to think that for the most part I make pretty sound parenting decisions and behave myself in an upright and respectable manner. But there are those other times. Dumb old tantrums when the boys push too far. I can get fairly dramatic when needed. One time my tantrum incorporated some thrilling venetian blind theatrics- but as I stormed around I was mentally slipping the coins into the jar- a practice that I like to think keeps even my most rageful moments somewhat grounded. Anyway- just this past week two friends were sharing stories of their own therapy jar incidents that in the retelling made me chuckle hard- partly because in the space between when the incidents happened and the telling of the tales these parents were able to laugh at themselves, but also in relief that other parents whom I deeply respect are making these forays into inperfection as well. The thought of the fabulous shower yelling from one mom and the cries of "I'm blind! You blinded me!" from the dad who had just been beaned in the eye with a webkins give me strength as I slip more coins into the therapy jar due to the mishap in our basement last night.
I took the clippers to Eli's head.
The kid's hair has been in his eyes for weeks, but Jon and I have not been organized enough to get him to a barber. To be fair- Theo's hair is even longer, but that kid's curly mop somehow springs up and out of his eyes so doesn't seem as bothersome. Anyway- last night we were asking the boys if they wanted to head downstairs for an appointment with the clippers- something we have done off and on throughout their lives- or have us make them an appointment to get it trimmed at a salon. Theo instantly chose the trim. He wants the least amount of hair cut off that we will allow. Eli, who doesn't like to be bothered, chose the clippers. The thought of having to drive to a salon and then undergo a shampoo, maybe a head massage, and then a cut and blowdry, he coudn't take it.
As soon as he agreed to the clipper route I hustled him downstairs. And down there, in the dim light, I shaved him nearly bald. Now this is the same cut we have given him off and on for years. And he has never minded. But I didn't factor in that now he is 10. Almost 11. And he kind of cares about what he looks like. Kind of. Enough to be distraught that his mother had shaved him nearly bald at a time when the shaggy long haired look for boys is all that. He didn't yell or scream or have a tantrum. Just looked in the mirror and sagged beneath the weight of the thought of heading off to school the next day with this awful haircut. My heart broke to see him fingering what was left of his locks with pure dismay in his eyes. He growled at me a little. Gave me some dirty looks. I tried for a hug and some reassuring words, but he was having nothing. Shrugged me off. When I asked him what kind of damage I had done on a scale of 1 to 10- 10 being that he was seriously considering murdering me in my sleep, and 1 being that it was horrid, but he could live with it, maybe eventually happily??? he answered with a loud 9. Well, could have been worse.
This morning he woke up smiley, but then while brushing his teeth caught sight of his reflection and sagged again. But this time the sag did come with a little devilish grin playing around the lips as he asked about the possibility of getting some extensions (how does he know about those?) or atleast just gluing some of it back. Maybe he's coming around. Although I did notice that as he walked off down the sidewalk to meet up with the walking line he did pull up his hood. It was not that cold out.
Now as I write this, I realize that this incident is not one that I probably have to chuck money into the therapy jar for Eli. I think this one is about me. Eli's hair will grow- and really- he is not yet that concerned about his appearance. Watching him sag like that- under the weight of something I had done to him- that's where the price on this one comes in. And I'm the one who's paying it. Those clippers might be retired for awhile. And I better dust off a second jar. shoot.
I took the clippers to Eli's head.
The kid's hair has been in his eyes for weeks, but Jon and I have not been organized enough to get him to a barber. To be fair- Theo's hair is even longer, but that kid's curly mop somehow springs up and out of his eyes so doesn't seem as bothersome. Anyway- last night we were asking the boys if they wanted to head downstairs for an appointment with the clippers- something we have done off and on throughout their lives- or have us make them an appointment to get it trimmed at a salon. Theo instantly chose the trim. He wants the least amount of hair cut off that we will allow. Eli, who doesn't like to be bothered, chose the clippers. The thought of having to drive to a salon and then undergo a shampoo, maybe a head massage, and then a cut and blowdry, he coudn't take it.
As soon as he agreed to the clipper route I hustled him downstairs. And down there, in the dim light, I shaved him nearly bald. Now this is the same cut we have given him off and on for years. And he has never minded. But I didn't factor in that now he is 10. Almost 11. And he kind of cares about what he looks like. Kind of. Enough to be distraught that his mother had shaved him nearly bald at a time when the shaggy long haired look for boys is all that. He didn't yell or scream or have a tantrum. Just looked in the mirror and sagged beneath the weight of the thought of heading off to school the next day with this awful haircut. My heart broke to see him fingering what was left of his locks with pure dismay in his eyes. He growled at me a little. Gave me some dirty looks. I tried for a hug and some reassuring words, but he was having nothing. Shrugged me off. When I asked him what kind of damage I had done on a scale of 1 to 10- 10 being that he was seriously considering murdering me in my sleep, and 1 being that it was horrid, but he could live with it, maybe eventually happily??? he answered with a loud 9. Well, could have been worse.
This morning he woke up smiley, but then while brushing his teeth caught sight of his reflection and sagged again. But this time the sag did come with a little devilish grin playing around the lips as he asked about the possibility of getting some extensions (how does he know about those?) or atleast just gluing some of it back. Maybe he's coming around. Although I did notice that as he walked off down the sidewalk to meet up with the walking line he did pull up his hood. It was not that cold out.
Now as I write this, I realize that this incident is not one that I probably have to chuck money into the therapy jar for Eli. I think this one is about me. Eli's hair will grow- and really- he is not yet that concerned about his appearance. Watching him sag like that- under the weight of something I had done to him- that's where the price on this one comes in. And I'm the one who's paying it. Those clippers might be retired for awhile. And I better dust off a second jar. shoot.
Got them
We did it. Adopted two rabbit 'companions'. A few days back we nosed our way down to the seemingly secret location of the society and checked out the rabbits they had up for adoption. In this crowded back room of a building off 494, the boys were ushered into a wire pen and two by two the 'bonded pairs' were brought over to do their stuff and try to impress the potential new owners. Apparently it doesn't take much to impress old Eli and Theo. They latched on to a pair who appeared the most curious and hopefully the least skittish. I have to admit that I was thrilled to learn that this particular pair was 5 years old! Already middle aged! This would mean that Jon and I would not have to parent the rabbits for years as our boys were off at college as a rabbit has a life expectancy of around 10 years. So we went through the paperwork, purchased a garbage bag full of hay and a bag of grain pellets, watched the new rabbits get groomed and nail-clipped, and then we were off, on our own with two new souls under our care.
And now, over a week into this new world of rabbit owning, I have to say I am quite pleased. I like old Penny and Gunnar quite a bit actually. They are litter box trained, don't make any noise, relatively odor-free, and really entertain me with their crazy evening antics when we let them out of their 'condo'. We were a little worried about so-called bunny proofing, but it turns out that these two hate hard wood floors, so when we let them out they are nicely confined to area rugs and the carpeted upstairs hallway. They also have terrible depth-perception. This means that although the downstairs clearly beckons to their curious little hearts, they can not bring themselves to hop off the top landing. They get to the very edge and spend quite a bit of time leaning forward, sniffing and dreaming and scheming, but as yet, no action. They absolutely tear up and down the hallway, leaping across a hardwood chasm onto the office rug, then back out and over a similar chasm into the boys room, around and around at full speed letting loose with crazy airborne spins and twists- I honestly could, and have, watched this activity for hours.
So who knew? I realize that this could still be the honeymoon, and we hear stories of mean old rabbits out there, but as for now, Penny and Gunnar have wormed their way into my heart.
And now, over a week into this new world of rabbit owning, I have to say I am quite pleased. I like old Penny and Gunnar quite a bit actually. They are litter box trained, don't make any noise, relatively odor-free, and really entertain me with their crazy evening antics when we let them out of their 'condo'. We were a little worried about so-called bunny proofing, but it turns out that these two hate hard wood floors, so when we let them out they are nicely confined to area rugs and the carpeted upstairs hallway. They also have terrible depth-perception. This means that although the downstairs clearly beckons to their curious little hearts, they can not bring themselves to hop off the top landing. They get to the very edge and spend quite a bit of time leaning forward, sniffing and dreaming and scheming, but as yet, no action. They absolutely tear up and down the hallway, leaping across a hardwood chasm onto the office rug, then back out and over a similar chasm into the boys room, around and around at full speed letting loose with crazy airborne spins and twists- I honestly could, and have, watched this activity for hours.
So who knew? I realize that this could still be the honeymoon, and we hear stories of mean old rabbits out there, but as for now, Penny and Gunnar have wormed their way into my heart.
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