Bike Vistas

With last weekends snow and ice, my biking season has come to a close.  I don't risk it.  Jon has very nicely set my bike up on his trainer in the basement, so that I can continue to use biking as a workout without trudging off to the Y.  And it has been nice and convenient.  But about 20 minutes into my morning ride today I looked up and was struck by my vista.  Or lack of one.  My head's up in the rafters, surrounded by rusty pipes and dusty cobwebs, two feet in front of me hangs yesterday's laundry I have been meaning to collect, and my ipod rests precariously on a shelf full of stuff that really needs to go to goodwill.  Not soul expanding surroundings, to be sure.  Luckily this is just for the shoulder season, when the roads are icy and the wind is chill, but there's not enough snow to get out into the woods on skies.  I can't wait to be released from the basement and out into the woods where the vistas, even if only of the local golf course, help my workout refresh my soul as well as my body.

Bike musings

Our Minnesota fall was an excellent one for bike commuting.  The weather was perfect- the only problem was the darkness that encrouched on both ends of my ride by mid-October.  Luckily my trusty old Dutch commuter bike comes with a generator, so I always have a headlight- no worries about leaving anything on and batteries dying during the day.  The problem with the generator is that it makes peddaling even harder.  And it comes with a soundtrack of this busy buzzing noise.  If I'm on the flats or going downhill, the buzzing is highpitched, fast and furious.  It makes me feel like I am really whizzing through the night.  But any uphill segment of my commute comes with a corresponding slowing of the buzz and a dimming of the light.  At one point in my trudge up Pelham I come to near silence, as well as only the dimmest shadow of a light.  It is quite discouraging.  It is an all too honest indicator of my effort level.  I've found myself amused to think about how we would react if our entire lives had such a buzzing in the background.  Anytime things are going well, are easy, we had this whizzing sound in the back of our heads.  But as things slowed down, got bogged, were difficult, the whizzing got lower and slower, a visceral signal of our increased effort.  I don't know if it would change how we lived our lives.  I do know, however, that about 3/4 of the way up the Pelham hill, when my generator is nearly strangling, hardly making a peep or giving off a flicker of light, I do regroup and double my efforts.  It usually means standing up on my pedals and really kicking it into gear.  But by the time I reach the top, the buzz is geared right up and my way is once again brightly illuminated. 

I owe the therapy jar some loose change

This past weekend I kept walking around piles of the boys cast-off toys and books.  Everytime I had to make my way around one of the piles I would urge the kids to pick them up.  After about my forty-first detour around the small toys on the living room floor I snapped.  I gave the boys (who were happily reading by the new fireplace) one more chance to get up and pick them up.  Getting no response, I created one of my own.  In dramatic glory, I scooped up all the toys I could fit into my arms, declared loudly that they were headed for the trash, and then stomped up the stairs.  I admit that I couldn't bring myself to throw them into the gross trash can under the sink that has all manner of foodscraps in it, and instead went to Eli's nearly empty bin in his room.  But throw them I did.  The boys, finally roused from their reading stupor by my glorious tantrum, rushed up behind me and stood in the doorway, aghast at my actions.  I informed them that they could, should they desire, rescue anything they wanted from the trashcan, but from this point forward any toys left unclaimed on floors or tables or radiators could be found filed away in the trash. 

The whole time I was having this tantrum, a part of me was detached and watching from above.  This mini-me was amazed, impressed, and only a little embarassed.   I watched myself dust off my hands, and prance off to the privacy of my own room.  I will let you know that I took great pleasure from the sounds of the boys hastily shoving toys into drawers as I hid in my room, waiting for my cool to return. Jon then sidled by and sweetly asked me to cough up some loose change for the therapy jar. He may have a point.

Game-changer

After 9 years of talking, we have pulled the trigger and inserted a gas fireplace into our mantle.  And after one week the jury is in.  We love it.  Love it.  Theo has become a serial reader for the first time in his life.  This past weekend he woke up at 7:30, and without coming into our room for a snuggle we heard him head downstairs, flick on the fire, and settle in for a read.  Five hours later we had to beg him to stop so he could eat something.  Five hours later!  Theo's past record for a reading session is about 30 minutes.  He's never been romanced by it like Eli and I, who can spend whole weekends inside a book (or five, in Eli's case- that kid plows through books quickly). 

The fireplace has transformed our use of our living room.  The room we used to use as just a sort of glorified hallway between the dining room/kitchen and upstairs as become our hangout.  It's so comfy that we couldn't bring ourselves to go downstairs to the unheated, unfinished basement to watch movies anymore.  So, for the first time in over 18 years, Jon and I have moved our TV up and into our main living space.  Yes, we now have a TV in the living room.  And we love it.  We still use it for mostly movie watching, but despite being the only family in North America without cable, we've fallen in love with a weekly sitcom- Modern Family.  We all greatly anticipate Wednesday evening post supper when we flick on the fire, settle in for a bit of a read, and then get the old TV set warmed up in time to watch a half hour of commercial TV. 

All in all, I think the biggest bonus of the new fireplace is that my hands and toes won't be freezing all winter.  But add to that an avidly reading Theo and some good cheap family entertainment, we are kicking ourselves for not having inserted this wonderful piece of technology earlier in our lives! 

Theo finds his life's calling

A few years back we brought old Theo to the OT for an evaluation.  We had self-diagnosed some sensory-seeking behavior and thought that for the sake of any future partner of Theo, we should find some ways for him to self-medicate.  Either that or he is going to figuratively, and possible literally, suffocate someone.  He likes to be in contact with others.  Those others can be rabbits, or parents, or a relunctant brother, or the ground, or a hammock, or a leaf pile.  What would send me into the outer orbits of sensory overload seems to not faze Theo in the least.

His brother seems to have staked out ground at the other end of this particular spectrum.  This becomes most clear when you take the two of them to a beach.  Eli emerges from the car fully encased in shoes and socks.  He tiptoes down to the water's edge then tries to balance on a towel, or a magazine, or any other availbable piece of non-sand real estate as he carefully removes his footware and then leaps into the water, thus neatly avoiding any unwanted sand contact.  Then there is Theo.  He rolls out of the car barefoot and strides across the beach until gravity gets the best of him and he can take the temptation no more. He lays down, rolls, gets sand into every crevice, rubs it on his arms, and smiles wide.  If he goes in the water, it's only to get wet and then restart the rolling game, this time with sand that will stick.

Anyway- after 7 or so years of observing Theo and his sensory-seeking ways, we got him evaluated.  He came out just about where we suspected, but apparently not far enough down the conintuum to warrant therapy with a professional.  We were sent on our way with a regime of home-care technigues.  Which we faithfully undertook, For at least two weeks. Then Theo seemed a bit better and our lives got real busy.  Nothing else was said about the matter until last spring.  School started to produce some serious anxiety in the kid.  His handwriting was getting to the point where even he could not read it.  And he felt out of sorts.  He started asking for a return to the OT.  And Jon and I agreed that it was a good idea.  Only our follow through was lacking.  It is a difficult system to negotiate, what with referrals and networks and waitlists.  But Theo was persistent and just after the start of the school year we returned to a different office for a fresh eval. 

This time, the sensory stuff was even closer to normal, but other interesting things turned up.  The OT identified a pretty severe lack of balance, a weak core, limited cross-body coordination.  Add to this some kind of vision issue that involves an inability to focus over a center line, and my spirit gets bogged right down.  All of these things seem to be related to his history of 20 ear infections in the first 20 years of his life.  Not sure if it's about the scarred, damaged, inner ear, or the steady diet of antibiotics throughout his infancy.  In any case, the OT was amazed at Theo's coping techniques.  Seems as if he has created a whole system to deal with his deficiencies- so much so that he functions very well.  Only it comes at great effort to the kid.  It broke my heart when the OT suggested that Theo's energy output needed to carry out functions such as handwriting was about 180% that of another kid.  And to think of all the times we've told him to try harder.  Now that the OT has pointed it out, if you watch the guy while he's at some task, the effort is wholly obvious in the mouth movements, the tongue, the twisting body, tapping feet, near whole body contortions.  And this is just the effort he puts into something such as using a fork.  This evaluator recommended an immedaite diet of one hour of OT a week, and Theo whole heartedly agreed to give it his best effort.  On the way home from that first appointment Theo buckled himself into the backseat with a happy sigh.  He said, "Thanks Mom for taking me.  It feels really good to be getting some help with this."  His relief was palpable. And the changes that have come with only 4 sessions at the OT are fairly outrageous. 

I always bring a book to the sessions, thinking I will read.  Instead I watch in awe as the OT puts Theo through his paces, always anticipating his reaction to a certain task and then helping him readjust.  One hour wears the kid out, but the therapist says she's not only working his muscles, but rewiring his brain, and it is an exhausting process.  I think it seems a bit like voodoo, but as long as it keeps working, we will keep taking this medicine. 

Theo is thriving.  And after the last session I got this in the car on the way home: "You know Mom, I think I have FINALLY figured out what I want to do with my life.  I'm going to be an OT".  I like that at 9 he has finally figured out his life's path.  To think of all that time wasted in elementary school, flirting with different professions.  It's about high time he settles down and gets serious about his future!

Coffee break

Eli participates in a book group at school with a retired man who loves to challenge the kids.  In fifth grade they did things like read Macbeth, carry on a debate about controversial topics such as uses of welfare money, and literary analyses complete with cited sources.  When a big project is due, David, the leader, brings in treats, and coffee.  Last year Eli took a taste or two and called it good.  This year things changed and earlier this year he downed two full cups, one of them black.  This on almost an empty stomach due to his inability to consume any of his lunch during the mad dash that is their lunch break.  When I stopped by to help out in his math class the kid was positively alight and buzzing with energy.  He was clicking the mouse on his computer to make a calculator appear/disappear/appear/disappear and looking at me with wild eyes as he explained about his coffee consumption. 

That evening he seemed ok, but going to sleep proved to be a problem.  He came down to the couch at 10 saying he couldn't sleep.  At 11 he found me in bed to report the same problem.  He allowed me to doze from 11 to 1, but stopped in frequently to report on his sleeplessness.  I thought that it might not be the best time to have a discussion about logical consequences- but I was getting frustrated that I was paying the consequences along with the caffienated child.  We finally both managed to get a few hours rest, but in the morning, as I rather vindicatively shook him awake before the sun rose I asked, "Well, did you learn anything from that?"  He looked a little sheepish but didn't have much to say.

Later that day, as I battled fatigue due to Eli's hyper night, I decided to send of an email to his teacher, letting her know about the coffee incident.  I told her I didn't think that it had to stop, necessarily, but I begged her to ask David to have a talk to the kids about reasonable limits and setting some for themselves.  She replied that she would talk to David at the first opportunity.  I urged her to help David find a way to continue the fun tradition, but with limits.  I felt like I was talking behind Eli's back, so I let him in on the email convo, trying to shine a pre-emptive light on how reasonable I had been in my request.

Well.  Last night on the way home from fencing, Theo ZB mentioned that his group had met with David to turn in their papers and that there was no coffee!  No treats!  Theo and the rest of the group were devastated.  Eli got real quiet.  Then mentioned something about me and my meddling ways.  Then the conversation went on to different things and Eli was a very loving pre-teen last night.  Gave me hugs, told me he loved me, asked for a snuggle.

He woke up a teenager.  It started with asking for advice about if he should take a shower or not. And then loudly decrying the inadequacies of my advice giving.  At breakfast he was surly and quiet.  When I inquired into the issue at hand I was told that I had 'ruined everything' by getting involved in the coffee thing.  Now all the kids will be mad and it's all my fault.  I tried to defend myself, pointing out that I had not called for an all out ban, just limits, and that it was quite possible that other parents had mentioned something as well.  I might as well have been talking to an iceberg.  That would have at least shown a sign or two of melting, given the global warming situation.  Eli remained frigid.  Angry.  Sad.  Tore me apart, actually.  I admit I meddled.  But I also want to point out that the book club leader was not showing good judgement, letting kids who weigh less than 80 pounds consume bottomless cups of coffee.  That doesn't soften old Eli however.

I emailed Jon to give him an overview of the situation on the homefront.  He pointed out that Eli had been so extra sweet and loving last night, there had to be some readjustment.  Wise man.  Hopefully the pendulum has swung back closer to the middle of the road by the time he gets home from school here.  I have learned a lesson.  Next time I meddle, I will not tell Eli that I did so.

Marketing voodoo

First of all, on this, the day after Halloween, I want to put it on the record that I am on to the shrinking of the 'fun size' candy bar.  And it ain't funny.

Also.  Today I bought one of those yoga balls for Theo to use at school (long story).  I decided to get one that advertised 'weighted stabilizing technology'.  I thought this might prevent it from rolling around his classroom.  And I do think it was the right purchase.  But that 'weighted stabilizing technology' I paid extra for?  Sand.  Sand.  It did make me chuckle.  Eli, in his pneumonia-induced weakened state could not even crack a smile at this hijacking of language to make a sale.  Makes me realize the kid is still sick.

Eli just read this and said, "Let's break it down Mom.  Weighted.  Does sand have mass?  Yes!  Therefore it is weighted.  Stabilizing.  Does the sand stabilize it?  Yes!  Technology.  Technology is something that solves a problem.  Is the ball rolling around the classroom a problem?  Yes!  Does the sand solve it? Yes!  Is the sand therefore technology?  Yes!  I don't see what your problem is Mom."  Me neither.  Me neither.

Orcas ahead!

 This fall has been beyond spectacular.  It's Novemeber 1 and my bike commute to work has not been uncomfortable even once.  We've had a string of 60's and sunny with leaves hanging on to the trees in brilliant shades of red and yellow.  It seems that November usually comes in dark, with bare trees, cold winds and dreary rain.  I know that scenario is not too far down the road, so it's time to get a few last memories from summer out of the brain and into this blog before I start to seriously hibernate.

In July, Jon and I sent our boys to summer camp and then headed to Seattle for a child-free vacation with our friends from San Diego.  We dropped the kids off on a Sunday that was so muggy and still I began sweating before even getting out of bed, and by the time we had lugged the boys' bags from house to car and from car to cabin, we were drenched and grumpy.  We drove home with the air on, showered and then carefully made our way to the airport trying to stay as sweat-free as possible.  Once we landed in Seattle, it was glorious sweatshirt weather.  The whole trip was a hootenany, exploring the San Juan Islands, Victoria, Mount Baker, and Vancouver.  A highlight (beyond the hearty chuckles with Kerri and Jeff) was our kayak trip with the Orcas.  We signed up with an outfitter and were immediately informed that there was NO GUARANTEE of Orca sitings.  They would do what they could, but the Orcas did not show on demand.  Our guide was a gruff outdoorsman who thought he has me sized up within 10 minutes of his introduction.  I admit, I got ahead of him on the demo and proved myself to be both brash and incompetent, which caused him to mutter, "Teachers, they are the hardest students", a sentiment with which I heartily agree.  But once we got out on the water, old Jonners warmed him up with lots of questions and before long we had him in our pocket, laughing along with us, not at us.  Ok me.  Not at me. 

And the Orcas!  I think we were on the water for about 5 minutes before we heard the sound of whales exhaling through their blowholes.  Exhaling through their blowholes, and we were hearing it, close by!  The guide gathered us into a kelp bed near shore and we were delighted to see a whole pod of 20-30 Orcas slip by the bows of our kayaks.  It was unnerving and beautiful and majestic.  The sounds of the slaps of tail fins and heavy exhalations coupled with the graceful curving backs sliding in and out of the water kept us spellbound for 30 minutes.  Once the pod swam off into the distance we started paddling again, but it was only minutes before a second group came by.  We retreated to another kelp bed for our second parade.  Once it passed, we paddled further down shore.  Soon we heard another hearty exhale and our guide muttering, "You have GOT to be kidding!"  He was getting frustrated by too many Orca sitings!  He had places to take us, but protocol called for us to huddle up in some kelp whenver whales happened by, and they just kept happening.  We assured him that we were fine sitting and watching.  Really.  Eventually he got us to a lighthouse, and in near shore to spot starfish and other sea creatures.  At one point a seal popped up just feet from the kayaks and stared us all down with an incredible set of eyes.  I took one look into those brown windows to the soul and knew something I had always suspected.  There is life out there as smart as we dumb old humans.  And they know it, too.

We made it back to shore with only one more kelp detour to wait out a fourth Orca pod.  All of us, including our once skeptical guide, declared the outing a raging success.  I would totally go back for more, with my boys- I think they would love it.

The rest of the trip was just as delightful as our Orca paddle.  We did much walking around cute little towns, stopping into bars for refreshments and Tour Du France viewings.  Jon and Jeff got in a few epic bike rides (in their words) while Kerri and I laughed our way through 20 years of memories.  It is great to have such great travel partner-friends.  The only problem we seem to have is choosing our next adventure.  Biking in Italy?  Back to Costa Rica?  What about touring around Ireland?  Whatever the decision, I know I can look forward to mellow days of laughter and games, coupled with a few exciting adventures off the beaten track- a great combination, especially when shared with excellent friends.

Alex P. Keaton

Today Theo headed toward Fargo with his grandparents for a Martinson family history tour.  Jon has asked his parents to (indoctrinate) introduce his sons to this place where he spent is formative years.  A few years back they took Eli. Theo has the added bonus of going at a time when his fabulous cousin Jordan is a freshman at Concordia, across the river from Fargo.  Theo has been looking forward to this trip for some time.  Most of the excitement seems to be about the opportunity to watch a movie in the minivan during the four hour drive, but he is of course thrilled to be spending time with his grandparents and to be the first Sage-Martinson to visit his cousin at college.

This morning he woke up, took a shower (without prodding) then came downstairs dressed in khaki's, a button-down shirt, tie, and sports coat.  Seriously. Gave me a shy smile and said, "Well, we are going out to eat with Jordan tonight."  At a pizza place.  This is the kid who normally wears sweatpants that are all twisted around and sideways.  Drives me nuts.  Here he was all fancified.  For a four hour van ride, then dinner at a pizzeria with his sweet cousin.  She has promised a campus tour, and Theo has already declared his intent to become a cobber, so I think he's hoping to cut quite an image on campus.  Get people excited about the incoming class of 2024.  2024.  sheesh. 

Babysitting

Yesterday Eli made it through a seven hour RedCross babysitting course.  He came home with a rough draft of a resume, a small clutch of first aid supplies, a guidebook, a dvd, and a quiet new confidence.  He was eager to try out his new skills and luckily it is MEA right now so there are plenty of kids around looking for some sitting.  I signed him up to take care of two six year olds while I worked out with their moms.  I even convinced him to do it for free as part of his 'resume building' experience.  The first thing he asked me this morning upon waking was, "Mom- ok.  When someone cuts themselves it says to apply pressure, then cleanse, then bandage.  But what if the wound is gushing?  Do you still try to cleanse???"  Whatever I answered caused a big groan and was clearly incorrect.  I was not aware it was a quiz. 

As we were getting ready to head to the car I noticed Eli clutching his little baggy of first aid goods, and Theo, who was coming along as a helper, had the RedCross guidebook.  Best to be prepared.  I asked Eli if he wanted a bag to put his gear in, but he thought he was fine. 

On the drive over Theo quickly looked up some 'age-appropriate' activites and then Eli asked for the book in order to get the right answer to his gushing blood questions.  Suddenly he groaned even louder than before and read, "If you see muscle or bone..."  I don't know what you are supposed to do then because I yelled, "That's when you run!  Run away!  Screaming!"  drowning out Eli's more measured response to this (unlikely) scenario.

We pulled up and Eli got out.  He stood looking up at the house, then down to his handful of first aid goods.  He looked over at me sheepishly and said, "Ok, right about now I'm kind of wishing I had put these things in a bag.  Little embarrassing."  But then he sashayed off to the door, goods in hand. 

Everything seemed to go fine.  They played some hide and seek and Eli reportedly spent 20 minutes in Laura's closet.  She was aghast.  He said he kind of borrowed in and thought he was sitting on top of her "seat-saving past"...which means that he was sitting on a pile of fancy ball gowns that Laura has worn to the Emmys and Grammys and such when she has volunteered to be seat-saver to the big names.  Only Laura.

On the way home Eli told me that Theo had been suggesting 'age-appropriate activities' throughout the morning.  At one point he heard Theo ask if the girls wanted to 'create a play using house-hold items'.  Right from the book, baby, that's how my boys play it.

We are eagerly awaiting word if Pete and Jay will allow Eli to babysit their 4 year old.  They are nervous about this, but I think Eli's ready.

We've made the jump to light speed

The question is, can we sustain it without too much damage to the ship?  These past two weeks have been wild, getting back to work, back to fencing, back to meetings, back to school.  And school starts 40 minutes earlier.  That doesn't seem like too much on paper, but at 7am, it makes a difference.  I shouldn't complain because school still doesn't start until 8:30 and my boys don't have to get out the door til 8, but mornings are hard for one of my guys. 

It's fairly stunning how quickly we go from the lazy days of summer where the boys and I had very little we HAD to do to this madcap pace of fall. We kept busy this summer and went on a serious number of adventures, but they were on our own terms for the most part.  Now it feels like we are roaring down a treadmill set a notch too quickly but we can't take our hands off the railings long enough to turn the damn thing down.  We're holding on for dear life.  And we don't even really do sports on any type of serious level.  The kids go to the fencing club when it works.  We try to make it work twice a week so that it seems 'affordable', but we don't have to.  I don't know how people function who have more kids doing more things. 

Anyway- over the course of these last two weeks I kept seeing Luke and Han Solo bouncing around in their dumb old ricketly airship (i don't know what it's called and my boys will kill me for that) as they are trying to 'make the jump to light speed'.  For a while there you don't know if the whole thing is going to crack up, but then they blast through and all is calm.  They are cruising at light speed.  This morning it finally felt like we have the systems in place to keep this machine running at this speed.  I'm sure we will run in to an asteriod belt here soon and have to make some adjustments, but for right now we seem to be through the transition.
The question is, how long can you cruise at light speed before you burn through all of you fuel?

More Dunordian memories

We've been heading north in late July or early August for 9 straight years now.  Since Theo was a trippy little toddler who spent the week getting up from falling over the roots and rocks.  He's a bit more sure-footed now- and really, that's the magic of DuNord- you get to watch your kids stretch and grow and gain confidence.  It's the same type of stuff that happens at any summer camp, but at DuNord the parents get to watch it happen.  And surely, given the fact that the parents are there means that growth might not happen in such leaps and bounds as it would at Widji or Menogyn, but it seems as if there's time for that down the road. 
Here are some favorite memories of the 2011 trip to our favorite 'cabin tent':

One day late in the week several of the boys in the crew went down to the boat dock to fish while the parents were enjoying a happy hour around a campsite.  At some point Haakon made a quick appearance to ask/tell that they were going to take out kayaks.  A couple parent representatives took their time getting down to the lakeside to serve as kayak porters and general lifeguards.  Turns out that the boys didn't wait for us, but somehow managed to muscle down enough boats for all of them  to be on the lake together.  I love that they did not leave anyone behind, but must have worked together to get everyone ready to launch.  And although they were technically breaking a rule by being on the water sans parent- they were looking out for each other and staying close to shore.  We sat by the shore and soaked up the late afternoon sun while our boys scooted around, yelling out fish and frog sightings, and delighting in their new independence.

At the s'more singalong it got a bit brisk right there by the lake.  So I zipped Lars into my sweatshirt and we proceeded to get a serious case of the giggles.  Not only do I love laughing with Lars, but I adore the fact that all the kids are parented by a village for the week.  We have 9 kids down at the cabin tents, and we function as an extended family with kids weaving in and out of the days interacting with a great crew of fabulous adults who love and cherish each and every one of them.  One of my greatest joys is watching Eli get his sass going with Amy and Wally.  He sasses respectfully, of course, and gamely takes anything they dish out as well.

I think every summer should include at least a couple evenings spent in exactly this fashion.  Peering into the water off the end of a sturdy dock with some of your best friends.

While I have never done the polar bear swim, I like that my boys think it is the perfect way to start a day.  They come back to the tent all chilled and clean and refreshed and ready for the day.  And a cup of hot cocoa, of course.

Pete, Jay, and Max started coming up to DuNord last year.  This summer they celebrated their 10th anniversary while there.  My mom and dad made brownies and the 27 of us on our crew gathered after lunch out on the porch of the lodge to toast them.  Great addition to an already great week.

Dunord, with the lake and the trees and the blueberries and the saunas and the sunshine, is truly a little bit of paradise.  But what takes it over the top is the people.  Not only our fabulous ghetto-dwelling cabin tenters, but the others we meet while we are there.

Kid Sauna!

Every summer when we go to DuNord we stay over on the 'other side of the tracks'.  The 'cabin tents' at PinePointe are always the last to get rented.  They are kind of their own little village that sometimes smells a little too strongly of the nearby outhouse, and sometimes get a little swampy after a hard rain.  But they are the only place we have ever stayed.  And we love them.  One of the reasons is that it is a little village- every tent with their own private space and fire ring, but a definite community feel as well.  We stay with 3 other families and the kids run as a pack- visiting fire rings, looking for things to burn in the woods, tumbling off together to fish at the nearby dock or take out a kayak or play at the little 'park'.  And we adults have monopolized and fully appreciated the quiet little barrel sauna that the rest of DuNord forsakes in favor of the authentic wood-burning Finnish sauna.  They can have it- we love our barrel.  Mostly we love it for the convenience and availability, but love it we do.  Every night ends with the parents taking a trip to the sauna and then a dip in the lake.  Every now and then over the years we've been able to entice the kids inside to try to sweat off some of the dirt and grime they've accumulated through hard playing in the woods- but its always taken a bit of convincing.  This year was different.  They declared Kid Saunas several times over the course of the week.  I think the pictures below sum up how they felt about it....


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Heading to the lake

I love Eli's face in this one....

Nature's bugspray

Every summer as we head to DuNord I do some serious wondering/fretting about bug levels.  DuNord is a little piece of paradise for sure, but sometimes the bugs don't allow me to realize that.  The thing is- they come and they go.  A week may start out with the flies nearly driving me out of my mind, and just when I'm ready to throw everything in the car and get out, they disappear.  Other weeks start out relatively bug free only to spring a mid-week hatch of black flies on us.  I've never been able to put my finger on conditions or events that trigger either the birth or death of the fly population.  I guess it's always been enough to know that things can change dramatically at anytime- which is more soothing knowledge when the flies are bad than when they are not around.

2011 was one of our best bug weeks yet.  Almost no mosquitoes or flies for the most of the week.  This was a huge surprise, given the wet conditions of this summer.  But there was something about Thursday of that week that brought out the flies.  It started with a nip or two on the ankles at breakfast.  By mid-afternoon we were at the beach with towels over our legs to ward off the onslaught.  So I geared up in my full bug avoidance regalia for the evening auction out by the lake. 

As we settled onto the benches for the event I noticed that there were quite a few dragonflies buzzing around.  As the evening progressed, the dragonflies increased in number.  And these weren't your dainty little damselflies.  We're talking the big mamas that conjure images of prehistoric bugs, or aliens.  They were dipping, looping, sailing all around us.  And as the dragonflies increased the flies decreased.  It was nature's bug spray, dancing all around us.  More beautiful and less toxic than the type that comes in a bottle.  I thought a perfect auction item out there at camp would be for someone to capture and train up a boxful of these critters- auction it as a person fly protection system.  Wouldn't I love to open the box at my feet as I cooked dinner.  Standing there sizzling up my peppers for taco night while dragonflies buzzed all around taking care of the pests.  And then once they eat their fill they land back in the box for a nap, until I need them again.  Man, I'd pay big bucks for that. 

Travel stories from yesteryear

Recently my cousin Jodi asked me to refresh her memory of the old 'rest stop story'.  I think she wants to use it to let her kids know that their parents haven't ever really goofed up- I mean, they never left them at a rest stop.  So I searched through this here blog, sure I had already aired this laundry, but alas, I could not find it. 

Sorry Mom and Dad- here's the tale of how you left me at a rest stop.  Twice.  I may not be totally accurate on the dates/places.  Many years have passed since these things have happened, and I've mostly moved on and left them behind.   Mostly.

We were coming home from some long car trip.  But we didn't just take car trips, we took van trips.  And our van was one of kind:  orange, with racing stripes outside and carpeting on the walls inside.  My dad had kitted it out himself so the back had one bench seat right behind the driver, then the rest of the back was taken up by a queen sized bed with a lovely velour bedspread.  This was the 70's.  The bed rested on this plywood stand under which we stuffed all of our luggage.  Or ourselves when we were playing hide and seek or looking for where my parents had hidden the christmas presents- but that was only when the van was in the garage- we never traveled under the bed.  So we're in this van travelling east from some ramble out in the mountains.  We stopped at a reststop.  I know now that it was near St. Cloud, but back then, when I was just a wee elementary student (maybe 9?) I had no idea where we where, or how far from home.  We stopped.  Rodg and my brothers go out to pee.  My mom and I were laying down in back- she was sick and I was trying to pass the time.  I said I didn't have to go.  My mom kept sleeping.  Then, when the guys were all gone, I thought I had better get out and go, because Rodger did not take kindly to a kid asking to pull over and I knew I'd have to hold it for several hours if I didn't take advantage of this stop.  I jumped out.  My mom kept sleeping.  I ran into the reststop and into the women's bathroom. 

When I came out I headed toward the van.  Or where it used to be.  Gone.  My first thought was, "Well, it is a big van, maybe someone made my dad park it in the truck parking..." but a quick look in that direction revealed no orange vans.  So I walked down toward the highway, thinking, "it's big and bright, maybe I can still see it and can wave it down".  Nope.  Nothing orange in view on the highway.  At this point I was getting a little nervous.  I started looking around on the ground for a dime to use the pay phone.  To call someone.  Not sure who.  Don't even know if this was pre-911 or not.  But I couldn't find a dime and started getting a little teary.  It was along this time that an elderly couple noticed the lone little girl and approached me.  I told them that my parents left me and they asked if I gave them lots of trouble.  I said, "No, but my brothers do."   They must have talked amongst themselves and somehow contacted the police.  A short while later a cruiser pulled up, sirens on, wheels spinning a bit on the dramatic pull in.  This must have been a big moment of excitement in a troopers otherwise boring day. 

Right away he asked me for the basics: name, age, phone number, home town.  And this is where I really started crying.  I wasn't sure of my hometown!  I knew I lived at 210 Heritage Lane, and I could have sworn it was in New Brighton, but as we travelled with my parents and people asked where we were from, they always answered "The Twin Cities".  So I was imagining this trooper having to drive all around both the Twin Cities (whatever they were) and New Brighton, looking for my little green house at 210 Heritage Lane.  The officer didn't enlighten me that it was probably New Brighton, nor where in the heck we were.  I didn't even know if we were back in Minnesota.  He plopped me into the back seat (the back seat!  Behind the bars!) turned his lights and sirens on and we took off onto the freeway. 

As he was speeding towards the cities, he asked some questions (do you fight a lot with your parents?  No, but my brothers do...) and gleaned the important piece of info that the van was equipped with a CB.  Yep.  It was the 70's.  No cell phones.  But CB's.  He asked what channel they listened to and I told him that I remembered hearing "Breaker 1-9" with some regularity. 

Meanwhile, back in the van:  Jean's sleeping.  Rodg is driving.  Pete and Dave are minding their own business.  Until Pete decides to try to get me in trouble for sitting in the front seat (these were tall backed seats that went up above our heads...) without a seat belt on.  The conversation went something like this:

Pete:  Gret, put your seat belt on!
Rodg:  Gret's not up here.
Pete:  Huh.  
He then starts looking around- under the bed, and under the covers on the bed.  My mom wakes up.
Jean:  Pete, what are you looking for?
Pete:  Gret.
Jean:  WHAT????

Lots of crazy screaming action.  I think.  I wasn't there.  I was in a cop car.  Eventually they get on the CB and ask if anyone has heard anything about a lost girl.  Some truckers indeed are chuckling away over the girl (me!) who was left at the rest stop and they hook my parents up with the trooper who has me.  By this time the van has turned around and is travelling back towards the rest stop.  The cop tells them to pull over and wait for us.  Soon enough (30 miles from the rest stop???) we (the cop and I) see the big orange van on the side of the highway.  He gets a little thrill by cruising through the center median and kind of spinning to a stop behind the van.  He asks me to stay put while he asks my parents a few questions.  Apparently he believes their story about an accidental misplacement and doesn't get too concerned about the brothers fighting thing I mentioned.  He returns me to their custody with a stern warning to keep a better watch on their kids.

And they do.  For a few years.  Until one time while we were heading north for an epic bike ride in the canadian rockies with a second van full of cousins.  I was WASHING THE WINDOWS of our van when my mom walked past me, got into the front seat, and drove away.  Leaving me holding the window washer squeegie thing in the air.  Wondering.  Was this a new way to wash these big-ass windows?  She'd pull forward, I'd stand still with the squeegie then she'd kick it in reverse and come back.  Back and forth back and forth and the window is done.  But no.  She didn't kick it into reverse, didn't come back. Kept driving. 

I acted quickly this time.  I dumped my squeegie and jumped in the cousin van.  They were concerned....did they want me to catch up to my family?  Alert them that I was in their van?  No.  I did not.  I was done with traveling with them and would be riding with my cousins for the rest of the trip.

After that, they did indeed keep me closer and never lost me again.  I don't think I am too scarred from the experiences.  There were several years where I did not get out of a car without making sure I was in possession of the keys, but beyond that, I was able to move on.  Forgive them even. Now that I have my own kids, I do see how it all could happen.  Although it hasn't.  I'd like to get that on the record.

Haircuts

I think I wrote in the past about the last time I tried to give Eli a haircut.  We used to shave up both boys down in the basement on a regular basis.  Then Theo started growing his hair out (to 'create his own look' as he told his doctor) and Eli would really rather just not be bothered.  But I did manage to con Eli down there a while back with the promise that it would be over more quickly than going to an actual salon.  The results were painful.  For everyone.  Eli didn't say much, but then he rarely does.  But I heard wimpers through the bathroom door as I lurked out in hall while he looked in a mirror.  Wimpers, then groans.  Then the door opened and he gave me a real look of despair.  It really wasn't that bad, but the reaction, plus my own critical eye, convinced me to hang up the clippers. 

But then Eli's head got all shaggy again and we needed to do something.  He did not want to go to Moxie, where Jon and I go.  Too much fussing with the shampoo and the option for a hot facial towel (for the record, Theo always accepts it, Eli denies).  Then, the day we are trying to negotiate some way to get the locks shorn the postal worker delivers us a big card about a new sports barber down the street.  Free cuts the first time you come in!  Yea!  Problem solved!  Except when the plan is launched I get this from Eli, "I am NOT, I repeat NOT, going to any SPORTS barber!"  Why not?  "I do NOT want some Joe Mauer cut!"  (here I didn't even think he knew who Joe Mauer was, but apparently he does, and he hates his hair cut....).  Hmmm.  I threw out a couple more options, and we even took a little walk to look in the windows of several of the salons out on Snelling, just blocks from our house.  Eli would look into each one and shake his head.  He eventually said, "Man...the clipper in the basement is starting to sound better and better."  So we returned, got out the implements and I stood poised to take the first shave.  But I couldn't do it.  We have ample evidence that Eli can get a bad haircut from a professional (ok, she did tell him enthusiastically that his was the third head she had ever cut) but we are at the place in our relationship where I would rather have some stranger inflict the damage, instead of mom.  Those sighs and wimpers from last time still hurt my heart. 
In the end it was GreatClips.  And we all survived it.  Whew.

Fashion Icons

As a parent, you keep an eye on your kid and what he deems appropriate to wear.  So far, with my guys both still pre-middle school, there haven't been any outrageous fashion choices causing arguments in the house.  I have often praised my lucky stars that I don't have to deal with the current trend in short short short girls', well, shorts.  I am also glad that I am not a young girl right now, having to decide if I'm going to wear those.  Anyway.  I've kept an eye on my boys' friends, knowing how friends influence these type of things, and all of them are more or less dressing in ways that work for me. 

It does not surprise me at all that Theo is being seduced by fashion choices before his older brother.  Eli has always been content to pull on anything, as long as it was comfortable and a t-shirt.  But the fact that Theo's first fashion alley he is venturing down is jewelry threw me for a curve.  Well, last summer, after being at DuNord with super cool widji camper and early teen Pete N, Theo did adopt the backpack look.  And this year, after seeing that Pete is toying around with becoming a skater, and wearing a 'beanie' Theo bought himself a hat or two, and has been known to wear them even with the thermometer is pushing 100.  But Pete's a class act, and if he is going to be Theo's fashion icon, I'm fine with it.  So when we got home from the YMCA pool one day and Theo went immediately to his dress up box and pulled out a gold(ish) chain to start sporting, I did a little mental inventory of my memory of Pete's neck.  Was he sporting a chain at DuNord this year?  I did not think so.  So then I thought maybe Gabe, another cool young teen and older brother of the boys' great friend Sam, might be wearing the golden chain these days.  But I had just spent 3 days on the river with Gabe and remembered no chain.  Where was the chain influence coming from?  I went ahead and asked Theo.  His reply:  "Well, there's Captain Jack Sparrow..."  Great!  I love that look. Truly.  "And....well, I noticed that all these old guys who hang out in the Y lockerroom are always wearing thme."  Really?  Old guys in the lockerroom are his fashion icons?  I wish I knew where this might go next, but Jon tells me the old guys at the Midway are most often lounging around in the lockerroom nude.  He has never mentioned nude with gold chains, but apparently that look is all the rage.  As of now, Theo still wears clothes with his chain, but we shall see where this goes I guess. 

Here's Theo in a few of his beanies.

How he says 'I love you'

Theo was the first to greet me on mother's day.  We were in a hotel in Nashville (for a family wedding) and I opened my eyes to find Theo leaning over me.  He smiled and said, "Happy mother's day.....Gretch."  Hmm. 

A few days later he was doing something rather sweet (what that sweet thing he was doing has been lost) and I said, "Oh, Theo, where were we lucky enough to find you?" His immediate answer:  Your uterus.  Then back to playing.  But I did catch him giving me a little backwards glance, trying to see how his mom was reacting to this new sass-a-frass side of him.  And he found me smiling. 

I'm pretty sure this new trend of witty little toss-backs with a smart aleck edge are just pre-teen Theo's way of telling me how much he loves me. Right?

Nature Walking

One fine day this spring (ok, it wasn't a fine day, but after a big storm, the sky turned blue for at least an hour and we jumped at it) Theo and I took off for the river to see what we could see.  I mean, when you live next to the Mississippi, one of the greatest rivers in the world, you should walk along it every now and then.  When I tossed the idea out to Theo, I wasn't sure if he'd go for it.  But he was enthusiastic, quickly packed himself up a 'nature-watching kit' and we were off.  It wasn't until we were down by the river that I took a look in this bag.  This is what he had:  two butterfly nets, binoculars, camera, flashlight (for looking into dark holes), extra batteries, a sharpie, and a cowbell.  A cowbell?  He told me, with just a touch of disdain, "Mom, it's for scaring off the bears."  He didn't say 'duh', but he was thinking it.  And why shouldn't he take bear precautions- afterall, two times this past spring my parents' home in Hudson suffered from bear attacks- their bird feeder poles were bent in half as if they were made of pipe cleaners, not iron.  Large footprints were left in the snow, and golf balls were found gnawed in half.  I never thought of bears as wildlife we might spot in St. Paul, but now I'm not so sure.  You might find me packing my cowbell on future outings. For the record, we did not need it this day- what we did need was our rubber boots.  The river was still real high and we had to hop our way around puddles and over logs.  Didn't see much wildlife of any kind, actually, but it was fabulous to be out in the woods with my sweet guy and his cowbell.

A little hole opened up in his heart

A week ago today we got up at 4am to usher our Russian son/brother/friend out into the car and to the airport and back to his true home in Kazan, Tartarstan.  Both my boys woke up without any hassle, came downstairs and sat around bleary-eyed and silent as final items were tucked into suitcases and backpacks.  Then Ildar gave out hugs all around and walked out of our lives.  Theo looked up at me and said, "Mom, I feel a little hole opening up in my heart."  Me too, kiddo. As Jon and Ildar pulled away from the curb, I trundled Theo and Eli up to my bed to try to get a bit more sleep before we faced the day, and after quite a bit of tossing and turning, we all fell asleep.  I woke up a few hours later and watched my boys come back to conciousness.  I saw Theo give himself a sort of mental patdown, checking his body and soul for areas that hurt.  Then he humphed, opened his eyes, and quietly said, "I thought I'd be really sad, but Mom, I'm not.  With skype and email, Ildar is not so far away after all." 

Fruitshare

This winter we got an email from our CSA asking if we wanted to add a fruit share to our weekly delivery.  The price seemed kind of high given that they type of fruit you got each week is unknown.  But we were deep into a fruit-starved Minnesota winter and the thought of a box of freshly picked organic fruit showing up on our doorstep each week in deep summer was too hard to resist.  We wrote the check then settled back into the endless deep of this stunning winter, forgetting entirely about our committment to fresh produce.  This year's spring did not induce dreams of lazy summer days to come- it was spent huddling in the cold, with snow flying in late May, and June highs in the 50's.  But today, on one of those rainy 50 degree June days, our CSA delivered it's first boxes.  And on the back porch of some house in the Midway I found 12 pints of plump organic blueberries with my name on them.  12 pints.  Plus a box of greens, radishes, and the tenderest broccoli spears. I was elated.  I don't care how much we paid for this fruit share- the first of 8 deliveries has fulfilled my greatest expectations.  Theo and I polished off about a pint before everything was unpacked- two more await our breakfast cereal in the fridge, 5 are in the freezer for the future, and two are currently being baked into a pie.  There is nothing better than having more blueberries than you know what to do with! 

Of course, I am still hoping that our trip to that mystical island in the middle of Lake Namakon will correspond with the wild blueberry harvest- but if it doesn't, we've got a reserve already in the freezer. 

The next fruit box arrives in two weeks. Who knows what it will be, but my freezer has room, and I smell more pies on the horizon!

Doing school differently

I spent a (rare!) beautiful spring evening back at school last night.  As I drove there, I admit I had some grumpy thoughts about being pulled away from my family, who were lounging over dinner out on the deck, in order to go back to work.  But then I stepped into Avalon's last evening of senior presentations for 2011 and realized that it was worth it.  At my school we have all of our graduating students undertake a 300+ hour independent project.  Of their choice.  In the spring we take them on a retreat and we give suggestions, offer guidance, critique ideas- but the topic of study is entirely up to the student.  So is the method of study, the timelines, the final product, and for the most part, the grade.  And they wow me each and every time. 

These projects always run the gamut from the real hands-on to the deep thinkers.  This year we had topics such as:  Hollywood and the Other: Representations of Minorities in Film and Television, Fascist Youth in the Weimer Republic, and a deep exploration into political theory that taught me more in 30 minutes than my semester long poli-sci college class.  And then we had a kid who built an electrical guitar, while another built himself a crossbow.  Where else are you going to get that chance in public education these days?  Yet another senior learned how to blacksmith.  And then he built himself a forge in his backyard.  A forge.  Where he did blacksmithing.  Sprinkle in a handful of amazing photography, visual art, and environmental explorations and you have the Avalon Senior Class of 2011.  Every last one of these kids climbs up on to a stage in May and gives a 30 minute presentation to an audience that can number in the hundreds.  After the applause dies down they stand and face questions that are often thrown out by college professors and experts in their fields of study.  And they knock them out of the park.  These kids know their stuff.  And they know that they know it.  They stand tall, look the audience in the eye, and fill us with hope for the future.  If these are the leaders of tomorrow, I'm following. 

Another thing that fills me with hope and pride and really, love, for my school is that in this audience you will always find a number of underclass Avalonians.  Who just came because they were interested.  Interested in the Weimar republic, or Fukayama's political theories, or permaculture.  And they listen attentively, nodding along, smiling, then tossing out their own killer questions.  Questions they are asking because they want to know more.  The respect they show for their fellow classmates is a beautiful thing. I watch them watching the seniors and I get excited for next year's batch of senior projects.

After the presentations end for the night staff invariably have to break up knots of students who are intently discussing the ideas that were just presented, or who are hugging their fellow classmates, giving heartfelt praise on a job well done, but kick them out we do. And then we follow them out into the night and send them on their way- another batch of students who have just taken a large step into the world of adulthood. I know that traditional schools also provide a myriad of challenging opportunities for the youth of today, but I think that what we do at Avalon is different, challenging, and great.

That one color green

I've been waiting to see my favorite color green for quite some time here in Minnesota.  That first green/gold/yellow in the trees that renews the promise that spring will come.  It's been a long hard wait this year.  On our recent drive to south we got to watch the trees go from bare, to that first blush of green around Madison, to crabapple blooming glory in Chicago, to full on spring in Indianapolis, and nearly summer in Nashville.  It was lovely.  And then of course it was all undone on our trip home two days later.  I mourned the loss of lushness as the miles rewound and we rolled back into the still barren landscape in our neighborhood.  But then today we hit the mid-80's here and I swear that during the course of my bike ride this morning that the trees popped.  We're there.  The road up to my house is once again a bright tunnel of chartreuse.  All too soon the bright hues will dull to the dark dusty greens of summer and I will remind myself that I shouldn't wish for spring too hurry.  It will always come, and it will always be worth the wait. 

First trip to the medium south

We didn't make it to the deep south on our recent road trip to Nashville- but I think we can safely say that the SageMarts have now spent some time in the medium south.  We heard us some accents, smelled us some magnolias in the first blush of bloom, and reveled in eating outdoors during a time when our native land is still seeing the odd snow flurry.  We even saw a cowboy hat or two and some real nice boots.  I ordered some sweet potatoe biscuits, but no one in our party tried any grits, so there's still more to be discovered for sure.  And that's good, because 36 hours in Nashville was not nearly enough time to discover all its secrets.

Road Trip Tolerance Meter

Theo has an internal road trip tolerance meter that is permanently set to go off (and go off spectacularly) 20 minutes before the end of any and all road trips.  It doesn't matter the length of travel involved.  Driving 9 hours?  He quietly entertains himself for 8 hours and 40 minutes.  Then.  Watch out.  He gets antsy and wild.  He starts jabbing his brother, poking his mother, driving us all a bit crazy.  I know I should be extremely thankful that the kid can sit and amuse himself for over eight hours.  But there are two problems.  The first one is that this alarm goes off for him 20 mintues prior to any destination.  So our 25 minute drives to both sets of grandparents only give us 5 minutes of quiet self-entertainment.  Then bonk.  It's kind of uncanny.  The second problem is that I totally have this same meter in my body.  And it's taken me 40 odd years to get to a place where I can almost ignore its call.  But when Theo's tolerance meter dings, my body hears it loud and clear and I want to act out in just the same way he is.  And sometimes I do.  Ok.  Maybe most times. 

Reading in the park

Back when Eli entered first grade at Expo we noticed something pretty special about his class- it was filled with boys who loved to read.  We fired up a book club and enjoyed quite a few monthly meetings which included some reading, some discussion, and a whole lot of crazy playing.  After first and second grade together in the same idyllic classroom under the direction of the teaching artist Ulla, the boys were spread far and wide into Expo's eight third/fourth grade classrooms and the bookclub died off.  Now as fifth graders, they are no closer- almost all of them in different classes, and one in a different school.  But Eli showed interest in reuniting the crew, and when I put out feelers, the response was enthusiastic.  The adults tried to think back to lessons learned from our last go-round and the only one that stuck out was:  meet outside.  Eight fifth grade boys do not fit well into any of our living rooms.  Especially once they start moving.  And despite their shared love to read, they also share a deep love of moving. 

We had our initial meeting this past weekend at Maddox.  As different pairs rolled up to the park via bikes, feet, or cars, the boys were drawn immediately to the playground while the parents huddled at a sunny picnic table and tried to come up with some ground rules.  We found we didn't need them.  When we called the boys over they came quickly, sat down, and spent the next 45 minutes enthusiastically throwing out book suggestions, giving quick plot summaries, and the occasional critique (Eli was heard once bemoaning that 'the conflict in the first book of the series was seriously underdeveloped' to which several boys knowingly nodded acknowledgement).  We then had a quick lesson in civics when we used instant runoff voting (I think) and then dealt with voter fraud and the buying of votes.  

Once the business was taken care of, the boys instantly went back to playing, weaving their way around the younger kids who were out in droves on a rare sunny day in April.  Hovering parents of the younger set eyed our boys with trepidation- perhaps nervous that THIS is what their little sweet loves will turn into.  Skinny, fast-moving, loud, competive boys playing some crazy version of tag that involves tackling. But I love the thought that we can whistle and the roving pack of pre-teen boys will stop their active play and sit around in the sun and discuss a book.  And these are Expo-trained book clubbers.  They are analyzing conflict, making 'text to self' connections, discussing the merits of different methods of character development, and generally knocking this book club idea out of the park. 

Tag: new school style

My boys have been loving these dusky evenings (that is until this dang cold spell that has ushered us back inside- what happened to spring??) when the greatest entertainment is not found on some screen, but rather out in the yards and the alleys and between the houses.  The neighborhood pack of kids has been running hard and running strong this spring.  Eli is oldest. Under him is a crew of boys around Theo's age, then a couple 5 year old girls.  They all play together quite well, thanks to Eli's tender spot for little ones. 

One might question this tender spot after you find out that the latest tag game they have developed is based on the current young adult cult hit book series, The Hunger Games.  If you haven't read The Hunger Games, I do recommend it, but with some caution.  We read it aloud with both the boys and it was tough for Theo, but once we started it was hard to not finish.  It's based in a dystopian society in the future of America.  The evil Capitol keeps control by forcing each 'district' to contribute two 'tributes' to the Hunger Games each year.  The tributes are chosen through lottery and are pulled from the kids- aged 12 to 18.  The odds of avoiding the games favor the rich and connected.  Once chosen, the 24 tributes are remade into temporary icons by design teams, then put into an arena, where they battle natural obstacles (designed by evil game-makers) and each other.  To the death.  They form alliances, make plans, betray each other, and die.  It's quite a book.  

So imagine my chagrin when I hear that the boys have developed a tag game based on the book.  I don't think most of the neighbors have read it, so there's that....  When I questioned Eli about it, he assured me that they don't do more than tag each other, and really, the story is no more or less violent than the previous tag incarnation's origin: Lord of the Rings.  Ok.  if I had to chose, would I go with my boy impersonating a unfortunate, but crafty, capitol tribute, or a bloodthirsty Orc?  Not sure.  Eli explained that they gather all the neighborhood nerf weapons in a pile, then stand in a circle around them (immitating the opening Hunger Games scene of tributes circling the cornucopia of weapons/food/medicine).  When someone yells go, they can choose to make the dangerous dash for a weapon, or they can hightail it to some hiding spot.  Then the tagging begins.  It's a sort of 'everybody's it' and if you're tagged you're out.  Or dead.  They form alliances, and betray each other, and strategize late into the dusky evenings.  And I think they all love it.  And I think it's relatively harmless.

But then, a week or so back, several neighbors were gathered around the backyard firepit when one of the younger boys ran up, bright eyed and excited, and asked, "Can we play that tag game again?  But this time without the pain?"  Before an adult could ask a clarifying question a rousing cheer of approval went up from the kids and they were off...moving into the night, already working the sideline deals with each other, eyeing up the competition, making the critical decision to rush in or to hide out... and the adults were left to wonder about intervening.  But I think they have figured out how to play 'without the pain', because there have been no complaints.  So far.  And being out running in the dark, making your own rules, negotiating with each other, that's what kids should be doing when spring finally releases us from our winter cocoons.  The context of their game of tag may be different than my own lovely days of playing 'ditch' in the fields behind my childhood home, but the adrenalin, the rush, the liquid lightening feel of running out there in the dark without parents controlling your game or making the rules- that's something every kid should experience.

Spring Break '11 highlights

Ok, so southern Minnesota didn't get us out of the 30's temperature-wise, but it did my heart (and my attitude) a lot of good. The SPAM museum was actually quite informative (there are 12 varieties of spam, did you know that?) and entertaining, the poolside rooms at the Holiday Inn were comfortable (enough) and the poool warm, but the company was what made the trip. My boys run as a pack with their NeskeMoen compatriots.  The five of them span the ages of 6 to 11, none of them in the same grade, but they adore each other and play together incredibly well- never pairing off- the dynamics change throughout the day, but they are always positive.  And all five of those boys adore the older Nielsen kids.  While we were hanging out before a lovely dinner at Wally's house, I walked through the living room to find all of our kids literally kneeling at 14 year old Pete's feet.  He was discoursing on some topic and they were lapping it up.  Then they quit being so serious, outfitted themselves with Pete's nerf arsenal and had a battle royale.

I do believe the highlight of the trip for me was when we surprised Pete and Kara on their return from an overnight Speech Team event.  You see, our three families have been going to DuNord together for years.  And it has been a tradition that whenever we get off of the little shuttle that takes us from our tents over to the main part of camp, we form up a 'bridge' of bodies and cheer everyone off.  It can get a bit raucous.  So when Jen mentioned that their BUS was due back in the high school parking lot in 15 minutes, it was only natural that we should round up all 13 of us to go pick them up, DuNord style.  I loved that when we hustled Ildar into the car he asked what we were doing and when I said, "We are going to completely embarass two high school kids" he was totally game.  Didn't need any more info. 

So three caroads of us pulled into the lot with a few minutes to spare.  Other parents were already waiting in cars, and more drifted in before the bus arrived.  As the bus pulled into the lot, the 13 of us piled out of the cars, ran to the door of the bus and formed up our 'bridge'- two rows facing each other, hands in the air, wild screaming- and several parents jumped right out to join us.  I like how the Fairmont speech parents roll.  The coaches were trying to have give some closing comments to their team, but all eyes were peeled out the windows, trying to figure out just what in the hell was going on.  I heard later that when kids were asking, "WHO are those people?  Does anyone know them???" Kara denied us, but Pete, after some hesitation, claimed us proudly.  Kara only hid her face for a few moments, then decided to make the best of it.  The team started piling off, initially a bit cowed, but you could see the smiles growing, see them walking tall, walking proud.  And when Pete and Kara came off they did as they should be getting to the end of the line and then joining right in.  Good kids, those Nielsons. 

I love that all of our kids had absolutely no qualms about making a scene in a random parking lot.  Even our exchange students- this had to be one of the more international bridges we have ever formed with representatives from both Russia and Hong Kong.  As soon as the whole team got off the bus, all of our kids ran back to the warm cars and jumped in, as if nothing unusual had happened.  We then sped back to the Neilson house while Wally and Jen delayed Pete and Kara a bit, so our kids could take up their positions with Nerf weapons on the roof of the garage.  On to round two of the welcome party- the attack. 

It was no glamorous beach escape, but it did my spirit wonders to be around good pals and have some deep belly laughs over the weekend.

Loving a little satire

This past weekend at our friends' house, Eli stumbled upon a coffee table book of stories from The Onion.  He was chortling with laughter.  Of course, there are any number of stories that are not so appropriate for an 11 year old, but he spots those early and turns the page.  I think.  At the library last night we found some MAD magazines.  He was lazing on the couch reading yesterday and could not stop giggling.  Finally he had to read the story about the Free Amish Fireplace Mantle aloud.  This is a topic that has caused us some mirth in the past.  He tried to read, but he absolutely dissolved into laughter.  He couldn't get more than 2-3 words before the giggles would take over, his eyes tearing up.  It was lovely. 

Happy 69th birthday to a great pops!

Yesterday was my dad's 69th birthday.  And he's looking great.  Today I got an email from a friend from my childhood.  I had not heard from her since the day we graduated.  She recently found me on facebook and wanted to just write and let me know how much time spent at the Sage house when she was growing up meant to her.  Apparently we came across as normal.  And loving, and accepting, and fun.  And it's true- the Sage household was a great place to spend time back in the 70's and 80's.  In honor of my dad's big day, I want to just highlight the role he had in creating that space.  Mom.  This does not diminish your role in anyway.  Your turn will come.  I have lots of great things to say about you as well. 

Here's what I love about my dad:  He believed in me 100%.  He still does, too!  I was a girl growing up in the early stages of Title IX- my first sports experiences were as 'the girl' on boys' teams.  Soon enough we got all girls teams (which my mom was sweet enough to volunteer to coach).  I was never very good at any of them, decent, passable, but surely not a lot of fun to watch.  But he would be at every game, cheering away. Thankfully he was one of the good fans, enthusiastic, but not getting in trouble with the refs or jeering the other team.  There were parents in that camp and I was so glad they were not mine.  14 years of basketball games too watch.  Wow.  That's dedication. 

He also was always available to help with homework.  I remember getting a little frustrated with his math help when he actually had to take 15-20 minutes to read the chapter before helping me figure things out.  Now that my oldest is tackling algebra I understand why you need the little refresher.  I mean, I know that stuff, I just don't know it in a place in my brain that is easily accessible.  But Rodg always found it.  He'd sit with the texts puzzing it out and then translate for me.  Even when I was getting testy and frustrated, he'd figure it out, work me through it, and help me get it done.  He was an ideal tutor. 

Rodg was also willing to teach me other things.  I was always fascinated by the things he could churn out in the basement workshop.  And I wanted to do it to, only I didn't have the best attention to detail, or follow through.  But he'd take me down and lead me through whatever crazy project I had in mind.  I remember back when I wanted to make a wooden puzzle for my soon to be spouse.  He took me to the woodshop in the basement and on the first cut I nearly took off half a finger.  He got a little pale, the forehead started sweating, but then he cracked some joke, got me a bandage and walked me through the rest of the project. 

Our weekends and summers were chock full of parent-led adventures.  They got us out on bikes, canoes, skies, our feet.  We toured the US by van, camping our way through state and national parks.  We backpacked in the Beartooth mountains, drove dune buggies and skied in the rockies, sailed through the bahamas, and met up with distant relatives in Switzerland.  I was not always the easiest to travel with- sometimes refusing to get out of the car because my book was too good- but they only left me behind twice.  But those were mistakes.  Or so they say! 

Now Rodg does all these things with my own kids.  He's been hanging with my boys once a week since the day Eli was born.  He and my mom get them out and about, but also spend crucial hours on the ground with them- talking, laughing, playing, loving.  What a gift for my family.  I'm hoping that his math skills are still accessible in that lovely brain of his, because I think I will need some help helping my boys very soon.

So.  There's my little tribute to my lovely fabulous 69 year old pops.  I love you dad!  You're the best!  Thanks for helping create the space in my childhood where I could grow and stretch and dream and be wonderfully happy!  And for continuing to do it through all of these years. 

A funny little Max story

Earlier this week, my boys spent the night at their grandparents with their cousins from Prior Lake.  The next day the plan was for me to collect my 3 year old nephew Max and then meet the pack at Como Zoo for an outing.  I was lucky enough to get Max a few hours before the zoo roundevouz so I got some one-on-one Max time.  This is hard to come by.  Usually my Max time has to be shared with my boys, or my parents, or his dads, and the kid has NO time for me.  I am so clearly second or third or fourth fiddle. 
But Wednesday morning he was mine.  We went up to the boys room and took all of their toys down from the baskets on the bookshelves.  I was planning to combine some good sorting/organizing time with my Max watching stint.  Although organizing anything as Max moves through the toys is a challenge.  At one point I was de-tangling a bunch of Theo's necklaces and one caught Max's eye.  It had a glass pendant on it with a small scorpion inside the glass.  We had a long talk about if the scorpion was dead or fake- Max had quite a few scientific theories about how you could tell.  And then he looked up at me with excitement in his eyes and said, "I know another place where you can find bugs in glass!  In your lights!  Come on!  I'll show you!"  He then took me on a tour of our overhead light fixtures.  He pointed to the one in the hallway and said, "This one has lots!" then dramatically flipped on the light for the big reveal.  Sure enough.  Lots of dead flies.  Then on to the light on the landing.  "Only two here!"  Then the flip and the reveal...and so on around the house.  He's apparently been keeping a running total of our bug 'collection' on his weekly visits to our house. At one point during the tour he said over his shoulder, kind of conspiratorially, "You know, Grandma Jean does say that there are ways to clean these out."

Spring Break '11

This year we decided to have a quiet spring break at home.  The week started with some promise with temps around 50.  I got each boy out on their bike for a lap around the 'hood as I ran.  But it wasn't warm.  We were fooling ourselves.  The wind was raw and their hands were freezing.  And then it started to rain.  And then the snow.  And it's been real hard watching so many friends and relatives bail out to warmer climates.  So we had to do something.  Hence our soon to happen Spring Break '11 trip to the south.  We leave soon from departure gate Brimhall with the NeskeMoens and head directly south to a spring break mecca:  The SPAM museum in Austin.  Minnesota.  Not Texas.  The website promises meetings with SPAMbassadors, free samples, and interactive museum exhibits where you can try your hand at packing SPAM.  Can't wait!  The free samples may even lure me away from 20 years of vegetarianism.  I mean, my only fond childhood meat memories are of boxcars- those campfire delights were you take a slab of SPAM, sprinkle it with brown sugar, throw on a pineapple ring, wrap it in tinfoil, and throw it into the coals.  Loved those. 

After SPAMville, we'll head west, with perhaps a stop at the Jolly Green Giant statue in Blue Earth and then on to poolside rooms at the Holiday Inn in Fairmont, where some good pals reside.  Not in the Holiday Inn.  In Fairmont.  They promise to join us poolside with coolers and games and some good laughs.  I'm hoping I can find myself one of those styrofoam can holder things and my flipflops before we go so I really feel like I'm on vacation.  We splurged and are spending two whole nights in the hotel, thus maximizing our exposure to chlorine. 

Throw in free kids meals at the attached GreenMill, and we've just about hit vacation paradise for Eli.  Noodles, swimming with friends, and a promised epic nerf gun battle back at the home of our Fairmont friends.  I dare say that my boys are just as excited for this little weekend getaway as they were for our spring break trip to Peru last year.  I'm not kidding.

Summer is shaping up

A friend mentioned the other day that she felt like she needed the help of an air traffic controller in order to make her family's summer plans.  I agree.  Once you start trying to match up with several different families, who are all coordinating with 6 other familes, who need to allign their trips with the waxing of the moon, it gets complicated.  But I think we've got the backbone figured out here.  As I looked over the scribbled calendar, I realized that we have a lot of little camping trips planned.  But they all have their own unique style.

We'll be hitting the southwestern part of the state on our annual tour de state parks with pals Leone-Gettens.  We are hoping to make reservations to stay in both a tipi and a covered wagon. Who knew MN state parks could get so wild?  (Ok- the covered wagon is in South Dakota).

Our second camping trip will bring us up across the border into Canada, to a little A-frame cabin on an island that can only be reached by boat. We do stay in a cabin, but the lack of electricity, running water, or any hope of finding a roaming cell phone signal, qualify it as camping in my book.

We will then trade Lake Namakon for the Namakagon River- canoing for 3-4 days down it's crystal waters with pals from the boys' school. 

The summer will be rounded out by the annual pilgrimage to DuNord where we will move back into the trusty 'cabin tents' for our ninth summer of sharing a week with old pals, family, and gigantic wolf spiders.

Eli also gets to jet off to Bryce and Zion National Parks with his grandparents, and the boys are once again returning to Camp St. Croix for a week. 

So tipis, covered wagons, cabins via motorboat, tenting via canoe, our trusty faux cabin/glorified tent on the lip of the BWCA- all hopefully separated by trips to berry patches, afternoon floats in the highland pool, and plenty of time in the back hammock reading great books- the summer of 2011 is shaping right up.