In retrospect

2013 was one of lots of changes.  Eli grew at least half a foot, his voice deepened dramatically and he has even taken a razor to his upper lip.  Once.  Whenever we notice these things he makes loud noises to block out our voices and says "Don't talk about it! Write it down if you have to.  Keep a journal.  Then give it to me.  And I will burn it."  Too bad that my journal is electronic.

Theo is going through his own changes.  He's growing a bit in terms of height.  But his feet. Good lord.  Huge.  And his confidence. It grows daily, delightfully.  He is on his fifth trip through the Harry Potter books.  This time he finished book 7, took at least an hour break and then settled back into a bean bag chair with book one.  It astonishes me that he has new insights each time he reads this series.  Lucky kid.

We are busy changing the layout of this old house of ours.  We thought long and hard about moving instead of fixing up this one.  But as we looked around, we realized how much we really like about this house- the fireplace, the deck, the garden...the somewhat spacious yard for St. Paul (ok, my yardstick of comparison is small), neighbors, location.  We looked at lots of places that had pieces, but then decided to make some changes and stay here.  We started with a plan to turn the 3 season porch into a yearround space as a way to get the office out of the dining room.  In the end the porch will remain a porch, but we gutted the kitchen and are putting a room and a bathroom in the basement- hopefully to lure teenage friends here so that our boys have a place to hangout that is safe and warm and somewhat 'private'.  And the office will probably still be in the dining room.  But we're excited about more light, more openness, and yes, another bathroom.  Maybe the most exciting thing is that a plumber got into our upstairs bathroom and for the first time in our decade-long residence on Brimhall Street, you can flush the toilet willy nilly.  No waiting 30 minutes.  No filling the tank from the bathtub.  It's lovely.

Jon and I still toil away at the same jobs, but we like them.  At Avalon we are figuring out ways to get more involved in the school reform movement, which keeps things lively.  And for Jon, the Central Corridor is about to go 'live' which should be exciting for both him and the rest of St. Paul.

We are looking forward to 2014.  To a completed house project.  To a winter full of skiing, and archery tournaments where I have to be quiet, which is hard, but worth it.  To a spring of Ultimate Frisbee on sunny afternoons, watching the boys run around while we chat with lovely parents.  To another season of History Day and whatever that may bring. To a lovely trip to Yellowstone with the Sage Clan to celebrate the fact that my parents have been married for 50 years.  50 of them.  To summer number 12 at Dunord, where Eli will turn 15.  15.  Holy moly.  I can't wait for it to all unfurl.

Home again home again, jiggety jig?

Well, we spent the weekend before moving back home cleaning this place from top to bottom.  The dust was so thick that it instantly was in my mouth, eyes.  But by the end of the weekend it seemed livable.  We then retreated back to Hudson for a few more days of cleaning out there.  Unfortunately, after getting my parents' mostly cleaned up we had an epic toilet back up.  It involved some cursing on my part.  Ended with a call to a plumber who quickly fixed it up and handed us a bill.  Worth it, however.

Our timing was not ideal.  As I was putting the last few bags in the car out in Hudson, Jon texted to say that the crew was just finishing blowing in insulation and we should stay out of the house for the next 24 hours.  Really?  I had a car load of all our gear, it was about 0 degrees, the boys were on the bus headed toward Brimhall, and my parents were moving back into their house that afternoon.  I tried to stay calm but my recently acquired case of hives indicated that I was stressed.  I think I was about 70% covered by the time I pulled up in front of our house.  I quickly unloaded the car, agreed that it smelled bad and we shouldn't stay there and awaited the boys.  They were excited to be home, so not so excited when I told them to quick pack an overnight bag, we were headed to New Brighton.

But now we are in, at least for the short term.  It's crowded and cold and dusty, but the fireplace works, we put  up a small tree, and we are working out some systems.   Boys have been wonderful so far about trekking down to the dark dusty basement to help out with dishes.  And as they love quesadillas, our griddle/microwave fare has not bothered them.  Yet.  The laundry drying rack gets moved from room to room as we change our position throughout the day, and the lack of water on the first floor is constantly surprising.  Not sure why.

Luckily I just finished reading Half the Sky, about oppression of women around the globe, so I am able to realize that while this situation is mildly uncomfortable and frustrating, we are still extremely priviliged.  Hoping to be able to concentrate on that over the next few weeks and get to the other end of this minor disruption with some grace.

Home

Last night at the Moth Story Hour I learned that next month's theme is 'Home' which is appropriate as we are temporarily (and by choice) without one.

But my story about home would not be about this temporary dislocation because although it is a small irritating burden- there really is no story there.

This is the story I'd tell about home:


20 years ago my husband and I joined the peace corps.  We had recently graduated from college and gotten married and they sent us off to live and work on the small island of Antigua in the Carribean.  Small place- Antigua.  Drive 10 miles in any direction and you hit the sea.  We moved into an apartment in the capitol city and tried to settle in to our new home.  But it was hard.  The people we lived and worked amongst did not immediately open their arms to us- they kept a distance- treated us as tourists who were just stopping by.  On the streets, in the market, on the buses- we were offered tourist prices and tourist comments, even as the days turned to weeks turned to months.

At my school, I was introduced as Mrs. Sage-Martinson.  But I had this little feminist-y heart beating in my chest and the title Mrs didn't sit right with me.  So I went on a quiet compaign to turn the Mrs into Ms.  Change is hard, and my colleagues and students had trouble.  Eventually though it caught on.  Mrs became Ms and I was thrilled.  Only before long, Sage-Martinson got changed to something easier to remember-- into White Lady Teacher.  But at least I was Ms. White Lady Teacher!

But outside of school, change was harder to drive.  Even after going to the same stall in the market time after time, I was given prices I knew were reserved for tourists.  I was touchy about hawkers shouting out to me to buy their wares, and to hurry up before my boat left town. This mistaken for tourists was really a thorn in my side. One day I was on a bus heading toward a beach when the man next to me hds a grand mal seizure.  First thing I hear is "someone move that tourist out the way!"  And I think, Yeah! Move the tourist!  No room for one here in this emergency.  Imagine my surprise when I am lifted up and moved.  Set in the far corner to watch the drama unfold.  The whole bus moves together as if a chorus.  You, FatHead, (name of driver- emblazoned on his windshield) stop the bus!  Windows pop open, women rip open the seizing man's shirt.  You- in the yard, throw me one those limes!  Lime picked, thrown, caught, cut open.  Rubbed on the seizing man (a lime cuts a fever, helps stop a seizure, did you know?  I didn't).  Man slowly recovers, lime thrower is thanked, shirt is rebuttoned, man is caressed.  FatHead told to drive on.  And I cower in the corner- in awe of this community who just helped this man through his troubles- after physically removing me.

Then one day I was walking through the market on my way to the basketball court in the center of town.  I had recently made some connections and had won a place on a women's basketball team.  So there I am  walking through town in my purple and yellow basketball uniform- the team name blazoned on the front- some local bank sponsored us.  And as I pass by a tshirt stall the woman behind the table yelled out for me to get my tshirt- to hurry hurry before the boat left.  What?  What kind of tourist gets off the cruise in a purple and yellow full on uniform?  Sponsored by a local bank?  I look at her, only to have my surprised tripled!  The vendor calling to me was none other, than Mrs. Mathews, the teacher I sat right next to in the staff room during my prep.  So I call back, "No Mrs. Mathews, my boat doesn't leave for a while yet." This stops her and she looks at me close.  Sees me.  Chuckles.  Says, "Oh, it's you Ms. White Lady Teacher."  I walk away, beaming.  Recongized.

And one day- I'm heading toward my regular market stall, hoping to grab some fruit before heading home.  I pick up some grapefruit. "You don't want those. Your husband just bought some." I reach for guavas, "No, he got those too- but he forgot bananas, here take these."  And the price is low, is right.

And one day, I'm riding the bus after work to our new house in the center of the island.  We've only lived there a few days- a hurricane had passed over the island and destroyed our in-town apartment a few weeks earlier. The crowded, hot bus lures me to sleep.  I drift off, jammed between two women who are singing Carribean Queen along with Billy Ocean on the radio.  When the bus stops I jar awake and panic.  Is this my stop??  I start gathering my goods and making noises like I want to get off.  But the women pat me back down into place.  "No no- not your stop.  Settle."  So I settle.  Two minutes later FatHead stops without me calling out.  The whole bus turns to look at me and they smile.  Here.  Here is my stop.  They usher me off the bus.  FatHead does not drive on.  My busmates lean out their windows- they point down the dirt road- the only road in sight.  They smile, nod, "That way honey, that way." I thank them and head off down the road.  50 yards later I look back. The bus is still there.  People are leaning out, pointing to the left- "Turn there honey!  Turn there!  Almost home!"  I smile, wave, and someone gives FatHead the command to drive on.  He does.  I turn left, walk down the lane, and I am home.

StorySlam

A couple years ago I heard about this organization called "The Moth".  It was based out of NYC and it's mission was to grow the art form of story telling by hosting Story Slams- storytelling events based on the poetry slam model.  People gather together, a few volunteer to tell a story in a finite amount of time and then they are judged.  There is a storytelling winner.

Well, I like story telling and I like competitions, but I never dreamed those two interests would overlap.  I mean, competitive storytelling?  Who would have dreamed.  But it is a reality- and now there is a satellite operation here in St. Paul.  I took my dad to one of the events last spring as the theme that night was 'fathers'.  It was sweet.  A sold out event- people paying money to come together and listen to everyday joes tell their tales.  And then judge them.  That night the stories were poignant and funny.  My dad and I laughed and cried and a few times laughed until we cried.  I decided that someday I would return and put my name in that hat to see what would happen if I got picked to go up on the stage.

Last night I did just that.  Amy and I bought tickets for the November event- and I learned that the theme was "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles."  Wow.  Right up my alley seeing as I have a tale (or two) about a certain large orange van that went travelling down the highway without me.  But I was nervous.  The room was full.  My estimate is 300-400 people.  And even though I'm quite comfortable in front of a classroom full of teens- adults scare me.  But I threw my name in that hat and listened nervously through the first 6 storytellers.  There was one who really stood out- the rest were nervous and lost their threads here and there.  Then my name was called and I got up there and did it.  I only had five minutes- and that's not much time to tell a bunch of strangers about how your parents abandoned you, twice.  But I got it in.  Made people laugh.  Had some laughs myself.  And ended up with a second place finish.  I do believe I may do it again.

Living with Kato

Sometime in the past few weeks Theo and I got into the habit of trying to sneak up from each other.  I spent 10 minutes the other day trying to stifle my giggles in a closet as I waited for Theo to come into his room after a shower.  And in the end I missed my chance.  He came in and left again and I had to come out.  But it was still entertaining.  And I got him later.  I can't tell you how many times one of us drops out of view and starts crawling.  About 98% of attempts are unsuccessful, but when you do get a good one, it's so worth it. I do admit that it doesn't mix with bedtime so well, but I don't let that stop me.

Think before you act

At an event at the boys' school we were supposed to write on this paper 'something you are good at'.  Faced with that question, a marker, and a line of people forming up behind me waiting for their turns, the only thing I could come up with was 'squats'.  Really?

Still loving my kids' school!

This fall I admit I was a little nervous that my little sixth grader was going to be in a 'crew' (homeroom on steriods as it has been described by OPEN teachers) with high schoolers at OWL. But the first day he came home and declared how much he loves it. He eats lunch with a mixed-aged group and loves that the high schoolers know he exists. And yesterday he was rambling on about school and said, "Then there's Frances (11th grader). What I love about Frances is that she is not afraid to tackle social and racial issues head on. She is always looking for solutions." Wow. What a great thing to notice about a fellow student- and how cool that she is friends with my 6th grader. 

The other day I dropped the boys at school at 7:30 am.  Jon was set to drive them back out to Hudson at the end of the day- around 2:30.  But Theo wanted to stay and help out at the open house for prospective students.  So, after school he went to archery for a couple hours and then he helped set up for the Open House.  Around the dinner hour a group of ninth graders tucked him under their wing and took him through the skyways to a food court where they all got some dinner.  I picked him up, tired but quite happy, at 8:30pm.  Can't believe I can leave my youngest downtown St. Paul for 13 hours and know that he is in good hands the whole time.  Love it.

Making the most of our exile

This weekend Theo and I cranked up my dad's Best of Abba CD in the boom box (yes, boom box) and did some interpretive dancing while playing pingpong.  Caused us both to get the giggles.

The bronze gnome!!

Earlier this fall the boys and I entered a little contest I had read about in the paper.  First we (and by we I mean the boys) had to solve 12 online riddles.  They involved codes and clues and some need for deductive reasoning.  Once we got through all 12 we qualified for the real money round- a chance to win $10,000 for the charity of our choice (Open School) by solving 12 riddles at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts.  We showed up the day of the contest to find out that out of the 35 teams, only two included kids.  We were undaunted.  We took almost the full two hours and solved all but one clue.  We decided to turn our sheet in with the final clue unsolved as we just couldn't crack it.  Only one team ended up solving that one, and they literally turned in their form as the buzzer rang.  When we saw them turn in the full answer sheet we knew we were out of the money, but we were thrilled to find out that we did take third, earning Open School not $10k, but a wonderful bronze (painted) garden gnome.  It proudly sits in the Open trophy case.

I admit that in the thick of the competition I got a little sweaty.

Transitions

So this fall we finally pulled the trigger on our remodel project.  So just a two months in to the new school year, we packed up everything in our basement and kitchen and stashed it in my parents garage.  And then when my parents headed to Florida to escape the Minnesota gloom of November, we packed ourselves up and moved into their place in Hudson.  The boys have done wonderfully with living away from home- from the vast majority of their toys, their clothes, their friends.  It helps that my dad's workshop is a kid heaven, and that there is a ping pong table in the basement here, but the dislocation and the driving do get old.  Here's hoping that it's all worth it in the end.

From where did this man-child come?

Good lord he's gotten old.  And tall.

Dress up day

Theo's school had their spirit week.  A dress up day was involved.  Theo took it seriously.  Cords, a suit coat, button down shirt, and a bow tie.  And, he combed his hair.  This is my kid who would wear sweatpants every day if we allowed it.  I did start the fall by lying to Theo and telling him that Open's dress code did not allow sweatpants.  It worked for a week or two, but then he busted me.

Oh boy

Theo is always telling himself stories.  His imagination is a thing of wonder.  But sometimes I get a little nervous.  Like the day he fasioned a whip out of some duct tape and then sidled up to me and asked me to help him test it by whipping him with it because, "you just can't satisfactorily whip yourself, you know?"  No.  I do not know.  But for the record, I obliged him.

Scary bike gang takes over University Avenue

The St. Paul Open Streets event was a hit with this crew.  Delightful day to tool around the avenue.  I was particulary pleased to see my boys identify St. Paul Open School as their 'favorite place in St. Paul' on an interactive map.  I was worried about this transition for Theo- but things have gone smoothly so far.

The Crow

The new name for our youngest son.  He likes to be called a raven.  Eli calls him a magpie.  All fit as he is unbelievably attracted to shiny objects. Picks them up and carries them around, incorporates them into the stories that are always running through his mind.  And then sets them down.  Nowhere near where he originally picked them up.  We are constantly hunting for car keys, can openers, scissors, salad tongs, cork screws, pliers.  If he sees it, he can't help himself put to pick it up.  We are currently staying out at my parents while our house is being remodeled.  My dad's workshop is a magpie's dream.  It will take us weeks to return all the carabiners, marshmellow sticks, hatchets, chains to their original positions.

Biking through these fair cities

This fall was another great one for biking in the twin cities.  Every fall (and every spring) I am newly awed by the options for biking.  On a early September ride I went up the river, around the lakes, and back down the creek.  I saw people biking, running, walking, rowing, swimming, fishing, roller blading-skaing-skiing, and yes, pickle balling.  You were all looking good out there Twin Citians.  Oh- did I mention the fire fighters doing pushups by the lake?  All this was just after sunrise on a wednesday.  I think that this scene rivals the 'dawn patrol' of dumb old Southern California.
And this particular ride was topped off with some nice police officers trying to catch speeders coming over the Ford bridge.  As I rode by they gave me a hearty cheer and told me they clocked me at 22 mph.  I totally appreciated the cheers- but I think if you are pulled over any time soon you should ask them about the accuracy of their equipment.

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Reading under heavy guard

It was a rainy Saturday and I drifted out on to the back porch to do a little reading.  At one point I looked up to find that I was being guarded.  Theo was sporting some chain mail, a tunic (with a rainbow medal, curiously) a shield, sword, pike.  No words were exchanged.  He stood guard for several silent minutes and then disappeared, back in to his own world.  I was pleased to see my newly minted middle schooler journey back into the make-believe for a brief minute.

Eli S-M: Winner

Eli and his documentary-making mates were invited out to speak to the Anoka branch of the Daughters of the American Revolution.  They presented their documentary and answered questions.  Proud mom moment, to be sure.  To see those guys up there, sporting dress shirts and ties on a their own accord, standing tall, wowing a crew of women with their mad research skills.  The highlight of the evening was the nametag they gave the kids.  Eli's read:  Eli S-M.  Winner.

No doubt.

One foot out my door

Late summer Theo had a middle school orientation.  The bus was to come for him at 6:45 am.  I wanted to walk him to the bus stop.  He would not let me.

Westward Ho!

In late July, the SageMarts packed ourselves into our new larger car and pointed it west.  Our first stop was Theo Roosevelt National Park.  We had heard rumors that this park is not to be missed, and I have vague memories from childhood, but when you look at a map and see it there on the western border of North Dakota with the endless flat plains of Montana stretching out behind it, you doubt.  Or at least I did.  Which made the stay there all the better, as it is truly a beauty.  The landscape, the light, the animals that roam all about your car as you drive the ring road.  Then there's the river right below the campsite- a river that may or may not have any good fish in it, but makes me yearn to learn how to flyfish.  I was surprised by that.  We didn't spend much time there, but were grateful for the chance to hike the windy hills and lookout for prairie dogs, wild horses, mountain goats, buffalo.  They all followed their stage directions and appeared for photos on cue.  

After breaking camp on a sunny morning we plodded across the endless expanse of eastern Montana, to roll into the foothills outside Glacier National Park as the sun was setting.  We stopped into a restaurant that was renowned for its pie.  It didn't disappoint.  In the pie department.  An impressive dust storm blew through town as we dined.  The wait staff pulled down the windows but not before all meals were lightly dusted with grit.  As the sun went down and the wind howled, we made our way to our campsite with in the park.  It was not an auspicious beginning.  But we got the tent up before the rain.  And by the tent I mean our glorious new super structure.  Perfect place to play a game or two of wizard as you wait out the rain.  The morning dawned gray- with a low low ominous sky.  The perfect setting to take the boys over to the visitior center and introduce them to the BEAR DANGER.  By watching a video that talks about bear maulings.  Didn't do wonders for Eli's desire to do some hiking.  In fact he was determined to stay put and not venture outside the buiding until we pulled up in the car and pointed our car out of Glacier and away from the bears.  

We managed to get him on to the shuttle bus and headed out through the clouds towards a 'popular hike'- a code we used on Eli to mean that there would surely be no bears.  And there weren't, right then.  And the sun came out, and it was so dang beautiful that we all finally relaxed.

The next 10 days were spent hiking and camping and animal spotting (yes, bears.  Grizzlies even).  The boys were fabulous hikers, as long as you let Eli do all the talking.  He was convinced that keeping up a steady patter would keep away bears, so before we started every hike he choose a topic.  And then he talked. One day I think he talked the entire 8 hours we were hiking.  Luckily for me that topic was about what JK Rowling should do for a sequel to Harry Potter- a topic I understood.  When he got into his sci-fi fiction world he was creating in his latest novel or how he was going to build his game board for "The Dystopian Wars" I was lost.  Well, I wasn't lost, because the trail was clearly marked, and I found out quickly that Eli wasn't looking for a conversational partner.  He just needed to be making noise to ease his bear fears.  

There was one hike where bear fears (I admit I had them) were supplanted by falling off of cliff fears.  Although in the end it was bears that were the most real that day.  We took a boat to a trail head where about 30 of us headed off into the woods.  Which, in the start were not woods, but neck high berry bushes.  With berries.  Ripe ones.  Perfect bear habitat.  Which was proven when we came around a corner and saw a mama black bear and her cub just off to the left.  wow.  But once we emerged UP and out of the berries we crossed through a forest, and out on to the rocky hillsides.  Mountain sides.  Up and up for hours- then across a goat path to a ladder, up that to a natural tunnel just larger than me and my back if I bent myself double.  The tunnel was a little clausterphobic, but I longed for those confines when we emerged on the other side, perched on an inches-wide ledge, a chain drilled into the rock on our left, and open air falling down down down on our right.  Once we were across, I couldn't fully relax as there was the knowledge that to get back to the boat we had to cross back along the edge, through the tunnel, down the ladder, and eventually back through berry-land.  The lake at the end of the hike was glorious- but I admit the view was somewhat colored with fear of the return.  

When we got back to the chain-ledgy part, I went first so I wouldn't have to watch my kids.  As I got on to a patch of somewhat stable ground I stopped to wait for my family.  There was a young couple there waiting to go the way I had just come from.  I told them I couldn't watch my boys- would they keep an eye on them?  The woman agreed and gave me a play by play- "They are doing great, coming along, looking good...oh...oh... I can't watch...wow....looking away."  Didn't help me.  I did resist the urge to shove her over the cliff, because I realize she was trying the best she could.  

Long story short.  We made it.  Hard work.  Jon and I were kind of stumbling by the end, our legs so tired from going up and then the down- which was easier on the lungs but did our oldish knees in.  We emerged from the berry bushes with a half hour to spare before the boat returned.  Shortly after we arrived there, a man came out behind us, sweating, hyper, wild-eyed.  He had just surprised the mama bear who took a charge at him.  He was able to whip out his bear spray and give her a shot, so she turned off before giving him a swat or a bump or a bite, whatever her plan was.  I have never been happier to get on a boat.

The rest of the trip was less eventful.  Filled with lovely hikes under blue skies, campfires, and nightly laughs in our new lovely tent.  We ended with a somewhat thrilling raft ride down the Flathead river.  Just the right amount of controlled chaos for all Sage-Marts.  Theo upped his adrenalin levels (he yearns for more of that than I do) by 'riding the bronco' through the last set of rapids.  It was a delight to watch him up on the bow, our paddlemates cheering him on as he raised one arm in the air and rode those waves.  It is an image of my sweet guy living large and carefree that I hope to carry with me the rest of my days.

Looking back, I can hardly remember the rain or the mosquitoes

That's the power of DuNord.  While we were there I know that we were busy swatting pesky little flying bastards, and dashing for cover from incoming storms, but once we return to the hustle of our daily citified lives, all that remains of our trip up north are memories of escapades on the lake, laughs with friends, baking in the sun on a rock before jumping off a 'cliff', and the intense competition in the DuGa pit.

This vacation never gets old.  We are truly blessed to be able to share this week away with so many great friends.  The boys disappear into a jumble of kids set free.  All electronics are left in the car and they turn their attention to more basic elements- fire and water.  And they are entertained for hours.

The drawbacks to having a child with a large vocubularly:

He looked over at me the other night as I was wearing my reading glasses and told me I looked 'matronly'.  Damn.  I know he's right too.

20 years. Holy Cow.

Jon and I have now been married for over 20 years.  How in the world did that happen?  To celebrate we joined our good friends the Petersons (who have also been married for 20 years) and jetted out to Maine and Acadia National Park.

We rented a little cabin like place right across the bay from the national park.  The place came with a kitchen, a lovely back yard that overlooked the bay, several kayaks, two friendly Maine Coon cats, and a sweet little landlord named Bruce.  He had a great look that included white tube socks pulled up nearly above the knee.  We spent the days on trips to Bar Harbor, Acadia, and whale watching.  It was just the right mix of great scenery, good laughs with old friends, and good eating.  We have plans to return for our 40th anniversaries.  Can't wait!

Big Agnes Envy

After camping with the LGs and watching them live it up in their damn hotel-like tent, we couldn't deal with our little backpacking gig any longer.  We went almost directly to REI and got ourselves a big one.  Not bigger than Big Agnes, but close.  We couldn't be more pleased.

Water....

This past June we took our annual camping trip with good pals the Leone-Gettens.  Despite some questionable weather, we decided to go through with the original plan to head north to Scenic state park.  When we pulled in, both dusk and a storm were approaching.  The undefeatable LG's piled belongings into a canoe and pulled out for their island campsite.  We played it safer and camped next to our car for the first night.  A stormy night ensued.  The thunder was astonishing, but the rain and wind didn't feel dangerous and we awoke to sunny blue skies.  And mosquitoes.  In numbers that were truly astonishing.  We decided to rent a canoe and paddle over to see if the LG's had survived the night.  When we arrived they were just rolling out of Big Agnes, their new, fabulous, gigantic tent.  Wow.  The whole island campsite was lovely, but we couldn't take our eyes off of that tent.  It's pull was so magnetic that we decided to unstake our claim by our car and set up camp with them on the island.  It was cozy out there- the bathroom was a 'throne' within a couple yards of both the tents and the firering.  The kids rigged up some ropes and draped tarps and life jackets around the toilet to lend a little privacy.  A little.

We spent the next few days exploring this north central portion of our state- an area I had never been to before.  We were impressed by the BWCA-like scenery (there is a reason that park is called 'Scenic State Park'), the mine-tour at the next state park over, and the mosquitoes.  I have to admit, they were impressive.  During the day they weren't too bad, especially if you stayed in the sun and kept moving.  But at night, they gathered between our rain fly and screen- we were safe from their blood sucking ways, but the buzz.  Good lord.  It kept me up at night.  There were times when I swear they were going to join together and lift our tent into the air...  And our tent was so cozy/tight that it was almost possible for the mosquitoes to bite us through the screens.  I'm sure some of them did.  That was not the case in Big Agnes.  They reported hardly hearing a buzz.

A highlight of the trip was playing the 'word game'.  As a group we choose one word that was off limits.  No one could say it.  And if you did say it you were 'it' until the next hapless person uttered the word. The stakes were high, too, because whoever was it when we pulled out toward home on Sunday would have to buy ice cream for the whole crew.

We choose the word 'water'.  Wow.  It is unbelievable how ofter you say water when on a camping trip!  And once you know you are not supposed to say a word, the temptation to say it becomes unbearable.  At one point, MaryBeth got confused and was sure the off-limit word was "lake" and so asked who wanted to paddle across the 'body of water'.  She was being so careful, only to become it.  The baton of being it seemed to pass almost by the minute.  Not only is water an important word while camping, everyone became crafty, finding ways to trick others into saying it.  At one point I was intending to ask Theo to meet me at the car to grab a pair of shorts, but because I was working so hard to NOT say water, I yelled out, "Theo, come over here and grab a pair of waters."   Seriously.

In the end, I lost.  Of course.  But it's not so bad to have to buy your good pals some ice cream.  Especially after a long weekend of highjinks and laughter.

Of lightening bugs and the Xbox

Theo loves the Croixathlon.  He has a real sense of ownership of the race, as he should, as he is a key volunteer.  This year he came out to help the evening before the race and talked me into letting him spend the night at camp, rather than at my parents' house with the rest of us.  He and the Neske Boys (they deserve the capitalized title, believe me) spent the night at Julie and Dave's house.  Dave is the camp caretaker and they live in an old farmhouse off on the edge of camp grounds.  He has an XBox, and usually not many people to play with.  Enter the four boys.  They spent hours in combat on the screen until Julie (my old boss and one of the loveliest human beings on this here planet) lured them outside around midnight... She wanted them to come out into the prairie to witness the lightening bugs.  We see one or two in our postage stamp cititified yard on a rare night, but Theo says this field was alive and glowing.  He really was awed.  After running around and capturing some in jars, they went back and settled into sleep, their jars of lightening bugs flashing in the corner of the room, the coolest night light a  boy could ask for.

Croixathlon XIII

Another Croixathlon went off without too many hitches.  There was the fact that the heavy spring rains totally swallowed camp's beach and we had to make up a plan B the night before the race.  But we did and the race was on.  Every year as we get close to race date I swear I will never ever ever do this again.  But then the race happens and it's so amazing to see the smiles on the faces of all the competitors and I'm suckered into considering another one.  This year we reprised the pirate theme and I think Amy brought it to a new level by biking in her beard, sword at her waist.  She wasn't doing the race- just checking on logistics as the race got underway.  We are talking about chaging the event to a fall duathlon in the future to compensate for the tricky spring water levels as well as the heavy use of camp during the summer... In any case, I think the pirate theme is here to stay.

There is no finer bunch of scalawags in this land

I am sure of it.

Goodbye golden locks...

Theo decided to chop off all his hair the day after he completed elementary school.  Part of me was sad.  But not for long.  He had a brief flirtation with product, but when he figured out that styling took effort, that went by the wayside.  Now, of course, he hasn't gotten it cut again since the early summer, so we are heading back to the wavy long locks, but I liked this brief interlude.

The Mighty Manatee

This past spring my eldest son joined his school's Ultimate Frisbee team.  The OWL Manatee.  Now, some people misunderstand Ultimate Frisbee to be Frisbee Golf. These are not the same things.  Frisbee Golf is like golf, but with a frisbee.  Ultimate Frisbee is like soccer and basketball and football all combined. Without the contact of football, thankfully.

OWL's team practiced and hosted games down on Nicollet Island- a good use of one of our fair city's little, underutilized gems.  They'd walk there after school, across the mississippi and down a huge flight of stairs.
Then out on to this lovely green space where the kids spent the afternoon running after a frisbee.

There is much to love about Ultimate Frisbee.  Great workout.  Great ethic of sportsmanship and self-refereeing.  Add to that OWL's multi-ethnic, multi-grade team and you have yourself a great place for your kid to hang out.  I love that the Hmong teammates brought baggies of rice along for energy snacks and these became communal- kids grabbing a handful of plain rice on the sidelines to get that energy boost for the second half.  And that Eli learned that some kids had to miss games in order to undertake family obligations- like fishing.  The comaraderie on the team was lovely.  The skill level was decent- bordering on very good when all pistons were firing.  The parents along the sidelines were sparse, but dedicated- although not crazed or given to yelling at or to their children.  We were led in some cheers by James who, with his southern accent, had us rhyming 'train' and 'thing'.  It worked.

The up and down season ended with the boys taking third in their division at state.  They looked like the bad news bears out there on the field with their random red shirts and team members ranging from minute 7th grade twins to large bulky seniors, but they had some skills, lots of dedication, and really, no expectations but to have fun.  What more could a parent ask for in her kid's choice of sport?

Love is the Law!

I know I am 6 months behind the news on this one.  This spring when love became the law I was too immersed in life to get to this old keyboard.  But I'm still thrilled.  And still getting a little teary when reading stories about this new development in MN law.  The pictures and stories from August 2, the first day gay couples could legally wed, brought tears to my eyes.  I can not believe that just one year ago today I was absolutely filled with dread as I waited for election night news.  I was sure that MN was going to pass an admendment against gay marraige.  What a difference a year makes!!!

Time warp

Earlier this spring when Theo and I were coming home from DC our flight was delayed.  Actually, it was cancelled after delaying it in 15 minutes increments for hours.  Hours.  In the end, after sitting sitting sitting we had to sprint to a cab to a different airport to a flight that was just about to shut it's doors when we ran up into the gateway.  But we got on, got a seat, and had a fine flight.

When we arrived in Minnesota we went out to the curb to wait for our trusty driver, Jon.  While waiting a large, boxy, sedan pulled up to pick up the elderly gent waiting next to us.  Out of this solid vehicle from the early 90's stepped a small woman- probably in her late 70s.  Wearing a purple velour pantsuit and black leather driving gloves.  She ran around the back of the car, popped the trunk, literally threw the huge waiting suitcase in, hastily motioned the man into the front seat, and pulled the hell out of there with a bit of flourish.

Made the whole earlier flight delay worthwhile for me.

End of an era

When our kids started out at Expo, we had no idea what amazing teachers they would have.  Wow.  We lucked out.  These fabulous women helped shape our boys into the sweet young men they are becoming.  They challenged them, loved them, argued with them, humored them.  We were blessed.

Finding his own look...

Our last day at Expo Elementary has come and gone.  Theo decided to commemorate it by experimenting with accessories.  Please note the accessories.  Those are American Flags he has stuck in all of his button holes.  Well, interspersed with some rainbow flags.  I like the look.

For the record

One time this spring I said something really funny.  And Theo laughed.  Upon being busted laughing at his mom, he thought for a minute and conceded, "Ok.  I admit.  I find you moderately funny."  I'll take it!

I love that my kids still play with Legos.

and I hate that my kids still play with Legos.

DC yet again, this time with my sweet guy

As much as I enjoyed my April trip to DC with colleagues, there was something even more delightful about returning in May with my youngest child.  He is the most upbeat, can-do, roll with it, travel partner I could ask for.  We got up each morning and walked down toward the mall.  We would then plot our route to museums and exhibits and events.  By late afternoon we were usually ready for a siesta back at the hotel.  Due to a lucky coincidence my old pal John O happened to be in town, so after a rest we would meet up with John for dinner.  The first night it was just John, as his family had not yet joined him in DC.  Knowing the direct route to my son's heart, John took us out to eat and then to a little hole in the wall shop in China Town, which sold ninja supplies.  John and Theo giggled in the back imagining their escapades with the weapons on display while I browsed for less lethal items.

By night two, John had Theo in the palm of his hand.  Which was a problem when John's young son entered the picture.  He immediately recognized Theo as a rival for his father's attention and loudly proclaimed that he did not like that Theo guy.  Which made Theo pause briefly in his conversation with John O, smile, and then go back to hogging John's attention.  Linus made more dramatic entreaties to his dad and I decided it was time to redirect Theo's love, back toward me.  In the end, after Linus had his dad to himself for several hours, the boys realized that John was even more fun when playing with multiple children.  I watched them laugh their way through the National Zoo and commented to John's wife, "You know, Theo is not like this with all adults.  He can be quite reserved."  She remarked that John had this effect on most children.  She has a theory that after just a few minutes with John kids realize that maybe they don't really have to ever grow up, because John hasn't, and they shower him with gratitude and admiration for his denunciation of adulthood.  A theory I think is grounded in much research, and one I agree with heartily.  Lucky Linus!

Taking it up a notch

Theo, who usually dresses in sweat pants, decided to take it up a notch for his 11th birthday. Love this kid.

Senior Presentations take 10

Every single year the onslaught of senior presentation stresses me out.  Until I go to them.  Then I am wowed and refreshed and amazed.  But the planning and the time and the anxiety pulsing out of the seniors- it's nearly too much.  I think it was our 10th year of senior presentations and it may have been the best season yet.

Two highlights for me:
I'll call him Fred. Did not want to present.  Begged to get out of it.  I almost gave in.  But then we forced it. I did tell him that if he started panicking and gave me a signal, I would sneak out and pull the fire alarm.  At least I knew that I wouldn't have to do that... We gathered a bunch of students in to the Humanities room.  Fred stood outside the door, taking a couple last breaths (or so I'm sure he thought).  But then he walked in and did a lovely job.  I watched as the minutes passed and he relaxed and started standing taller and taller.  When it was over and the clapping was done, I helped Fred clean up.  He looked over at me and said, "I'm glad I did that. I'd even do it again."  Ya-hoo.

Then there's Bob.  This guy came to us partly through a somewhat lackluster high school career.  Clearly a brilliant kid, but not a lot of motivation.  And plenty of distractions.  Last fall he really faltered as he searched for a topic that might hold his interest.  But then he said that he reflected on what used to make him happy, back when he used to be happy.  Wow.  Ouch.  But he found something.  Being outside.  So he fashioned his project around wilderness survival.  He ended up taking a NOLS survival course.  He learned about foraging for food.  He took a camping trip with his mom- they had to travel a couple hundred miles south to do practice any foraging due to our odd April snowcover.  His presentation in May was wonderful.  Started off with an image of him as a happy toddler out in a sandbox as he talked about his motivation for this project.  Went into the cools skills he learned through NOLS, the wonder he found as he dug into the biology that relates to foraging, the reconnecting with his mom on their camping trip.  He held up the foraging cookbook he had made, and offered us a salad made of foraged greens.  Then he got to his final slide.  It had a picture of a young man jumping for joy..  Here is what it said:
Effects of my Senior Project:

• Happier
• Better ability to focus
• Started eating healthier
• Learned a lot about diverse subjects
• The research launched many other projects

Wow.  What more would I ever want a child to get out of some 'homework'?  Happier?  More focused? More curious? And he's eating better?  The power of letting youth take the reins surprises me once more.

A lovely Scottish guest

For a week in late May we had a Scottish house guest.  Allan was eventually headed out to spend the summer as a counselor at Camp DuNord, but needed a place to stay while he did his lifeguard training at a local Y.  It was a wild week at our house with all of us coming and going at all hours of the day and night, but we decided we could use a visitor to freshen things up.  Eli gamely moved on to Theo's floor and opened up his room to Allan.
Lovely young man.  Great accent, especially when he called things 'lovely'.  Which he did all the time.  Even our unseasonably crappy spring.  To a Scottish lad, the 15 minutes of sun was apparently an improvement from back home.  A lovely one.  This new outlook was just what we needed at the end of the single most tiresome spring Minnesota has ever thrown our way.
It wasn't enough time to really get to know Allan, but it was a delight to share our part of the world with him during the time that we had.  The guy had some social skills.  Beyond calling everything lovely (including our newly passed law that gays could marry!) he was endlessly thanking us.  He even slipped each boy a fiver for 'giving up their space' for him.  Wow.
Can't wait for another opportunity like this, but Allan has set the bar very high.  It is a lovely bar, of course.

Perching Hawk

So one day after the Theo tromped out the door for school, I sat down at the computer to do a little emailing.  Only Theo had not logged out of his account.  As I went to switch users, a long string of unopened emails from one sender caught my eye.  Some girl had been madly emailing my son.  Lots of them.   Mostly unopened.  Subject lines contained many many punctuation marks.  I admit I opened one.  There was a brief exchange in this particular convo about telling someone that Theo was her boyfriend.  But if he was her boyfriend why did he never email?  Why????!?!?!?!  I was curious as to Theo's answer, which handily I found in the next email:  "My mom watches the computer like a hawk!".  What?  I do?  I really don't think I do, although admittedly I was reading that very email, perhaps the only email I had ever read of Theo's, ironically.  Or was it just a bummer?  For Theo.

Overall, I thought the whole conversation rather comical and sent it off to Jon for his opinion.  As I hit send I realized I was still in Theo's account and had just not only forwarded the email to Jon, but had written something like, "Funny stuff- what do you think??"  and then even went on to say that Theo appeared to like the girl for her interest in MineCraft and was that better or worse than liking someone just for their looks?

So I started sweating a little.  In my nervous state I didn't think about just deleting that particular email.  No.  I decided the best course of action was to send another one, this time back to the sender, who was not me, but actually Theo.  All it said was "Beware.  The hawk is perching."

Several hours later Theo slunk through our door, clearly having had a chance to check his email while at school (it was his school account after all).  He had trouble meeting my eyes.  But after I spread my wings and made an ominous hawk call we shared a laugh. We went out to the deck to have a private chat about girlfriends and such.  I asked him if he had one.  He said, "Mom.  Why are you making this so hard???" We were talking, not emailing, but those extra punctuation marks were there. I felt them.  I swear I was not trying to make anything hard.  And suggested that if he was having trouble admitting that he 'had a girlfriend' perhaps he was not ready for a girlfriend.  He agreed.  After explaining that having a girlfriend meant that they emailed each other.  And that perhaps there was a plot for the girl to kiss him on the playground at lunch, a plot he had uncovered and was strenuously avoiding.  And I explained that generally I don't perch very actively, but that if my child did appear to be falling too quickly out of my nest, he would feel the claws around that tender little neck.  Oh yes he would.  I think he was relieved.  Until the hawk joke got a little old. In his mind.  Still fresh for me.

Gouda Regret

I took Eli grocery shopping with me.  I was hesitating over the display of gouda.  I voiced my concern that I couldn't remember if we already had some gouda home in the fridge.  Eli swept by me, grabbed a chunk, threw it in the cart and said, "Really, can you ever imagine regretting the purchase of gouda???".

Good point.

Trusting Teachers

My little school is sometimes a force for change in the community.  We are often so busy running the school and keeping our heads above water on that front that we don't have time to do what we can in the wider world.  But we do have a mission to help re-elevate teaching to the profession it should be.  This last spring we held a brief conference highlighting a book entitled "Trusting Teachers with School Success".  The author had visited several teacher-run schools and compiled her lessons she learned that could be spread to more traditional schools.  The turnout was great- teachers are hungry for change of this type.  Anyway- the evening started with a panel of teachers who work in teacher led schools, including two of my co-workers.  While they were speaking I admit I began daydreaming a little about the 'old days' and life in Avalon before we had really gotten our 'systems' in to place.  The endless meetings, the crazy decisions, the unique duties that fall to a teacher-leader when everything that has to get done has to get done by you, or your co-workers.  It made me remember a time when my co-worker Regina was using the freight elevator in our old building in order to move some furniture out to the dumpster.  She had a crew of several male students with her.  The elevator was not trustworthy and chose to stall with Regina and the students stuck between floors.  This was back in the early days of cell phones, and I can't remember if no one had one, or if they didn't work from within that concrete prison.  In any case, they were stuck there for over an hour, before anyone realized they were missing and hunted them down.  A rescue mission ensued.  All good for laughs now.

I dare say that when Regina started down the path toward teaching, she didn't prep herself for an hour locked between floors with a group of students.  In fact, so much of what I do daily at Avalon was not foreshadowed in my teacher education.  But it is so much better than what I was trained for back in the day.  I was really educated to be part of a system- to be a cog- to jump on the treadmill.  And as we all know how I do on treadmills (I was once thrown off, twice, within 2 minutes) it's probably for the best that I have stepped off and entered this alternative universe where we are trusted as professionals, and I think, for the most part, we are deserving of that trust.

Just the two of us

Right after my return from DC, Jon and Theo took off for a week up at Widji.  Jon had heard that this is a peach of a volunteer gig.  You get to hang out in the north woods in the springtime, but your only duties are keeping the 5th and 6th graders in the cabin overnight.  During the day the Widji staff whisk the kids out in to the woods.  When Jon signed up for the late April/early May trip, I think he was envisioning some great trail runs in the BWCA.  Alas, they still had up to 3 feet of snow in the woods.  3 feet.  In May.  When they arrived the ice was still on the lake.  It was not thick enough to walk on, so the group cracked up some ice along shore so that they could still participate in the Widji ritual of a 'dip sauna dip'.  That means that my 10 year old son jumped into the a nearly iced over lake, then took a suana, then jumped in again.  Turns out that he was so excited about the opportunity that his first dip was done before removing his sweatpants that he had on over his suit.  Oh well.  He took them off in the sauna and carried on about his business.  By all reports, they had a great time.

Back here in Minnesota, Eli and I had some time on our hands.  We took a spontaneous evening trip to the Science Museum to see the Body Worlds exhibit.  I swear we had the whole exhibit to ourselves.  It was fascinating.  Another evening we took advantage of the longer hours of daylight to get in a round of after dinner frisbee golf.  It was a lovely slow week full of quiet conversation and acting on whims.  Sure, we missed the other half of our family, but it was nice to slow it down and take it easy with just my sweet tween.

DC in the springtime

This past April I got the chance to head to DC with a crew of Minnesotans interested in education policy.  It was not nearly as boring as that sentence sounds.  First of all, when I took off from Minnesota in late April, it was snowing.  Snowing.  And it was brown and gray and slushy and depressing.  Within an hour of landing I had stored my stuff in my hotel room and was out for a run around the mall.  It was blindingly green.  And the flowers.  I experienced running with a spring in my step for the first time in my life.  Seriously.  I was skipping for joy.  And all the DC-ites were just plodding along, already accustomed to the beauty that is spring.  Or maybe they are not so sensory deprived as we are here in the mid-west during the winter.

There were other delights beyond the scenery.  First of all, my traveling crew was bright, funny, articulate, and engaging.  What more could I ask for?  So what if the 66 year old leader of our troup misheard me at one point and when I was talking about four co-workers giving birth within a week, he thought I said I was having four 'grandbabies' born within a week.  WHAT???  I can't possibly be that old?  I did the math after sternly correcting him and that would mean that I would have had to had several children in my early 20s, all of whom were reproducing in their early 20s.  Oh.  I guess that is not too odd.  But at least the rest of the crew thought it funny and didn't just accept it as plausible.  God forbid.

The sessions were thought provoking when not down-right entertaining.  At one point we had to work as a team (with strangers) in a simulation where our goal was to get re-elected.  Not to govern well, but to be re-elected.  It was eye-opening.  In another session a long-time DC insider (she could have 4 great grandchildren born within a week for sure) gave a talk that was seriously insightful and interesting, but her delivery brought me to tears of laughter.  She has worked in the House research department for decades and she shared her top two dumb questions by our elected officials.  The runner up was "What are the effects on the body of capital punishment?"  The speaker said her email response read "Death."  Turns out the guy was looking for details of what happens when administered the drug, but that is not what he asked.  The top question of shame was this:  "What did President Lincoln do when his term ended?"  Her response: "Took a long train ride back to Illinois."

Maybe it doesn't translate well- but the way this four foot tall great grandma was shouting from the stage, still, years later, totally perplexed and amused and enraged by the stupidity of our elected officials, did get me laughing.

It always seems like it is too much bother to get away from work and family and life obligations to take part in opportunities like this one, but I feel like I came home refreshed from the brief spring encounter (it was snowing when I landed back in MN) as well as professionally recharged.  I owe my school much gratitude for sending me away.  I'm sure they benefited from the situation as well- a week with out me!

National update

The National History Day trip was a smashing success.  The MN delegation seems to have this whole thing figured out- the experience is like a super fun summer camp for history nerds.  There were apparently games and contests and good times late into every night.  Sprinkle in there a few rounds of top notch competition on the history front, and you have the makings of one exhausted child.  But the boys came back knowing that their documentary film skills are legit- 8th in the nation!  The Open delegation had a great showing- Siena's film was in the top 20, and Grace performed so well she took home a bronze medal.  Third in the nation.  Holy smokes.

They are going to Nationals!

Our summer started off in warp drive with Eli and Jon getting up at 3:30 am the day after school got out in order to catch a flight to DC.  Eli and his two teammates had successfully competed in a variety of levels in order to reach the History Day National Competition.  Back in February at the regional meet we had no idea that this ride would just keep on going all the way through June.  I'd say that the most intense moment for this proud mom was when they were announcing the finalists at the State competition.  There are so many categories and Eli's was announced about last.  They announce a handful of honorable mentions, then start with the fifth place team, counting down to 1.  The top 2 go to Nationals.  Arriving at the meet that day we really had no expectations, but the more films we watched (Eli and crew did a documentary- their topic was the 1862 US Dakota War) we (the moms) started to realize that our boys had really created something special.  Anyway- I think this photo kind of sums up our excitement at realizing the boys were going to nationals- this was snapped as they announced the third place winner and so we had calculated that the boys were either 1 or 2. It makes me laugh.

Yahoo!

My student, who I wrote about earlier in terms of his reading test struggles, made it to graduation.  He never passed that test.  We took him on an end run around that obligation by working with a anxiety diagnosis.  It was legit.  Because the kid can read.  Shortly after the testing fiasco, he and I read Antigone together and he got it and loved it.  So there.  But the bigger news is that he managed to cross every last t and dot all the i's and get out of Avalon with a diploma.  On time.  He told me he wasn't going to come to our graduation ceremony as his family couldn't make it and he hates crowds. So we surprised him with a guerilla ceremony.  And it was lovely.  My aunt, who had been tutoring him, made it, as well as his coach and mentor, Buzz Lagos.  We gathered our advisory and other interested students and presented him with his diploma.  Then we clapped long and hard.  He deserved it.  One of my happiest days of teaching in quite a while.

Tooth Fairy does damage

So, a while back Theo lost a tooth.  He KNOWS there is no Tooth Fairy, yet there is this strong expectation that we keep playing along.  And so we have.  Some days it takes us a few reminders to remember, but the coin usually does arrive under the pillow.  But on this one evening, Theo was wound up and not getting to sleep.  I was tired.  I couldn't wait.  So I grabbed the coin and then pranced into his room making flapping motions with my wings and shoved the coin under his pillow.  I thought I was kind of funny.

His response?  "Mom.  You have just so damaged me."

Apparently so.  Because shortly thereafter the Easter Bunny arrived- but Easter came the morning after we crashed back in our home after a long drive from Colorado.  We hinted to the boys that there might be no easter bunny activity on Brimhall this year.  They took it fairly stoically.  Theo bundled up to bed a bit after the discussion.  But he didn't go to sleep.  He kept getting up out of his loft and looking around.  I thought he was looking for the Easter Bunny.  But no, he was looking for us to go to bed.  Because as soon as we retired to our room, Theo jumped out into the hall and quietly spread coins and other little tidbits of candy or chocolate he had secretly dug out of the back recesses of our kitchen cupboards.  He was not leaving this Easter Bunny up to his damaging mom.  I appreciated that.

The Perfect Snack

The other day Theo hit his hunger wall about 45 minutes before dinner, as usual.  He made his way into the kitchen, fished around, and came out with a banana, sighing, "Really, can you think of a more perfect snack than a banana?"  For the record, I can.

In Even Plastic Cup

One thing I love about my boys:  they also like to laugh at stupid grammatical errors on public signs.  This one was posted on a sign outside a pool in a sad little hotel in Omaha.  It went on and on about no alcoholic beverages were allowed.  And no glass.  And at the end after one more warning of the dangers of bringing in alcohol it gave the final demand:  No Alcohol.  In Even Plastic Cup.  That became a catch phrase around here.  Can I use the computer, Mom?  Can I use it now?  No.  Not now.  In Even Plastic Cup.  Quit asking.

This sign also brought up memories of the time we were taking a tour of a cave and were given explicit instructions to "Don't touch nothin'".  Huh?  Just where does that leave us?

Back on skis!

After we finally got out of Denver and away from the substitute pirates, we make our way out to YMCA of the Rockies- Snow Mountain Ranch.  While there we took advantage of all of the facilities- the xc ski trails, the archery range, the roller rink, the courts, ping pong tables, and most of all, our room's microwave.  Yep- 6 people in one room for a week, mostly eating out of a microwave.  I was very unaware of the depth and breadth of microwave cuisine.  And I had hoped to stay that way.

There was so much to do at Snow Mountain Ranch that it was hard to pull ourselves away to go try out downhill skiing in the mountains.  But we did.  We spent the first day at a small place- still big hills by Minnesota standards, but only one chalet and just a few lifts.  The boys started out cautiously, but by the end of the day they were looking great.  And my mom and dad?  It's like they had never taken a 20 year hiatus.  They still had all the moves.  The other day of downhill we spent at Winter Park- the place we came as a family many times in my youth.  The names of the hills came right back, Mock Turtle, Cheshire Cat, White Rabbit, and it was just as beautiful and exhilarating as I remembered.  Only this time the exhilaration didn't come from my own daredevil moves, but from watching my boys shake off their hesitation and really figure this skiing business out.  Theo inherited my (dangerous) love of dodging in and out of the trees.  The grin on his face was probably gorgeous, but it was hidden behind a helmet.  Thankfully.

In all, we lucked out.  Great weather, great snow, short lines.  Enough sun to keep us smiling, but not so much that we were fried to a crisp like I was back in the 80s.  We will definitely return.  But we are upgrading to something with a kitchen.  

Cliff Diving Gorillas and Substitute Pirates

For spring break, we decided to go back in time and relive my youth by taking a road trip to Snow Mountain Ranch in Colorado.  I have many fond memories of skiing at Winter Park and staying in the cabins at the Y camp.  So we loaded up my parents minivan with xc skis, boots, snow gear, my parents, and headed west.  After a night in a small motel in Nebraska, we awoke to a blizzard.  There would be no getting over the pass outside of Denver and to our cabin in the mountains.  We were lucky to make it to Denver.  It was hours of white knuckle driving.  With my mom getting antsier and antsier in the back of the van with Theo.  He took it like a champ.

As we rolled (slowly) into Denver I used my phone to find a cheap hotel for the night. Jean piped up from the back about a restaurant we had stopped at back in the 80s.  She remembered mexican food and cliff divers.  In a restaurant.  So I googled 'cliff diving restaurant' and sure enough it was still around, and just down the road!  I checked out the website and saw that they had a whole afternoon of 'shows' for our enjoyment.  If we stepped on it we could make it not just for a cliff diver, but for cliff diving GORILLAS.  What?  We stepped on it.  Further scrutiny of the website showed that the 2pm cliff diving show had a little asterisk by it.  I looked at the key to see what the asterisk could possibly denote and sure enough found out that on weekends, *Substitute pirates.  What?  There were substitute pirates?  That so beats being a substitute teacher.  

We didn't make it in time for the gorilla.  We did see the substitute pirates, and I see why they are not the real ones.

But the cliff divers were young and brave and a little bit funny.  And the faux tropic environment plus never ending basket of chips was just what we needed after driving through hours of swirling white.

Night Sledding

In early March my family headed back up to Dunord.  This time for the board retreat.  We brought along my parents as well.  They got to play with Jon and the boys while I sat in a meeting.  I felt my time at in the board meetings was meaningful and useful, but I also stared wistfully out the window at the freshly falling snow and was jealous of the rest of my family who had no agenda for the weekend but to play.

On our last evening, after a day long meeting and a nice dinner, I was ambling back to the cabin for perhaps a game of cards before heading to bed.  But then Theo asked to go sledding.  It was chilly, snowing, late, dark.  But I said yes.  We bundled into our outdoor gear and headed over to the hill.  As we walked along in the deep dark, I thought we would last one run.  But then we came over the ridge and saw a magical scene.  The sledding hill was softly lit by strings of christmas lights.  The snow was downright sparkling as it floated down on the scene.  We grabbed some tubes and took off.  Sledding in the dark adds a dimension that brings the experience to the next level.  You couldn't really see the bumps and dips, but you felt them.  I think my favorite part was when our tubes took us extra far, down around a corner toward the dark lake, out of reach of the twinkling light.  As soon as our tubes came to a halt, Theo would be up and running back toward the light. And I was right behind him.  Something about moving from light into darkness.  Suddenly you thought you could hear wolves, see red eyes peering at you, some sort of benign evil (I know, contradiction) closed in on us out there on the dark end of the sled run and we made a dash for safety.   It got the blood pressure up, but at the same time you knew you were really ok.  Which is the best kind of thrill out there.

DuNord. With 14 boys.

Back in February we ventured up to DuNord in the middle of winter.  Well, retrospectively, it was only really the beginning of winter, as winter stretched out all the way to May this year.  But it was gorgeous there.  The cities were quite brown and drab at that point but we arrived at our cabins to find pristine ski trails passing right outside our doors.

We had gathered a group of 8 families for this trek.  It was some point before we left that this crew included 18 kids between the ages of 8 and 13.  And 14 of those 18 were boys.  Good luck girls.  The crew got along famously- bouncing from skiing to trekking out to the middle of the lake, to cards in the loft, to sledding, to board games.  And then they slept hard.

The skiing was downright perfect.  Tons of snow, beautiful forests and lakes, and even pictographs!  On the cold days the sun was so bright that at one point Eli proclaimed, "Man, if was any hotter, we'd be in trouble!"  It was 6.  Degrees.  On the snowy days the temps were warm enough to lure us out into the woods were the silence and beauty was astonishing.

A highlight, beyond good company, was the late night sauna.  Temps were in the single digits, the ski was full of stars, and the hole in the ice did look a lot like a watery grave.  But after roasting in the sauna I did jump in.  Surprised myself.  While sitting in the sauna I put my odds of actually launching myself into the icy lake at 5%.  But I did it.  Once. Probably never again.

It is hard to believe that the stars will align so perfectly again- everyone healthy and available, the combo of sun and snow and perfect trail conditions, but we are hoping so.

Avalon in the news!

This past year at my school we undertook a campaign we called ReadBrave.  The entire high school read a book together- out loud, in small groups.  The book, Everybody Sees the Ants, dealt with bullying.  There were parts that were tough to read.  And certainly,at my school, at any school, there were kids who could relate, and painfully so.  We read, we talked, we laughed, and some of us cried.  It was a good experience.  Somehow we connected with Lady GaGa's Born Brave Foundation and the kids started making and recording Public Service Announcements in order to try to catch her attention and lure her to Avalon.  It did not work as planned, but it did get us on several news channels and the word got out about these videos where kids were talking honestly about their experience in other places, and how they had a found a home at Avalon and could be themselves here.  It was sweet and reaffirming.  In the end, several students scored tours of Gaga's bus and front row tickets to her concert.  One reports that the Lady herself passed by so near him he could have touched her.  He will never be the same.

Laughing and crying at work

First the tears.  I have a student who needs to graduate this year.  He's 18 and is more than ready to move on.  After some initial stumbles in his high school career, he has worked incredibly hard during his senior year to get himself to graduation this spring.  This has included going to night school 4 days a week for an entire semester.  But there's this final hurdle of the state reading test.  He has to pass it to graduate.  He's been taking it regularly since 10th grade.  He's Somali.  English is his 4th language.  He started learning it in third grade when he moved here and went to school for the first time in his life.  He's learned it so well, and been here long enough, that he has been 'exited' from the English Language Learners program.  Meaning he has to pass this test in English to get a diploma.  He's a good reader and determined to pass.  He created a plan to work with an adult at Avalon most days for several hours on reading strategies.  Now that night school is over, he stops by his old school on his way home at least once a week to get extra tutoring from a teacher there.  He's good.  But he gets tripped up sometimes.  Dumb things get him, like one set of questions was based on an add for a chili cooking contest.  He had no idea what chili was.  Didn't know that it was spicy.  Got all the questions wrong.  Then there was the section about a girl who wanted to get a gift for her sister returning home from college for the holidays.  So she made here a scrapbook.  My refugee-camp raised student had no idea what a scrap book was, nor was he connected to a world where siblings left home- all 9 of his live with him still.  And he certainly didn't know that if you wanted to learn more about scrap booking you would:  C) go to a library to check out a book about crafts.  Come on.  I have trouble thinking that scrapbooking would be in a craft book.  How would my student?  So he gets tripped up.  And then the pressure of having to pass adds anxiety.  A few weeks ago he took the test again- his second to last opportunity before graduation.  

My student was so nervous he hardly slept.  Neither did I.  He spent three hours working on the 40 questions.  Then came out of the room, sweaty and tired.  I waited nervously for results.  The testing director passed by the room I was in and gave me a sad thumb's down.  Two questions from success.  But it's an all or nothing situation.  Damn.  Now I had to tell my student.  He was sitting at his desk in the advisory wringing his hands.  Telling him felt like kicking him in the balls. Then punching him in the gut.  Then slapping his face.  He shrunk with the news.  Got teary.  So did I.  Damn.  One of the worst days of my teaching career.  We have a plan in place to make it through this hoop at the next opportunity.  I hope it works. 

Good thing my job also brings me to tears of joy.  Shortly after this sad testing experience I overheard this conversation between two burly, mechanically-minded, fabulous boys:  "You know, I've tried them, but I've found that skinny jeans just do not fit my lifestyle."  "Yeah, I know what you mean."  They were all serious.  I could not keep a straight face.

Another laugh came when a student was reading a section from her essay in class.  She had decided to write about the problems associated with school aged girls being sexually active.  But then got into a section that was clearly plagiarized.  Because it was all about a study that talked about 'sex during the golden years'.  I figure she thought she was living the golden years.  She about died when I told her that her paper was interesting, but I didn't know when she changed her topic to being about sex amongst old people.  Favorite plagiarism busting ever. 

How did that happen?

Somehow over the course of this snowy winter, my boys became downright respectable shovellers.  I think it started when our neighbor offered to pay them to shovel her walk if it snowed while she was out of town.  We ended up getting a foot of heavy powder.  Jon and I did not oversee the job, but they were out there for quite a while, with Theo even going out to tidy up after noticing spots that were not to his liking.  She paid them handsomely.  Shortly thereafter I had a day that started long before daybreak and ended by ferrying Jon to the airport as bedtime approached, with nary a minute to breathe in between. I had no time to shovel up the new layer and asked the boys to take care of it before I got back from the airport.  I returned to a clean walk.  Well done guys. 

Independence

The other day I got a text from Jon toward the end of my work day.  Boys were excited by the late winter snowstorm and were walking over to the sledding hill to meet friends.  They'd be home by 5:30. 

Wow.  Sledding by themselves.  Why had I never thought of that before?  We did it all the time in our youth- most of the time right out the back door in the 'fields' that abbutted our home, but sometimes the crew would head down to the park and the big hill by the 'Green Bugger'- a playground in the woods.  But my boys had always been chaperoned, mostly because the nearest hill was a half-mile yonder. 

When they got home they were wet, exhilerated, and full of stories about the mad mom.  Mad mom?  Apparently they were harangued by a woman who thought they were crowding out her young daughter.  Now, I know my boys do sled aggressively.  They love what they call 'sled wars'- a game that involves jumping from sled to moving sled and trying to throw people overboard.  And I also know that as tweens they are fairly focused on themselves and don't always think of others.  But they also have a lot of young girl cousins and friends and are quite caring.  From their report they had seen the girl in question and had given her wide berth.  Their wide berth clearly was not wide enough.  Sounds like they took the screaming mom fit in stride and politely waited their turns there after.  Or so they report. 

I want to believe them.  I really think this was a case of a mom seeing unchaperoned tween boys and thinking the worst.As a teacher of teenagers, I know that it happens often enough.  This woman was just letting perception trump reality.  Or maybe not.  They very easily could have been wild and endagering others.  But in the end I think their biggest thrill was not sledding in the new snow, but in languishing in the glow of the righteousness of being unjustly accused.  

Candid Camera

One day this winter when it was really really cold our furnace did us the favor of burning out.  We might not have even noticed as we turn it down so low at night and usually leave before it really gets going in the morning.  But Theo likes to curl up on the radiator first thing.  He recoiled in horror when it was cold to his touch. 

After I got everyone out of the house I stuck around to await the repairman.  I had to do some jumping jacks every now and then to keep myself from freezing.  It wasn't all that bad as we do have a fireplace that I can turn on with the flip of a switch- but that only heats the living room.  Anyway- as I was waiting I was thinking about broken furnaces and wisps of memories of carbon monoxide poisoning started drifting through my mind.  Isn't there some connection?  Faulty furnace and sleeping people who never wake up?  Just then an alarm started beeping upstair.  Crap!  The monoxide alarm!  I knew it!  But it was just making a beep, not a full fledged blare.  My rational mind told me it was just the battery dying.  My irrational mind said, "What's the chances of that?  The battery dying within hours of the furnace dying?" My body froze.  After all, it was already half way there due to the temp being in the 40s in the house. 

After several false starts I went up and checked out the beeping alarm.  Seemed as if it wasn't in full fledged warning mode, but the rabbits sure were.  Everytime the alarm beeped the rabbits would start thumping with all their might, shaking the top floor of the house.  Don't doubt me here.  Remember Bambi?  So there we were, alarm beeping, rabbits thumping, me flooded with adrenalin.  Fight or flight?  Was I getting light headed?  Wasn't it getting harder to concentrate?  How many minutes did I have?  I figured the rabbits were my canaries in the mine and with their smaller bodies they would surely die before me, so as long as they were thumping I had time... I got up on a stool in this state and unscrewed the alarm.  Once it was dangling from the ceiling by wires the beeping increased dramatically in volume.  The thumping got wild.  I saw the battery compartment but it had a warning sign and involved pulling out live wires.  Just then I saw a button which I swear said, "Hush".  I pushed it.  The alarm really went off.  Fire! Fire! Fire!  pause  Monoxide! Monoxide! Augh!  I jumped off my stool and rushed downstairs to the circuit board and threw the switch for upstairs.  Silence.   Pierced only occasionally by the original beep, which now seemed like a lullaby.

This time I stepped boldly on to the stool, pulled out the wires, popped open the battery compartment and threw the damn battery down the hall.  Replaced it with a new one and was greeted with blissful silence.  Just in time to hear the doorbell ring and my repairman call out hello.  So glad he hadn't arrived 5 minutes earlier and witnessed my frantic dumbness. 

The competitive spirit never dies

A couple weeks ago we were up at my parents' house for a friendly family get together.  It was nice to hang out with my brothers and their peeps.  Although we all live fairly close to each other, lives are busy and we don't always make time to see each other. 

During lunch Theo mentioned that when he had been downstairs he had seen a new item my dad had purchased (more on Rodger's purchasing habits later...) called a Bongo Board and wondered what it was for.  What is it for?  Don't ask my dad that...  But I explained the general idea to him and went on eating.  Moments later I noticed my brother Pete had slipped away from the table.  In the middle of the meal.  To go downstairs and get in some covert practicing on the Bongo Board.  Couldn't wait til after the meal.  Had to get a jump on it as he knew there would be a competition coming soon.  That's what we Sages do.  It was no fair that he got the extra practice in, as he already had an advantage with his dorky log rolling shoes he was wearing.  That's right, my brother owns log rolling shoes.  He had accidentally had them delivered to my parents' house (I'm sure the UPS driver knows the way there) and was thrilled to find them when he arrived.  Slipped them right on and asked us at regular intervals to admire them. At first I scoffed.  But then when I found out about the Bongo Board I became enraged!  The playing field was no longer level! 

I don't want this on the permanent record

The other day Jon and I did our Returned Peace Corps Volunteer duty by talking to Theo's class about our PC experience.  We had to shake the dust off of our memories and dig around for some pictures.  I even found a powerpoint I had made a few years ago- but we didn't use it as the class projector was broken- which was fine, made it more true to the spirit of our experience as there was no powerpoint back then.  Hardly any internets at all. 

We got a little sidetracked from our presentation when I mentioned that as a teacher in my school in the Caribbean I could have whipped my students if I had chosen to.  I didn't.  Not sure Theo's classmates believed me. But they explored every possible infraction a student could have been whipped for.  Turned out to be much more interesting to them than stories of climbing trees for mangoes, toting water from the corner pipe, doing laundry by hand, lizards climbing around the roof, or even horses scratching their backs under our stilted house.  Even tales of a Class 5 hurricane could not alter their dedication to the topic of whipping.

Eventually we closed off the questions, turned on some good old Soca music by the Antiguan band "The Burning Flames" and handed out some fruit from the local grocery, but that also grew near our house in Antigua.  All in all, I thought it went fairly well.

At home that evening I asked Theo if we had embarassed him.  He said no, after a pause, then said, "I suppose it could have been worse."  I pushed it then and said, "Come on, you have to admit that maybe your parents are even a little bit cool."  His response, "Maybe they are, but I would never admit that as I don't want that going down on the permanent record!"  Too late Theo!  Recorded.  In the late winter of 2013, when Theo was 10, he admitted that there was a small chance that we might be the slightest bit cool. 

Team work

We just had conferences for Eli down at Open School.  Glowing reports from all quarters- with one side note.  He's working on a history day project with 2 of the 3 boys he knows quite well at the school.  The third boy, Sam, was the only one wise enough to go it alone.  When we asked Eli's teacher what he thought about how it was going with Eli's group he said, "Well, one thing I know for sure, Sam will have 3 good friends at the end of the history day competition."  Which is pretty much what I had been thinking.  Tension is growing between Eli and his parnters.  Different expectations, different styles- add to that poor communication and you got yourself a volcano simmering on high. Eli doesn't seem too concerned, but he has noted that next year he will opt for a single person project.  So something has been learned, anyway.

We saw similar teamwork issues at Theo's recent Lego League State Meet.  In that case, there was a group of 10 5th and 6th graders trying to work together on a multi-faceted, high stakes, project.  Or it was high stakes in Theo's mind.  Winning at the state level meant a trip to Lego Land and the national competition in San Diego.  He wanted that.  Badly.  He also wanted to further show up his older brother, who had never even made it to state. The team did not have any sort of success- their codes broke down and threw the whole thing off. They scored the lowest score they had posted all season.   Luckily, Theo seemed to be one of the most relaxed players in the mix on Saturday.  There were a few others who were brought to tears, after some classy swearing and yelling.  Theo later pointed out that the two boys most upset had slept at one house last night, despite Theo's trying to warn them against that plan.  He was suggesting early bedtimes for the whole team.  It became clear not everyone listened.

Working with people is hard.  But I think the boys are learning good lessons around it this year.  The trick now is to use what they've learned in future opportunities.  Here's hoping....