Friday, March 15, 2013
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
Monday, February 4, 2013
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....
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....
What muscles am I moving?
Over the weekend I signed Eli up for his weight room orienation at the local Y. He's showed a bit of interest lately and I thought- strike while the iron is luke-warm! I had to pick him up from a friend's house to get him to the Y, and while walking from the door to his car in his ski boots (why he was wearing his ski boots is another story that has to do with not listening to great suggestions from your mom) he slipped on some ice and came down very very hard on his tailbone. I had to help him up and hold on to him for a moment before he was able to carry on toward the car. Now, any 13 year old who is willing to be held in a bearhug by his mother outside of his friend's house, with the whole friend's family watching through the big family room windows, that 13 year old is in pain.
I got him into the car where he sat awkwardly hunched forward, keeping weight off his rear. He grunted and groaned and moaned over every bump- and being winter in MN, there were a lot of those. When he gets like this- groaning and moving awkwardly like a 95 year old man, I lose my patience. Even when he's legitamately hurt. I was ready to throttle him. And then bring him to the ER. For both the tailbone and the throttling. But I didn't do either. I figured that the ER wouldn't do anything for him anyway- and this I know from our experience in breaking our Peruvian houseguests tailbone a few years back. You just have to suffer through it. So I took him to the Y. I explained to the woman at the front desk that we may need to rescedule as his mobility was limited. She assured us that he would only be learning about all the machines, not get on them. Given this info, I popped some painkillers into his mouth and we awaited the trainer.
He arrived. He was Eli's height, and I'd bet 3 times the weight, which isn't saying much, as Eli has bird bones and nothing over them. He looked Eli up and down and came to some conclusions. I told him about Eli's recent injury and how that might effect the next 30 minutes. He didn't hear. Or he didn't listen. Not sure. He took Eli away and got him on the machines while I called the nurseline just to make sure we weren't doing any more damange. After getting confirmation from the medical world, I joined up on the orientation. Just in time to get the orientation to the machine that builds pecs. The trainer was one the machine and using it to rapidly flex his pecs. They were jumping around under his shirt. He was asking Eli, "What muscles am I using now? Huh? What ones? Not my arms...no...not arms... which ones?" To which Eli responded weakly "Those" while pointing at his chest. Over the guy's shoulder Eli gave me his 100 watt grin which reassured me that he was beyond groaning and was starting to enjoy this...kind of.
Poor Eli had to get on and off about a dozen machines and lift a bunch of weights, all while taking abuse from the trainer. "We need to toughen you up buddy! Buddy! How are you going to survive the halls of high school? Buddy, you're going to have to get busy. I'd say 3 x a week working all muscle groups for at least...at least... (looking skinny Eli up and down) a year before we're ready for real muscle group work. Come on buddy." The whole time making Eli contort his throbbing body in and out and around awkward machines. Eli and I could not catch each other's eyes. Trouble was brewing. We were going to have to keep this laughter inside for a while longer here. When the guy started touching Eli's muscles and making surprised noises, we both nearly lost it. I like to think that he was surprised at the strength he felt there. I do think Eli is more lean than skinny. Just looks skinny in his baggy clothes.
Finally, he was released. After the trainer left, I complimented Eli on making it through the ordeal with out moaning and groaning. To which he responded, "only by chewing the inside of my cheeks raw! There's blood." But dang, he did it. He groaned his way back out to the car, gripping my arm tightly as we crossed some icy patches. But then once he twisted his way painfully into the car, we got the giggles over the pecs bouncing and the string of insults Eli had to hear. Now all it takes to get Eli's mind off of his painful ass is a quick "What muscles am I moving?" and he's giggling away.
I got him into the car where he sat awkwardly hunched forward, keeping weight off his rear. He grunted and groaned and moaned over every bump- and being winter in MN, there were a lot of those. When he gets like this- groaning and moving awkwardly like a 95 year old man, I lose my patience. Even when he's legitamately hurt. I was ready to throttle him. And then bring him to the ER. For both the tailbone and the throttling. But I didn't do either. I figured that the ER wouldn't do anything for him anyway- and this I know from our experience in breaking our Peruvian houseguests tailbone a few years back. You just have to suffer through it. So I took him to the Y. I explained to the woman at the front desk that we may need to rescedule as his mobility was limited. She assured us that he would only be learning about all the machines, not get on them. Given this info, I popped some painkillers into his mouth and we awaited the trainer.
He arrived. He was Eli's height, and I'd bet 3 times the weight, which isn't saying much, as Eli has bird bones and nothing over them. He looked Eli up and down and came to some conclusions. I told him about Eli's recent injury and how that might effect the next 30 minutes. He didn't hear. Or he didn't listen. Not sure. He took Eli away and got him on the machines while I called the nurseline just to make sure we weren't doing any more damange. After getting confirmation from the medical world, I joined up on the orientation. Just in time to get the orientation to the machine that builds pecs. The trainer was one the machine and using it to rapidly flex his pecs. They were jumping around under his shirt. He was asking Eli, "What muscles am I using now? Huh? What ones? Not my arms...no...not arms... which ones?" To which Eli responded weakly "Those" while pointing at his chest. Over the guy's shoulder Eli gave me his 100 watt grin which reassured me that he was beyond groaning and was starting to enjoy this...kind of.
Poor Eli had to get on and off about a dozen machines and lift a bunch of weights, all while taking abuse from the trainer. "We need to toughen you up buddy! Buddy! How are you going to survive the halls of high school? Buddy, you're going to have to get busy. I'd say 3 x a week working all muscle groups for at least...at least... (looking skinny Eli up and down) a year before we're ready for real muscle group work. Come on buddy." The whole time making Eli contort his throbbing body in and out and around awkward machines. Eli and I could not catch each other's eyes. Trouble was brewing. We were going to have to keep this laughter inside for a while longer here. When the guy started touching Eli's muscles and making surprised noises, we both nearly lost it. I like to think that he was surprised at the strength he felt there. I do think Eli is more lean than skinny. Just looks skinny in his baggy clothes.
Finally, he was released. After the trainer left, I complimented Eli on making it through the ordeal with out moaning and groaning. To which he responded, "only by chewing the inside of my cheeks raw! There's blood." But dang, he did it. He groaned his way back out to the car, gripping my arm tightly as we crossed some icy patches. But then once he twisted his way painfully into the car, we got the giggles over the pecs bouncing and the string of insults Eli had to hear. Now all it takes to get Eli's mind off of his painful ass is a quick "What muscles am I moving?" and he's giggling away.
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