You gotta love boys

The New Year's Eve celebration we attended happened to be themed "Love 2009," complete with a strong emphasis on kissing: movie clips of classic kissing scenes on the big screens, a record setting attempt for the number of people kissing at midnight, even very Italian kissing instructions and practice throughout the evening running up to midnight.

All of this was a bit much for the 10-year-old boy with us.  But he had a plan.

Sam: "I hope I can do it."

Us: "Do what?"

Sam:  "I'm going to burp for two minutes straight.  When everyone's kissing."

Well now. It's good to have a goal.

Annie Woebegon

Saturday Maddy and I went to the violin store to switch her rental violin for a larger size.  They brought out a bunch of violins for her to try and left us in a little aisle to decide which one she liked.

Two aisles over, a father was buying a new cello for his son.  He evidently knew the salesperson a little and they struck up a conversation.  First he talked about his astoundingly talented little young cellist, who is wowing everyone who teaches him, everyone he meets.  Then he moved to discuss another of his kids.

"Did you hear about my oldest?"

"No..."

"He's in Paris this year.  Having a wonderful time.  He wrote a ballet for his girlfriend, can you believe it?  She's a ballerina there and he's head over heels."

"Wow.  A ballet?"

"Yes, he just wrote it on a whim.  Young love, eh? Well _____ showed it to _______ at the Boston Ballet and now they're thinking of performing it."

"The Boston Ballet? That's amazing!"

"I know.  Think of all the composers who would die for that chance. And then Johnny just writes his first ballet...That's not even the best part.  Somehow _______, the department head at Yale's School of Music, got his hands on it and sent Johnny a letter saying 'We want you.  When you get back to the States, you've got a place at Yale in the composition program.' He said he wanted to go to NEC and I said, 'Johnny, this is your decision but it's a great chance for you.'"

"That's....quite remarkable."

* * *

I hear this kind of thing all the time.

You know the Prairie Home Companion line about Lake Wobegon, "where all the children are above average"?  Well, where I live apparently all the children are stellar.  Extraordinary.  It used to send me into paroxyms of anxiety: should I, too,  be taking my kids to more lessons? pushing them to compete more? enrolling them in study courses for the study courses for the standardized tests? sending them to NASA camp and MIT science camp and Yale drama camp and Tanglewood music camp?

The answer is no, of course not. I believe in downtime and childhood and non-regimented exploring. But sometimes it's difficult not to get caught up in the competitive energy of it all.  I do believe in education, in interesting experiences, and in supporting talent and hard work. Actually, I'm proud of that boy who wrote the ballet.  That's pretty cool!  I just have to remember I'm raising people not college applicants, not just someone's future employee. I'm raising someone's best friend, someone's spouse, someone's mother or father. 

I have to remind myself that what I want for my kids is a good life, with challenges and joys.  

To find something they love to do and develop the work ethic to do it well.  

To find someone to love and to know how to be loving.  

To use their imaginations and create ideas and passions to follow. 

To be able to articulate their thoughts.  

To be involved citizens and engaged neighbors.

And, really, the camp for those things is called home. 

He only has sisters

{Christie, this one's for you}

Possible sign that Sam has been overexposed (by his mother and sister) to musicals. But first, three things you should know:

Back to school night is tonight.

Through some error in counting, his locker is alone & not with the rest of his class.

Every year the kids write a letter to their parents to read at BTS night.

So today he tells me:

"I wrote the note to you and dad today. Guess what I was going to write?"

"Hmm...I don't know. What?"

"Dear Mumsie and Popsicle,
There's been some confusion over lockers here at school*..." But then I thought it would be kind of weird."

Good call, son. Clever, but good call.

*this is the beginning line to a song in Wicked (except it goes "over rooming here at Shiz.") Particularly appropriate since the author of Wicked lives in our neighborhood...

Oh yes he did

We were in the kitchen on Monday night, getting the table set and dinner ready.  Greg came home from work and we were chatting about our day.

A: "Mine was good but tiring.   I got up late so I couldn't shower before getting the kids off to school and then I had to leave for my class and I promised myself I would go to the gym after class.  But I didn't.  So all day I've felt so off.  I finally hopped in the shower but I still feel so..."

G: "...dowdy?"

A: "...tired."

I hear Lauren, across the room, suck in air between her teeth.

A: "Um, did you say dowdy?"

G:  Silence.  Looks a little deer-in-the-headlights.

A: "Do you think I look dowdy?  Cause I don't know if I would say dowdy.  I mean, that's like what I would use to describe the Queen Mother [rest her soul]."

Lauren:  "Oh, Dad..."

G: "Didn't you say you felt dowdy?  I could have sworn that's what you said earlier."

A: "Um, no.  I would never say I felt dowdy.  I don't think I've ever said that.  Wow.  I feel kind of bad about the dowdy comment from you!"

Lauren: {laughing}  "oh, this is so great.  You guys are totally funny to listen to."

* * *

I remember my mom telling me about a woman of a certain age that she worked with who had a funny relationship with her husband.  One day this woman, Margene, told her husband, "I saw you downtown today.  I waved at you; didn't you see me?"

"Yeah, I saw you," he said.  "but I was kind of embarrassed.  I was with my friends and you weren't looking very good." 

"Oh, I'll make sure that never happens again," said Margene (I imagine a little coldly, don't you think?).  So Margene went out and bought not just a new outfit but a whole new wardrobe.  To make sure she didn't ever embarrass her husband again.  And he couldn't say a thing.

* * *

Thankfully I have a gem of a husband who would never say he was embarrassed of me.  And I do feel kind of bad for him for his slip-up (although not more than I feel bad for me!) But don't you think that little Freudian slip entitles me to a grand, anti-dowdy shopping trip?  Just wondering.

Black gold, Texas tea

We got a message from our bank yesterday that there was suspicious activity on Greg's credit card. They were putting a hold on it until they were able to speak to us.

I called Greg right away. He checked his wallet--the card was still there--and we tried to think about our spending over the last few days that might have triggered the suspicion. Me: grocery store? pet supplies? He: ATM machine? hardware store? We couldn't think of anything extravagant or exciting (someday I would like to set off the warning flags with our own out-of-character purchase, though. Wouldn't that be fun?)

Greg called me back after speaking to the bank. "Yup, someone got a hold of my credit card number and they were going crazy in Detroit. They already used it three times."

"They did?! What did they buy? How much did they spend? Are we accountable for it?"

He laughed before answering.

Guess what the crooks did with the number? Did they get jewelry or electronics or plane tickets? No. Did they buy a new wardrobe or go to expensive restaurants? No again. They got gas. As in filled up their tank(s) with gasoline. That's it. And a sad commentary on the price of crude oil it is.

(p.s. I guess it was the Michigan use of the card that set off the bells and whistles, not the price}