Never say never

I was afraid spring break around here was going to be a little bit of a downer (by the way, I would totally hire this company if I needed to move my piano--extra points for black humor) but it turned out to be a great week.
The gorgeous weather didn't hurt.
We did NYC last weekend,
went to Six Flags on Tuesday,
had a picnic and hang-out day on Wednesday,
the kids went to work with G on Thursday,
another free-form day on Friday,
and kayaking on the river on Saturday.
Bonus=I'm so glad I'm not driving back from Florida today.

However--word to the wise.
If you have a Nuvi navigation system, be sure you have it set to
"fastest route"
rather than "shortest route."
Otherwise, when you drive to NYC, you will be boggled
and confused about why you keep getting directed off
of the modern 21st century freeway
to travel the scenic byways of Connecticut and New York,
complete with stoplights every 100 feet or so.
Certainly check on the setting while this is happening,
rather than waiting until you arrive back home.
Just a suggestion.

Notice the oldest child cowering behind the others. Lauren has reached the age of weariness with her photographing mom. She's been heard to mutter "don't you think you should be experiencing this instead of taking pictures of it?" and "Not again!" Kids these days and their exasperating logical conclusions! What she doesn't realize is that I need proof of the great times we all had! These are my evidence exhibits in the court of we-never-went-anywhere-when-we-were-kids! Unfortunately, it will appear that I myself never went anywhere with them, since I am always behind the camera but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

Maddy's getting ready for a big violin recital next week. She continues to read books that are too sad and make her cry, although she feels that a book isn't truly great unless it does make her cry. This results in an almost daily cleansing cry and hugging fest. (Hint= if the character has a serious illness at the beginning, it's probably not going to end happily.) My favorite Maddyism this week was when we were winding through side streets in the Bronx (thanks confused Nuvi!). Noticing the brownstones and the porch stoops she said cheerfully "This reminds me of Sesame Street." [pause while drunk down-on-luck guy crosses in front of us and yells] "Except he's not so happy."

Sam is just glad he didn't have to spend more time in the car. He spent his free time this week making up impossible logic quizzes for me and G to stumble through. And grading them with big fat sorry scores. For some reason he started a balloon collection, blew them all up, and plans to sell them. I'm not sure who conducted his market research of the demand for blown-up balloons...but I'm pretty sure who's going to end up being his primary customer! Especially if it means clearing them from our house!

And, finally, in the never say never department
here's the newest addition to our household:

We finally wore down G and, after lots of conversations with breeders, etc.
we have (or will have when he can come home in a week or two) a puppy!
Four of us love him and one of us hopes he doesn't shed, bark, chew, poop, or stink.

Please help us
name this dog
If we choose your name suggestion (left in the comments),
I will send you a fabulous prize
having to do with a book shopping spree
and nothing to do with dogs.

(our naming guidelines: people names preferred...
nothing too cutesy...think manly with a hint of sensitive(?)...
uniqueness preferred...)

Sometimes you've gotta go with the red shoes

When Maddy saw these shoes a few months ago, she knew she had to have them, that her personal style sensibility rested solely on owning those shoes.
"Please can I get them? They're so....sophisticated Dorothy."

Today was the first day (of several) of the statewide testing for 6th graders, called the MCAS here in Massachusetts. It includes multiple choice and essay questions in many different subjects. Maddy, my dear daughter, is a worrier. Statewide tests are fertile fodder (hmmm...can fodder be fertile? it's nice and alliterative) for her worrisome ways. She made all sorts of plans: extra sleep, the right breakfast, you get the picture. Of course I asked about it the minute she came home...

How was the test today?
Great! I wore my sophisticated Dorothy shoes and they pulled me through.
Really?
Yep, every time I looked at them, I just thought there's no place like home, there's no place like home.

I completely understand.
What are your red shoes equivalent?

Going green

Boston St. Paddy's parade, photo via flickr

If you're going to celebrate St. Patrick's Day somewhere besides the Emerald country itself, Boston is the place. (Quite possibly this is why Greg yesterday oddly advised the missionaries to go drink a green beer today. Or he's trolling for a release...? They laughed nervously.) Everybody claims Irishness today.

But I, must say, Maddy looks the very part today (just as green as last year) especially with her redbrown hair and green eyes (and lots of green bling):

Lastly & semi-related, maybe this would be a good day to add this favorite:

Postscript

And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other
So that the ocean on one side is wild
With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightening of a flock of swans,
Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads
Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
Useless to think you’ll park and capture it
More thoroughly. You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open.

~Seamus Heaney

My related Irish blessing: May your heart be blown open.
But in a painless, pleasant way.

last two photos courtesy of Lauren & her Ireland trip

Miscellany: Leap Year edition

I've always wondered why why call today Leap Year or Leap Day. Isn't today the day we don't leap over the 29th of February? Maybe we should call it...Unleap Year? Unskipped Day? Whatever the case, in honor of this extra "found" day, I'm tossing together a mishmash of what's running through my brain. Let's call it Leap Year goulash:

~I know you've probably had your fill of Oscar fashion commentary. But I just know you've been dying to know what the middle school set thinks about all the gowns and fashioning and posing. Well, thanks for asking! You've come to the right place.

Here's Maddy's notes on the hits and misses of the evening, a list she created on the back of her Oscar ballot:

My attempts to create a mosaic with these photos were disastrous (it kept cutting off everyone's heads) so you can link here for a view more of her faves. {Rebecca Miller is Daniel Day-Lewis's wife and received Maddy's ugly-of-the-year award.}

~ I'm very disappointed I couldn't participate in this freeze-frame event. I'm really good at standing still, too. Have you seen this yet?

I love how, when the people thaw, they just go on as if nothing happened. This would go right along with my silliness and spontanaeity new year's resolutions. I wonder what would happen if I did this tonight right before dinner? New leap year tradition?

~ Greg and I signed up for a 10K race in May. You're invited, too. Woodstock (Vermont) is a great town and the race sounds challenging (a little hilly) but beautiful on carriage trails through the woods, up around a lake, and--get this--past a bagpiper serenading the runners. This time I won't start right in front of the ambulance, I promise.

~This week we also got tickets to The Police/Elvis Costello concert this summer. Roxanne, anyone? Or, if you're more of an EC fan... Allison? Veronica? Can't wait.

~ Finally, I'm so thrilled with the response of the Letters to a Parent project. We've had over 2000 hits in the first month of posts, which is {I think} pretty great! Thanks so much to those who checked it out & gave feedback. This week's letter is from the wise and witty Marty of TravelinOma. I consider Marty to be one of the matriarchs of the blogworld (as well as the matriarch of a pretty wonderful family, from what I can tell). Thanks, Marty, for your Letter to Young Moms, from an Old One. There are some more great ones coming soon & the invitation is open to anyone who feels like piping up.

~ Well, have a wonderful weekend. Ours includes another predicted snowstorm, Maddy at a Model UN Conference at Bentley College (she is Spain & they are trying to propose ideas for helping in Darfur--pretty huge topic for middle schoolers, I'd say), Lauren at a Black-and-White semi-formal dance at school & also a jazz band concert, Sam at basketball, Greg coaching basketball, and me? Lots of spectating.

Triptych

Michaelangelo's Pieta

I wake up to a small sound at midnight, my Miss Clavell-like mother sensors detecting something is not right. There it is again--a soft sniffle, a low moan. Is someone crying? I shuffle into the hallway, blurry from the scant hour of sleep and still half in my dream.

Maddy is crying--a soft, forlorn sob that breaks my heart.

I scoot her over a bit to make room for myself under the covers of her twin bed. I fit my legs into the angle of hers {and note fleetingly how her legs have stretched longer in the last few months} and wrap my arms around her. She spills out her worries and disappointments that have been building under her cheerful 12-year-old exterior. Loneliness, jealousy, fear, nostalgia already for her simpler elementary school days, friend troubles, sister troubles, dashed expectations for the glorious experiences she thought would be hers at 12--these are all soured by their proximity to each other and by the late dark lonely hour.

There was a time when my midnight ministrations were easier, when, blurry eyed, I could provide milk and nearness and that was enough to satisfy her nighttime needs. Now my role isn't resolving or satisfying but simply witnessing & waiting while she resolves for herself.

***

Brueghel's Child's Games

Most of my interactions with Sam are still instrumental. Where are my church shoes? What are we having for dinner? Will you help me with this song? Will you play a game with me? Comb my hair? Check my homework? These things I can do, can check off as positive indicators for the parenting balance sheet.

Although yesterday, when he hollered up from the kitchen "Can you cut my bagel for me?" I admit I weighed the probability of a lacerated palm (if I had him try it himself) versus a few more peaceful moments of reading before I replied a delayed "okay." Even the simple things are hard some days, their grinding dailiness overpowering my ability to rise to the occasion.

***

Modigliani portrait

Lauren chose 9:30 p.m. on a Sunday night, the last day of February break, to bring us the sheet of paper.
"I'm supposed to have a conversation with you."
Distracted by Jon Stewart's Oscar banter, I register her request but fail to respond.
"Like, by tomorrow. It's due tomorrow in Health."
"Okay...let me see what it is."

The form lists five questions that students are supposed to discuss with parents about sex and birth control: How should teenagers show affection for each other? Should a couple have sex if they love each other and are going to get married? If a teen is sexually active, what kind of birth control should she use? Etcetera.

This is not the conversation I want to have, on demand, on Oscar night at 9:30. Keep in mind we have had nine unscheduled, unhurried days of vacation before this. I sigh.

"I already know the answers to most of these. We've talked about this before" she says hopefully. "Maybe we don't need to talk about it and you can just sign the sheet."
This is true, although we haven't explicitly discussed birth control. I imagine a pregnant child, blaming her parents' cluelessness: They couldn't be bothered. The Oscars were on.

So we talk, our glances not quite meeting for most of it. One commercial break, Greg screamingly silent on the other sofa.
As she heads for bed, she says "don't worry, I'm not planning on doing anything like this anytime soon."

Silence in the wake of her departure.

Greg asks, "Did she say 'not anytime soon'? Because I was hoping to hear 'not planning on anything like this ever'." I'm just thinking why didn't I turn off the t.v. and spend a little more time? What's so difficult about that?

***