;)

Thank you for Flying Summer Airlines

Bye.

6:50 a.m.

Buh-bye.

7:15 a.m.

Bye now.

               8:15 a.m.                                

Enjoy your stay in school land.

Come fly with us again next year.

{wink}

{wave}

This girl

This girl turned 15 a week or so ago. Without even asking permission. I'm in denial.

Oh, those oldest kids. They really know how to stick it to their parents and they don't even know they're doing it! {I can say that because I am an oldest child. And married one. Married very young, too, thereby proving my unknowingly-stick-it-to-the-parents, oldest child theory.} Every milestone is bittersweet for us poor parents: excited and joyful at the growth and a bit shocked and sad and...aging at the same time. Time doesn't seem to listen to our whining and pleading to PLEASE SLOW DOWN. We're turning into ancestors before our very own eyes.

But if there's one lesson parenting brings, it's this: it's not all about you.

Sometimes parenting reminds me of a certain Grover book. (Stay with me here. You know...the blue, furry, spazzy Muppet?) We have long loved There's a Monster at the End of this Book, both when I was growing up and with my own kids. Grover spends every page pleading with the reader "please, please, oh please don't turn the page. 'Cause there's a monster at the end of this book! Didn't you read the title?" He tries to tape the pages, he builds a brick wall, but the pages keep turning, closer and closer to the end of the story. Then, of course, at the end HE's the monster at the end of the book.

That's me, trying to slow down the story, trying to maintain the happy status quo. I haven't decided what is the monster at the end of this book. A grown child? An empty nest? Regrets? Monster me? Whatever it is, it won't be what I fear, I'm sure. Maybe it will even be cute and furry (but we already got a dog). I just want a certain Miss L to go back and curl up on my lap for a few more stories again. Is that too much to ask?

I thought so.

Anyway, what was I saying about it's not all about me? Oh, yes.

Happy {belated} Birthday, Lauren! You're a fabulous, beautiful, loving, stubborn, talented, sunny bright spot in our lives. You go, girl. Just not too fast.

Finishing

In honor of the Olympics starting this week, I wanted to post one of my favorite Olympic moments: Derek Redmond's try for a medal in the 400 meter, Barcelona 1992.  Do you remember this one?

{the clip isn't in English but it's the pure footage of the race}

I love this on so many levels.  I love Derek's determination to finish, no matter what. Disappointed, not what he planned, but he perseveres.  This tenacity is not my default setting--I don't know, maybe it's not anyone's default setting?--so I marvel and am inspired.   

In 1992, I wasn't yet a parent.  Now I also identify with his dad, determined in his own way to get to his son + wrap his arms around him, to walk next to him through the pain.  Love the moments where he tears away from the security (1:00) and later hollers at the guy who tries to get him to leave.  "This is my son!" (1:29). I get that.

Here's an interview with Redmond about the race:

And here's a new  visa commercial  saluting Redmond's courage.

Go world!

We'll be watching + cheering... 

Opening ceremonies are on 08/08/08 

(What a great date.  Also Sam's 10th birthday).

Universe, you've got some 'splainin to do...

~On my way out the door (Literally. Coat on, suitcase in hand, kissing kids slumbering in their beds, five minutes before leaving for the airport) on a long-anticipated weekend trip to see friends, I found that S was really hot. Feverish. I woke him to check and, yup!, he had a sore throat and raging fever. It took only a couple of moments (and S's quivering chin when he was trying to be brave) to realize this trip ain't happening, my friend. I wouldn't respect myself if I went. Sometimes being the grownup isn't all rosy privileges.

~Miss meeting fabulous friends. Miss hearing TravelinOma speak. Miss going to the Frames concert with friends (the Once musicians). Miss surprising friends/family with my appearance. Miss, also, using the Boston Ballet Swan Lake tickets that I had cancelled for trip. Drat.

~Trip to the doctor (brought L, too, who was also feeling poorly) yielded negative strep tests. Disappointment, because we were all hoping to have antibiotics to knock the sickness out. Plus we were all pretty sure they did have strep.

~Sent both kids back to school the next day, only to be called by the doctor's office notifying me that (oops!) they do indeed have strep. Go to school, apologize profusely for exposing everyone, and bring S home. L is almost done with her day by then so I let her finish out her last period (with math test). You're welcome, entire high school studentbody, for the germs!

~Find out we weren't invited to a party for some people we know. Feel kind of lonely and friendless. Realize I need to make more friends who live near me as opposed to the kind that used to live near me but have moved away. Or who I moved from.

~Find out that the children's book I have just finished writing has actually already been written in essence by someone else. Different characters, different situations, same idea and theme (that I thought were completely original). Are you kidding me?? I've never in my life heard of the book. But it exists. Darn.

~Start feeling crummy. Sore throat. Shivery. Sleep, sleep, sleep, repeat...missing two training runs in the process...

* * *

Here's the thing, universe:
I have the best guy in the world who let me sleep for basically the last two days.

Who built a fire in the fireplace last night because it was chilly
and he knows how much I love it.

Who assembled my new bicycle for me while I was...you guessed it...sleeping, just because he knew I was anxious to see it and (hopefully) to ride this week.

Who knows what to do when I'm feeling disappointed and sick and sad.

So I can't be mad for long.

I'll rework the book,
feel better tomorrow (I love ya, tomorrow!),
make new plans to see friends,
and even plan to make new friends.

In balance, I always come out blessed.
But you still have some 'splainin to do.

Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

Whenever G and I read about someone's poor judgment or honest mistake leading to catastrophic consequences, we comment "there's someone who had a bad day at work." Sometimes it's an understatement, like when a truck driver takes a turn too fast and rolls his load of combustible jet fuel all over the freeway, starting an apartment fire in a nearby neighborhood. Sometimes it's even a little humorous, like when the waiter in a hurry stacks the plates too high and loses it all. But we always feel empathic because, let's face it, we've all been there in one way or another.

So here's one for the bad day department that made my heart go out to the poor guy.

Take one nice dad, a 40-something professor of archaeology at the University of Michigan, out with his 7-year-old son to see a ball game in Detroit. (Maybe he's a little unaware of ads and pop culture and such.

Add one very deceptively labelled bottle of alcoholic lemonade. And one very unclear sign at the concession stand.

He gives the lemonade (remember: he thinks it's regular lemonade!) to his son. Who drinks it, on and off, for a couple of innings until an usher notices.

That is the beginning of a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day for this poor parent which proceeds to include the ER, child services taking his son away, two court hearings, being required to move out of his home, etc. etc. It is DAYS before he sees his son again.

Read the full article here and then go thank your lucky stars it wasn't you. Poor guy.

pictures via Detroit Free Press