Just Me

It will be just the kids and me for at least a month,
while Matt helps to open some new Party City stores in the Toronto area.

He will be gone 10 days, home for 4, gone another 10, etc.
And during the 4 days home will likely work at his own store at least part of the time.

I always really ramp up my expectations for times like these.
And I'm usually way more efficient, way more organized,
way ahead of the game, as if I'm trying to prove that I can do it all myself.

But I feel a little anxious this time, a little less ready.
A little bit lost.

I think the older I get, the more I feel like I'm forgetting something all the time.

I hope it's not anything important.

*

Wizard

I visited the Khan Academy online and read this quote by Descartes:

You just keep pushing. You just keep pushing.
I made every mistake that could be made.
But I just kept pushing.

I want to be like that.
If I can only figure out what it is I'm pushing.

Then I would be on a trajectory of purpose
instead of this series of starts.

I think I am like a pinball.

I start and bounce
on downward arcs,
east, west, north for a bit
then straight south.

Yet I hurtle down that spring-loaded corridor with a huge grin on my face
every single time,
because I believe I am headed out of that machine,
not just around the corner for a familiar jolting ride until I circle back.

*
peace

One More Hug

I had a dream last night - several dreams, all mixing together with extraordinary circumstances flowing into the story as if it were completely normal.
You know how it goes.

In this dream, in between the bizarre and the sudden changes of scenery,
was my grandma.

This made perfect sense in the dream, but still came as a wonderful surprise:
that I had another chance to see her.

Somehow I had the knowledge that my grandpa was taking care of her - or rather - that she was in his care. I found out that he was coming to town.

Apparently he was an important personage, and the pomp and pageantry was already beginning. Flags, robes, a stage, people filing onto it.

I knew that he had brought her along, and as I waited, I cried.

I cried so hard - harder than I ever had in the past, harder than on the day she died.

I guess in the dream I knew that she had died. Her coming back was like a gift -
a second chance - another opportunity - a bonus.

And as I sobbed, my cousin Carin was there, with her camera, and she was crying too.
Carin was going to get some extra time with grandma - more than me - and I said to her,
"Oh take some pictures - please take as many as you can!"

And then she arrived - with someone on either side of her.
My grandma was smiling, but small, with her hands curled inward - she was weak, but happy.

I ran to her, crying and laughing, and hugged her, wondering if she would be confused -
if she would know me.
She did know me, and she hugged me back and smiled, but lightly.

Everything about her was light, as if she were not completely flesh and blood, just barely there.

But she was there, and I hugged her, for real. She wasn't a ghost. I felt her.

One more time.

*
peace

Imperfection

We took a walk, the first one in a long while,
and he was telling me how changeful I am.

He said,
"Remember how you proclaimed that we were all going to be vegetarians and then you made us all quit eating meat?"

Yeah I remember. That one lasted 2 years.
And there have been other short-lived proclamations.

I think it might be hard to be the child of a wandering soul,
especially when you're a black-and-white sort of person.

I said,
"Yes, I start new things all the time. It's one of the best things about me!
And one of the worst."

I keep something from everything I leave behind.
A little remnant of knowledge.
A healthy habit or a painful bruise.

I imagine myself, at the end of life,
a patched-up conglomeration of everything I've tried.
Maybe a beautiful mosaic, maybe a piece of trash-art.
Depending on how you look at it.

It's easier to be the child of a scheduled constant.
It's easier to live under the roof of someone who never contradicts himself, never changes direction. Keeps to the safe road.

But I look at my children and all four have somehow survived
my neglectfulness or my hovering,
my inability to stick to a plan,
my confusing mix of strictness and lenience.

I think it's because, beyond the erratic mealtimes and the abandoned projects
is one unscheduled constant:

Love.

I think, if you can give your child that,
along with a huge bucket of humor to wash over everything,
then you've done alright.

I've done alright.

*

Conferencing

Yesterday was parent-teacher conferences at school, which I rarely attend, except they have cookies so I do sometimes.

The husband does it for me, because he likes to talk to people. I get bored. I feel like I already know everything that they sit and formally tell us from behind the teacher desk. In fact, I feel like I know things that they don't know, so it should really be me sitting behind the desk, telling them non-schoolish things like how Beth drew that picture in band and smudged it on purpose by rubbing it on her jeans, or how Kara figured out how to edit photos on her own or how James helps so cheerfully around the house that sometimes we pick him to take out the garbage too much.

Speaking of James (and the previous post below), the teacher from the biting incident had some words that made me smile when the husband came home to tell me. She said, when he apologized for James' random and weird offense, "Oh please don't squelch his spirit and his creativity. There aren't enough kids these days that have his spunk and his creativity."

I'm glad to know that when my children are off at school they have teachers like this, who see them as I see them.

Now I need to go wake them up, because they were supposed to have a snow day, but it didn't pan out, so I let them sleep in anyway.

*

Names and Unanswerable Questions

Well, my babies are big now.
I have four teenagers.
They are all on Facebook,
they are all web-savvy and properly informed about Stranger-Danger.

And so I hereby Name them:

Michael: (previously The Teenager)
Kara: (aka The Middle Child)
James and Beth: (Twin Boy and Twin Girl)

Well that's done with.

Now on to the letter I received from James' teacher today.
My husband read it to me from behind his computer.
I sat with my hands over my face, shaking my head.

Mr. and Mrs. K,

On James' progress report today, he has a 1 on his Dam Comparison assignment. I'd like to explain that grade.

James did a fine job on the assignment, as did his classroom neighbor. For some reason, and I can't for the life of me make sense of this, James chose to take a large bite (yes, seriously) out of his neighbor's paper. James freely admitted to having bitten the paper. Since the paper was in no shape to be turned in, James was asked to recopy it for the young man to whom the paper actually belonged. He said he would do that and took the paper with him. James was told that if he did not recopy the other paper, the other boy would get his grade, and he would get the 0.

That was a week ago. As of today, James has not recopied the paper, and in fact, he reminded me of that. I put a 1 on the assignment so that I know it was done, but that it was not done correctly - or his part of the assignment was not done.

I hope that makes sense.

J

Well of course, it makes perfect sense.
sigh.

I have decided that when he comes home today I will say,

"James, why did you take a bite out of that Dam paper??"

*
peace

Twelve

It's always a little bittersweet when kids grow out of their baby-talk.

Lovely little lisps of guileless imperfection morph
into sophistication and startling clarity in the blink of an eye.

Last night Twin Boy said,
"Oh I forgot, there's a crucial piece of information I left out
about my trip to the cider mill!"

Really? Who talks like that?

On the other hand, within the same hour his twin said to me,
of the yellow game-piece she moved deftly toward the Library:

"Colonial Mustard, with a lead pipe!"

ahhh
I love twelve years old.

*

Fantasy vs Reality

Whenever I start feeling like I have it all together something humbles me.

Today, it was the making of rice krispy treats.

A double batch in one pot (not recommended).

There is no elegant way.

*

Busy

In the past few months I have dropped my son off at college, driven back and forth to school endless times, joined a soccer league, played music at restaurants, gone to parties, attended a Homecoming game and prepped a girl for the dance, watched volleyball and basketball games, lamented my fantasy football team and cheered for Lions and Tigers.

Phew.

Students have returned, and lucky for me and my college bill looming, there are more of them than ever. So I'm back to scales and chords and theory.

In a few weeks I get to go see Tony Bennett in concert, celebrate College Boy's 19th birthday, dress kids up for Halloween and create lists and lists and more lists for the Christmas season approaching.

So that is the recap. I might keep writing, or I might just recap again in a few weeks. I never know.

But right now my leg is taped up from a strained calf muscle.
When I feel it tugging, it reminds me that with all the busyness and activity lately, I am still grounded, life is not passing by like a dream.

Achey muscles remind me that I'm still here.

*

A Sign

I just poked myself in the cheek with a corn-on-the-cob prong,
hard enough to draw blood
while lunging my face toward a cob of fresh sweet corn.

It came loose and stabbed me just at the moment I was going to take my first bite.

What does it say about me, that I consumed the corn anyway,
one-pronged
before tending to my wound?

Apparently I will not be deterred.

*

He Left Me A Note

I came home from dropping the Teenager off at work to find the house empty.
I went around calling his name until I found this that Twin Boy left me.

He is the most considerate kid ever
and his handwriting is so awful it's kind of wonderful.

*

He Broke His Lent

Our family discussed the possibilities of Lent as we gorged on Paczki
Tuesday morning.

He said he wanted to give up his DS.

I said, "Are you sure?"

I said, "For 40 days, are you sure?"

He was so sure.

Yesterday we called home to check on the children,
who were left to their own devices because we had an event.

"How is the Teenager?" we asked Twin Girl.

"He's fine," she reported.

"How is Twin Boy?" we asked.

"He broke his Lent," she said.

He lasted a whole 24 hours.

He looks so very sorry, doesn't he?

:-)

No Thank You

She ate all of her mashed red potatoes with the skins on.
She ate all of her green beans.

She left her fish alone and said,

"Is it okay if I don't eat the fish?"

Pan-fried tilapia, served with a dollop of butter
mixed with fresh lime juice,
lime zest, diced serrano chile and salt.

I was only thinking of the time I'd put into making that dish.

I said, "Oh honey, there are lots of vitamins in that fish,
you should eat a few bites."

She gave me a pained expression.

I said, "One bite of fish?"

She looked down at the fillet and turned a little green.

"Ohhh!" I said, understanding dawning.

She had some more mashed potatoes and smiled at me gratefully.

Sometimes I am so thick.

*

Weird

We have a lot of conversations about being weird at our house.
We celebrate it.

I think it started when one of the kids had a bad day and came home from school saying,

"Mom, I'm weird."

Instead of disagreeing I said,

"That's okay honey, it's a good thing.
Also, normal is boring."

We say "normal is boring" a lot.

I have four children between 12-18, and these years are not easy peer-wise.

There is always someone cooler, someone better-looking, someone who has nicer clothes.

But we have a corner on the weirdness factor, and claiming that,
instead of denying it,
sort of helps ease the teenage angst.

Why fight it?

When you are a teen you feel weird all the time.
So let's be honest about it and just ride the wave of weirdness.

I was driving the husband somewhere the other day and stopped at the high school to drop Middle Child off at dance team practice.

There was nobody around so instead of parking at the edge of the ramped sidewalk,
I just pulled up to the door.

The husband sighed.

The child, who had been silently absorbed in her own morose back-seat thoughts,
grinned like mad and stepped out,
and waved,
and kept waving as I backed out again.

She likes it that we aren't normal.

We color outside the lines, and sometimes, we drive outside of them.

I had a friend once, who, when I tripped on the sidewalk,
did the exact same thing a second later so that I wouldn't be so embarrassed.

I feel my weirdness contribution to the world is sort of like that.

*

Morning

More fish biting the dust...we have all sorts of hypotheses about why,
but it's our own fault for tackling the job without expert advice,
so,
as soon as the last one dies (morbid, I know),
we will take a trip to Preuss' Pets downtown,
to start over with the right water, the right fish, the right chemical balance.

She smiled when I told her what we'd do, and got that look in her eye again,
the twinkle, the excitement,
the belief.

It's the way I feel most mornings,
with a half cup of coffee under my belt,
waking up to a gray sky and a quiet house,
in my old unraveling chair,
calendar and clean notebook paper by my side.

I feel hopeful again, that the mess of the day that is yesterday
has died and gone fully,
and today,
I have a whole day
that is new and clean and fresh
and alive
to start over with.

Good Morning!

*

Aqua

Twin Girl got an aquarium for Christmas, and happily chose fish from Walmart to fill it.

She has this way of beaming,
and this way of eyes-wide-open-trust and hope.

The fish did wonderfully until a few days later when we decided to add some more
from another discount, mass-market store.

Four died, two of the old and two of the new.

They had already been named.

She cried quietly and stopped looking at the tank.

She sends Twin Boy into the room before her to check to see if any more have died.
She makes him check first thing in the morning too.

She got a headache.
She couldn't sleep last night.
She can't sleep now,
and is on the couch reading a book,
trying to get sleepy.

The Teenager said,
"Leave the light off, and then you'll get eyestrain
and it will make you tired."

She ignored him and I watch her there,
so quiet,
so sensitive,
and I want her to feel better.

But I am also glad that she has that thing inside of her
that keeps her fresh to pain.

If that makes any sense at all.

*

G'morning

I stood in the glare of the kitchen light
with my eyes squinted, hands reaching for coffee when
Middle Child intercepted me.

"Mom-do-you-have-a-black-shirt?"

I stood mute, in a pre-coffee haze, recognizing the tone of measured
trying-not-to-panic-we-have-to-leave-in-ten-minutes pace of her words.

"The dance team is doing our routine at lunch today and I looked
everywhere but I can't find my black shirt so I was wondering if I could
look in your room to see if you have one?"

I nod and move instead to the basement stairs, to begin the sift
through clean and dirty clothes in search of the black shirt.
I find it in the wash, transfer it to the dryer and lug clean clothes
back up to the main floor.

In the meantime I've found a mess left down there and send the twins
down to please pick it up before they leave for school.

The Teenager darts out the door to start his car and
the Husband declares that he is working in Grand Rapids today,
except that they have
"a foot of snow and are expecting a foot more".

I blink at this news and watch him help himself to an out-the-door cup
of coffee.

I say please drive carefully, but I'm thinking
please save me a cup of that coffee,

when Twin Boy emerges from the basement arguing with Twin Girl
only to stop short and stare at me with an awful look.

"My food."

I am still holding the basket of clean laundry, and glance at the clock,

"What did you forget?"

He is doing a report on Nicaragua today, and he completely forgot that
he was supposed to bring some sort of visual aid,
and had told all his friends that he was going to bring some traditional
Nicaraguan food for them to taste.

He looks like he is going to cry.

Twin Girl steps into the conversation and says,

"Oh yeah I have to bring something from Guatemala."

I am frozen, digesting the dilemma and the 3 minutes we have to work with
when the Teenager dashes through the kitchen again and says,

"Enchilada sauce."

I dart to the cupboard to find an old cool whip container
and tell Twin Boy to grab the can opener.

"Why do we have to pour it in there?" he says,
rummaging through the wrong drawer,

"So it looks homemade," I say,
reaching into the lazy susan for a can and
over his shoulder for the can opener
from in front of his sightless eyes.

Twin Girl sighs and says,

"I guess I'll just bring a soccer ball."

I nod, thankful, and send Twin Boy to the pantry
to find a sleeve of soda crackers.

"Pass around the sauce," I say,
emptying the can into the container,
"and give each person a Saltine,
and have them dip it in and taste it."

"What if it's too hot?" he says.

I look at the can and snap the lid in place.

"It's not hot."

I put everything into a plastic grocery bag
and hand it to him.
He stands there, grateful.

"You have bare feet," I say.

He looks down and then makes a dash for his bedroom.

"Brush your teeth!" I call up after him.
"Everyone's in the car!" I yell up again.
"What is taking so long?"

He darts down again, grabs the bag from me,
slips on his shoes in the garage,
mashing down the heels, and calls back,

"Thanks mom!"

I close the garage door and go out on the front porch
to plug in Christmas lights so they can see them on their
way down the drive.

When I come back in, somebody is pounding on the garage door.
The Teenager mumbles something when I open it
as he pushes past me to grab his backpack.

Finally the door slams again and I go to the front door to see them go.

They are grinning from the car at the lights and I wave back absently,
noting the beginnings of a snow shower,
and the fact that they will make it to school before it gets really bad,
and wondering if the kids will know or care that it is Old El Paso
enchilada sauce and that Twin Girl's visual aid is just an old soccer ball,
and whether I will ever see my black t shirt again,
and if there really is a foot of snow in Grand Rapids today.

I come back in and the silence feels temporary.
But I wait a minute and it stays.

I breathe,
and pour a cup of coffee.

*

You're In Good Hands

I was helping Twin Boy with his winter coat
because the zipper had split,
understandable since he is the third child to wear it.

But it's a really good winter coat
and the manufacturers of this particular brand
are great about customer service issues.

I told him,

"Don't worry, if this zipper is broken,
they'll send us a whole new coat!"

He looked down at it with new appreciation,
eleven-year-old wheels turning,

"Is this coat insured?"

*

Serendipity

I am making soup.

And just now the recipe called for 2 quarts of chicken broth,
but the can I bought was only 49.5 oz.

So I measured out one quart and poured it into the soup pot.
I poured the rest of the broth into the measuring cup
but of course it wasn't enough.

Then I found a leftover box of chicken broth in the refrigerator
and I poured all of that into the measuring cup
every last drop
and it came up exactly to the 1 quart line.

I think this bodes very well for my day.

*

This morning I have a stiff neck because over the weekend I drove into a ditch.

Twice.

I was parking in the dark at my sister's house,
where I was leaving our car,
so I could attend the surprise party for my brother two doors down.

There was a car in the driveway already
but it looked like I could fit next to it,
so I pulled up and

ka-chunk

my right wheel went down into the drainage ditch
next to the driveway.

It was sort of covered in leaves so I thought it was just earth
not a ditch.

Things like this don't trouble me too much.
We were all surprised but nobody was hurt,
so I laughed and said something dumb like,

"I just drove into a hole!
And now I'm gonna do it again!"

But see I didn't mean to do it again.

I meant to back out in a better way than I had pulled in,
but I didn't,
so I did do it again
and there was a harsh grating of metal
as my wheel went back down into the ditch
and the bottom of the car met the asphalt driveway.

It was sort of jarring, too, hence the stiff neck.

The first time I laughed,
the second time I smiled a fake smile
with lots of teeth and apologetic eyes
at the Husband who just blew out a bunch of air
that he had been saving for this moment apparently.

The kids were thrilled, as usual,
and sprinted ahead of us
two doors down to tell the gathered family
that I drove into a ditch.

I assumed a solemn face
and walked to the house quietly,
keeping my aggravating optimism
to myself.

*