...And the Livin' is Easy

Top Ten Reasons I Love Summer...

10. Blue skies, 75 degrees. Beach weather, even if the beach is 600 miles away.

9. The smell of fresh-cut grass and the sound of lawnmowers.

8. More time to play with friends.

7. Popsicle-stained faces and Cheeto-stained fingers.

6. Late nights outside, riding bikes until 9:00.

5. Swimming and reading by the pool into the evening.

4. Sunscreen...the smell of summer. Crickets...the sound of summer.

3. Buying fresh vegetables at the farmers' market and grilling every meal.

2. Lemonade stands, sprinklers and fireworks.

And the number one reason I love summer...IT'S HERE!!! For the next three months, I'll be wearing waterproof Birkenstocks, a swimsuit and my famous t-shirt cover-up. Every meal we eat that's not fresh fruit will be from the pizza place on the way home from the pool. We'll all stay up late and sleep in past 8. Our hair will smell like chlorine and sunlight. Our feet wil be calloused and our knees will be scraped. Our fingernails will be caked with dirt and our schoolbooks will be completely forgotten. Our front porch will be littered with wet towels and our back yard will be packed with friends. We'll make at least $1.25 selling Kool-Aid and spend at least $40.00 on Sno-cones. Our garden will grow and our motivation will shrink until it's all we can do to drag ourselves out of the sun to get another glass of mint-infused lemonade. You'll all be invited over to grill things and sit in the shade talking about summers past when we helped each other grow up and summers future, where we plan to travel together and what we'll do when we get there. We won't say, "Hurry!" and we won't say, "Run!" and we won't say, "Get your shoes on." We'll just watch each other turn ever more tow-headed and freckled, and we'll vow to remember the days of summer forever.

That's my plan. I had to write it down so I could reread it when my kids are sweaty, grumpy and too hopped up on Otter Pops to realize that fighting over the last lone Spiderman arm floatie isn't a winning proposition. Here's to summer!

Help Wanted

Hey, kids! Are you looking for a fun summer job? I need kids ages 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 to come to my house and babysit for me this summer! If you can play on the swing set or in the mini plastic pool for at least two hours at a time without tattling or asking for a popsicle, you're hired! You may be required to go to the park or the zoo with us, so if your legs tend to get tired, or you tend to whine when you get thirsty, maybe you shouldn't apply for the job. You must not be afraid of dogs, guinea pigs, hornets, getting wet or being locked out of the house while I enjoy my caffeinated beverages.
You must promise to abide by the rule, "You get what you get and you don't throw a fit," including eating green things and whole wheat bread for lunch and getting stuck with the dumb swimsuit or the smashed cheese stick. You must know innately what to do if presented with a big pile of art supplies and no parental supervision. You will be paid in peanut butter sandwiches and juice boxes. Be prepared to provide your own carseat.

Keepers of Tradition

I can only think of one day out of the year when my calendar has just a single word on it. Lagoon. Every Memorial Day, we go to Lagoon with the Dopp family. No matter what, that's what we do, and that's the only thing we do. I think Marlene said the Lagoon tradition had been going on since the mid-1600's. Is that right? :) One year, there were no kids in the family, and someone thought it would be ridiculous for a bunch of adults to pay lots of money to sit around Lagoon and eat. So we went to a park instead. BIG mistake. Everyone is still bitter and angry about it, myself included. You just don't mess with tradition. Sometimes Mother Nature messes with tradition, though. One year we were hampered by a torrential downpour that forced the whole family to gather at our house for the day. It was the kind of rain where you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. But with all the picnic food and togetherness, it was still Lagoon Day.

So yesterday's drizzles were nothing compared to that ONE year. After a picnic chez Scott and Circe, where we waited out the worst of the rain, all the Dopps spent Memorial Day at Lagoon. The first ride we opted for was Odysea, where...you get wet. It was a little redundant.

But kids don't care if they're soaked to the core, sporting frozen, blue lips. The fact that their feet are shriveled, rotting things inside their wet socks does not prevent them from joyously jumping in puddles. It's heartening to see that neither childhood enthusiasm nor family tradition can be dampened by...dampness. Thanks, Bruce and Marlene, for giving us the gift of tradition, and making sure it's a gift we use. It's "just the right size, and just the right color!" We love you!

Book Review - The Glass Castle

First of all, don't read this review if you haven't read the book. Because you have to read the book. It's best if you just pick it up and start without knowing anything about it. The stories Jeanette Wells tellas are so captivating, so mesmerizing, and ultimately so disturbing, you cannot tear yourself away. At the end of each chapter, I'd be screaming, "No WAY!! Tell me another one!!" The most absurd vignette was the one about the U-Haul. All four kids in the back of the U-Haul, the baby a week old, and the doors fly open on the freeway. Those were some tough kids!

I loved the first part of the book, when the family moved from town to town in the West. Some of her experiences, I think, were actually quite normal for that time period and that place, and were indicative of a certain strength her parents instilled in her. Maybe that strength ultimately got her through her later childhood in West Virginia. Some of the incidents actually seemed to demonstrate the parents' love for their children, especially the father's love. I believe the father loved his children deeply, and did his very best for them. The turning point, however, was when he tried to detox for Jeanette and later fell off the wagon. That failure broke him, I think.

The last half of the book was far more disturbing to me than the first half, because of the mother's complete descent into insanity and the father's hopeless alcoholism. It bothered me that the HAD property in Arizona AND Texas, yet they were mired in poverty, deprivation and filth theat they somehow could not escape. Those were not the same people who had jumped ship countless times when things got tough in the West. I lost hope in the parents along with Jeanette, and they infuriated me, even as I grew to understand why they were the way they were.

In the end, The Glass Castle is a story of redemption, and it does come. It's really a testament to the love the father demonstrated to his children in their early years that they all escaped the cycle of poverty they fell into. Along with his love, he gave them knowledge. They were extremely bright and resourceful, and it served them well.

I came away with an empathy for alcoholics and those who suffer from mental illness, but also a rage that those social ills can so handily destroy generations. I came away with love for the father and anger toward the mother, becaause he loved his children and failed, but she was indifferent to them, which was the larger failure, in my opinion. Granted, she had her own demons.

Anyway, discussions about society's ills aside, I think The Glass Castle is a brilliant book, one I thoroughly enjoyed reading, and one I highly recommend if you like page turners. Don't be turned off by the subject matter, because it's not completely depressing like Angela's Ashes. In this book, there is a phoenix. Four, actually, and they rise high from the ashes of their parents' legacy. The story of their journey is well worth your time.

Posted by Circe at 8:13 PM
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Tweens and Televisions

We have had light bulbs burned out for two years. We still have a wall that's been painted half-way up since spring of '06. But the other night, our TV started to go out, and 24 hours later, we had a brand-new TV and a new TV stand. Way to go, Scott. You are such a hard worker!

Scott's lucky break, and the reason he got me to go along with his new TV idea, was that Golda had invited her 5th grade class over for an Indiana Jones party, scheduled for the next day. Scott said, with fake tears in his eyes, "We can't have our little girl be the laughing stock of the 5th grade! Imagine all those 10-year-old boys coming over and seeing our TV like this! Golda's party could be a miserable failure if we don't get an awesome TV!"

Go for my Achilles heel, why don't you. A party that's a miserable failure is my worst nightmare. Scott is a genius. There is no other way he could have convinced me to be so supportive of his electronics obsession. He keeps saying, "The picture is so much better, don't you think?" I'll say, "Yes! I can't believe how much better our lives are now!"

The bottom line is that nobody laughed at Golda for having a TV where everything that's blue is an inch lower than the rest of the picture. The party was a success for everybody. It would be counterintuitive to think that having over a dozen tweens invade your house would be a relaxing way to spend a Friday night, but with Scott at a movie with the littles and the party animals playing night games outside, I had the new TV all to myself. Since Scott had only given me enough information to successfully start the movie for the kids, however, I decided to read my book instead. I trust Scott to enjoy the new TV enough for both of us.

End of Level Testing

I think they're testing ME. I think the school has a hidden camera at my house to see how I react when I get notes like this from all 5 teachers, including preschool:

Dear Parents,

We have some fun and exciting activities planned for the end of the year, so mark your calendars!

Monday is our field trip to the gravel pit on the west side of town. Your child will need a sack lunch, (no lunchboxes; everything disposable) a drink with a screw-on lid and a notebook to record his/her feelings in. Please send back the release form yesterday.

Tuesday is our class talent show! Please have your child wear a red shirt, jeans and a bandana. If you have an outside talent like soccer, just whip together a DVD slide show showing you performing your talent.

Wednesday is Teddy Bear Day. All students need to come dressed in their pajamas and bring their favorite teddy bear and a stack of books to read. If you don't send a teddy bear, we'll announce to the class that you don't care about reading.
(Teddy Bear Day is not to be confused with the Piglet Picnic at preschool where you must bring a lunch containing items that begin with the letter P and wear jammies. That's Friday. As any parent knows, I am not making this stuff up!)

Thursday is Character Day. Dress up like your favorite literary character and have a power-point presentation ready to share with the class on your character and the book you chose. Parents are invited. (Oh goodie! There's nothin' like watching 12 boys in soccer uniforms giving a report on Beckham: A Biography and 12 girls in Gunny Sac dresses and calico bonnets talking about Laura Ingalls.)

Friday is field day. We need 500 parent volunteers to stand in the hot sun from 8:00 to 3:00 handing out popsicles. We are sorry, we cannot accomodate preschool children or babies, so leave them home. Thanks! Oh, and don't forget the sunscreen and a yellow hat to show our school spirit!

Nancy in the office at the school probably rolls her eyes every time she sees me running up to the front doors with a guitar stool or a sack lunch or a permission slip or a yellow hat. I even showed up with a friend's son's forgotten swimsuit yesterday. Hey, we're all in this together, right? :) I call the school so often, Nancy now answers with a resigned, "Hi Circe. What do you need?"

"Ummmm...I think I sent Ruby to school in her pajamas instead of a red shirt and a bandana. Can you tell her I'm coming? Thanks. And if you see Golda, tell her I'm bringing her Laura Ingalls costume and her book report, and I'll put her hair in braids when I get there."

"*Sigh* Sure, no problem. Oh, and Ari is still here in the office waiting for you. Did you remember it was early out today?"

No, I didn't remember it was early out because I was too busy digging around in the back of the car for enough food to convince Freestone's preschool teacher that I did not forget his lunch for the Dinosaur Park fieldtrip. I sent him with 5 packs of fruit snacks and half a granola bar. Do you think she bought it?

P. S. We really love our teachers and all the fun things they do. Thank you, teachers! And thanks, Nancy. You know I couldn't do it without you!

Desperate Housewife

Did you see the season finale of Desperate Housewives where they flashed forward 5 years? Glamorous Gabby was fat, make-up-less, and exhausted. Apparently, it was because she had twin 5-year-old girls who were playing dress up in her designer gowns, faces smeared with lipstick. It bugged me. I thought, "Why do they always portray moms as haggard and homely, and at the end of their ropes? Motherhood is fun and rewarding!"

So, flash forward three days to my afternoon. I'm on my hands and knees in the 2008 equivalent of a housecoat, eating potato chips out of the carpet like a starved coyote. I'm laughing to myself because, suddenly, I understand Future Gabby on a molecular level. "Right," I think to myself, "So this is why moms are not portrayed like supermodels on TV."

Let me explain: After six months of winter, it's suddenly 90 degrees outside, so I have adopted a t-shirt swimsuit cover up as my official uniform. You'll see it, trust me. I'll be wearing it until Labor Day. No make-up, of course, because it all melted off while I was at the grocery store with Free and Jake. That's when I bought the chips. You buy things that aren't on your list when boys are wrestling over a penny under your cart. (You also get home with things like parakeet food and twelve dollar can openers.)

Kids travel in packs, and the pack happened to be at my house yesterday afternoon. (Is pack the right word? What is the word for a group of piranhas? School doesn't seem appropriate.) Someone ripped open a bag of potato chips and the whole bag went flying all over the carpet. I sent all the kids outside so I could clean the chips up before they got ground in. But I didn't want to waste all of them, so I was eating the whole ones as I scooped them up. They were so greasy and delicious, and time was of the essence, to avoid grease stains on the carpet. So I was shoveling the chips into my mouth pretty fast and calling it efficiency. That's when I had the epiphany about why moms look so undone on TV. Crisis is funnier than perfection, and we can all relate. When I was twenty, I didn't envision my future having any scenes where I eat snack foods out of the carpet. Had I known, I might have been terrified. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, and sometimes it just leads to bliss. Even a day like this is heaven, because now the pack is outside in the plastic pool, eating soggy potato chips out of a bowl. And the carpet has just been vacuumed, so I'm one step closer to "perfection."

Opera-tunities

Araceli's attitude is so effusive and enthuisiastic, it borders on manic. Last week, she gave her cello teacher, an older gentleman, a card that said, "I love you, Mr. Casals!" For months, she told everyone she met that we got a new minivan. She was so excited about it, I think some of the strangers she told were genuinely happy for us!

This year, she is old enough to go to the opera, and she's thrilled. The first one was Cinderella, which, of course, she loved. This time, as we sat down in our seats, Ari gleefully arranged her cushion (to make her taller) and settled in. She turned to me and chirped, "What is it this time, Cinderella?" I said, "No, it's called Don Giovanni."
Delighted, She crowed, "Oh! It sounds like Snow White!!" I asked her how Don Giovanni sounds like Snow White, and she said that it "sounds like Snow White in a diffwent language!" (Everything she says comes out in bold type!)

When the curtain went up, Ari's enthusiasm wasn't dampened at all by the fact that the opera was more about a murderous, amoral womanizer than a beautiful princess. Every time I looked at her, she would exude joy in her smile and by lifting up her little shoulders as if to say, "This is so exciting!" I was relieved that she couldn't read the supertitles enough to catch what was going on. Golda and Ruby, on the other hand, would lean over and glare at me accusingly every time a line came up like, "May you be consumed by demons, Don Giovanni, for your amorous treachery!"

At intermission, we had a family party to get to, and I remembered that the second act is about Don Giovanni burning in a fiery he**, so we left. I thought the flames of purgatory might be too much for Araceli's unquenchable happiness.

As we walked (and Ari skipped) up the street, I felt so lucky to be a player in Araceli's reality, where it's always sunny, there is always a friend coming over, and everything is incredibly exciting and new. Ah, to be six!

Helicopter Parenting

I went to a very fun 9-year-old's birthday party yesterday and my fears were confirmed: Childhood no longer exists. The kids were standing in line to have a whack at the pinata when pockets started ringing. It was nearing the end of the party and parents were calling their kids. One at a time, a little one would hear her phone, glance around apologetically, answer with a breathy, "Hello?" and walk away from the pinata line with one hand covering an ear so she could hear the person on the other end of the line. "Oh, we're just doing the pinata now. OK, I'll call you when we do the cake. Bye, Mom!"
The way the little girls imitated grown-ups on their phones was almost grotesque. The fact that kids can't get through a neighborhood birthday party without the aid of a cell phone is sad to me.

Is the world really so different now, or are we just more fearful? Our town has one kidnapping on record, and it happened when I was about nine. Based on the facts, we are safe here. I like the motto, "Live by what you know, not by what you fear." But I still hardly ever let my kids out of my sight. They don't roam, they don't explore, except when I take them on walks to show them where I roamed and explored as a kid. I never let them swim unless I'm right there. When they sell lemonade, they do it in our driveway at the bottom of our cul-de-sac instead of up on the corner. How sad is that?

On the other hand, spending your childhood bouncing around a Buick, tying the seat belts together to make a swing in the back seat while waiting for your mom in the parking lot of the fabric store isn't the best way to guarantee survival. Anything could have happened! We rode our bikes to swimming lessons, got dropped off at the mall, walked a mile alone to friends' houses. And we didn't call when we got there. Despite all of this, any of my friends can tell you that my dad seemed very overprotective at the time. Granted, I did have to wear arm floaties in the pool until I was, like, 15, if my dad wasn't there to keep an eye on me.

I grew up on the edge of a huge, unincorporated wilderness. I clearly remember being lost in the woods several times, with and without my little brothers, in the summer and in the snow. We had our landmarks: the broken-down truck with the swear words spray-painted on the side. The giant anthill. The stream at the bottom of the shady gully. The pond, which we were strongly cautioned NEVER to go near. But we still got disoriented. One time, we climbed up what we though was a steep hill. It was snowing hard, and we were trying to get a visual on our house so we knew which direction to go. The "hill" turned out to be a stand of trees, bowed over and covered by the snow. We broke through the snow, fell to the ground below and had trouble digging our way out. When we got home, it was dark. And nobody was worried!

So how do I give my little humans the independence and confidence I gained as a kid? I want them to have the exact same carefree childhood I had, but I'm not willing to take the risks. My parents let me live alone in Paris when I was 14. Roaming the city all by myself, riding the Metro, exploring neighborhoods, was fabulous and formative. Yet I can't imagine turning one of my kids loose like that. My parents don't even remember being worried about it. My question: Can we give our kids that same freedom? Tell me how.
Come to think of it, this would be a great discussion to have when we do the book review for The Glass Castle May 26! Hmm...

Super Humans

Freestone and Jake are hard workers, so when they've exhausted all the possibilities at our house, they head to Coco's to "work in their office." That means organizing paper clips and collecting pennies in the desk Coco set up for them. They take their work, as well as their play, very seriously. Last time they went to Coco's house, she said to them, "OK, boys, try not to make such a big mess this time. Last time, you got out every toy in the house and spread them all over every inch of the basement. I don't even know how you did it."

Freestone proudly replied, "We used teamwork!" They have used teamwork to get into quite a bit of trouble in their lives. I'm just glad most of the trouble is a direct result of their vibrant imaginations. When you're a super-fighter-space-alien, normal human rules don't apply. The rest of us just have to understand that! We are in the midst of greatness, people.

New Rules

Attention, kids:

There will be a few new rules in effect until I finish reading The Host by Stephenie Meyer.

1.) If you get hungry, there are 80 boxes of Cheerios in the storage room and taco soup in the fridge.

2.) I may not look like I'm paying attention, but you still have to practice. It can be atonal and in 5/4 time. Whatever. You sound great.

3.) Yes, you can have a friend over IF a) the friend doesn't talk to me, b) she prevents you from talking to me and c) she knows where the popsicles are and how to break one in half.

4.) Yes, you can watch a show. Yes, you can have a snack. Yes, you can turn on the hose. No, wait. I don't want my book to get wet.

5.) If you are not at school, you will have to go with me to the park. While there, I will be unable to push your swing, grab the zinger for you or catch you at the bottom of the slide.

6.) There is food and water on the picnic blanket and band-aids in the glove box. If it starts to rain or hail, go under the slide and wait.

7.) If you are hurt and you think something is broken, find a nice mommy and tell her. Do you remember Daddy's phone number?

8.) If it gets dark and you are unable to get my attention, make a nice, soft bed in the bark. You're always complaining that we never go camping, right?

9.) When I'm driving, yell if the car in front of us starts to slow down.

10.) If I start to have paranoid delusions that an alien life form is inhabiting my body, call 911.

11.) These new rules should only last a couple of days. Then I'll be back and you will have clean clothes to wear. But you won't be able to build beaver dams in the creek and forts in the poison ivy anymore. All good things must come to an end.

In a perfect world, every child would have a mama and every woman who wanted to would be a mother as many times over as she desired. On a day like today, when so many hearts are broken and empty, I am grateful to have the title "Mom."

This is a picture of me that Golda drew. I love it because she drew me exactly as I want to be. My shirt says "PARTY," my hair looks cuter than it ever does in real life, I remembered to put on make-up, and I'm holding a Bach Minuet in my hand. That's exactly who I want to be when I grow up!

My mom got this idea, probably from Oprah, to smile at your children and always act thrilled to see them. The expert said it was the very best thing you could do for your kids, so my mom started doing it. Every time I walked in, my mom would open her arms, smile big and say, "CIRCEEEEEEEEEE!! You're HERE!" I ate it up. I felt so special! My mom loved me!

I was 30 years old.

So it's always a good time to be a "mom." You don't have to have kids to do it. You just have to open your heart and show compassion to someone else. I know how lucky I am to have these five kids. To have enough to feed them. To raise them in freedom. To have the tools to keep them healthy. There is nothing about motherhood that I take for granted, and I am thankful for every aspect of it. I never feel justified in complaining about the minutiae when so many don't have the same opportunities I have had. My Mothers' Day wish is that the prayers of every woman's heart are answered, and that every child, no matter their age, can feel the motherly love that they so richly deserve.

Eighty Days and Counting

In a world where it takes only hours to circumnavigate the globe, eighty days is a long time. Especially if you're a kid. So when you get recognized for completing a goal that took eighty days, your mom has to mention it. Through vacations and stomach flus (remember the picture? Ruby made me take it off the blog.) and late nights, they made it. Then, on the eighty-first day...nobody noticed! They just kept going. That's the best part.

At the guitar recital, the teacher presented TROPHIES to the kids who got 80 days. Ruby and Free were SO excited! They never dreamed of such a magnificent reward! Last time Ruby did a challenge like this, her violin teacher gave her a pencil. She was so disappointed, she vowed never to practice again. So this time, we didn't talk about whether there would be a reward. When the trophies came out, boy, those kids were thankful they had their charts filled in!

Here's to teachers who motivate, kids who cooperate and good habits that stick!

Haiku

Dewdrops, limpid, small
and such a lack of judgement shown
in where they fall

-Nishiyama Soin, 1605-1682

Haiku is so succinct and descriptive. It's true, those crystalline microcosms fall and gather on flower petals and the rusted-out tin cans alike, as if there were no distinction between the two.

When my children are old enough to appreciate me likening them to dewdrops, I'll tell them to be discriminating about where they land. I'll counsel them not to squander their infinite worth by shining like a diamond in an unworthy place. I'll tell them that their surroundings can magnify their potential or extinguish it, so choose wisely.

As a twenty-something, I spent time in the rusted-out places of the world, even knowing that truth and beauty were to be found elsewhere. Now I know better, but my children haven't learned that lesson yet. That's why we go to church every week. That's why we take them with us to concerts. That's why we make them practice and give them good books. That's why we point out the dewdrops and the mountains. It's so they will grow their own judgement, their own reliance on the Spirit. So that when darkness falls, they will know where to look for light. After I've imparted the meagre knowledge that I've earned, I pray that these little souls will be able to distinguish the tulips from the tin cans.

Can't Get Enough Drama

Dogs love flutes. My parents' afghans love to howl along when Golda practices. They live for it. Star and Golda made quite a duo today, Star interjecting her staccato barks every time Golda hit a high note. And there are a lot of high notes on the flute. It's fine with me if they practice together, as long as Star doesn't start complaining about it. There's enough of that going on already.

Golda was pleading with me yesterday to let her do another play this summer. My response was, "I just don't want you to get all stressed and feel too busy."

She replied, "Oh, Mom, that ship has already sailed." So I have a kid who thrives on stress. I guess that's better than being crushed by it. What can I say? Bring on the Technicolor Dreamcoat!

Freestone's Fifteen Minutes

All the kids, at some point this week, were in a recital. They all did a great job, but Freestone was the only one who had me in tears, laughing. First of all, I did a lousy job of wiping his face, so he had red popsicle stains all along his jawline. His hair was sticking up so bad in the back, it looked like a magpie nest. Just prior to the recital, I was involved in a panel discussion with other Suzuki parents. Meanwhile the children were having story time and gorging themselves on cookies. So when they brought Free in, his mouth was ringed in chocolate. And his Oxford and khakis didn't look as good as they had when we left home. This was a Suzuki event, like I said, so if you've been to one, you know how many kids are rolling around on the floor waiting for their turn to perform. These are the kids with the masochistic parents who stick musical instruments in their babies' hands while they're still in diapers. So when Freestone's turn came, he jumped up off the floor, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and made a big display of jumping emphatically off every step on his way down the aisle. He got to his stool and did a very theatrical bow, shouting, "HippopotaMUSIC!!" Everyone clapped, and Freestone was in heaven. He got all the way through his song (Twinkle Variation A), but he was so enamored with the audience that people actually clapped during some of the pauses where Free was admiring his crowd. After the song, Free jumped up, smiled, bowed, and...just stood there, transfixed by the fact that everyone was looking at him. I could tell he was trying to think of something else to do to entertain the crowd. In the panel discussion I had just been in, I had written down a comment about "enjoying the doing more than the getting done." Well, Freestone was in the moment, enjoying the doing, so I let him stand there beaming while I tried to impress the moment on my memory. The picture I'll treasure in my mind is my tiny little son, wrestling a big guitar, peacock-feather hair, shoes on wrong, dusty and covered in chocolate, reaping the reward for all his practicing. He did it! And it felt great.

Growing Pains

The big thing at recess these days is The Bar. The third grade girls line up and spot each other while flipping off the high bar. If you don't do The Bar, there is nobody to play with at recess. Sweet little Ruby is agonizing over her lack of confidence on The Bar. The other girls don't take her skills seriously and bypass her in line, and she's feeling left out. Ruby is very determined about reaching goals, and I wanted to help her solve her problem, so tonight we went over to the school to practice on The Bar for recess tomorrow. I showed Ruby my cool trick from third grade, but she wanted to stick to the Cherry Drop. I helped her a few times, but her fear kept getting in the way, and she wasn't feeling it. There she was, this bright, compassionate, talented, beautiful girl, quietly sobbing under The Bar, her head turned away from me, tears splashing into the bark. My heart broke. I couldn't fix Ruby's problem. I can help her with her homework and practicing and tell her how amazing she is and tuck her in safely at night and praise her for being so kind. I can build her up and teach her and give her opportunities for learning and growing. But tomorrow at 10:15, she'll be shuffled to the end of the line at The Bar. She'll be full of dread, her heart pounding, fighting back tears. Her turn will finally come, her friends will be impatient as she struggles to get up on The Bar. Maybe she'll chicken out at the last minute. She'll be ashamed and frustrated in front of all her friends. And I can't fix it.

Leaving the playground tonight, tears burned my eyes as I watched Ruby give up and walk away. I thought about Red Rover and Dodgeball and all the other games I was terrible at as a kid. I was the little runt that all the other kids laughed at. Or did we all feel that way? Ruby asked me, "Why am I the only one in the whole school who can't do it?" None of my answers sufficed, and this is a growing pain that I can't medicate. I wish I had all the answers, and I wish Ruby didn't know that I don't.