Good Camp, Bad Camp

All of my creative energy is going here this week:

My morning Violin Camp is going swimmingly. We do an hour of violin playing, rhythm, theory and ear training, then an hour of arts and crafts.  I have a great group of kids.  Golda and Ruby are my teaching assistants and have done a very nice job with the violin beginners. The beginners have learned quite a bit in 3 days! It's so much fun to have 16 kids playing the violin all over the house when we break into groups. I love it!

My afternoon theory class, on the other hand, has taught me something about myself: I'm a loser. I challenge you to spend two hours a day with three teenage girls whose mothers decided they should spend their summer at some weird lady's house learning music theory and practicing note reading. You will come to realize that you're a hopeless dork. So awkward! On the bright side, this afternoon theory class is making everything else in my life seem really, really easy.  So the misery is actually good.  Yin and Yang.

Wub

"Esmae wubs me. And I wubs Esmae."

Life's simple when you're five.

Roots

Let me just preface this story with a fact:  I didn't have a cavity until I was seventeen years old.  I have good teeth!  But pregnancy does things to your body, and I found myself looking at the prospect of two root canals.  This is at the same time as Freestone's deal with the faulty enamel.  Needless to say, even with dental insurance, we're searching under couch cushions for grocery money this month.  Some of us can't chew anyway, so we're saving money there...

I was dreading my first root canal appointment like I hadn't dreaded anything since junior high gym class.  I had heard people joke about how a root canal seemed like a day at the spa when you're a mom, how it's a relaxing break.  I disagreed.  I would much rather be doling out chores than having some pompous dental school grad drilling through my teeth while I stared at a poster on the ceiling of a cat clinging to a branch.  "Just hang in there!"

I was still on the phone making arrangements for my three-hour absence from home when I walked into the dentist's office and sat down to wait.  When I got off the phone I looked around and it did not look familiar.  I said to the receptionists, "Are all of you new since last week?"  I was in the wrong dental office!  Mine was around the corner.  Panic? Avoidance?  Once I got to the right place and made it through four shots - I kept telling him I wasn't numb yet - I started to relax.  I had heard a story on meditation in the car on the way, so I tried to incorporate my five minutes of learning about meditation into my situation.  "I can go to a happy place!  My body is here, but I'm at Barnes and Noble!  Oh, but wait, I can't afford to buy a book because of all this dental work.  OK, happy place!  Happy place!  Picturing a gift card.  It's for a hundred dollars..."  Then I realized that I was already IN a happy place.  I would have smiled if I could.  Instead I laid back and took a nap.   The dentist was solely responsible for the work.  I had no responsibility and my kids had no access to me.  The stories were true!  It WAS like the spa!

I looked forward to the second appointment and got comfortable right away.  Then things took a turn for the worse.  The dentist couldn't finish the job and had to send me to a specialist, a guy in Ogden that works late.  Third appointment:  I went in at 8:00 on Friday night.  Scott was home with the kids, so it was truly like a night out.  I was lying in the chair in my happy place and the dentist started talking about King David and Bathsheba and temptation.  I thought things were going to get juicy between him and the assistant, but they were only discussing next week's Sunday School lesson.  Then the specialist tells me he can't complete the work.  My tooth is too hard and I'll have to come back.  He's talking about rescheduling and he says, "Do you work?"  I want to say something that conveys what an offensive question that is, like, "What do you mean?  Work what?"  But my mouth is propped open so I give a resigned  "No."   He says, "Good, so you could come in anytime there's a cancellation."

I'm just glad he was the one with all the sharp tools at that point, not me.  I wanted to explain how next week, I have my own six kids plus a nephew to take care of, I have two violin camps to run each day, a daughter in a play that requires parent "volunteer" work, a nursing baby, children in music lessons all over the Wasatch Front and a kid that turns on the hose every time I turn my back.  But I say, "Uh-huh."  If I did "work," THEN I could come in any time there's a cancellation because to leave my job for two hours, I wouldn't have to find rides and childcare for seven kids and probably nothing would flood while I was gone.  I wouldn't be getting text messages from my teen midway through the root canal like "Where R U?  Can't find food.  Can I go 2 Amanda's?"  (Uh, no.  You're babysitting.  How are you forgetting this?  And check the hose!)  And unlike the dentist, I don't have someone to answer phones, as well as an assistant handing me things I need throughout the day.  (Diaper change?  "OK, wipe...apply the ointment...give me a number two diaper...and snap everything up, then go ahead and toss the salad for lunch.)  President Obama would have an easier time taking two hours for a root canal than any mom during the summer months.  I guess I could go to the spa, but  I like to be where the action is.

Gotta run...I hear water.

Help My Daughter

I have a child who is bright, creative, beautiful and loving.  She gets good grades and is kind and thoughtful.  She loves to draw and paint and imagine.

She is also the reason for almost every parenting and child development book I've ever read.  Each time I read a checklist for a disorder - ADHD, depression, sensory integration problems, you name it, I think, "Oh my gosh!  That is Ari!"  I have labeled her "strong-willed, difficult, intense," and every other label that comes around.  It's not that she is a problem.  She is a delight.  I know that better than anyone.  It is that she is suffering in her mind in some way and I don't know how to help her.  She saw a therapist this last year to develop coping skills and that helped, but I still feel at a loss.  I know that among my blog friends, there is a wealth of experience and knowledge and maybe someone can tell me what to do next.  One thing a bewildered mother never wants to hear is, "Oh that's normal.  My kid does that too.  She's fine."  But across the fine line from that patronizing fluff is guidance that comes from having been there, and advice on where to go from here.  If Ari weren't out of sync, I would know it. 

Some random facts:  She has an exceptionally high pain threshold (Almost went deaf because of undetected ear infections.  Never complained), but is sensitive to the lightest touch, too, and screams if someone brushes her.  There are days when everything she says comes out in a belligerent tone.  She can eat much more than a typical child.  She can disrupt an otherwise peaceful setting with imagined drama.  She does whatever she feels she needs to do, regardless of the consequences.  Threats or rewards do not mean anything to her.  (Fortunately, I have found ways to work around this by setting a routine for her and giving her time to transition from one activity to the next, and lots of time to draw and create.)  She cannot concentrate on reading.  She is always begging to go to the doctor.  "Call the doctor and tell him my ear hurts really, really bad.  Call the dentist and tell him one side of my mouth hurts.  My stomach ALWAYS hurts.  Call the doctor."  She even looks forward to shots and is jealous when Ptolemy gets them.  Is she looking for some kind of relief from pain that she can't put her finger on?  If I took her to the doctor, what would I say? That I see adolescence looming and I want to buy insurance against the suffering she will endure if I don't solve this puzzle?  Moms, help me put the pieces together.

Last the Best

Last swing

Last concert

Last stroll

One last treat

Thursday was Freestone's last baseball game of the season.  I was sad.  I loved baseball.  Then it was Ari's final concert for her summer strings program.  It was outside at an amphitheater in Ogden, and I loved it.  I especially loved Ari leaning way over to see what the other cellist's fingers were doing and copying her, taking breaks to wave to me.  After she asked, "Could you tell the parts I was faking?"  Uh, no, of course not!

We wrapped up the night at the new Yogo Togo in town.  All the hip teens were there.  10 o'clock at night, baby laughing, 5-year-old covered in chocolate and Coco and Bill relaxing on day-glo orange couches at the yogurt shop.  Summer is here and I love it!

Warning: Teen in the House

Happy birthday to fun, responsible, dedicated, caring, spiritual, talented, enthusiastic, strong, centered and wonderful teen.  We are so glad you're ours. 

Conundrum

Freestone's mind is always coming up with "What if" scenarios.  I can't tell you how many times I have heard "Mom, what uff..."  He has been posing impossible questions since the time he learned to string words together.  His latest:

"What if I had to decide who to kill, Mama or Daddy?  It would take me my whole life to decide.  If I killed Mama, we would be late for everything.  If I killed Daddy, well, that would just be sad."

I guess the question is, would you rather be on time and sad or late and generally pretty happy?  Freestone's conundrum lays bare the roles Scott and I fill in our family.  I guess I'm the organizer and Scott is the fun.  Hmm.  Since I'm "no fun," I told Freestone today to turn off his DS and go use his imagination.  After a couple of hours on the slip n slide, he came to me and said, "Mom, we're playing a game.  In the game, let's say you have always wanted to adopt a boy and two girls.  Since you've always wanted to adopt a boy, you already have a DS.  I'll be the boy and you give me the DS."  Now that's using your imagination and your smarts.  It also reassures me that, if it comes to it, I can pretty easily talk Freestone out of patricide by offering him more video game time. Comforting, eh?

Next...?

Last week was a solid wall of delight, with all the ballet recitals.  The sheen of magic held until the last night, albeit just barely for Xanthe, who was running on fumes by the end.  Bubbly, crazed fumes.  Before the last performance, I was wielding a can of mousse like a fire extinguisher at her head in the parking lot of the Browning Center, trying to get her day-old bun to hold as she played in the dirt in her costume. As she walked into the building I noticed a ring of chocolate cake crumbs around her mouth.  It was a far cry from the first night, when her hair had been coiffed by no less than three sisters and her sparkly makeup was four layers deep.  But she was as adorable onstage the last night as the first.  Her serious little face wore a look of concern as she skipped through all the steps, pushing the other dancers and staring them down to make sure they were doing the right thing.  It was only after she had positioned herself in the final pose and the music had ended that she smiled brightly at the audience.  Priceless!

Alas, not every week can be Recital Week.  Now that I'm not trying to run my life from inside of a Degas painting, my next order of business is to make our house look like a model home.  In other words, no personal possessions in sight.  I might be going overboard on that ideal, but my favorite room in the house is the one in the basement that is empty.  It's supposed to be a music room, but I don't want to clutter it up with furniture and stuff, so it's completely bare, except for nice, soft carpet.  So I'm getting rid of the stuff in all the other rooms too.  Anyway, I have a very special dollhouse that is driving me nuts, in case anyone is looking for a fixer-upper.  It needs wallpaper, carpet, electrical, wood floors and a fresh coat of paint.  Or just a few crayons, fabric and some imagination!  Let me know if a dollhouse is just the thing that is missing from your summer and it is yours!

The Dopp Dad

He drove the jr. high carpool every Tuesday morning this year.
He talks to the dog, even though he claims to hate her.
He keeps his office, car, side of the closet, TV room and basement spotless. 
He could have gone by himself to Park City for Fathers' Day, but he wanted to stay here so the kids could bring him breakfast in bed.
He grilled 5 different kinds of meat for 30 people today.
He takes the kids out to lunch.
He does all the school shopping.
He does diagonal lines in the grass when he mows.
He supports the kids in their endeavors.
He says funny things.
He played the Admiral in the Sound of Music and we all discovered a skill we didn't know he had!
He plays catch with Freestone.
He dresses Ptolemy in adorable outfits.
He knows all the kids' favorite colors.
He is capable of picking up a ballet carpool of 4 second graders and knows where they all live.
He wears linen.
He rocks a suit and tie.
He puts books on hold at the library for me before they even come out.
He respects our parents.
He has a lot of willpower and self-discipline.
He knows Fathers' Day is going to be about the kids and he doesn't mind.

He loves being a dad.

June Nineteemph

Freestone enjoyed a good, solid 14 hours of birthday fun today.  When I woke him up at 8:00, he whispered, "Is it after six in the morning?"  When I said yes, he said to himself, "Yes!  I'm seven.  I'm seven.  I'm seven!"

The first order of business for our seven-year-old was Toy Story 3 with Aunt Michelle and the boy cousins at 9 A.M.  It was a rare luxury to go to "Jakey's Theater," or in other words, a real movie theater.  Our kids are strictly dollar movie people.  A few months ago, Freestone told me, "Did you know that Jakey's theater has movies that haven't even come out yet?!?"  I said, "Wow!"  I didn't have the heart to explain to him that the rest of the country sees all the movies six months before he does.  But not today, thanks to Aunt Michelle's generosity!

After the movie, Scott took Free and Tolly out on the town, to lunch and Game Stop.  Freestone scored big with Super Mario Galaxy 2, his ultimate dream game.  He had a few minutes to play it at home before all the Dopp cousins arrived for a celebration of June birthdays.  Scott grilled up an array of savory meats, there was cake, there were presents for Free, Collin and Golda, there were 23 cousins trying to slide down Freestone's new slip 'n' slide with no water...it was fun.  And when it was all over, it was back to Mario Bros.

But wait!  There's more!  Coco and Bill delivered a gift, and later, Bill took Freestone to Baskin-Robbins to meet up with the girls for a post-recital/birthday ice cream cone.  By the time we got home, it was 10:30, and Scott decided to give Freestone a big piece of birthday cake, just to be funny.  I'm fairly sure Free was asleep by the time he finished his cake and crawled into bed.  He probably saw all the festivities as interruptions to Mario Galaxy 2, but the rest of us sure had fun!

30 Things

I love this picture of Golda, Ruby and Alexis listening admiringly to a funny story from Aunt Jenny at Lagoon Day 2010.  I love it because it encapsulates the word "aunt."  Jenny is one of the fun aunts of the world.  My kids are fortunate enough to have some pretty fabulous aunts, women who support their performances, wax their eyebrows, show them how to be mothers, take them shopping, demonstrate strength and creativity and generally help to raise them.  At times, they are more fun, more knowledgeable, more hip or more understanding than mom.

I am thankful for each little niece and nephew who calls me Aunt Circe and happy to have the opportunity to love them and watch them grow.  I remember a day a very long time ago when one of my cousins had a major crisis.  She went first to her aunt, my mom, to ask for her help in breaking the news of the crisis to her mother.  In life, there are some things an aunt can do that even a mom can't.  That's why we have them, I suppose.

In my capacity as Aunt Circe, here is my list of about 30 things that drive me crazy, for Lexie...

Rain, grey skies, people who aren't in a hurry, people who don't do what they said they would, gravity, junk in the car, loud noises, kids who can't entertain themselves, when people don't know the difference between its and it's (it's is always a contraction for it is  Its is possessive.) and your and you're, when baby wipes dry out, waiting, toys, unloading the dishwasher, not being able to go to the pool,  flavors other than chocolate, toast that's not buttered to the edges, being late, finding one shoe, ignorance, apathy, over-indulged kids, entitlement, hornets, slow traffic and how oatmeal cookies always have to have raisins in them.  Who decided that?

But I LOVE warm, cuddly babies, ballet recitals, birthdays, blue skies and fun nieces.  So today is a great day!

So Lucky...

Today we are doing more of this...

And feeling so lucky!

Xantherina Ballerina

Four years ago when Xanthe came home from China, one of the first things she did was ride on my hip for the duration of recital week.  Experts said she should be with mom at all times for bonding, so that one relationship would be constant and continual in a world where every detail was suddenly different from anything she had ever known.  The tiny, timid scrap observed the whole process of the recital from the rhythmic comfort of mom's hip, silently watching, her stoic face inscrutable, as I took my classes through staging and led them backstage to dance.  I wonder if the sights and sounds of that week registered in her subconscious as something good or something scary.  At any rate, she lives for her Tuesday dance class with Lisa.  If ballet class is the cherry on top of her week, the recital is one of those giant sundaes made for 20 people, piled high with whipped cream.

The poor girl whipped herself into a frenzy of excitement so intense last night, she was passed out asleep in the backseat of the car by the time we got to dress rehearsal.  As I carried her into the Browning Center in her sparkly pink costume, her hair slicked back into the world's tiniest micro-bun, I thought of the limp, placid baby I carried in four years ago.  This is a different girl.  Her chaperone said that Xanthe insisted on narrating the whole recital.  "This is Lost Penny.  My sister is in this.  This one is going to be the number song.  This is Baobabs.  It's a funny song.  This is Ruby's song.  My song plays the piano."  She knows her stuff!  At 30 pounds, she could probably run the whole show if she could just get everyone to follow her commands.  And if she could stay awake 'til curtain!