The 30-Minute Cough

Literally on the way to piano this morning, Xanthe developed a runny nose and an annoying cough.  She made it her mission to cough on each of the piano keys and dramatically request "anudder kleenex" between every exercise.  It was more drama than you'll find backstage at a production of Wicked.  After the lesson:

"Xanthe, enough with the coughing and sniffing. You are not sick."
"What do you call it then?"
"I call it being fine."
"Well I call it being sick.  And my head is broken.  Like it's cracked open or sumpin."
"I guess you'll have to go back to bed."
"No!  There's a spider in my room.  I want to sleep in Golda's room now.  I'll move all my clothes.  Daddy can have my room."
"Does Daddy like spiders?"
"No, but it will be dark and he won't see it.  We'll turn off the lights."

Her head may be broken or sumpin', but she's still thinking on her feet.  I call that being sassy.

Talents

My violin students (and my kids) had a recital at our house yesterday.  The captive audience was forced not only to listen to music, but to sample my experimental stew and pumpkin cookies.   I have a really great group of families hailing from Sweden to Argentina, to our own neighborhood and family!  I love, love seeing them every week, some speaking their native languages as they come and go, all of them building ties as families with each small musical endeavor.

Judging by the only surviving picture of the event, some were paying closer attention to the recital than others!  As much as I enjoyed the music, food, company and proud little faces, this picture is my favorite part of the whole experience.  It just cracks me up.  Freestone's manly little heart is not in playing the violin.  He has a vast arsenal of tricks to confound my practicing efforts, ranging from crying that he would rather play the guitar to standing there silently sobbing.  For the recital that he did not practice for, he asked me to "just write down the music."  His confidence was impressive, but completely unfounded.  I wrote the fingerings on a paper, and he followed them like a recipe.  He sounded terrible, I have to say.  But how could I not love him when I look at this picture?  Funny little boys, Free and Collin!  Talents certainly don't have to be about the arts.  At the recital, Izzy shared her talent for saying a heartfelt prayer over the food.  One of the moms shared her talent for making empanadas.  The parents and grandparents demonstrated a much-practiced talent for supporting their children.  Scott exercised his talent for being a supportive and understanding husband, not complaining about an event for 50, chez nous, that could very well have overlapped the Utah-Notre Dame game.  Thanks, Freestone and Collin, for sharing your talent of just being delightful seven-year-old boys.  You rock and I love you!

Food Rules

I've been inspired to eat healthier foods by this blog and by the book Food Rules by Michael Pollan.  We haven't gone down the organic road, much less the completely local road (or footpath), but the Food Rules motto is a start:  "Eat food.  Not too much.  Mostly plants."

Being motivated by people who are going vegan, compared to my efforts, is a bit like coming home from the Louvre and buying a Thomas Kincade knockoff to hang above the fireplace.  My new "more veggies, less meat, mostly whole foods, very little refined stuff" campaign is but a facsimile of a truly healthy lifestyle.  But we all have to start somewhere.  My meals are more colorful and varied when meat isn't the main ingredient, and I'm getting a lot of satisfaction from preparing food that is good for us.  Now cooking seems like more of a luxury and less of a burden.  I hope our "Kincade-ish" efforts lead to an even bigger leap toward food fitness.  Next step:  the green drink.  Not quite there yet!

Smarts!

Yesterday I had to sort through seven years of Freestone's pictures to find a handful that would both fit on a small time line and represent the pivotal moments in Freestone's life.  Don't tell Freestone, but the newborn I'm holding in the first picture is Ari.  And believe it or not, we don't have an appropriately sized picture of the first time Freestone played video games in "octobre, 2008."  Oh, I didn't tell you the time line is supposed to be in French?  I love translation websites.  I know you're thinking I should let Freestone do his own homework, and I DO, but - and don't take this personally - do you KNOW any kids?  Second graders frequently have trouble finding two shoes in under an hour.  This is a seven-year time line in French with photos.  He needs help!  And he has six math worksheets and a vocabulary packet due tomorrow. Part of learning is to figure out how to organize time, effort and resources and see a project through.  That has to be taught, and letting him fail is not a good way to teach that.  Working with him to show him the way is a process and an investment.

I'm not helping Ari as much with her project this week, since it is made up 100% of coloring and Scotch tape.  I wish she were practicing cello, doing chores, finishing her regular homework packet or getting her reading done, but she's coloring, cutting out and assembling an entire Native American village made of cardstock, due tomorrow.  This project has taken several hours so far.  I just wish there were a more efficient way to teach a third grader what a teepee is shaped like... 

Then there's the 6th grade science fair.  This will involve minimal parental intervention, a creme brulee torch and several types of sugar.  The house could very well burn down.  Although Ruby will do all the work, the whole project hinges on my ability to bring home powdered sugar, buy a special three-sided poster and get the printer working.  So right out of the gate, she's at a disadvantage.

Don't get me wrong, I am 100% supportive of homework.  I love it when everyone is gathered around the kitchen counter working.  I love our teachers.  I am grateful for the excellent education my children are getting.  Their curriculum is far more demanding than what I did in grade school.  In 1975, we had a sandbox and nap rugs in my kindergarten class.  2010, Xanthe got a bad grade in "language arts writing" because her lower-case m wasn't up to snuff.  At her SEP, she kept gulping.  I could tell her mouth was dry and she was terrified.  Beforehand, she had asked me, "What are they going to do to me?  Not punch me in the face...?"  She's hilarious.  She came home from the conference and filled page after page with lower case m's. 

The goal in our grading system is all 3's on a report card.  Freestone was nervous bringing home one 2.75 in the category "Understand, analyze and respond to narrative and informational grade level text."  I don't even know what that means!  When I was Freestone's age, I was a horrible student.  I even got bad scores in things like "working with others" and "math."  Araceli has a grade for algebra on her third grade report card.  So if one of the kids brings home a less-than-perfect score in "understand and compare attributes of three-dimensional geometric shapes and apply transformations," I'm going to try not to worry.  Even though understanding attributes of three-dimensional geometric shapes would help immensely when assembling a Native American village.

The (Beautiful) Ugly Truth

Today was the big day!  Freestone has had this day on his calendar for weeks.  It was the day Diary of a Wimpy Kid Five, The Ugly Truth, came out!  When you're excited about a book before it's even on the shelves, you have to get it on the first day.  You have to be the first to read it!  Freestone woke up this morning ready to go buy his book, but Daddy was already at work.  Freestone was slightly upset, saying, "I wanted to get it right when it came out and tonight isn't right when it comes out.  It's out now!"

When Scott got home tonight, he and Freestone finally went to buy the book.  Freestone and his precious new volume have been curled up under mountains of blankets ever since.  Ahh, the luxury!  I love the thrill of a new book.  I love how you try not to gobble it up too fast, but you can't help it.  I love the satisfaction of turning the last page.  I love going back and reading about the author, the typeface, anything to catch one last morsel of enjoyment from the book.  When I was in grade school, I had a porcelain night light in the shape of a woman wearing a hoop skirt.  It had a cord that plugged into the wall.  The light was dim, but it was enough to illuminate the Nancy Drew novels I hid under the covers after lights-out.  I was always afraid my mom would catch me reading late at night and get mad, but for the most part, I was left alone to crack cases with Nancy and Bess or Trixie Belden and her best friend, Honey.  My parents frequently took me to the basement of Sam Weller's to hunt down a new addition to my Nancy Drew or Dana Girls mystery sets.  It was such a triumph when I found a dusty old volume that I didn't yet have in my collection.  I remember the smell of Sam Weller's, and the smell of the school book fair.  I always perused the fair thoroughly before selecting a brand-new Dell Yearling book to match the ones I had at home.  Over and over, I would leaf through the pages to inhale the new-book smell, but I was careful never to break the spine.  Mrs. Robison, our school librarian, had cautioned us against such a crime.  I still never break a book's spine.  And I still stay up into the silent midnight hours for the addictive rush of falling into another world through a book.

  I know Freestone will close The Ugly Truth, sigh, and open it right back up to page one again and start over.  He's in another world right now, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Flight Grounded

Because of Daylight Savings, I woke up early, early this morning.  I wandered into the kitchen and decided to make banana bread.  Once I started combining ingredients, I realized I had hardly any of the required items.  I substituted sour cream for butter, oil for eggs and yogurt for buttermilk.  And it worked!  The kids gobbled up a whole loaf and packed the other one for their lunch.  I got the banana-bread-stuffed kids to school on time and happy, their practicing done, Golda's ortho appointment was short and on schedule, Xanthe was adorably prepared for ballet.  I was flying high!  After dropping Xanthe off at dance, I made it in perfect time for Freestone's SEP.  He spoke French beautifully with his teacher and got a great report.  My morning was clicking into place with ease and I felt energized!  As I pulled over to the side of the alley to wait for Xanthe to emerge from ballet, the first snowfall of the season started to dust the vibrant leaves.  Exciting!  Ptolemy was dozing, I was snuggled up in the driver's seat listening to NPR.  Life was grand.  Then I got an angry knock on my window.  Rolling it down, I was accosted by shouting.  "YOU CAN'T PARK HERE!  MY EMPLOYEE IS COMING!  CAN'T YOU SEE THE NO PARKING SIGNS?  NOW GIT OUTTA HERE!!"  She spat the words out like I was a particularly ugly stray dog.  I half-expected her to kick me in the ribs.

I wasn't exactly parked, but I moved my car.  Naive little optimist that I am, I thought I could fix the confrontation.  I walked up to the woman who was now opening the door to her business and said sweetly, "Now what was your name?"  It was Connie, she barked, the owner of a certain travel agency on Main Street.  Ignoring my smile, she laid into me with a tirade of things she was "sick and tired of" that, if we're being reasonable, had nothing to do with me.  I replied calmly, "I know.  It must be frustrating.  I'm sorry."  The door slammed in my face.

And with that, my perfect morning crumbled like a week-old cupcake.  I felt a lot smaller and the snow started to look like a wet, inconvenient intrusion rather than a festive celebration.  Now I feel like I've been thrown up on again, only this type of vomit is a lot harder to clean off than the literal kind.  It'll take me all day and probably into the night to feel clean again.  Thanks,  Connie.  What a travel agent.  You just slapped me with a one-way ticket to Uglytown.

Araceli and the Birthday Party of Doom

The three birthday girls:  Ellen, Araceli and Elise.  What are the odds of it being the actual birthday of two of your party guests!?

One of these girls has the stomach flu.  The others will have it tomorrow.  Or maybe it was just the pancakes.

Several types of sugar.  No veggies.

Mmm...pancake-like food!

Ari was at ballet from all day today, between her class, Nutcracker, getting dropped off early for costume fittings so I could pick up Golda at flute, sisters' rehearsals and waiting for me to teach.  I think she was still wearing her tights and leo at the party.  Her bun looks pretty spent.

Tolly in his "blackout" attire.  Go Utes...   :(  At least the party was more of a success than the game today.  But that's not saying much.

At 4:10 this afternoon, I was driving home from the store with a birthday cake, wondering whether the party started at 4 or 4:30.  I don't know which time I was hoping for.  If it was 4:00 and the girls had already arrived, I'd be ahead.  In a way.  Have I taken my blase "lower your standards" motto too far?  Some of Ari's friends never even got invited because I lost my phone and can't hold a thought long enough to track down their numbers or drive to their houses.

The party was at 4:30.  With the 15 minutes I had to get ready, I was lucky Jennifer came and helped me set up the table, ditch the dead flowers that were acting as a centerpiece and make pancake batter.  She saved me a second time when she came back with her camera and took these great pictures.  I could not find my camera!  Between Jennifer, Golda and Ruby, we managed to pull together an awesome dinner of oval and trapezoid-shaped pancakes for 12 third graders.  Yes, that was what we served for Araceli's "dinner party" birthday.  When I sent out the invites, I had visions of fancy table settings, candelabras, prime rib and sparkly drinks.  Then I remembered 1. I'm not Elton John and 2.  you can put chocolate chips and syrup on dog food and kids will love it. So I was pretty sure the pancakes would be a big hit with all the sugary toppings we had available.  I was right.  Even Sir Elton probably would have loved those pancake-shaped lumps of hastily prepared dough covered with syrup, peanut butter, chocolate chips and whipped cream.

After "dinner" the kids played Capture the Flag outside under the direction of Golda and Ruby.  It was fun and probably would have made me less uneasy if Ari hadn't previously chosen several girls at random and told them to wear their fanciest dress to the party.  When I saw Ellison crawling through the scrub oak in her beautiful dirndl, I knew I would have to give Sarah permission to end our friendship. 

Just when I had put Ptolemy down and was thinking about eating a pancake myself in the quiet house, I heard the rallying cry, "Time for cake and ice cream!"  The stampede of kids was followed by singing, singeing, (lighter+Ruby's fingers), cake, ice cream and...throwing up.  I'm no stranger to vomit, having six kids, and having been thrown up on at the past two ballet recitals by kids who were not my own.  Not a problem.  I got Ari's poor little friend to the garbage can (and the sink) right in time.  Of course, she was probably the only girl at the party who didn't know her own phone number, so she observed the rest of the festivities holding a bowl and resting on the couch.  Sweet girl, she was such a good little sport.  One of the other girls, a wonderful child, went and sat by the sick girl, declining cake and ice cream to do so.  "No thank-you.  I don't really care for cake anyway."  It was maybe the kindest thing I have ever seen.

I may not have done this sweet group of girls justice with my sloppy inviting and minimal preparations, but Ari was happy.  And you know what?  It was a beautiful day which I thoroughly appreciated.  I might be a complete stranger to perfection, but I'm not worried about it.  If a half-baked party is the trade-off for enjoying a gorgeous Saturday of sunny, 70 degree weather, music and dance, football and family and a couple of hours spent with Ari's delightful friends, so be it.  I think it's a pretty good trade-off.

Fabulocity

Happy birthday to Araceli!  It's hard to believe she's been around for nine years.  I am thankful for her sweet, loving energy and fun, creative spirit.

For Ari's birthday, I wanted to organize her room.  (I stole her new aqua/green bedspread for Freestone's room.)  Ari had just informed me, "My favorite color is now red.  Forget all those other colors.  I like red."  Red, black and white, she said, because she's a Utes fan.  After I cleaned and rearranged the furniture, I trolled the house looking for red things to transform the room.  I brought in two wrought-iron chairs from the front porch, some art from the storage room and a red music stand from the shop and they gave me an idea.  Then I mentioned to my mom that I was making Ari's room into a red, white and black French bistro for her birthday.  I made Coco promise not to buy anything, but you can't say "Paris," "redecorating" and "shopping" in the same breath to Coco and expect her to stay home.  This is what Coco was born for!  She added to my re-purposed collection of things with new pillows, curtains a red bedspread and accessories.  Coco made the room fabulous!  Thank you for your enthusiasm and expertise, Coco.  You're so much fun, and so generous!

Ari had a sleepover in Ruby's room the night before her birthday;  I told her I had to lock her room because I had violin stuff in there.  When we unlocked the room for Ari the morning of her birthday, she dropped everything and stared.  Shock and awe!  The finishing touches were a beautiful pillow from Gingham World and a big canvas.  I painted it the canvas red and told Ari to paint a picture of the Eiffel Tower on it, and she got right to work.  I love how childlike and whimsical it turned out!

After getting her birthday off to a good start with a new room and a fun painting project, Araceli had a great day at school.  (Scott had taken her to her birthday lunch at Pepperbelly's the day before.)  Then she got to take a treat to Mr. Marsden at her cello lesson, where she wore a new outfit from Grandma and Grandpa.  It was only fair that the birthday girl got rewarded with YogoTogo after her lesson.  And Scott took her to buy treats for the kids after dinner.  I think our little nine-year-old was worn out by the time she crawled under her new comforter.  She'd better rest up!  Her birthday party is still in store for this weekend!

Election Day Chili

 I got carried away on the Election Day Chili and made two kinds.  One is a white bean chicken concoction and the other is modeled after my grandpa Bill's recipe, the traditional election day meal.  It's fitting that there are two kinds;  you can vote for your favorite!  Since I was already channeling my inner domestic goddess, I made a batch of pumpkin cookies, too.  As usual, the chili (and the cookies!) will be out and ready to eat all day and all night today.  Stop by!  No tea parties...just a bowl of fall comfort and some sugary, non-partisan treats.

And here are some forgotten Halloween pictures.  I call it my anti-Hee Haw album!

 Root beer for Ruby's party last Friday, to go with the pizza and plentiful snacks the kids ate while they played games inside and out.

 Freestone's pumpkin had L's for eyes and an F for a nose, with a D on its cheek.  Cool!

 Birthday flowers from Brooke and candy, candy, candy, made up the centerpiece for our girls' lunch Thursday.  The runner is a scarf Jen R. gave me for my birthday!

 Tolly dove into the flower bed and found a bunch of cherry tomatoes!

 Xanthe and MeiLing in their matching dresses.  She's still wearing the dress!  She wore it yesterday to get shots in her leg.  (kindergarten booster and something else that's new.)  Then she wore the dress again today because her leg is so sore.  It's red ribbon week at school and the kids are supposed to wear boots today to "stomp out drugs."  Xanthe was so worried all morning about not being able to stomp.  I don't know what she thought her teacher would do to her if she was unable to stomp, but she was pretty terrified.  Three hours of resting on the couch with Curious George and some ibuprofen and she felt like she had the courage to say no to stomping out drugs.  I hope this doesn't negatively affect her future..."I wouldn't have become a crack addict if I had just stomped out drugs in kindergarten while I had the chance...If only my leg hadn't been sore that day..."

Reparations

This morning was a tiny bit of a parenting disaster.  I blame it on the dog and her stupidity, but it was probably more due to my morning-after blues.  I had that "Hee Haw" feeling that Scott used to get on Saturdays as a kid when all the sports programming ended and Hee Haw came on TV, just as dusk settled in.  It felt like all the good stuff was over and the stupid, banal and pointless stuff was all that was left to look forward to.  Last Thursday night was delicious, since the term had ended and there was no homework for the whole three-day weekend.  Just a big, fat agenda of fun ahead.  I even gave the kids a day off from practicing on their choice of Friday or Saturday and filled the time with parties and pumpkins and friends.  I know it was cloudy all weekend, but I remember it as brilliantly sunny anyway, just because of all the festivities.  I was in love with the Halloween season, and then it left me.

This morning, I searched every recess of my psyche for a glimmer of inspiration to launch a new week.  No luck.  Just empty candy wrappers and soggy, fallen leaves in my brain.  The kids must have felt equally uninspired because nobody could seem to get out the door.  All of the clouds worked themselves into an ugly storm which culminated in Ruby shouting, "Orchestra is stupid!" and me shouting, "Maybe YOU'RE stupid!"

Calling your kid stupid is mighty high on the Top Ten List of things never to do as a parent.  Even Freestone knows that.  He said gently, "Mom, you shouldn't say that.  How about if you're not the best person in the family anymore?"  Ruby left with a sullen glare and I found myself standing alone with my regret, demoted to "not the best person in the family."

There is more fix-it work involved in parenting than I thought, at least the way I do it, and I knew I had to fix this one.  I was staring down a future of angry backward glances from Ruby, and it was a specter that I did not like.  Coco took Xanthe for me and I checked Ruby out of school for lunch.  We went to the place we call "Tiny Spicy Chicken" and ordered two plates of...tiny spicy chicken.  Ruby's countenance gradually turned from stormy to sunny as we talked about her life and our goals.  She listed four things she wishes I would never do, and I listed four things I wish she would always do.  After lunch, we hit a bunch of stores looking for clearance Halloween things because the sun was shining and I just wasn't ready for Hee Haw to start.  Not yet.  Net ever.