Simple Thing

Once a week, Ruby, Freestone and I rock out. They each have a guitar lesson, after which we do something fun for a couple hours. Then they each have an hour-long group lesson, Freestone first. Spending that much time with the two guitar students is a luxury for me, made possible by everyone else holding down the fort at home.

While Ruby was in her group class, Freestone and I sat down to a brownie and a bag of Haribo raspberries at Cucina on Second Avenue. We were having a conversation about how Freestone "didn't have time to learn ANYTHING at school, actually." Free had valiantly tried to hold still and manage his unweildy guitar for the past hour, and he was oozing with energy as he organized his candies into a pattern. He started singing that song, "Oh simple thing! Where have you gone?" Only it came out in boisterous tones, "Oh thimple fing!! Wheh have you gone!?.." Then he fell off his chair.

My eyes filled with stinging tears at his innocence. Freestone popped up looking slightly alarmed at my watery eyes. I remembered something out of a book: "If a child is not the voice of God, God never spoke."

This simple thing, this straw-haired boy in the autumn light, is what every child is. A gift from God that we can hardly begin to deserve if we work our whole lives at it.

I said, "Freestone, I'm proud of you for being such a great kid."

He replied, "No you're not. You're crying."

Only because I just caught a glimpse of something simple: The divinity behind all the sound and fury of our lives.

Bend THIS

You can tell which kids are the soccer kids in one glance. It's not the girls who are picking flowers, wearing a dress and floral leggings with shinguards over them. Frankly, soccer just isn't our thing. Yet every season, we seem to end up with at least one kid joining AYSO. The first season with Golda, I raised my hand at the first practice and asked when the girls were to receive their costumes. It's been downhill ever since. I won't even go into Freestone's soccer experience last year, during which he scored several goals for the opposing teams.

The ineptitude began a generation ago, before coaches started giving every kid an equal chance. I was always the kid who stood there trying to look focused while the ball was in play at the other end of the field. Halfback? I even lagged seriously behind when it came to getting an orange slice at halftime. There were never any left by the time I jogged all the way over from the far end of the field.

Here is one reason I'm not a "soccer mom" in the strictest sense:

"Hello, is this...uh...Erachelli's mom?"
"Yes. Hi!"
"Hi, I'm Amy. I'm coaching Erachelli's team, and they just called me last night when the dad who was supposed to coach dropped out. So we have our first practice today at 4:00 and a game Saturday at 12:00. Bring a ball and wear cleats and shinguards."
(I'm thinking "OK, the practice is during ballet and the game is during cello. Oh, and let's see...do I have time to go and buy cleats before 4:00?")

On so many levels, I despise soccer. The lack of organization, the way it abruptly butts into our schedule for six weeks in the fall and six weeks in the spring, the incessant running after the ball with no clear idea of technique, the parents who won't stop shouting things like "Way to hustle!" I'm also miffed about the way proponents tout AYSO as character-building and self-esteem boosting. If you want your kid to build character, put her in a ballet program where if she works consistently for several years, she might get pretty good. Have her play an instrument and teach her to practice every single day, not just 12 times a year. And for crying out loud, do not give a kid a trophy when his biggest accomplishment was eating the most fruit snacks after the game! Still, when Ari asked to do it, I said yes because it's good exercize, and because the older kids got to try it. Also, it's a good lesson in following through with something because you said you would. Truth be told, I like having an excuse to get outside and relax for an hour on Saturdays. Or a half hour if the game inexplicably starts twenty minutes late and Ari has to leave after the third quarter to get to cello.
When we left for soccer practice today, Ari said, "OK, I'll go. Even though soccer is the stupidest thing in the WORLD!" Mission accomplished right there. She gets the dedication thing, yet she's not likely to try it again. Way to hustle, Erachelli!

On FIRE!

We have a new creature living at our house. We call her The Spicy Beast. Once she was a cute little baby. Now she's a loud, brash, demanding preschooler. I'm not saying she was ever placid. She's always been a Spicy Girl. But her status has been upgraded to Spicy BEAST since she started school. Xanthe is taking this whole "big girl" thing to the extreme. I'm not even allowed to go all the way to the door when I drop her off. Yesterday I told Xanthe's friend, "I'm going to be at preschool tomorrow!"
Xanthe scowled at me, folded her arms and said, "No you not! You too OLD!"
The funniest part, and I don't know if you can relate to this, is that she sounded exactly like the steroetypical "Scornful First Generation Asian-American Mom" out of a movie. "No you not! You too old!" Think Joy Luck Club. She even looked the part in her retro dress. I could almost picture a cup of green tea in her hand, or a mahjong tile. She is SO FUNNY!

The day starts with the Spicy Beast standing groggily at the top of the stairs, her hair wild and crazy, her eyes daring anyone to cross her. When I see her, I can hear the Psycho theme music in my head. Her daily activities include screaming "Maaaaaaaaama! Maaaaaama!" anytime one of the other kids talks to me, sitting on my lap whining "My turn! I pwactice! NOW!!!!" whenever I help someone else practice, demanding that I constantly hand her random items while I'm driving, and most recently, pushing her drink off the edge of the kitchen counter. She was surprised and pleased when the cup shattered on the floor.

I'm delighted Xanthe is asserting herself instead of developing her passive-aggressive tendencies. This is a positive step, and an adorable one. I love my little Spicy Beast. That doesn't mean, however, that we don't all breathe a sigh of relief when she falls asleep in her macaroni! Terrorizing the neighborhood is hard work!

Turning Tides

Some days are for making dreams come true and some days are for "growing experiences." Golda didn't get the part of Clara, and she was so disappointed. Even in the moment when her devastation was fresh, she sought out the girl who got the part. Golda hugged her and shared in her celebration. Later, she kept saying through her tears that she was excited for the girl. I couldn't help but be proud of Golda's graciousness. It's not when you win that your character comes out. It's when you're defeated.

Golda got the part of Oriental Servant, which is the part I had when I finally made the Nutcracker. I'm really excited about her following in my footsteps! Ruby got the part of buffoon, and she was elated. Last year, she set her sights firmly on buffoon, to the extent that I let her take gymnastics so she could learn how to do handsprings in preparation for the audition. She worked at it doggedly, but gymnastics turned out to be a big challenge, and she didn't get the buffoon part. So tonight, Ruby was doubly thrilled that her goal was belatedly realized.

It was hard for me to balance Ruby's joy and Golda's dejection. Ruby consoled Golda, kindly putting her own excitement aside. It is tough to watch helplessly as these character building experiences arise, but it's the only way. Parents just have to grit their teeth and let the waves of despair wash over them sometimes. The alternative is being a parent who goes behind the scenes, trying to nullify or erase all the disappointment and heartache, trying to shield kids from growing and progressing. I won't be that parent. All I really had to offer Golda were tales of my own failures as a young dancer. The times I was the first one cut. The time I was the very last one cut. The time I was the only girl in the car on the way home who didn't make it. Then there was the time I was still standing after all the cuts had been made, and I still treasure that Nutcracker experience.

The tears are all dry now. Golda is thankful to be an Oriental Servant, and I am thankful to have another of childhood's hurdles behind us. Mostly, I'm thankful to have girls I'm proud of, no matter what part they dance onstage.

Pele

When I was a kid, our next-door neighbors, the Woodcocks, had a dog named Pele. He was a yellow lab, and he was always underfoot, chasing tennis balls, slobbering on us, giving us rides on his back. The Woodcock kids adored Pele. He was the kind of dog who would go to soccer games - he was named after one of the greats, after all - and run along the sidelines.

One day, with no warning at all, Pele was suddenly a good four inches shorter and had slightly darker fur on his back. He had gained a little weight, too. The Woodcocks swore it was the same dog, and their kids never seemed to notice that Pele had lost quite a bit of tennis-ball-catching skill. They loved him all the same.

I don't know what made me think of that. Hey, did I tell you I found Max Friday while the kids were at school? Seriously. I did.

Perfect Eleven

I found out today that when an eleven-year-old has a perfect day, it is nothing short of sublime. Maybe you remember being eleven: the angst, the anxiety of not having a clue about the threshold you feel beneath your feet. Hence, much eye-rolling and storming out of rooms.

Well, there was none of that today. For months, Golda has been wringing her hands, making lists, practicing steps late at night in her room...all for Nutcracker auditions. Ruby took the opposite tack. Nonchalant and unruffled. Today was the day, and boy was I steeled for some drama. Instead, it was like boarding up the house for a hurricane, then stepping outside to a blue, cloudless sky. Here's what constitutes a perfect day, at least to one girl on the planet:

1. Passing off everything at flute. A good sign!

2. Having Mom do the best bun of her life in your hair. It rocked!

3. On the way to your own Nutcracker tryout, getting a call from your favorite cousin that she made the Ballet West Nutcracker!! Lexie, we're so proud of you! Golda took that as a sign that the stars were aligned, and nothing could go wrong from that point on.

4. Having a ballet bag you made yourself from Christmas fabric to take to the audition. Holiday vibe: very important.

5. Seeing the words on your result slip that you hoped for, dreamed about, envisioned; "Please come to Studio D for a Clara callback at 5 pm today."

6. Having your dad wait around in the ballet alley when you thought he was on his way to the Utah game. Knowing you're more exciting to him than a football game.

7. Being there to see Ruby's face when she came out of her audition and knowing she got a part, too. Good job, Ruby!! Yes, I knew you'd make it!! :)

8. Feeling like you did your best at the callback, and having fun doing it. Loving it, in fact. Knowing that only 8 girls got the callback for the lead part, out of 130.

Tonight I found Golda on the front porch, staring at the moon. Agonizing, probably, about how she won't find out who got the part of Clara until Monday night. Wringing her hands. Going over steps in her mind. She said she was thinking about Nutcracker. I told her, "The die is cast and all there is to do is wait." She rolled her eyes, but smiled. So she's the same girl, but different in some incremental way. I'm proud of her for setting her sights on that Clara callback, and relieved that today, today, her prayers were answered.

Some say there's no such thing as perfection.

When you're eleven, that's just not true. And we will always remember this day as proof.

Ode to Max

Dear Max,
I am so frustrated with you right now. What were you thinking? Did you think you could make it out there alone? Did you think nobody would close the door after you left? Maybe you ran away. Were you that tired of being dressed up like a baby and carried around in doll cribs? You could have said something! Maybe I should have been more sensitive to your feelings. When Darcy died and your kids went to live at the pet store, I thought you were doing just fine. You still enjoyed carrots and your chirpy voice was just as lively as ever. I'm sorry if you were masking the pain and I just didn't notice. We all should have been more understanding.

You realize that I'm probably going to have to hang up "Missing" posters all over the neighbrhood. Have you ever seen a poster for a missing guinea pig? No. Because people don't find guinea pigs. I hate to break it to ya now, Max, but guinea pigs don't have the Lassie instinct. You probably walked out that door and never looked back. What, is your brain the size of a walnut? I guess it is. Maybe that's why you left. Should I tell the kids it wasn't them, it was you? You needed more space? Darnit, we're all going to miss that adorable cowlick on your forehead. And your squealing. You have such a beautiful voice. If you're out there, the crickets are going to have some fierce competition.

Max, you know our door is always open. Well, actually, it's usually closed, but just show up and squeal, and a bunch of heartbroken kids will come running, ready to cradle you and feed you celery. You can come home anytime. But if it's after tomorrow, you might have to share your cage with the new guinea pig. If all goes well, he'll look just like you and the kids will call him Max. They might talk to him about that time he ran away and came back the next day while they were at school. Miracles never cease, you know. We love you, Max!

Another First

Amid all the dance classes, homework and practicing, it would be easy to overlook the two spunky little pigtails bobbing along on their way to preschool. Spicy little Xanthe has been looking forward to her moment in the sun, and today was finally the day she went to Teacher Jen's school for her first class. All the way there, she kept saying, "I have fun at preschool. You not be there!" She wanted to make sure I knew I was NOT invited.

As it turned out, we made quite an ignominious first impression when Xanthe literally walked in, looked around and promptly peed on the rug like a dog marking its territory. Great. It's always fun to start out with a heavy dose of mom embarrassment. So Teacher Jen spent the first five minutes of the new school year looking for paper towels and extra underwear. I bet she loves us already.

I managed to pick Xanthe up right on time at the end, with my fingers crossed that nothing had gone wrong after I dropped my soggy little girl off and bolted this morning. When Xanthe got in the car, she announced, "I hab fun at school. I'd like a sammich and chicken nuggets and fwench fwies and kahkat milk." We went to Wendy's to celebrate the christening of the preschool rug and all the wonderful, dry moments that followed our initial impression.

Later, Xanthe had her very own friend over. She talked Nancy's ear off while Nancy's mom and I made what I hope turns out to be a delicious stew. (Thanks, Winifred!) For now, the house smells savory, my baby is asleep and soon the front door will crash down with the rush of all the others, home from their school day. I'm ready. I forgot how exhausting it is to have just one!

A First for Everything

First fall stew.
First holiday project.
First autumn storm. Yes, they got out parkas, gloves, boots and hats for ten minutes of hail. What are ya going to do, let that first hailstorm pass by without celebrating?? Notice Xanthe's sun hat and Freestone's swimsuit. It was a sudden change!
Trying out new hairstyles with Aunt Jenny for the first day of preschool.
This crisp, colorful weather is much more of an awakening than spring for me.
Here's to firsts.

Last the Best

Last dive.

Last treat.

Last swim.

Last shared secret.

Last leap.

Summer, we'll miss you.