Homecoming. Texas Style.

After learning that homecoming is fiasco-ridden marathon last year, Aidan said, "Never again!"  He decided he would spread the word that he was planning on "being out of town."

Then, he liked a girl.

And she liked him back.

So, here we go again, on the homecoming roller coaster ride that only Texans can do.

Last year, the "ASK" involved a small gift.  This year, the tradition seems to have morphed into a memorable event.  Things like many candles lit in the girl's front yard.  A scavenger hunt.  Convincing the teacher to add it as a question to a test.  Surprise is key.  Aidan hatched and discarded many different ideas, all involving varying degrees of props, supporting cast, financing and originality.  His final production involved half-naked men and body paint.

 

Just in case you couldn't tell, lying on your side to see the video, the boys all came out of the locker room of a swim meet and lined up in front of the stands where The Girl was sitting.  Some kind of tribal yell, and then they ripped their shirts off.  They each had a letter of H-O-M-E-C-O-M-I-N-G on their chests, with Aidan as a "?".  Definitely points for originality. Good thing she said "Yes!" with such enthusiasm, being a public event and all.

 

 

 

The next "event" on the agenda is The Ordering of The Mum.  There are all kinds of rules surrounding The Mum and it's best to get professional help.  The Mum Lady does a remarkable job and produces a quality product, no two alike.  Also to be accomplished is The Purchsing Of The Tie so that it will match the date's dress.

 

While all this is going on, the kids (and I suspect, the Mommies) start tossing around ideas for The Schedule of Events for the Saturday night of Homecoming Week.  Appently, "nobody" actually attends the dance anymore.  Each idea is more elaborate than the next, and all involve much carting of kids to and fro by weary parents who have been carting to and fro all week.  This year, somehow, the Saturday Night Events got moved to a town all the way on the other side of the lake.  Somebody wanted to take photos at the Botanical Gardens over there, even though several generous families all offered their very lovely (and local!) yards for this segment of the Festivities.  Also on the evening's agenda is dinner out, bowling, and an after-party at one of the kids homes.  Oy.

 

As we enter the homestretch, the events come fast and furious.  Next up is The Presenting of The Mum, which happens on Thursday, so the girl has the chore pleasure of wearing it all day at school on Friday, after which it gathers dust on her bedroom wall.  Mum Presentation takes place at someone's home and involves several couples.  The girls, all a-twitter, gather in one room, while the boys enter and conceal The Mum in another room.  Parents orbit in the margins of the room with cameras ready.  The boys enter and give The Mums to the girls and there is much "ooooh"ing and "aaaaahhhhhh"ing with exclamations of "It's so pretty!"  Everybody dons their Mums, poses for photos, then removes The Mums for intense examination of all the details.

 

 

 

Oh, the details!

 

THIS is why one hires The Mum Lady.  I sooooo could never pull this off myself.  All the bling, all the braids, all the special tassles, boas, sparkles.  Oy!

 

These are all the special braided ribbons. 

 

Various plastic symbols

 

The mum included a horse head (she rides), a jaguar jewel tassel,

and the teddy bear had a crystal tiara

 

Ribbons with their names, and even a whistle - in case she needs to get someones attention

A feather boa on a silken silver cord, and much artistry with the ribbons



 

There is even candy embedded in the Mum.  And bling.  Lots and lots of bling.

 

 Friday, the school halls and classrooms are filled with Mums.  There are students hiding beneath them somewhere.  One smart teacher made the kids remove them and hang them up on the wall.

 

 

Each Mum seems more absurd than the next.  I'll get off my Mum soap box, but will leave you with one last image, all from our local high school.

 



 

Finally, Saturday arrives, the day everything has been building towards.  Apparently, the girls all start getting ready about 10am.  There are hair appointments, mani-pedi's, and makeup parties. 

 

Since I had been a "conscientious objector" to the complexity and geography of the plans, my only role for the evening was to drop Aidan off at someone else's house where the first leg of the evening was to begin.  The Photo Shoot.  From there, they were taken to a restaurant for dinner, and then moved on to the bowling alley.  After bowling, they returned to Flower Mound to hang out at one boy's home for the "after party."  All transportation provided by parents with more generous spirits than I.

 

I know I'm being kind of snarky about all this.  I will add that Aidan and his very nice date had a great time.  This is an awesome group of kids and as a parent I want to be supportive of them since they ARE so great.  I know they get tired of hearing "Back in the day, we didn't expect all this rigamarole!"  I don't know how or why or when things got so complicated.

 

But, as always, at the end of the day, I am grateful.  Grateful for my healthy kids and that they continue to make good choices, including surrounding themselves with great friends.  Grateful that we are able to provide them the evening they want.  And yes, I am grateful that it's over.

 

Until next year.  When I will experience this again, adding the perspective of my daughter!

 

 



Building Character...

...Or TMI about swim meets!

It's a well know fact that swim meets are long, uncomfortable, and boring.  For most people.

Not for "swim parents."  See, while a swim meet LOOKs like just one race after another, with hundreds of kids who all look alike, there is actually a lot more to it than that, if you know the swimmers, and all the drama.

Not "drama" in a bad way, drama in the Wide World of Sports way.  The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat.  What may LOOK like eight kids swimming the same stroke across the pool at the same time is really eight different stories playing out, sometimes over the course of a season, just the 3 days of the meet, or only that one swim, right there.

We swim parents spend the 3 days doing the zombie shuffle around the stadium.  Must.  Keep.  Blood.  Moving.  We are like leaves drifting in an aimless current, occasionally gathering in an eddy to exchange information.  "How's Nathan swimming?  Did you see Kiley get the meet record?  Wasn't that race with Carly and Lauren amazing!?  Did Stephen qualify for TAGS?"  We are like one, big, extended family and we love to celebrate the achievements of everyone else's kids.

To give you a feel for the ups and downs of a meet, here is how Aidan's story played out over three days.  You will see why I don't mind watching him swim.

Aidan recently turned 15, and it's time to start competing against "men."  No more being ranked by how old you are, either you qualify to swim based on time (not age), or not.  At this point in his swimming, the Big Goal for the end of the season is to qualify for a Sectional meet, which is about 1/12th of the country.  (There are 4 zones, and each zone is divided into 3 sections.  We are in the western section of the southern zone)  Aidan was close to achieving a few qualifying times for Sectionals, so that was his primary goal for this meet.  There are 2 levels of qualifying times, called "hard cuts" and "soft cuts."  You have to have at least one hard cut to qualify, and each hard cut earns you the right to swim two additional events as long as you have the soft cut.

This meet was run in what is called a championship format.  Meaning there are preliminary heats in each event in the morning, and if you finish in the top 16, you come back at night and swim it again in finals.  This format pits the very fastest kids against each other, and they all swim just a little bit better in these fastest heats at night.

Swimmer rankings are released a few days in advance of the meet, so you can get an idea of where you fit in the overall scheme of things and predict whether or not you will qualify for evening finals.

DAY ONE
Aidan's main focus for Friday was the 200 IM.  He was ranked 57th among the 95 entrants with ages 15-27.

He had a GREAT swim - and got a "soft cut" for Sectionals.  Since he moved up so much in the rankings, he had one more opportunity to get the "hard cut."

Here is a video of his swim.  I really like the 200 IM because you get to see all four strokes, but it only takes about 2 minutes, unlike the long slog of the 400 IM.

Since I hadn't expected him to make finals, we had no hotel room.  I found a covered parking garage at a church and we sat in the car for four hours with the AC running.  Aidan slept, and I monitored the engine temperature, occasionally going for drives to keep the temperature down.

Back to the pool for finals.  The good news is, he killed it again and dropped more time and wound up being ranked 12th overall.  The bad news is, he didn't quite get the hard cut.

Meet the Crabby Boy in the lobby when the meet is over.  "Great swim!" I enthused.  He glared at me.  Rolled his eyes.  "Dood!  You went a 2:20!! That's AWESOME!" I insisted.  He growled at me.  "I don't care.  That's like a consolation prize.  I wanted to go a 2:19."

Alrighty then.  It's gonna be a long ride home.

DAY TWO
Up at 5am to make the hour drive to the swim meet.  This time, we packed a change of clothes.  Just in case.  The main focus of the day is the 200 back, and he is ranked 21st.  He's one second off the soft cut and four seconds off the hard cut.  He is wearing an expensive "technical suit" and his legs are freshly shaved.  He is ready.

He didn't just get the soft cut - he killed it (again) and got the hard cut.  He made his goal in prelims.  Then he swam a solid 100 free and broke a minute, but that event is dominated by guys who have several inches and fifty pounds on Aidan, (we call them Zoo Animals), so a good time drop is the only prize.  He also swam the 400 IM.

So, back to the meet for finals, and since he lacked a clear goal, he did not swim as fast as he is capable.  Sort of a let-down after having such a great day.  But he finished 8th overall, which is a nice bump from being ranked 21st!  My pride in him is no consolation for him though.  He felt like tonight's race was pointless, and hated that he didn't do his best.

DAY THREE
Sunday dawns, and his last event of the meet is the 100 back.  That is his best event.  He is tired.  Worn down to a nub.  He also has to start the meet with the 200 breast.  Any 200 really takes a lot out of you.  He swam pretty well, but made a mistake on his pull-out and was disqualified.  That takes the wind out of your sails and he still had to wrap his mind around trying to get a hard cut in the 100 back.  He told me when I dropped him off that morning, "Mom, if I make the hard cut in prelims, I am NOT staying to swim it again at night."  I get that.  But that is a conversation he must have with his coach, and not an argument that is worth having at this moment.

I can tell by his posture that he is feeling defeated and has lost his fire.  He swims the 100 back and gives it absolutely everything he has to give.  He gets a soft cut.  Not the hard cut.  Ugh.  He wants to be done, and he's not.  He has to do it again.  I stand in the back of the stadium watching his every move.  Trying to discern what his coach is telling him, whether or not he has enough left to make hanging around for finals even worth it.  He hits the cool down pool.  That is a good sign, if you mean to swim again, you MUST cool down after every race or your muscles seize up.  He packs up his things in a desolutory manner.  I am waiting to see if he folds up his chair, which means he does not intend to return.  The chair stays.

I meet him in the lobby.  He has a face like thunder.  This is going to be a long afternoon.  "Food or sleep?"  I ask.  "Food.  Then sleep."  Off to iHop (for the 3rd time this weekend) where he wolfs down his usual in silence.  I keep my mouth shut.  Back to the car and the covered lot by the church, he has 2 hours to sleep.

Back to the pool, I have done my best to refrain from saying anything.  "Dig deep, buddy" I say as he exits the car.  "Swim it like it's 105 meters!" hoping to convey the message that he must not run out of steam in the last 5 meters like he's prone to do when he's tired.  He glares at me.  "I don't even know why I'm doing this," he mutters as he slams the door extra hard.

I stand in the back of the stadium watching his warmup like a hawk.  He talks with his coaches.  Do they know?  Do they know how utterly defeated he is?  My heart is breaking for him and I want to rescue him.  I want to go down on deck and tell the coaches that I am scratching him out of this farce.  I want to put this behind us and take him home.  I don't want him to have to fail.  But I am not raising a quitter.  I go back to my chair and try not to think about it.

It's a long wait.  3 1/2 hours from the time he had to report for warmups to when his event starts.  I am kicking myself for not realizing this and getting permission from the coaches to roll in late.  Coulda, shoulda, woulda.  Bad Swim Mommy.

Finally.  The Men's 100 back final.  I don't want to watch.  But here it is.  Can he do it?

What I missed on the video is once he got out of the water and made his way over to see his coaches, there were a whole bunch of swimmers waiting to congratulate him.  The swim parents all around me in the stands were as on edge about it as I was, and they were equally elated over what Aidan did.  I am so grateful that Aidan is surrounded with so many supportive friends.  People who "get" the "drama" of it all and understand the difference a few one-hundredths of a second can make to a dedicated swimmer.

Mostly, I am grateful for the lesson that Aidan learned.  He now knows that even when he doesn't think he has it in him, if he digs deep enough, he really does.

Aidan's story wasn't the only one at the meet though.  There were so many kids who did amazing things, who dug deep, who outswam themselves.  I love knowing these amazing kids and the excitement of watching them achieve their goals.  This is why swim meets aren't boring.

I meet him in the lobby.  I want so bad to wrap him in a bear hug and plant a big sloppy kiss on his cheek.  "Who are you and what have you done with that crabby kid I dropped off here this afternoon?" I ask instead.  "Mom!" he says, "Did you SEE Lauren swim the 50 free?  That was AMAZING!" he exclaims, and goes on to gush about all the accomplishments of his swimming family.

Suddenly, the drive home looks pretty promising.

Braggin' on My Kiddos

One of the "over the top" (in a good way) things about Texas is PRIDE.  Not just pride at being a Texan, but pride in anything worth being proud of.  And while everyone is proud of their kids, I've noticed that Texans have a few more ways to show it.  I'm sure this happens in other areas, but California is my only other experience and I didn't notice it to be as pervasive as it is here in Texas.  Things may have changed in the time that I have been gone - do y'all have a lot of this kind of stuff in YOUR area?

One way to show your pride is a yard sign...  doesn't matter if it's a sport, arts or academic team.  School-associated or private club.  The kids expect a yard sign announcing to all who pass by that they are part of something.

Then, there is the vehicle stickers.  I just keep adding to my back window as the stickers arrive.  Who knows how many I'll have on there after a few more years?

Like all parents, I'm proud of my kids and like to brag about them now and then.  Actually, that is one of the main purposes of this blog!  So, a couple of recent accomplishments from the end of the school year.....

Aidan lettered as a freshman.  Which presented a sort of unique opportunity, how do you order a letter jacket for a child that has only begun to grow?  Um yeah, it's a little big.  But if fits Ray perfectly, so we figure the sizing is pretty much spot on.

Bridget was inducted into the National Junior Honor Society.  She works really hard on her school work and gives every assignment and test 110% so she definitely deserves the honor!

Hopefully, my kids will continue to work hard, both at school and other activities.  Mostly, I want them to be proud of themselves.

Morning Survival

My kids are competitive swimmers.  And generally, once they reach a certain age, morning practices are an inevitability.

Aidan started doing them a couple of years ago and it was a big adjustment for both of us.  It took at least a month before 4:15am didn't feel completely brutal.

Middle schoolers have time to come home after practice, high schoolers do not, especially given the fact that we live so far out of town.  So, this year Aidan had to learn how to be ready for his entire day at 4:15.  Me too - it meant adding LUNCH to the morning routine.  And a second breakfast that could be eaten in the car.

Then, Bridget started doing morning practices, and that meant another breakfast, and another body to roust from the bed, and a second pool to get to by 5:00am.

Our general routine is that I get up at 4:15 and head upstairs to wake the kids.  Aidan wakes up pretty quickly, Bridget not so much.  Aidan knows immediately what he wants me to fix for first- and second-breakfast, Bridget not so much.  They are both guilty of rolling over and going back to sleep, which I don't have time for, and that makes Mama cranky.

We have from 4:15 - 4:40 to get up, dressed, pack one lunch, make 3 breakfasts, and get whatever they need for practice (water bottles, clean towels, shoes, equipment bag, etc.) and get out the door.  You can see why any deviation from The Schedule makes Mama cranky.

I start the breakfasts (could be cereal, toast, bagel, oatmeal, or egg sandwich), and then start texting the kids to see if they are up yet.

It is generally known that if I have to stop what I am doing, and head back up stairs and wake up sleeping children, that Mama gets Extra Cranky.

Sometimes, it doesn't go so well.  Like when Bridget decided to curl up in a ball on the dining room floor and cry herself back to sleep.

It's times like those that Mama has to take a deep breath and decide whether the right approach is cajoling, yelling, or letting everyone go back to bed.

One of my biggest saviors has been making breakfast sandwiches in advance and freezing them.  Yep, took me about 3 years to figure this one out, I am slow that way.

I brown a pound or so of deer sausage, and crack a dozen or so eggs.  Ray bought this cute little pan that is perfect for an egg & sausage patty.

I crank out a dozen or so of these patties, and also put an equal amount of english muffins under the broiler to toast.

I assemble them all with a slice of cheese and put them into a zip top baggie, suck out the air and freeze them.

About 1:10 in the microwave and it's a good start to their day.

I actually don't mind morning practices.  It makes the evenings less crazy, and we often are all home at a decent hour for dinner together, which I love.

Nutrition Overhaul

They say when you set a goal, one of the things you are supposed to do it be public about it.  It's harder to fail if you tell people about it instead of keeping it to yourself.

Well....  I want to lose some weight.  No surprise, it's New Year's Day, I'm approaching 50, I love to cook, eat and drink.  I don't exercise.  Duh!  No brainer, and I'm hardly unique.

But it's a little bit more complicated than that.  This isn't just a "smoothie for breakfast, salad for lunch, and avoid the pasta at dinner" kind of diet.  It's more along the lines of helping my body age more gracefully.  Transitioning my palate and cooking habits to the "less meat, more fiber" a woman of my *cough* advanced years should have.

And, it's even more complicated than THAT.  I have kids.  Very active kids.  Growing kids that train hard and have some pretty hefty nutritional requirements that don't necessarily jive with the requirements of the lady that does their cooking.

So.  I'm putting it out there to the Universe.

Yes, the challenge is to lose weight.  But more than that, the challenge is to make changes and learn something.  And not just me - the kids too.  If Aidan had his choice, he'd exist on tortillini, cream sauce and garlic bread.  Bridget would exist on mashed potatoes.  None of which is good for Ray and I.  If Ray had his choice, it would be something a little more exotic than the usual "kid-friendly" fare I mindlessly sling to the table each evening.  And if I had my way, there would be a lot more vegetables and nobody would grumble about it.

So.  Here we go.  A new Food Adventure for me where I attempt to keep everyone happy.  Dinners that give Ray and I plenty of flavor but also meet the caloric requirements of the kids.  More vegetables for everyone, new sources of protein like legumes and quinoa.  And acceptance of the notion that what once may have been considered a side dish now serves as an entire meal.

Change is hard.  I only hope that I can stand the grumbling of my table mates.

#%$* Elf

Finally.  The last day I have to come up with a clever and unique hiding place for the #%$* Elf.  Finally.

Up at 5:45am, trudge upstairs to awaken the kids for Christmas Torture Training.  Bridget is so hard to wake up.  She growls and whines.  She begs and snaps.  Unpleasant.  Whoops, almost forget about the #%$* Elf, quickly shove him down the front of my robe before she comes fully awake and grumbling.

Back downstairs, where to put the #%^$* Elf this time.  Bridget's Christmas stocking is as good a place as any.  Must get him out of my robe, he seems extra scratchy this morning.

Maybe it's time.  Maybe I should insert a little note with the #$%* Elf, (but Bridget calls him Robin), from Santa, reminding Bridget that next year she will be thirTEEN (gulp), and the #$*^% Elf only visits children.  Maybe it's time.

Why is this #%&* Elf extra scratchy in my robe today?  Drag him out, and a bright orange sticky flutters to the floor.

In Bridget's neatest writing, I read:

Robin-

Thank you for these many beautiful days of friendship this December.  Although I may have an odd way of showing it, I really do love you.  And not just because you put in a good word with Santa; you are a truly great elf and I hate to see you go back to the North Pole for almost a year.  But I know you miss your friends, family & you have much work to do up there. But I really do hope we've been hospitable this early winter so that you don't feel uncomfortable in this "hot" Texas winter.

Again, thank you very much for your kindness, heart, and long-time-forever-lasting friendship.  I love you.

Bridget Glynn

Awwwww.....

Now, I know Bridget has the whole Santa Thang all figured out, but she chooses to play along, and enjoys the mystery and excitement.

So, no.  No, I won't tell Bridget she's "too old" for the $#^* Elf.  I won't force her to face grown up issues any sooner than she wants to face them.  If she chooses to immerse herself in the magic of the season, who am I to deny her?

I am going to jump right in there with her, and enjoy every moment.

Thank you, Bridget, for keeping the magic alive. 

Merry Christmas everyone.  Let's all take a lesson from Bridget today and embrace it all.  Be of good cheer.  Find your inner child, open your hearts.  Be merry.

Anatomy of a Mum

It resided in our house for 24 hours, hanging in the entry way in all it's glory.  I almost felt as if I ought to give it a name, it seemed to have taken on a personality all it's own.

Aidan had a sheepish expression on his face when he brought it home, I could tell he finds this a bit absurd too.

First of all, props to the "mum lady" who built the thing.  My renegade opinion and snarky comments are in no way a reflection on the creativity and workmanship that went into this thing.  I consider myself fairly craftie and can readily admit there is no way I would have created such a magnificent specimen.  It has been pronounced "beautiful" by my friend Paula, who loves Mums and is a bazillionth-generation Texan.  Bridget, who has lived more of her life in Texas than California by now, thinks it's pretty too and can't wait to have a Mum of her own.  I only hope that her future dates don't disappoint her.

The Mum weighs in at a whopping four pounds.  That is about as much as one of my chickens.  It has a harness so the young lady can strap it to her torso and have the chore pleasure of wearing it to school today, the game tonight, and the homecoming evening festivities Saturday. 

The Mum has over 40 ribbons attached to it, and what a variety of ribbons!  Varying colors, widths, and embossments.  Sparkly ribbons, jaguar spotted ribbons, ribbons with their names.  Never have I dreamed of such glorious ribbonry.

Apparently, every Mum must also have a braided ribbon, and Mumnifique here (that's her name now), was no exception.  A very complicated braid (which I could never have managed without strangling someone), with sparkly bows attached.

Adorning Mumnifique's ribbons are all kinds of blingy charms that signify occasion and the activities of the couple.  Aidan's date is a volleyball player.  I was surprised that there is swimming bling.

Embedded in the actual chrysyanthemum is a teddy bear.  See the chrysyanthemum there, under the teddy bear?  It's the white petals?  That is the origination of the Mum - an actual mum.  This little teddy bear has a silver lame top and a blue sparkly skirt.  This teddy bear looks angry at being upstaged by the curlicues and stars that surround it.

And all around the teddy bear and the mum are more gee-gaws symbolizing football, bling, and who knows what.

All along, I've been joking that I wanted to make A Mum that had a water feature and a food dispenser.  Well, the "mum lady" beat me half way....  one of the "ribbons" is a tubular structure that is stuffed with Tootsie Rolls.

So, Mumnifique, I will miss you.  More than that, though, I am missing the kidney that has funded your existence, your 48 hours in the spotlight, and living out your days hanging on a bedroom wall gathering dust.

Let the money sucking begin.....

Well, Boy Child started (gulp) high school this year.  My usual philosophy with life changes, transitions, etc. has been to face them head on, embrace them, try not to spend too much time grieving for the past, and view it all as a big adventure.

But then, along comes Homecoming.

I find the absurd a bit hard to embrace.

I must admit that much of the absurdity mostly comes from the comedy that surrounds navigating unfamiliar waters with a Boy Child.  Mostly, the male species aren't totally observant, and they also don't communicate real well.  If it wasn't for the Mommy Network keeping me clued in, I would have no idea about all the processes and rituals surrounding Homecoming.

Talk about putting a lot of stress on people, especially the kids!

So, apparently you just can't ASK a date.  There have to be gifts involved.  Flowers, teddy bears, candy, I don't know really.  We went with the single rose.  Twice.  Forgetting one's cell phone makes it hard to arrange a suitable between-class meeting place and so the rose languished in the backpack.  $5.40.

Another early morning visit to pick up another rose ($5.40 again) and hopefully there will be good news today after school.

Next up are the logistics.....  where to eat, who else to go with, where is the after party, coordinating clothing, coordinating transportation.  For both the Friday game AND the dance Saturday.  It's a money sucking marathon, homecoming.

But here is the most absurd thing.  The dreaded MUM.  You know that quaint fall tradition of wearing a chrysyanthemum corsage to football games?  Well, in Texas, bigger is better, and apparently the lowly mum isn't enough.  It has to be A Mum.  What is A Mum, you ask?  It is a tacky conglomeration of ribbons, sparkles, feathers, charms, mini teddy bears, blinky lights, you name it - if a hot glue gun will hold it on, it can go on A Mum.  The bigger, the better.  Or maybe not.  A freshman Mum shouldn't be too big, but if it's too small, it could be mistaken for a boy's Mum.  Yes, boys wear them too.

Now, hold on to your wallets - the price range of A Mum is anywhere from about $60 to a few hundred dollars.  One mom I know thought she could make A Mum for less....  not so, she actually wound up spending about $20 more on all the ribbons, etc. and didn't have much in the way of leftovers.  Crafty ladies and smart floral shops buy in bulk and crank 'em out during Mum season, but you have to reserve your order early.  Was homecoming this stressful back in the '80s?  I think not.

I know.  It's unbelieveable.  Don't believe me?  Just do a quick search on "Texas homecoming mums" and check out the photos.  I took the liberty of grabbing a few for you to look at - I'm not making this stuff up!  Enjoy!  Meanwhile, I will be selling a kidney to fund homecoming.

Party, party, party

Aidan started high school this year.  *GULP*  He decided to go our for the swim team.  They've been in the water two weeks, and already there have been three parties.  This is one social group!  Later this month, they'll go on a trip together, and next month, the boys will all go camping together.  I'm told this is a loosely disguized hazing trip, but hey, the noobs gotta pay their dues. 

Last week I received a call from a senior swimmer.  He was a charming mix of awkwardness and politeness.  "Um, is this Mrs. Glynn?  Can you talk somewhere where Aidan can't hear?"  Oh, gawd, what did he do?

"Well, um, next weekend, um, we are going to kidnap all the freshmen at like 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning.  Do you think you can, like, um, maybe leave a door unlocked?"

Visions of masked marauders entering my home, the dogs going berserk.  Hefty seniors dragging an underwear-clad Aidan from his bed with a pillowcase over his head, struggling and screaming.

"And, um, Mrs. Glynn?  Maybe if you could put together a bag with clothes and shoes for him?"  And his cell phone, money, and maybe a weapon.....

"OK, well, here's my phone number in case you need to call me."  And then the comforting phone call from his mother, 20 minutes later, to confirm our address.

Needless to say, sleep was not my friend at 5:30 this morning, so we got up to await the intruders.  Several cars pulled up to the curb and 3 figures hurried through the darkness to our door.  I let them in, they politely removed their shoes, quietly greeting me good morning.  They had masks for themselves, and a blind-fold for Aidan.  Given that two of them were girls, we relaxed a little.

I didn't follow upstairs, not wanting to appear to be the dreaded helicopter mommy.  But I'm pretty sure I qualify anyway, as I was snapping photos as they came down.  Only the fact that Aidan was blind-folded allowed me to do this.  For all he knows, it was other kids taking pictures.  I made sure to keep quiet, so he wouldn't even know I was witness to his abduction.

They kept him out about four hours.  Driving around getting other kids, going out to breakfast, and then team-building activities.

While Aidan already has a pretty nice group of well-rounded kids as friends, I'm glad he's got this new group too.  A mix of all ages, and kids that "get" the swimming thing.  Now, if we can just navigate homecoming, and the grades, it's going to be a good year.

March Madness

Well, I exagerate.  It's not nearly as busy as last March.  But after nearly 14 years of this motherhood gig, I am finally noticing a pattern.

March is where it all starts.  March is when I awaken in the middle of the night suddenly remembering 4 events I forgot to load on the calendar, two birthday gifts I forgot to pick up, one outfit that needed ironing for some ceremony or performance, and all of the chores outside that I've neglected all winter.

March is where it all starts.  The crocus bulbs remind me spring is coming, and the daffodil bulbs follow closely behind them.  Its the iris that I wait for though, with their showy blossoms in unimaginable color combinations.  The black, skeletal trees suddenly burst with a sweet green-ness that will darken throughout the summer.  I need to start walking again, so that I can observe and enjoy this magical transformation.

March is where it all starts.  When I have to prepare the garden beds, get my seeds in the ground, shop for seedlings, and hope that this year will be better.  Empty canning jars are piling up in my pantry, waiting to be filled again with this year's produce.

March is where it all starts.  I am starting a small flock of chickens this spring and hope to have my own fresh eggs by mid-summer.  My baby chicks arrive in just over a week and I love the feeling of anticipation.

March is also the "beginning of the end."  Swim season wraps up with championship meets, and we start planning for the end of the school year.  That means TAKS testing, final exams, middle school graduation, choir parties, 8th grade dance, three girl scout overnights, the father/daughter prom, middle school swim team, club swim team banquet, a triathlon, a couple of birthdays, and all the planning, cooking, purchasing, taxiing, packing and volunteer work that accompany all those activities.

I've learned something over the years.....  yes, it's crazy, but it's a good kind of crazy.  And we will all survive even if I forget to iron that shirt, don't have time to spray the weeds, or have to postpone a birthday celebration.

I've learned to take a moment.  Enjoy my growing children and revel in the activities they attempt, rather than resent the demands these create.  Celebrate both my husband's birthday and another year of being married to him.  Take time for a walk in the woods near my house and see the astonishing array of flora quietly announcing spring.  Put my hands in the earth and feel it turning.  Shed the shell of my winter cocoon and dive into the fresh spring air.

Hello, March!

I'll be Home for Christmas

There is no place like "home" for the holidays.  Holidays and "home" just go together.  There are songs about it, and we go over the river and through the woods to get there.

This is my sixth Christmas away from "home" and I have come around to a different perspective.

I love my extended family.  I love my hometown.  These are a given.

But consider this..... those that are "home" for the holidays have a whirlwind of hosting (crazy) relatives, hauling presents, dressing children in itchy clothes, family squables, cooking for crowds or creating "moveable feasts" to contribute to chaotic gatherings.  Yes - I have lived all that and it has it's wonderful irreplaceable rewards.

But....

For the last six years, my Christmas events have consisted of bonding with my husband and children.  The four of us get a reprieve from school work, spreadsheets, carpool, sports practices, travel, volunteer obligations, conference calls, and even to a fair degree, routine chores (the dog poop can wait!).

Wait for it...... the audible "Aaaahhhhh......."

We hunker down together, turn up the cheesy Christmas music (and sing along with lousy harmony), lay in several days of decadent supplies, and just enjoy being together.

Of course we miss our family and I think wistfully of them all together sharing a boisterous meal, having a mountain of crumpled wrapping paper and total chaos, which I gleefully had hosted in my own home for many years. 

But we are far from kith and kid and luckily the four of us (still) truly enjoy each other's company.  These few days clarify for me that I am so grateful for the strength and steadfastness of my husband.  The adventure and drive of my eldest.  The creativity and generousity of my youngest.  The unconditional love that they all bear to me.  And I know that without these few days of intense attentiveness towards one another, I'd miss the moments that would be lost in the whirlwind.

Peace.  Quiet.  Love.

That is what the holiday feels like to me.

That is what I think the holiday is supposed to feel like.

I wish you all the best for 2011.  And especially a little peace, quiet, and love.

You know it's coming, yet it still hurts when it happens

I wish I'd known.  I wish I'd known that last year's visit to the local pumpkin patch would yield the last photos of my two children, together, willingly posing by all the cute fall displays.


Apparently, once you hit thirteen, you are now "too cool" to have your picture taken at the pumpkin patch.  Even though, for some reason, it's still "OK" to go there - just not have your picture taken.  I think FaceBook is to blame.....  Even bribery and threats don't work.


Sigh.


Sob.


For a "tween," it's no problem.  You don't mind having your photo taken in the window of the Pumpkin House.

If you are thirteen, you run away around the corner and hide. 

If you are a tween, you happily pose next to the dried corn stalks.

If you are thirteen, you hide behind your mother and hope that she doesn't realize she can turn the camera around.

If you are a tween, you enjoy having your picture taken next to a giant pumpkin.

If you are thirteen, you run away.  Far, far away.

If you are a tween, you suggest an attractive pose for a close-up.

If you are thirteen, you lurk outside of the Pumpkin House, so you can still be close to the action, yet not consenting to provide actual photographic evidence that you were really there.

I can only try console myself with the fact that even though I am losing the milestones of childhood, I am gaining the milestones of adulthood that will present themselves in the coming years.  Homecoming, driver's license, and proms.  It's a bittersweet position, being at this nexus between childhood and adulthood.  Looking forward has always served me well in life's transitions and challenges.  But I still can't help looking back and feeling just a little bit sad.