The Bank

There is an amazing children's bank, in Denver, Young Americans Bank, the only FDIC-insured bank in the world specifically designed for young people. Everything is child-size, plus there are jars stuffed with candy on the counters and on Saturdays, serving trays filled with small donuts.

We helped Secret Service and Sport open savings accounts there, several years ago. Periodically, when Secret had a windfall in terms of birthday money, we've wrested some of it away from him and coerced him into depositing it into his account.

Sport, on the other hand, has been a more willing bank participant, saving money at home and then cheerfully depositing any surplus. Because of that, Sport takes great pride in knowing that he maintains a higher account balance than his older brother.

Since Sport was more invested (so to speak) in saving, I took the liberty to sign him up for two 1 hour classes there - a banking scavenger hunt and a millionaire game. The bank gives participants $5 to deposit in their accounts for each class they attend and I thought Sport would appreciate that.

He mildly protested when I took him to the first class a couple of weeks ago but yesterday, on the way to the second class, he really balked. Sport said he hadn't been consulted and had never agreed to attend. Upon arriving, he refused to get out of the car. A lengthy negotiation ensued before we struck a deal and he willingly walked into the bank.

After the class, Sport deposited the $5 into his account. The teller asked him what he had learned and Sport said a person would be more likely to make a million dollars if they attended college. On the way home, we talked about when you do well in school you are better prepared to do well in life.

A decent conversation and it only cost me a few hours of my time, some aggravation, and a trip to Target so that Sport could use all the money he'd saved up at home to buy the latest nerf gun.

Spring Break

Both children knew we were going skiing over Spring Break. On that Saturday, we packed the car, then took inventory. Ski gloves, check, goggles, check, ski pants, check, ski jacket, what? Secret Service looked up, all wide eyed innocence.

"Where is your ski jacket?" I asked.
He looked at me blankly.
"The jacket I bought you at the end of last winter?"
Still blank.
"The jacket you begged for because it wasn't bulky."
Blank.
"The jacket that cost more than $100?"

Science Girl, Sport and I fanned out and looked in every closet. When none of us had success, we reconvened in the kitchen. I considered increasing the questioning techniques, where was a flashlight to shine in Secret's sleepy eyes? (I found a flashlight but of course it had no batteries in it.)

Secret Service, calm as a well-trained spy in enemy territory, said, "It might be at school." The rest of us turned to look at him. "In my locker." Then, he added, "I'm not sure." Even the dog peered at him as if to say,"What?"

Science Girl ushered everyone into the car, saying we'd stop at the school before driving to the mountains. On the way over, Secret assured us the school would be locked up tight on the weekend. As we drove, I used the time to issue warnings and ultimatums to Secret, lecturing about taking care of possessions and the value of a dollar. Secret maintained that this was all my fault as I had insisted he wear a coat when the weather was 10 degrees. He patiently explained that if not for my insistence, he wouldn't have even taken it to school and it wouldn't be there now.

When we arrived as the school, it seemed obvious that the building was open and there was some sort of event being hosted. When out in the world, Secret is a strict follower of rules so he promptly announced he would not enter the building as he wasn't part of the event. I climbed out of the car to accompany him. Murmering threats of revoking numerous privileges, I persuaded him to walk into the school. We entered the school and in the main hallway, there was an iron gate to the left of the main staircase. Secret turned to me, "We can't get through that way," he said, referring to the gate, "it's all locked up." I looked over. The gate was not fastened. I asked, "Is your locker that way?" Secret said, "no." I tried not to display my impatience. Secret reluctantly indicated his locker was upstairs. He walked gingerly, as if an alarm would sound if he wasn't cautious.

I stayed on the second floor as he went to the third. A few minutes later, Secret re-appeared, the red ski coat scrunched up in his arms. He handed it to me and we raced to the car. Getting in to the front seat, I turned to the family. "What smells?" I asked.

"It's the coat," Secret said, matter of factly, from the backseat. Tentatively, I sniffed the jacket. It was vile. I could not imagine what could have caused an odor like that. I issued inappropriate expletives and demanded an explanation.

He shrugged, clearly unconcerned, offered a brief explanation of a shared locker and something that his locker mate had placed in their shared space. I held the coat out the window and then we stopped the car so I could put it in the trunk.

As I re-fastened my seat belt, Secret looked at me. "What's wrong? We got the coat, everything worked out," he said. Another happy ending.

Our Dog - Part 1

When I knew everything about being a parent, before I actually became a parent, I knew I wanted our family to have a dog because I thought all children should grow up with a dog. I envisioned a dignified animal who was loyal, loving and protective of our children, sleeping in their rooms, playing ball with them in the yard. A couple of years ago, I suddenly realized that the boys were already 12 and 8 years old and we had never had a dog. When I addressed this fact and my idea to remedy the issue, I thought everyone in the family would be enthused. They were not. In fact, Science Girl, Secret Service and Sport were united in their lack of desire for a dog. We had a handsome (but poorly behaved) grey and while cat named Leo and they all agreed that he was sufficient in the role of family pet.

I couldn't help but believe that they were wrong (like I often do when they disagree with me). The boys' focus was elsewhere. If I remember correctly, I think Secret was lobbying for us to purchase an ice rink for the backyard that he'd seen in a Sky Mall magazine and Sport was designing a tree house that he wanted built in our backyard (even though our trees were less than 5 feet tall at the time). I persisted and gradually managed to engage Science Girl in a series of discussions - adult dog vs. puppy, large dog vs. small, purebred vs. mixed breed. Science Girl did some research and found a puppy rescue group that gathered mixed breed puppies from several states and brought them to a Denver pet store each Saturday to facilitate adoptions.

Trooping over there on a Saturday morning in September 2009, we explained to the boys that we were just going to look, we weren't ready to buy. The boys didn't seem particularly interested in the whole venture, only reluctantly climbing into the car. On the way over, we talked about what type of dog we were seeking. Science Girl wanted a medium size dog who wasn't a Poodle. I wanted a medium size dog who wasn't a German Shepherd. (Please don't chastise me if you are a Poodle or Shepherd fan, I'm sure they are wonderful dogs but Science Girl takes offense at the poodles puffy coat and I feel like Shepherds would rather bite me than cuddle.)

In the pet store, Science Girl and I learned the routine, Secret (as usual) said little, keeping his thoughts to himself. Sport saw a puppy who intrigued him, a brindle colored German Shepherd looking little guy. Making yet another one in a long series of parenting errors, I let Sport play with this puppy. We had finished looking around and were ready to go. Sport looked shocked, weren't we getting this dog? We reminded him we weren't ready to buy.

Sports' face crumbled, big tears rolled down his unblemished cheeks. He had fallen in love. The whole family turned to me. Sport loved this dog, could we get him? Weakly, I said, "It looks like a German Shepherd." Secret started to argue with me about my discomfort with the breed. I was not persuaded to change my mind. When we got out of the store, Sport, (sans puppy) tears still trickling down his face, said, "You broke my heart." Secret glared at me. Science Girl looked exhausted by the ordeal. So far, this (like many other realities of being a parent) wasn't going the way I had imagined it would.

To Be Continued . . .

Mini Me

Perhaps as part of his self taught CIA/FBI training, my son, Secret Service, has developed a clever method of eavesdropping. Like many of us, at the end of a conversation, he leaves the room where we've been talking. Unlike many of us, he turns a corner so that he's out of sight and then waits. Secret believes that sometimes we will say something interesting after he leaves the room and he wants to know what that is.

I don't know what juicy tidbits of family gossip Secret has scored in this manner. His surveillance techniques are based on the assumptions that we don't tell him directly what we think and feel about him and that we know things that we aren't sharing.

This whole situation seems ironic because Science Girl and I feel like when we talk to Secret, face to face, he isn't listening. We have to get him to pull ear buds out of his ears, we have to repeat ourselves, we have to insist that he make eye contact. Yet, secretly, this child is so intrigued by what we've got to say that he's hiding and trying to hear us.

The other day, we were all in the kitchen and Science Girl and I were instructing Secret to take out the garbage. This, like all other household tasks assigned to Secret, was not to his liking. I believe it wasn't convenient for him to do the chore at that time, there was a short burst of disagreement, which resulted in Secret stomping out of the room holding the trash bag. Science Girl and I remained in the kitchen, heard Secret walk through the mudroom, heard the door to the garage open and close. I smiled at her. "He sounds just like me when he argues," I said proudly. "He uses a lot of the same exact expressions I do."

Just then, we heard something in the mudroom. I peaked around the corner. Secret, still holding the garbage, stood there scowling. I smiled pleasantly at him. "Here," I said, "let me help you with the door."

When he was really gone, Science Girl and I chuckled. "I don't think that was what he was hoping to hear," she said.

I think we should try to remember that Secret may be lurking around any corner of our house and remember to say warm and loving things when he leaves the room. As a parent, it is gratifying to see yourself reflected in your child, even if it is the negative. I especially will try to note when Secrets' behavior reminds me of me. If that doesn't stop the eavesdropping, I don't know what will.

The Twelve Days of Winter Break

To the tune of - The 12 Days of Christmas

On the first day of winter break
my children said to me:
We need a later bedtime

On the second day of winter break
my children said to me:
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime.

On the third day of winter break
my children said to me:
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime

On the fourth day of winter break
my children said to me:
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime

On the fifth day of winter break
my children said to me:
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime

On the sixth day of winter break
my children said to me:
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime

On the seventh day of winter break
my children said to me:
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime

On the eighth day of winter break
my children said to me:
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime

On the ninth day of winter break
my children said to me:
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime

On the tenth day of winter break
my children said to me:
10 Nerf guns blazing
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends are coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime

On the eleventh day of winter break
my children said to me:
11 hours of television
10 Nerf guns blazing
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need at the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime

On the twelfth day of winter break
my children said to me:
12 rides around town
11 hours of television
10 Nerf guns blazing
9 balls a bouncing
8 chanukah gifts please
7 things we need from the store
6 excuses for our rooms
5 reasons why we're bored
4 days of nothing good to eat
3 friends coming over
2 chores only, we're on vacation
and we need a later bedtime

Commotion in the Back Seat of the Car

Since Secret Service is legally able to ride in the front seat of the car, when I'm performing my motherly chauffeur duties, the boys sit in different rows. However, when the four of us climb into the car, the boys "share" the backseat. And by "share," I mean they are assigned to sit there, next to each other. It sounds simple, but it hasn't been going well.

Secret Service likes to cart a heavy, full-to-the brim backpack to and from school each day. He doesn't remove it from the car so I'm not sure why he carries it, maybe just as a status symbol. Wouldn't you think if you carried that around, there would be a reason, like you've got homework of some sort that you are going to complete? Or, maybe you've got a book in there that you are assigned to read. Or, maybe you have some notes in a notebook to review? Anyway, in the car, Secret likes to place this backpack next to him on the seat, in the spot closest to the window. With Sport in one window seat and the backpack in the other coveted window seat, Secret is squished into the non-existent middle seat. With Secret and Sport so close to each other, it is easy for them to constantly touch each other, yell at each other for touching each other, scream, then laugh hysterically.

Even when we remove the giant backpack (which still seldom makes it into the house but instead sits forlornly in the garage) and mandate that each boy take a seat by a window, leaving the space between them empty, a neutral zone of sorts, there is bickering, fighting, taunting, teasing.

Recently a new aspect of the ride was added when they started to sing together. Make no mistake, there is no harmony, these aren't the Hanson Brother's. Instead, they happily belt out tunes with inappropriate lyrics and then laugh maniacally when the adults object.

What consequence can you enforce while driving? You can pull the car over and refuse to drive or you can threaten them with some loss of privilege that will occur when you get home. Neither seems to impact them in the moment. The only time I had a victory was when they were younger and sharing the back seat. They were squabbling, slapping each other, laughing, shrieking, clearly enjoying themselves. My nerves were frayed and jangled from the racket. We were close to a grocery store. Trying to ignore them, I started to think about a few items I needed to pick up - milk, bread, etc. The boys loathe running any household errands. I had an idea. With the store within sight, I said to them, "If I hear one more word, I am pulling over to that grocery store and we are all going in to shop." Complete silence. Quiet all the way home. Not a peep.

I need to find more grocery stores.

Time or Money?

I've had times when I am busy professionally, and the upside is that the money is there, but the downside is that I'm stressed, rushed, exhausted, feeling like I'm shortchanging my kids by being so busy and pre-occupied with work. After days, weeks, months of that type of schedule, the bank account is full but inside I'm on empty. I don't feel I am providing the kids with the all-important "quality time" we hear so much about and don't feel like I'm even fun to be around. Currently, I've chosen to work part-time so I've been able to take the kids to school, pick them up, be at home more. Most of the time, that feels like a better balance. I've got more time at home but lately I've wondered if I'm using this time wisely. Just like money can be wasted, so can time.

My kids are getting ready to start their Winter Break and we'll be spending a lot of time together each day. Without effort or planning, I'm afraid the time will just slip away, with nothing accomplished and no special memories created. To prepare, I asked each of them to give me some ideas for how they'd like to spend the time.

Secret Service would like to fly to another city to visit old friends, stay in a hotel, eat in restaurants, swim, shop, go to movies. Sport wants to ice skate at outdoor rinks, play at places where you pay to jump or participate in challenges, have a movie marathon where we watch all the Harry Potter movies. Both would like to have sleep-overs with friends.

I thought it was odd that neither child mentioned an interest in doing any home improvement projects, cleaning out closets, cooking or baking. I see I'm on my own if I want to tackle any of these. My first and foremost goal of every vacation is the desire to sleep in later. Once that is accomplished, I'm open for anything. Let the break begin.

Holiday Wish Lists

With the holidays approaching, every day brings new catalogues in the mail. I've handed them to the boys, asking them to give me ideas about what they'd like to receive as gifts. Here's what I've gotten so far -

Secret Service is requesting a soda making machine. Secret Service needs a soda making machine like I need to have a Krispy Kreme donut shop operating from my living room. Secret has a wicked soda addiction. I'm convinced Secret wakes up in the morning thinking about where and when to snag a Pepsi. Secret would rather drink soda than eat a meal and we have reason to suspect that uses his lunch money to buy soda instead of food. When soda is served at someones home, Secret parks himself at the counter like a drunk at a bar. So, no, sadly, Secret will not be getting a soda making machine.

Another item on Secrets' list is an air soft gun. Secret already owns one of these and it has been confiscated for months because he misused it. I will spare you the details, no one was injured, but Secret did not prove he could handle this weapon and it is semi-permanently removed from his possession. Why would we get him another one?

Secret would like a winter jacket that costs over $100. He showed me a picture of it. It is lovely. However, I don't understand why he needs this as he has refused to wear his current brand new (over $100) jacket, (that he selected) and on the one day I forced him to wear it to school, he supposedly left it in his locker and we haven't seen it since.

Sport has looked through the catalogues and has consistently circled the same items each time. However, there are some problems here, too. Sport wants a Nerf gun. I was in the basement this morning and counted 11 Nerf guns. I mentioned this to Sport. He said they aren't all his, some of these belong to Secret. He said the new Nerf guns are better than the ones he has. I think not.

Sport has also requested a battery powered helicopter that flies. The trouble is that Sport got one of these last year, played with it for 25 minutes the day he got it, 10 minutes the next day and then never again.

I told Sport to look through the catalogues and find something that he doesn't already have. That's when he came up with the request for a candy machine, the kind that gives you candy when you put your hand under it. Why doesn't this sound like a good idea?

I told both boys that they need to generate more ideas. Secret has asked for a full-size tempurpedic mattress. I said I heard that they are expensive. Secret said it wasn't too bad, he noted that the mattress is $1399.00! I asked if it can be a foam mattress that is a different brand, but Secret said he needs that particular brand. I don't think we can swing that at this time.

If the boys can't come up with ideas for gifts that they don't already have, are safe and healthy, and affordable, I'm going to just buy them clothes. In the past, they wept when they received clothes for a gift but I'm running out of ideas.

Fun with Sport

Last week, Secret Service, as a full-fledged teenager, busied himself with his peers and did his best to avoid interaction or meaningful conversation with me. Having time on my hands, I self-selected myself to be the parent who got to go to the last Cotillion class with Sport. The instructions were for moms to wear a dress and finding one in my closet of pantsuits was challenging. Digging through years of clothes, a dress was discovered, pantyhose were donned, make-up was applied and the next thing I knew, Sport and I were standing at the mantle in the living room, posing for photos snapped by Science Girl. Dressed in jeans, slippers and fleece, she looked content to stay home and happily wished us well. Arriving at the Cotillion, parents were directed to seats to observe while the children partnered up and demonstrated their manners and dances. Then, the parents joined their children on the dance floor and did the same dances. As the male, Sport was the lead. He patiently coached me about which way to go. And, when it was time to spin, we both laughed heartily at my awkwardness. Sport, swept up in the merriment, chanted, "Spin, my mommy, spin." It was the best laugh I'd had in ages, completely worth the cost of the class.

The next day, I accompanied Sport and his 5th grade class on a field trip to Young Ameritowne, where students-turned-citizens applied concepts they'd learned such as supply and demand, job skills and work habits, banking procedures, democratic processes, civic consciousness, and career awareness. Sport was assigned to be an accountant in the medical center while I was chosen to support the children in the newspaper office. When I glanced in the medical center, I was surprised to see the accountant wearing a lab coat, a stethoscope draped casually around his neck. Later in the day, Sport claimed he had completed his accounting tasks, and he was seen pushing children in a wheelchair and diagnosing their illnesses.

And a few days later found us working at the snack bar at a debate tournament at Secret Services' high school. Sport placed himself in charge of selling slices of pizza, elbowing the volunteer moms out of the way and making it his domain. When our time was up, the woman in charge asked if Sport could remain, saying she'd drive him home at the end of the evening. Alas, Sport had already committed to having a friend come over so he was unable to stay. In parting, as a gesture of her appreciation, the woman presented him with a whole pizza, which he was thrilled to accept.

A whirling dervish, accountant/doctor, pizza salesman - quite a week.

Reflections on Halloween

Walking through the neighborhood tonight, trick or treating with Sport, I've been thinking how parenting is a bit like trick or treating. When you trick or treat, you approach a house with no idea about who is at the door or what you'll receive. How many times have you rung the bell and waited patiently, only to find that no one answers? Or, the person comes to the door and hands you a tiny, hard peppermint candy, the kind that old ladies carry in their purses.

Just like that uncertainty at the door, no matter how you got your children, whether by birth or adoption, you really have no idea what you're getting until you've got it. You are hopeful, of course, like when you walk up to a house that has a porch light on and is decorated with pumpkins. Ultimately, there are no guarantees that a full-size chocolate candy bar will be tossed into your waiting bucket. We do what we can to better the odds. We trick or treat in affluent neighborhoods, or those with houses close together, or with lots of children. And in parenting, we love our children and provide them with what we believe increases the odds that they will grow into successful adults.

Just like our Halloween experiences change from year to year, as people become more or less involved or invested in handing out candy to costumed children, our children change and grow, some years find them pleasant and cooperative and other years find the same children disagreeable and defiant.

Walking around, Sport and I pass fairy princesses, villains, and superheroes. From door to door, I hear the familiar refrain, "trick or treat" and I marvel at the bravery of parents, who traverse the adventure of parenthood, filled with optimism, hope and good intentions.

An Example of Irony

Secret Service has been studying the concept of irony in English class. Although you know irony when you see it, it is a difficult concept to define. We've been talking (I talk, he rolls his eyes) about how an unexpected outcome can make a situation ironic. Secret had an assignment to write an ironic story using cartoon panels and couldn't think of anything to write about when we went to the doctors office last week.

It turns out, excellent mother that I am, that Secret had missed his "well child" check-up, which was due in June. Now, faced with a form that needed to be filled out by a doctor for Secret to play school sports, I made an appointment for him and always striving to be on top of things, included Sport for his annual check up.

On the drive over, Secret performed his big brother duties, as outlined in the manual, by tormenting Sport, telling him that at a 10 year old check-up, he believed Sport would get 3 immunizations, or as we call them, "shots." No one wants to hear that. I kept interrupting, reassuring Sport that we didn't know if that was the case, reminding him that his brother was a fountain of misinformation.

When the doctor joined us in the exam room, he reviewed their records and proclaimed that at 10, there are no shots due. Sport was exuberant. Then, the doctor made another proclamation. At Secrets' 14 year old check-up, two shots were due! Secret looked surprised and when the doctor left the room, he made a last ditch effort to negotiate with me. I stood firm. After Secret had received the shots, I commented that it was ironic that he'd teased his brother and then been the one to get the shots. I said the good news is that now he has an idea for an ironic story. Secret agreed.

Anniversary

Twenty years ago today, Science Girl and I had a small commitment ceremony in a friends backyard. We wanted an opportunity to stand before people we cared about, pledge our commitment to each other and to have these same people validate and support us by witnessing this event. This sort of thing wasn't commonplace in Oklahoma twenty years ago and even though we were having the ceremony, we were afraid that there could be some sort of backlash. I was worried enough that I wrote invitations and handed them to people personally without putting our names on them. We exchanged rings but chose to wear them on our right hands to minimize questions about the significance of the rings. We hired a seamstress to make us beautiful matching pantsuits and when she inquired about the occasion, we said we were bridesmaids, not brides.

Twenty years. A lot has changed in the world. In our current community of Denver, Colorado, it feels pretty safe to be part of a same sex couple and we've gotten pretty comfortable being out. The kids have helped that along. One or two people might be able to fit in a closet but stuffing a family of four in there wouldn't be easy. Even our boys friends seem comfortable with us and seldom seem confused to find a family with two moms. There was the time when Secret Service was in 1st grade. He had a new friend over, and I mentioned that Secret had two moms. The little boy looked surprised, then suspicious. "Are you sure one of you isn't the Nanny?" he asked.

Same sex marriage is not legal in Colorado, so to celebrate this milestone anniversary, Science Girl and I contemplated traveling to a state where it is legal and tying the knot. I thought maybe it was important for our children to see our commitment, to know we were legally wed. When I asked them, Sport responded with enthusiasm, never one to pass up a party, he said he'd like to be the ring bearer and the DJ. Secret Service said he already considered us married.

We do, too.