Thanksgiving Blessings

As the holiday of Thanksgiving comes and goes, in addition to planning who will make the sweet potatoes, we should reflect on what we have and do so with a spirit of gratitude. With that in mind, here are a few things for which I am grateful.

I'm grateful that even though my kids complain when I experiment with a new recipe, and even if they don't like what I serve for dinner, we have food to put on our table. After school wasn't canceled during the last snow storm, Secret Service said he heard that the school system was relutant to cancel because for children who are eligible for free or reduced priced breakfast and lunch, canceling school could mean a day of going hungry. It was hard to hear that there are children who might not get food if they weren't at school. Secret and I looked at each other sadly.

Lately, someone (I suspect Sport) has been leaving their dirty socks in the living room and as much as I haven't enjoyed that, I am grateful that although none of us clean or organize the house as much as I'd like, we have a house to live in, a place to call home.

I am grateful that Science Girl and I each have reliable transportation. (I may not value this as much next year - Secret Service claims that he can get his drivers permit in June and he's started eying the cars in a way that makes me nervous.)

I'm grateful that if I ever had a day where I could sleep past 7:30 AM (and if I could stay asleep), Secret Service sleeps in and Sport is old enough and independent enough that when he wakes, he quietly watch TV shows, even if they are shows that I would like to prohibit.

I'm grateful that we have family and friends with whom to share our lives. I expecially enjoy meeting and getting to know the kids who Secret and Sport choose as friends and feel glad that my kids do such a good job picking friends.

And last but certainly not the least, I'm grateful that our family is healthy. I don't want to ever take that for granted.

Stay where I can see you

When the boys got old enough to walk independently, they immediately set out to investigate their world, which meant crawling, walking, running, hop, skip and jumping away from wherever I was. Initially, I tried to stop them, to keep them in my arms or in a stroller. When that proved impossible, I started to say, "Stay where I can see you." They came to understood that they didn't have to stand right next to me if they stayed nearby.

I said those words for years, they were my mantra, part of my everyday routine with the boys, like "brush your teeth" or "get ready for bed." But now, through no fault of their own, those words don't fit anymore, the boys have grown out of them like so many of their baby onesies and toddler overalls.

Yesterday Science Girl and I both had commitments that kept us from being able to pick up the boys from their respective schools. For the first time ever, Secret Service independently took the city bus and then walked home from the bus stop. Sport took a school bus, which he has done before. I had the boys each contact me when they'd reached the house. I was proud of them for their independence and relieved that I could trust them to get home on their own.

But, sad, too. The boys are at ages where they are more often out of my sight. Secret Service in particular is more and more out of my sight. Recently, he and a friend went to a shopping mall and movie together, with no grown-up accompaniment. Also, no grown ups were present when he and his friends went to watch the high school soccer team compete in a tournament.

What I've decided is that developmental milestones are more challenging for the parents than the kids. Secret seems happy to be let out of the house on his own recognizance. Sport is thrilled to be given the opportunity to get home from school on his own. It's just Mommy who feels a bit of confusion and loss. I can't always glance up and see my boys. Lately, they are not always where I can see them.

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.

Winter Comes to Denver

On facebook, I read excerpts that my friends post, sharing details about what they are doing. It pretty much always sounds great. Do you suppose my friends are telling it like it really is? Here is my excerpt from our evening, with parentheses around details I would omit on facebook.

Here in Denver, we are enjoying (I am not!) our second snowfall of the season. The beautiful, white snow blankets the house (and is treacherous to drive in). (I'm worried that we're going to have to shell out @ $400 for Science Girl to have snow tires since she has a long, daily commute to work and we're on our second snow and it is only Nov. 3.) Science Girl made delicious chili (but, of course the kids won't eat it). I love having something warm to eat on a cold night.

When the kids got home from school yesterday, they were excited to get outside (to make a huge mess playing in the snow). (I asked them to shovel the sidewalk but instead, they used the shovels to pick up snow and scatter it around and to hit each other.) The snow came so early this year and the boys are growing so fast that we realized they both need new snow boots. (Holy Cow! More $$$. Also, I don't have any idea when I'll have time to do this.) (When they were finished outside, they both tracked in chunks of snow and ice, and ran upstairs, leaving all their snow gear in a messy pile on the floor by the front door.)

Later, (under protest) Sport read aloud to Science Girl while Secret Service and I completed some household chores. Secret has (grudgingly) agreed to do some extra things around the house as a way to pay back some money he owes. We worked together (he had to be watched constantly as any time I didn't stay vigilant, he stopped working and started pushing buttons on his phone). Secret worked diligently (with only the use of one hand as his other hand had to hold on to his cell phone at all times) and learned to clean mirrors, dust the wooden staircase (at one point spraying the cleaner in his eye and then trying to use this as a reason to stop), and vacuum staircases. The house is really starting to sparkle (or maybe it looks that way to me because I got cleaner in my eye, too).

Afterwards, I made a loaf of banana bread. It smelled delicious (until it baked too long, the bottom got burned and the kids refused to eat it even when I cut the burnt piece off). At bedtime, I placed extra blankets on each bed. The boys snuggled in (Secret still clutching his phone) and looked so sweet. (All was quiet untill Sport started coughing, threw up from coughing, took cough syrup and returned to bed.) A nice (not!) start to winter.

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.

Cell Phones and Ravioli

Thursday dinner time found me bustling around the kitchen, making ravioli for dinner. I was effectively multi-tasking, making sauce for the pasta, stirring the pot of boiling ravioli, getting the house organized for me to walk out the door to go to work. Science Girl phoned to update me on her estimated time of arrival. I tucked my cell phone in the crook of my neck, continuing to talk to her as I poured the ravioli into the colander. Just then, disaster! The phone slid into the colander and I couldn't react fast enough. The boiling water spilled on top of it. Pandemonium ensued as I fished the phone out, knocking most of the ravioli out of the colander and into the sink. The phone was hot, wet and dead.

I took the cover off and held it gently, the ravioli forgotten as I tenderly pushed buttons, trying to get a response. At work that night, several people told me encouraging stories of phones revived by sitting for 24 hours completely submerged in a bowl of uncooked rice. When I got home, I lovingly placed the phone in a bowl of rice, said a prayer and left it for the required time. Twenty four hours later, Secret Service and I checked, found that the phone would turn on but that the resolution was problematic, the screen too dark to read. Cradling the phone like a sick child, the boys and I proceeded to the phone store. When we got there, the salesperson examined the phone, listened to my tale, shook his head and said they couldn't save it.

Then, the details unfolded. I couldn't replace my phone with the exact same model, I'd need to get an upgraded model. They could however, transfer my contacts and photos to another phone. I panicked. I hadn't even thought about the photos. I had over 250 photos on the phone, photos that I had never "backed up" on to a computer or printed as a picture. Then I started to sweat. How much was this going to cost? I felt my knees buckle. I told the salesperson I'd need to think. Secret Service and I moved to the only bench in the store. I was stricken.

Secret offered a solution. A technology buff, he'd been salivating over the new cell phone model and he said he'd buy the new phone and I could take over his phone. We went to work out the details with the salesperson. My phone number could be transferred to Secrets' phone, his number could be placed on the new phone. It all was working out until little Sport came over to the counter to check in with us. Sport has been on an active campaign for a phone since he was 7. For years, he has watched peers open presents containing phones at birthday parties, watched classmates make calls, when was it going to be his turn? Now, he stood, incredulous, as his older brother upgraded to a spiffy new phone while he still had no phone.

The next day, the whole family returned to the phone store where Sport picked out a phone, getting his Chanukah gift early.

Final total - two new phones, two new covers (because of course the new phone isn't made to fit inside the old cover), two activation fees, two "skins" to protect the phone's screen, and $10 a month (for 24 months) to add Sport to our family plan.

That was one expensive bowl of ravioli.