Boy Tricks

It is the nine-to-twelve year old boy fantasy, at least for our son.  He is able to play video games for hours on a 60-inch screen, with his two girl cousins cheering him on, laughing at his jokes, learning and repeating the secret songs he knows from the bus and his friends.  We make them turn off the tv to play shuffleboard or eat dinner or swing some golf clubs or play a family game, but the little trio eventually retreats back to the media room, Ronan with the controls and the girls watching, giggling, directing him how to move.

He is on stage,  teaching them songs about Barney that your toddlers should not know with lovely lyrics like

“A-B-C-D-E-F-G Barney is my enemy…” and “Joy to the World that Barney is dead.  We barbequed his head…”

and burping tricks and Wii shortcuts.  And they wonder–why would anyone make a booby trap?  What kind of traps throw boobs?  Oh yeah, that’s the thirteen year and older fantasy.

Cousin fun. C

 

The Drop-Off

For the fourth straight year, my friend Laura and I have driven our two eldest girls to camp very early on a Sunday morning, and the younger two now going for their second year.  Overnight camp at the YMCA, or where ever you choose to go, is such a rite of passage.  I wish that all kids had this opportunity.  They get to explore outside their town, their families, their boundaries and meet people from other cities, states, countries as their bunkmates, roommates, counselors, and friends.

So much of camp seems the same as when I went–horse back riding, boating, swimming, crafts, archery,  group songs, family style meals, woods, group bathrooms, chores, fun, fun.   The worst part for us is waiting for check-in, arriving early so the girls can secure a good bunk near each other,  the crowds pushing forward–every group wanting the same, the newbies wide-eyed.  It’s a bit crazy.

I remember when Lisa and I went to camp.  It was August of 1977, and we took an 8 hour (!!) bus drive to southern IL.  Yes, we had one freak in our room who told us she had heart medicine that we would all DIE if we took, pretended to talk in her sleep, and swore Lisa would go straight-to-hell for going up to communion as a non-Catholic, because as a 13-year old she was too embarrassed to stay in her seat, alone.

She joyfully broke the news to me that Elvis had died when she heard in a letter from home, knowing I was a huge Elvis fan. I was convinced she was lying, but wrote my mom just in case to save me all the headlines and newspapers—which I still have today in my yellowed Elvis scrapbook.

I remember our relay race–everyone in the cabin participated–with Lisa riding the horse (boy, was I jealous!) and I sprained my ankle tripping over a raised root in the path.  Then everyone else was jealous of me because I got to see the cute, friendly doctor as he wrapped my ankle, and he let me hold newborn kittens each visit.

I wonder what my girls will remember from their yearly camp visits, other than the great songs we learn from them (“there were 3 little muffins in the bakery shop…”), the friends they can keep in touch with online, and the 1000 types of friendship  bracelets they can make.  I hope they will remember their routine of driving with their moms, the bakery we stop at for lunch, waiting in lines,racing to cabins, and many quiet and loud moments that I am sadly not a part of.

Me, I will remember the 6-7 hours Laura and I get to listen to the girls’ giggle and talk and that we get to catch up, uninterrupted on the way home.  and maybe route 65 closed, while we are SO thankful to have the iphone GPS.

Camp.  Everyone should go! C

 

The White-Tail Tale

A shimmering Sunday afternoon several weeks ago, I was stealing five minutes of silence on the screened-in porch,  reading the paper in between chauffering sessions.  

“Cali,” I heard Tara warn our 7-month Aussie, who she had been playing with for the better part of an hour.

“Cali!” she yelled agin.

I glanced up to see  the raised white-tail of a deer galloping through our yard, followed by a coyote, then Cali.  They bolted through our yard, then the neighbors, then they kept going.  Tara ran after them, and I ran from the porch after them.  It has been years since my feet went from zero to sixty in three seconds, and I hope it is years until I have to do it again.  That white hot pain, burning though my chest, my heart pounding.  Visible through my chest? I don’t know.

As the trio of animals kept running, I realized the “coyote” was a fawn, probably only days old. The mama deer ran off track, and the fawn and Cali ran into the cornfields.  Oh no! How were we going to get them now?  I could hear the jangling of Cali’s tags, so I knew that she was close by.  Suddenly, fawn and pup appeared nose to tail, the fawn in front, bleating-bleating for its mom.

We chased and called for a couple more houses, Cali oblivious to us.  Then, as the yard lines curved, Tara continued to follow the pair as I cut across towards the front yard. As the pair slowed, Tara managed to step on the end of Cali’s leash, which she had been dragging behind her.  

Breathing hard, we slowly walked back to the house, leash held tight.  Wouldn’t any curious puppy do the same, we thought.

So now Cali no longer plays in the yard without a long lead rope, just in case…. C

 

Pomp and Diplomas

Middle school graduation, not as traumatic as high school ceremonies, not as ridiculous as pre-school or  kindergarden graduations, but a rite of passage.  I sat surveying the HS gym, watching students go up for awards, listening to speeches I imagined being repeated in schools and grade levels around the country, perhaps almost simultaneously spoken words being said. Girls wore their summer dresses under the hideous polyester blue gowns (no hats or tassels to throw up or move), boys in clunky shoes and khakis, parents with flowers and balloons, most dressed for the occasion.

It was a reasonable event to honor the almost 400 students, most of whom are moving to this very school we were seated in, in three short months. They will be the rookies again, another passage that repeats in high school, college, a new neighborhood where you move and know no one, a new job–being that kid who doesn’t know the ropes, the shortcuts, and learns by observing and asking and imitating.  

Earlier in the day, the thought of that graduation was overwhelming, that I would have a high school student soon–and all the perils and trials and joys that can bring.  But watching the kids during the ceremony, I knew that they were ready to move on to the bigger school, having earned more freedom to choose their paths, find their way, and grow yet again.

I looked down at my Tara, my oldest babe too big to sleep on my chest or burp or tell how to dress, but I am so proud of who she has become, having moved schools in the dreaded 5th grade, making close friends, having academic and athletic success, and then seeing who she is growing into, wondering what the next four years will bring.  

There will be success and hard work and mistakes as she learns to become and adult.  But hopefully we will be back in another four years as she finishes high school and gets ready to leave home for college (not ready for that yet!).

C

 

Drive-in on UP

Do you have childhood memories of going to the drive-in in your pajamas, sprawled in the back of the station wagon or atop the car, straining to listen to the tinny sound of the voice box (seeing Peter Pan comes clearly to mind)?  Or high school memories of cramming a dozen people in a car, possibly a few in the trunk, hiding beers in coolers, to run around the parking lot, probably annoying many other viewers, barely watching the film?  

We went with three other families to the drive-in last weekend and saw the new Pixar film UP, a chilly but clear night, the drive-in filled with cars of families and teens and friends.  Not too much had changed at the drive-in, other than my perspective, perhaps. Our kids were comfy in their sweats, some did fall asleep in the back of the SUV’s, bowls of homemade popcorn in their laps, chilled wine and beer aplenty for the drivers,  the film enjoyable with the sound slightly better on the car radio. 

What a wholesome, family-filled way to spend time, talking with friends, kids playing baseball before darkness sets, anticipation of a great movie, a party like atmosphere wafting about all the cars.  Our kids enjoy the experience, we get to catch up with friends, and we can all see a film together. C

 

Rainy Day Sunday

Our weekends during soccer season are full of driving, directions, yelling, hoping, sitting, winning and losing.  But they are busy.  It rained hard almost all day yesterday, thunderstorms last night, and today we woke up again to cold drops pouring by the bucketful from the sky.  So those calls that game one-then game two-then game three were cancelled were greeted with Woo-Hoo!  Unexpected free time, a welcome treat for all.  Yes, the games will be rescheduled, but I will take this small gift today.

Unexpected time for me to head to the gym, run a couple errands on the weekend rather than at night or during lunch hour, spend some time with the girls in the kitchen as they and Tara’s friend spend the afternoon baking cookies and doing homework and giggling and drinking smoothies and just having fun. 

And then  the sun peeks through, the temperature now 70, and we rush outside to feel the sudden rays, the wind so reminiscent of our San Francisco days. 

Ah, to feel a little bit ahead is a great way to end the weekend. C

 

Green Day

What a spectacular St. Patrick’s Day in Chicago we had!  Record-breaking warmth, my guess. Tara has been Irish dancing, dancing, dancing at many different venues from an Expo Center to our church–where she got to dance with the bagpiping,drumming Shannon Rovers, to a local micro brewery which always feels like a true Irish pub by the end of the one-hour performance, to grocery stores to a libary to a local tavern packed with families eating and embibing in some Irish spirits.  What a wonderful way to spend the weekend–with family and friends and meeting new people along the route. 

Whether you are Irish inside or out, may you all have the Irish generosity, love of life,  friends near and far, a pinch of stubbornness, and beautiful surroundings. C

 

My Life as a Sitcom, Episode 1

If this were a sitcom, no one would believe this to be realistic. But we laughed so hard, I know it happened to me. All 16 of my immediate family members are on vacation in lovely Oceanside CA, for my mom’s 70th birthday.  Oceanside is a large surf town, about 38 miles of San Diego, the outdoors much more beckoning in winter than Chicago.

To remember the occasion, we decided to hire a professional photographer to freeze our families at this moment in our lives.  Now, I was not sure why we needed to do this, as we have a number of competent photographers in the family, and the several times we have done this before the photos have been forced and unrealistic depictions of us.  There is a reason why I have NEVER taken my children for formal portraits; I enjoy my candids so much more.

In hindsight though, this might have been a good idea (though I won’t confirm until I see the final work), since we have too many art directors, too many opinions.  Letting John the photographer be in charge let everyone relax.

Anyway, no one could have imagined all the bizarre happenings that occurred literally 20 minutes before he arrived, and as he scouted shooting locations.

First, a near meltdown as the tie on my daughter Devon’s shirt–a simple buttercup yellow ribbon, fell off and I had to re-sew it when I should have been in the shower. Seemingly simultaneously, a lens in Ronan’s eyeglass popped out, and Bob spent 15 minutes trying to repair it.  Two workmen showed up to fix the hottub and toilet as we were headed  out, and someone had to show them which rooms needed repaired.  Two of the older girls went for a last minute snack and spilled a huge bowl of cut watermelon from the fridge onto the floor.  As we were laughing but hurrying to clean up, my sister in law Karen announced her 10 year old son Jackson was throwing up!  How long did she have to get him to the beach?

A trooper, Jackson recovered long enough to be carried to the beach and force a smile for an hour. Now the shirt is pinned, the glasses repaired, the toilet flushing, and the watermelon disposed of.  Hopefully we will be rewarded with some excellent photos, to remember the funny day (Jackson may not want to remember).

  More on vacation later. C

 

Soccer Journey

Time for photos.  These were from a soccer tounament in Madison, WI in the fall of 08.  Enjoy!

This was shot about 7:15 am, from our hotel room.  Georgous!

so simple….

and the reason we were in Madison–Tara and Devon and soccer. C

 

Devon Wants It All

Here is what two girls can do on a boring Sunday, when the weather is too bad outside and mom & dad have escaped to the cinema for a couple of hours.  Too funny–starring the #1 HSM fan ever, Devon! 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kscv40N61aY 

Enjoy-C