Swimming with Olympian(s)

Today was a day that I hope my son will remember for the rest of his life.  A while back, one of the older boys on his swim team requested a BREAKout! swim clinic from the web site... and his request was granted!  So the swim school got everything planned, and I signed M1 up to go.

It was a glorious experience.  Even though it was three hours long, the time absolutely flew by.  I sat out on the pool deck for nearly the entire three hours, and I was never bored.

The clinic is run by former Olympic swimmer Josh Davis.  He shared some of his stories and gave a quick motivational speech that had everyone laughing and then almost crying (OK, so the moms were the only ones tearing up... don't judge) before climbing into the water and starting the clinic.

He kept the kids moving, kept them repeating important points, and gave compliments and help wherever he could.  M1 came out of the pool thrilled to death because Mr. Davis stopped him at one point when they were working on freestyle and said, "Are you a breaststroke man?"  M1 said yes, because breaststroke is his favorite.  "I thought so.  You've got a great body for it, especially your feet."  Who knew?!?  Apparently those giant feet that naturally turn out to the point that he can sit completely flat on his knees with his feet pointed straight out to the side... those are an asset in breaststroke!

The pool was full, but the only major collision (that I saw) happened between the boy who requested the clinic and my son.  The other boy accidentally kicked M1 right smack dab in the bridge of the nose.  My son cried, and I called him over and asked if he wanted to leave, because quite frankly if I got kicked in the nose and couldn't see straight, I'd consider quitting, but he didn't want to leave.  He settled down, climbed back in the pool and kept going!  That nearly set me crying again, because I know not that long ago he'd have left after an accident like that.  He's getting so big and tough.

Olympian Aaron Peirsol was also there, swimming and generally making an appearance.  Watching him and Davis swim together was amazing.  Our little pool wasn't big enough to hold that much swimming power.  Olympic-sized swimming pools are Olympic-sized for a reason.

At the end (some kids got to do this before the clinic started, but we didn't get there in time, so at the end...), M1 got to 'try on' the three gold medals that Davis has won.  Davis himself wears his favorite medal, a silver from the 2000 Olympics where he broke an American record.

Then he signed M1's clinic shirt.  It read, "Michael, way to go.  Josh Davis"

And look... he's a lefty.  Finding other lefties always makes me feel good.

See that giant grin my son has?  I truly hope this day sticks with him forever.  I know it'll stick with me.

Little Moments of Pride

 I absolutely love it when the children surprise me with little things that they do or want to do or are capable of doing.

M2, for example, surprised the heck out of me this week.  We've been discussing the spring violin solo competition with her teacher, and she'd been leaning toward doing a short song that she already knows quite well.  It wouldn't take long to work up, and - like I said - it's short.  She always gets very, very nervous during solo competitions, and so she tends to choose short, easier songs so that she has a little less pressure looming overhead.  

So imagine my shock this week when she changed her mind and insisted that she wants to play the song she's just finished learning.  It's long, first of all, with several repeats as well as a 'DC al fine' to polish it off.  Secondly, she's just finished learning it.  There are only six weeks till the regional competition, and if she does well there, she'll go to state later in the spring with the same piece.  Six weeks sounds like a long time to work up a piece until you realize that at the same time, she's working on two other pieces for the teacher's spring recital AND has selected another piece to learn and play for her solo at the recital (which, unlike the competition piece, doesn't have to be memorized).  And sometime in there, the teacher's likely to have her start refreshing several other pieces for the spring recital as well.  

She'll also take the music theory test for the first time this year.  Her teacher's been handing out worksheets each week, and M2 has taken to them quite nicely.

She's good, my girl, and I'm really proud of her for putting herself out there like this.  I can only hope that she doesn't start freaking out sometime between now and then.

M1 is making me proud, too.  Last night, he made eclairs.  Strawberry eclairs.  I had to teach him how to use a piping bag, but other than that, he did it all himself and cleaned up the kitchen afterward.  I love that part the most, I think, and the eclairs themselves were absolutely delicious.  He wants to try to make blueberry or raspberry eclairs sometime soon.  I'm not about to argue with him.

Then yesterday we got a nasty piece of news.  At one of his swim meets recently, he did very well at breaststroke, which is his favorite stroke.  He won his heat by quite a long shot and had great hopes of winning an overall ribbon.  However, when I got the results and started looking for his name, I discovered that he'd been disqualified.

I was angry at first, but I took a deep breath and texted the coach, who gave me a quick, if somewhat vague, explanation and promised to talk to me about it in person.  Which meant I had to tell M1 what had happened.  I told him over lunch today, and while he teared up initially, he seemed to get past it quickly.  I promised him that the coach would talk to him about it, and he asked if he still got to keep his heat ribbon.  I said yes.  (I didn't know for sure at the time, but they were going to get that back over my dead body.  I didn't have to worry, but still...).  Anyway, we went to practice, and the coach did indeed talk to M1 and me about the problem and helped M1 learn what to do so it wouldn't happen again.  Overall, the coach acknowledged that it's not a normal situation and several kids were dinged for penalties that aren't supposed to exist in our beginner league... but... M1 wasn't upset.  I was set to go all Mama Lion on the judges and league leaders and see if I could get things fixed, but M1 showed me that there was no need.  He's really okay with things. He understands that it isn't fair and that sometimes we have to fight for injustice, but he also knows that there's another meet coming up in a couple of months and he can try again then.  And he let it go.

I'm really stinking proud of my kiddos for pushing their emotional, experiential, and mental limits.  They're acting really grown up this week.

Remind me about this next time I gripe.  Thanks :)

Mind. Blown.

I met one of you today.  Totally out of the blue, too.  It's not like we had e-mailed back and forth and you were going to be in town and we thought, "Hey, let's meet up and actually be those people who meet other cool folks from the Interwebz!"

No, it was totally random.

This is the first week of the 'fall' session at the swim school.  I say 'fall' in quotes because when it's 107 outside, fall isn't exactly the word that comes to mind, but then again, all the trees are turning brown and losing their leaves, so maybe *I'M* the one who's got it wrong.  It's entirely possible.

I'm digressing again.  I do that when I get excited.  My mind starts jumping around and I can't focus on anything... oh, look, SQUIRREL!

Swim school.  I expected that there would be a few new kids since this was the start of the fall session, and I was both right and wrong.  There were a few more kids than had been attending during the summer, but only one new kid that I could immediately recognize.  I picked him out easily since he got put in M1's lane; M1 had been the only kid in that lane for the past few weeks, and I was glad to see that he'd have someone to swim with.  It didn't hurt that the other kid looked to be roughly the same age as M1 (and also had red hair, which I see as a bonus).

Shortly afterward, I said hello to his mom.  She seemed very nice, and we started talking.  She had been sitting behind everyone, and I feel like it's weird to be turned around backward while talking, so I moved to sit a couple seats away.  She gave me her contact info so we could set up a field trip sometime in the future, and then I passed on mine...

And then she - YOU - said that you read this blog!  I'm not sure if it showed, but you could have knocked me over with a feather.  I don't often imagine this blog having readers; I'm not The Bloggess or Pioneer Woman, and the idea of having any sort of following sometimes just makes me shrug and smile wryly.  To MEET one of you... I can't wipe the stupid grin off my face.  To know that you read and follow this blog is mind-boggling.

Best of all?  I'll see you again soon!  Thanks for making my day!

The First Swim Meet

M1 participated in his very first competitive swim meet last night.  I'm so very proud of him; more importantly, the last thing he said to me last night as he drifted off to sleep (the minute his head hit the pillow) was, "I'm proud of myself."

No matter how badly the meet had gone (and we did have some blunders), that made it all worth it.

I've never been a parent of a competitive child.  I was never in sports as a child, either (other than a couple seasons of soccer when I was M2's age), so one thing I wasn't prepared for was all the waiting.

There was lots of waiting.  Waiting on the side, watching teammates swim...

... plus waiting for M1's event to come up, and all the other 'waiting' that comes along with sports where not everyone competes at once.

M2 got bored, so in between M1's events, Oz and I took her outside to escape the stifling heat and humidity of the pool deck.

She was so patient with all the hoopla surrounding her brother.  I'm proud of her, too.

We did eventually get to see M1 swim, though.

His first event, freestyle, went well.  I felt bad for him; his goggles slipped down to his chin when he dove into the water.  He kept going, though, and finished his heat.  Woohoo!

His second event was the backstroke.  He got a little flustered and nearly did freestyle out of habit but realized his mistake and flipped over pretty quickly.  And again, he finished.  He didn't wig out.  He didn't cry or get angry or embarrassed.  He knew this was his first meet and there would be lots of subsequent chances to work out the kinks.  The fact that he didn't melt at any point in time is cause for celebration for me, regardless of anything else.

Finally, he had his breaststroke event...

... and came second in his heat.  Second out of three or four... but still, he actually beat people to the wall!

He had fun.  He learned how meets work.  And I'm sure when he goes for his next one, he'll have that much more confidence.  Congratulations, M1!

Boys - Love 'Em, Hate 'Em, and Pity 'Em

Obviously I love my son.  If I didn't adore my son (and my daughter, too, but this post is all about my boy) to bits and pieces, I wouldn't have the patience to be at home with him every single day.

Today I was reminded, several times, that boys will constantly, consistently, and commonly do the following things:
1.  Make you love them.
2.  Make you want to hate them.
3.  Make you feel so bad for them that you start back at #1 and start the cycle all over again.

M1 has been getting immunotherapy shots for his dust mite allergy for several months now.  A couple months ago we went in for a check-up and they told us that he was getting really close to his maintenance dose and that we'd probably be there by summer... as long as he didn't have any major reactions.

Well, I'll be darned if the very next week he didn't have a small reaction - just a swelling the size of a quarter, but it was the biggest reaction to date.  They repeated the dose the following week, the reaction didn't repeat, and so they kept going.  No more reactions.  Until today.  Today he got his shot at 8:42 a.m.  We waited the required half-hour, had it checked, and left because while there was a little swelling (and quite a bit of reported pain), there was no systemic reaction.  Ice, ibuprofen, and keep an eye on it, right?  Sure.  I felt bad for the lil' dude, because clearly he was in pain, so it was a good thing that we had a fairly easy day of school planned.  He got through everything and I fixed him lunch, and honestly I forgot about his arm because he hadn't said anything in a couple of hours.

After lunch, he asked to go outside until it was time to get ready for swim, and he asked so politely and calmly that I couldn't tell him no (not that I would have, anyway... a lot of times he begs for electronics, but he has lost all electronics privileges for the foreseeable future because he took his Fire out of my room, where it had been confiscated because I caught him on it in the middle of the night - again - and took it to his room - again in the middle of the night - and then lied to me flat-out when I caught him trying to sneak it back in).  So outside he went.  Adorable little dude.

Adorable little dude who had swiped an entire bloody bag of beef jerky.  I caught the little bugger chowing down as fast as he could when I went out to the garage a few minutes later to take out some recycling and give him a 15-minute warning.  REALLY???  He knows good and well that all he has to do to get food is tell me he's hungry.  I will find something.  And if I don't have any good ideas, he's totally allowed to suggest things - like beef jerky - and I'll say yes.  So that really irritated me and I ordered him in the house and told him no more snacks for the rest of the day.  (I also found a bag of mints he'd hidden in the van for 'later,' meaning he wanted to devour them while M2 was in her violin lesson.)

GAH.  After he got back in the house, I asked him to go ahead and get ready for swim, and he did so... and when he came back out of his room, I caught a glimpse of his arm.

I felt AWFUL.  It was so swollen it looked like there was a tennis ball tucked into the side of his arm.  It was red, warm to touch, and he said it hurt like crazy.  I gave him more ibuprofen and told him that we would skip swim, but he insisted on going.  I let him, but I made sure the coach knew what was going on.  Coach agreed to keep an eye on him and also talked to M1 about his own immunotherapy experience (have I mentioned the swim coach is allergic to chlorine?).  He made it through practice well enough.

We picked up M2 and took her to violin, and I asked M1 to come in so I could keep an eye on him (and to make sure he wasn't going to swipe the remaining mints I had in the car).  He brought in his latest reading book, White Fang, but soon abandoned it to read the violin teacher's copy of a Calvin and Hobbes book.  He was soon giggling hysterically, trying to stay quiet but failing miserably as he kept pointing to various strips and whispering, "THAT'S ME!!!"

Yes.  Yes, son, it is.  I love you to bits.  I wouldn't know what to do without you, and I know one day I'll really miss all the little things that drive me nuts!

The End

So.  February is over.  And with the end of February, I know several folks besides myself who were hoping that this year would slow down.  I told a friend of mine the other day that by 12-21-12 (which is, ya know, the end of the world and all), the world won't necessarily end, but we'll all be so sick and tired of the drama and the never-ending crap that we'll all just throw our hands up and walk away.  Mass exodus to the closest cruise ship that goes nowhere and never comes back.

Tequila manufacturers should start preparing now.

I don't think the year listened, though, because here it is, March 1, 2012, and my house is in a state of chaos that it hasn't seen in... well, at least 10 years.  I know, because it's been almost 10 years since we moved in.

And now, here we are, starting to pack up again.

We aren't going anywhere officially yet.  But tomorrow Oz or I will be headed to the storage facility to rent a unit, and I've already begun hoarding boxes and packing superfluous junk into them.

It's not all junk.  There are baby books, photo albums, holiday decorations, and other sundry items that I would actually cry if they went missing.  But I don't need five tablecloths (thanks, Grandma) and three sets of napkins.  The kids play with Play-Doh maybe twice a year.  I don't need fall curriculum until... well, August anyway, if not necessarily fall.  These things can be packed away.

Pepe, circa 2005

The end is also nigh for the Old Man Cat.  I thought it was bad a few months ago when he was the Stinky Death Cat, but no... that wasn't bad.  Well, ok, it was bad.  But it wasn't as pathetically bad as it is now.  Two days ago, he reached a new low.  I'm pretty sure he's no longer able to use the... er... feline facilities... with any grace, and he's tracking nasty little paw prints all over my floor.  Which means that any furniture he climbs on is also contaminated.  Which means he's not grooming himself.  And he's lost all the fight that he used to have when *I* groom him.  He just lies there like a limp mat and kind of moans a little.  It's really, really sad.  He's not eating well, not grooming himself, not using the bathroom... *sigh*  It's time.  I hate making these sorts of decisions, but I called the vet's office this afternoon and made a 9 a.m. appointment for tomorrow.  I'm pretty sure I'll go in with an animal and come home without one.  He's been a sweet, sweet boy for the few years we've had him, but he looks nothing like the cat in the photo above.  Which is another clue.

My house is filthy.  Dirty cat paw prints... dust everywhere... boxes piled in front of the living room closet door... M1 can't find his swim jammers OR his kick board (his goggles got schlepped to Pennsylvania with his grandfather. I'm grateful we had a secondary pair AND they're willing to mail the original ones back to us)... M2's closet has vomited Perler beads and articles of clothing that she stashed instead of putting them away... even the tablecloth is disgusting.  I lack the energy to deal with all of it.  Right now I should either be cleaning or be in the back yard putting a fresh coat of Rustoleum on the storm shelter door, but I have absolutely zero motivation.  Did I mention the realtor is coming on Monday to give the house a once-over and decide what else needs to be done and what the place might be worth?

Spring Break and summer are looming large, too.  The swim coach is incredibly excited about summer plans, and sign-up for those events starts next week.  The violin teacher is discussing the spring concert and asked me on Tuesday to help M2 get a solo ready.  It's a brand-new song.  We shall see.  M2's birthday is later this month, too, and I only started gift shopping this week - usually I'm done by now.  I need to get invitations for the party sent to her class next Thursday since that's when Spring Break starts (they get two weeks off), and oh yeah, I can't forget that she has to build a leprechaun trap that involves a simple machine.  (For the record, a simple machine may or may not be simple to build when you're talking about something that needs to be disposable.)

The end of this week, month, year, decade cannot come fast enough.  I'm ready for it all to be over.

Pass the Cuervo.

Validation

M1 had what he declared to be an "awesome" day yesterday.  And it was a good day.  He got up incredibly motivated to get his schoolwork done, so it was completely finished by 11 a.m.  Considering the fact that Wednesday saw him still lollygagging through his work at 5 p.m., that was an amazing accomplishment.  We went to his swimming lesson, and he managed to impress his teacher by mastering a kick that he has struggled with for months.  He has the hardest time NOT pointing his feet, but he did it yesterday.  Then after his swim team practice, the coach caught up with him in the locker room and complimented him on his progress - said he was getting faster and stronger.  M1 was beaming when he emerged.

He was polite, respectful, and kind to his sister.  He did get in trouble once, when I found him playing with my shaving cream in the shower (doing what, I don't even know), but it wasn't a really big thing... just annoying.

It was wonderful to see what he is truly capable of doing.  When I pointed out that he was having a really good day and that I was proud of him, he told me, "I'm growing up, Mom.  I really am working on myself."  This is big for him.

Now we just have to see if he can do this two days in a row... because so far, today has been more like Wednesday than yesterday.  And Wednesday was not good.

We'll get there.  One day at a time.  Just keep swimming... :)

My Brand of Magic

This post could be subtitled, "Or, The Quickest Way to a Headache."

Swim days are crazy days for our family.  Besides the drive (clear across town) to and from the swim school and the hour in the water, the team practices end precisely 10 minutes before M2 gets out of school. It takes me 17 minutes (on a good day) to get across town.  It takes at least 5 minutes for M1 to get out of the water, dry off, claim a dressing room, change, and get out of the locker room... and that's assuming that he doesn't get involved in a game of snap-towel with some of the other boys.

(By the way, what IS it with boys and locker rooms?!?  I simply do not understand why it takes them at least twice as long as the girls to get dressed... and the girls come out looking neat and clean and the boys come out looking like... well, like they just got out of some sort of cage brawl.  It drives me crazy.)

Anyway, so team practice ends, I wait the 5-7 minutes for M1 to get changed, and we get in the car.  By the time we hit highway #1, M2 is already out of school, which means I'm racing the clock to pick her up before the teachers who have car line duty take her back into the school for aftercare.

*IF* M1 gets dressed in a timely manner, I can make it in plenty of time.  This has been hit-and-miss, but I think I finally instilled a sense of urgency into the boy by threatening to make him pay for aftercare every time she has to go ($2.50 a pop).  So after practice earlier this week, he busted his butt and was out in two minutes flat.  I was thrilled!  We got in the car, made the left onto the onramp to get onto the highway... and stopped.  Dead stop.  Then I noticed the pretty red and blue lights on the highway where traffic was narrowing down to one lane from three because someone had changed lanes into the back of another car and spun it out.  Fantastic PIT maneuver, I'll grant, but it's not really one you do on the highway unless you ARE the cop and you ARE administering justice.  I don't think that was what happened here.

Anyway, I was late getting M2.

*headwall*

Then we had another swim practice.  I thought to myself, "There's no way it'll be backed up two sessions in a row," so I decided to go the same way.  The same way I always go.  Again, M1 busted his backside and escaped the locker room quickly.

And again, I got onto the onramp just in time to see that - AGAIN - the traffic was at a full stop.  And this time, the wreck wasn't visible because it was two miles away.

Un-freaking-believable.  I do believe this is the definition of winning, isn't it??

Next week, I'll test traffic and see what I can jack up by going a different direction.  After all, it isn't fair for me to condemn the same people to traffic jams all the time.  Gotta spread the love.

Making Dreams Come True

Last week, I posted about M1 getting a surprise invitation from the swim coach to join the swim team.  I talked it over with Oz, M1 talked it over with Oz, we worked out a couple of potential kinks, and in the end, M1 weighed the pros and cons and decided that he'd give it a try.  After all, he said, the worst that could happen would be that he had to wait another year before joining.  I couldn't argue with that logic.

So M1 and I hopped into the van tonight and headed to the pool.  We got there, and I found the coach.  He grinned delightedly when he saw M1 and gave him instructions on where to go.  I went to the observation room and was mentally grateful that I wasn't a nailbiter, because my fingertips would have been bloody and raw.  I watched as the kids set the lane dividers up.  The coach ordered everyone else to warm up while he pulled M1 aside for his tryout - one lap, down and back, freestyle, and one lap, down and back, any other stroke (backstroke is M1's best).  Other rules:  No stopping, no touching the bottom.

He passed.  The look on his face when he ducked under the lane divider and shot me a thumbs-up was priceless. 

I watched for a minute as he tried to work out what everyone else was doing and then ducked out to get the official paperwork done.  By the time I came back, the coach was giving orders and getting the practice formally underway.  M1 was confused at first, and he had a hard time keeping up with everyone else, but he never quit!  Down and back, down and back, he kept going. 

After the practice was over, I caught up with the coach and asked him how M1 had done. 

"He did more than I expected he'd do," was the initial response.  "He'll probably be hungry and tired and really sore tomorrow."

I got instructions on things to work on with him, and then M1 and I headed home.

"Mom?" he said as we walked across the parking lot.

"Mmm?"

"I honestly didn't think I'd do it.  I had confidence but not that much confidence."

I had to hug him.  I was (am!) so proud.

"You hungry?"  I asked.

"Starving," he said, confused, "but I just ate dinner!"

"Three hours ago, boy, and you've been swimming for an hour!"

"Oh.  [pause]  Can I have food, then?"

I agreed to make him a turkey and Swiss sandwich, "toasted, please."

M1 was silent for a few minutes after that, and I began to wonder if he'd sacked out in the back seat when he spoke.

"I remember when you first told me at level 3 that I had to wait until level 5 to join the swim team," he began.  "And then when [the swim coach] told me I could try out, it was like I was in a maze and had found a shortcut."  He paused.  "Lifting up that divider to join the team was like opening the door to heaven."

I smiled in the dark.  My son, the swimmer.  His dream come true.

Surprises - The Good Sort

I suppose it's only fair that when Mondays kick you - repeatedly - when you're down, the rest of the week feels sorry for you and treats you a little more kindly.  Now that I'm safely ensconced in Thursday, I say to Monday, "PTHTHTHTTHTHTH!!!"

I'm sure Monday will get its revenge next week, though maybe since it's Independence Day, I'll get a break.

HA.

Aaaaanyway.  This week has not been as horrible as it looked to be when it first began.  Thank heaven.  I wasn't entirely sure I was going to survive at first.

The Z-Pak that M1's pediatrician prescribed has actually helped his hives quite a bit.  He now generally looks like he has a weird case of chicken pox rather than the mumps, and he's stopped wheezing and complaining of stomach and chest pain.  The allergist's scheduler just called, and we have a tentative consult in early August, though they'll try to get us in sooner if there are cancellations.

M2's mood has vastly improved over last week.  Is she still having her difficult moments?  Sure, but she's 6.  It's what they do.  The great thing is that we're not having entire days where she's pouting or crying or screaming or hitting or destroying or simply refusing to move/cooperate/speak.  We visited the therapist for the first time today, too.  M2 and I both really like her.  She had already reviewed the file (a bonus of her being in the same building as M2's psychiatrist) and had some questions.  M2 didn't really want to talk other than to offer a couple of random anecdotes, but the office was set up beautifully so that M2 was still able to communicate by writing on a whiteboard or making drawings.  Our focus for now is going to be M2's anxiety, since she definitely has, at the very least, separation anxiety and the Lexapro EPIC FAIL proved that medication isn't an option to treat it... EVER.  We'll go weekly until school starts in early August, and then we'll see beyond that.  Our first assignment was to make 'mailboxes' for everyone because M2 agreed that even if she refused to talk to me, she could still write to me.  So now we all have envelopes taped to our doors and M2 has been enthusiastically filling them all afternoon.  I'm going to have to invest in several reams of paper before school starts, whether they're required on the school list or not.

M1 got a particularly special surprise today.  After we got done at swimming lessons, I had the kids go to the bathrooms to change their clothes before M2's appointment.  They had finished and we were headed to the van when the one of the teachers stopped me.  I knew him vaguely as the swim team coach, and he had been running the location where our lessons were being held.  He had been watching M1, he said, and had noticed that his backstroke was particularly good and his freestyle was solid, too.  He pointed out that the only things holding him back from level 5 were his backstroke, which he just learned this week, and the way he held his head during freestyle (he tends to try to flip onto his back rather than side-breathe).  I mentioned that M1 had been working hard since his aim was to eventually be on the swim team, and the guy grinned.

"You know I'm the coach, right?"

I nodded.  He grinned again.  "Well, I usually don't do this, but if the swim team is his goal and since he's such a strong swimmer, I do sometimes make exceptions.  If he continues to take lessons [we're already signed up] to work on his trouble spots, I'd be happy to let him try out for the swim team now."

I was stunned.  I hadn't even done research into what the swim team entailed other than the fact that you had to pass level 4 to join.  I figured I had another year before I had to really think about it.  I had the presence of mind to ask what the tryouts consisted of, when they were, about basic costs, practices, etc., and then the coach had another question for me.

"He's 11, right?"

"Um, no... he's actually only 8."

"YES!!!" the coach pumped his fist and grinned.  "I'm in desperate need of younger swimmers.  He'd be perfect."

So M1 gets to think about joining the swim team at the ripe old age of 8.  Practices are late at night, so I'm not sure he's ready yet, but we'll see.  He claims to want to be the next Michael Phelps... and, barring that, to be a lifeguard or swim teacher/coach himself.  I can't think this would hurt his chances, do you?

One Step Forward...

We're missing a chicken.  I suspect it jumped the fence and was caught by a dog, though that's only a theory.  Anyway, now we're down to 10.  I guess natural selection is one way of culling the herd before it happens deliberately next year, but yeesh.  I'm praying that the kids don't find remnants somewhere. 

M2 is in a mixed manic state, and I think both of us are about to come unhinged.  One minute she's bouncing off the walls and singing and dancing and repeating herself 20 times in 10 minutes... and the next she's begging for validation and telling me that she's not really my child and I don't love her and she should just go off and die somewhere.  I'm doing the best I can to work with her, but I'm not ashamed to admit that there's a glass of wine next to me right now.  M1 is trying to be patient with her, too, but he's also at his limit.  He gratefully escaped to his room today.

The lawn mower is on the fritz.  Oz thought that the blades were the problem, so he replaced them, but it's still shaking like crazy and making about twice as much noise as usual.  This is especially troublesome since apparently our back yard is infested with chiggers and hasn't had a proper mowing in more than two weeks thanks to our hectic travel schedule.

-----

The good news:

M1 and M2 both started summer swimming lessons today.  M1 scored the swim team coach as his teacher.  He has had this man as a sub previously and just thinks he's the best, so he's thrilled to have him again as a real teacher.  I like him, too, and it'll be good for M1 to see how he likes working with a real coach if he's serious about joining the swim team next year.  M2 surprised me.  She was initially placed in advanced level 1 and was almost instantly moved up to advanced level 2.  She's extremely proud of herself, and I'm proud of her, too.

I made a roast chicken for dinner tonight, complete with veggies and rolls and cappuccino chunky chocolate frozen yogurt cones for dessert.  I successfully deboned the chicken after dinner was over, gave the wishbone to Oz and M1 (M2 wanted nothing to do with touching chicken bones and even insisted that I remove the meat from her drumstick before she'd eat it), and now have homemade stock simmering on the stove.  The best part is that it's flavored with herbs from the garden.

And speaking of the garden, now that I've put down the newspaper and straw around all the plants (thanks so much for the idea, Elisabeth!), it's growing great guns.  I pulled the first bush tomato off a plant tonight along with two yellow grape tomatoes.  Cucumbers are coming up like crazy, there are a few butternut squash already coming along, and there's a watermelon bigger than Oz's fist - huge compared to the half-dollar-size melon that I left on Thursday!

It's about to storm now, so I'm going to go cross-stitch while we have power and satellite reception.  Hope your weeks are going well!

Home Again, Home Aga.. Zzzzzzzzz.....

My dad's family got together this weekend.  We got home about three hours ago.  Oz is snoozing, the kids are playing quietly, and I have no inclination to leave my comfy spot on the couch for anything short of a Hazmat operation.  We all have sunburns, though none of us are fluorescent.  The kids have become intimately familiar with 10:30 p.m.  They also have met more family members than they will ever be able to keep track of.

These reunions happen every three or four years.  One of my uncles typically hosts since he owns a huge house on a huge lake which allows for lots to do and lots of lodging close by.  Someone told me there were about 80 people expected this weekend; another estimate was closer to 100.  My dad is one of 12 kids.  His parents are both still alive.  Both of my grandparents came this weekend, though they studiously avoided one another; they divorced decades ago.  Eleven of the 12 siblings were able to make it to this reunion; the 12th was definitely missed.

Then there's the rest of the family.

The age range of my cousins blows my mind sometimes.  My oldest cousins are in their mid-40s, closer to my parents' age than mine; my youngest cousins are still in middle school and closer to my kids' ages.  I'm somewhere in the middle, born within a month of two of my other cousins.  There's a picture that floats around of the three of us as infants, all lined up on my grandmother's couch.  One of my aunts had the idea to restage that photo this weekend, but it didn't happen.  Anyway, the long and short of it is that our family is so big that we get T-shirts printed up with the genealogy of the family printed on the back so everyone knows which kids - and spouses - belong to whom.  The T-shirts are color-coded by family.  Each of the 12 siblings picks a different color shirt, and all their progeny wear the same color.  The 'family picture' looks like those big school photos where they try to squeeze everyone into an area the size of a postage stamp.  Faces are dots, and identification is optional.  And as soon as the T-shirts are printed, they become obsolete.  There's another baby due any day now and two more due later this year.

With a family that big, though, there's always someone to play with.  M1, usually my loner, made a couple of good cousin friends; M2, the social butterfly, flitted from group to group and enjoyed the company of everyone from my grandmother to a three-month-old baby, whose diaper she helped to change.  Oz has long been in the favor of my uncles. 

Nobody really sat still at the reunion.  We ran hard.  The parents slathered their kids in sunscreen (repeatedly), insisted on life jackets, and watched them fly off the dock and into the water as soon as they got the say-so.  If the parents wanted a break, there was always an aunt, uncle, grandparent, or cousin to watch them.  Adults migrated in circles from the top deck to the bottom deck to the dock and back up to the air-conditioned house.  All the food was fixed in-house (meat, eggs and cinnamon rolls for breakfast; sandwiches and chips for lunch; barbecue and all the fixin's for dinner), and we ate in the garage in front of a huge fan to try to keep the air circulating.  My kids saw the empty tables before everyone arrived and said, "It looks like a cafeteria!"  In addition to the swimming and the talking and the eating, there were people boating, fishing, trap shooting, schlepping donations to Joplin, and even taking the occasional siesta (though of course my two didn't believe in that and paid for it by nightfall).  Coolers filled with drinks and ice dotted the landscape.  Everyone shared toys, and the one rule of the weekend - NO SCREAMING (unless there is profuse bleeding) - was followed extremely well.

All in all, even though these reunions are exhausting and take more organization than I can even imagine, they're amazing.  They're fun.  They're definitely memorable.  If I had been smart, I'd have taken pictures, but I didn't.  The camera stayed in my purse, and my purse stayed in the van.  It'll be hard to wait another three or four years to see everyone again, but I'm definitely looking forward to it.  Yay for great family reunions!

Scheduling Summer (and a question)

Question first:  Has anyone had trouble with Blogger's comments section lately?  I've noticed that when I try to comment on some blogs lately, it takes me to the log-in page OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER rather than actually letting me comment.  I'd love to know if that's happening here.  Since leaving a comment may not be an option, e-mail me at oursunn yview @ blog spot.com to let me know if this has happened to you.  Please.  If it's not working, I want to get it fixed!
Now, on to the real blog post...

Summer is looming large over here.  The kids have a half-day of school tomorrow - consisting of a math test and making slime at this house and school-wide games at M2's place of edumacashun - and then they are O-U-T.  I'd promised to take them swimming tomorrow afternoon, but since I don't have a new swimsuit yet and the "control panel" powers of the old one have worn off (and it has those little concrete-induced picks all over the bottom), we may wind up at the splash pad instead.  I think as long as the kids get to put on swimsuits and copious quantities of sunscreen, they'll be happy.

A month ago, if you had asked me what my summer looked like, I'd have said, "Busy!!"  And to some degree it is.  Weekends are full.  If it's not a birthday party, it's a family reunion.  If it's not a family reunion, it's the Fourth of July.  And so on and so forth.  To me, this seemed 'busy.'  But now I'm staring at the calendar thinking, "How did this seem busy??"  The kids have swimming lessons for a couple of weeks, sure... but they're less than an hour long and scheduled for first thing in the morning.  M1 has camp one week, but that just means it becomes my full-time job to keep M2 occupied!  I signed M2 up for a summer violin concert last night, but even that only means the concert and two, maybe three, rehearsals, and it'll mostly be review.  In other words, most weekdays are empty.

My schedule just opened up.

The problems with having an Aspie kid and an open schedule are large and very obnoxious.  These kids don't understand the phrase "open schedule."  The words, "It's summer... do whatever you want!" are a death sentence to parents... or at least some nearby piece of furniture.  If there isn't a plan for at least 3/4 of a day, they cease to function at a normal level and will gleefully dive off the deep end of happiness into a great pit of mischief. 

Because I value my sanity - what little I have left - and would like to get through the next eight weeks with my house and his limbs mostly intact, I must schedule summer.  Schedule summer.  One of the greatest contradictions known to kids... or stay-at-home parents, for that matter.  Summer is supposed to be about spontaneity, about showing up at the pool and staying till whenever, about grabbing sno cones on the go and waking up and deciding it's a pajama day with no forethought. 

It was a sad day when I realized that a spontaneous summer wasn't going to happen.  I almost stopped and lamented the loss of my son's childhood when I suddenly realized that this IS his childhood.  He's happy when he doesn't have to think about what to do each day.  When we were at the grocery store yesterday, he asked me in all seriousness if he was old enough to have a summer job, because he'd like to earn $50 a week and isn't worried about "missing summer" to work to get the cash.  All this bodes well for his working ethic as an adult.  It also settled my brain about the notion of having to plan out what we do each day.

And so, without further mental distress, I plunked on my couch and pondered what I want to do with the kids this summer.  I figure I'll realistically only be able to plan a week ahead at any given time, but hey... if it keeps my home and kid in one piece, I'll do anything.  Even if it means scheduling summer.

Tone

Have you ever had one of those days that you knew was going to be really, really long before it even really started?

That was today for me.

M2 wandered in shortly after her alarm went off this morning.

"Mommy?"

*grunt*

"Mommy, my tummy hurts. It hurts a lot and I feel like I might urp."

Ahhh, crap. I checked her forehead. No fever. Double bother. In my world, a sore tummy sans fever first thing in the morning means I have to keep her home because at some point during the morning, especially if I send her to school, she will blow chunks, which she did shortly before 8 a.m. Then she went back to bed. I called the school. You know this happens too often when the receptionist says, "Do you want to get her homework today or when you bring her back tomorrow?"

By 8:30, when M1 and I were beginning school for the day, she was up again. She made her bed and changed clothes but said she was still too sick for breakfast. By 9 a.m., she'd changed her mind about food, too, and downed a glass of apple juice and a toasted muffin top.

*sigh*

Let the day begin.

The rest of the day pretty much followed the morning's preset formula. It went something like this:

-- M1 threw a spectacular fit after being reminded about an assignment. I told him if his attitude didn't improve that he would not be able to attend his swimming lesson. He wrote me the following letter: "Dear Sarah, I am sorry for throwing a big fit. I chose to write this because swimming is important to me. Your only son, M1." Guilt much? :D

-- At the swimming lesson, one of the other moms asked M2 if her school was out today. Her response? "No. My tummy hurt when I woke up, and I threw up so I didn't have to go to school and could stay home with my mommy."

-- After the swimming lesson, I thought I'd go sign M1 up for summer camp. We arrived at 12:55 p.m. That's when I discovered they take lunch from 12-1. I didn't feel like waiting. Camp registration can wait one more day.

-- We got home, I fed the kids and myself some lunch, and then I suggested some quiet time for everyone. M1 went willingly to his room, finished up some work, and read calmly on his bed (have I mentioned how much I love how his medication works??). M2 went to her room, played her toy piano for 15 minutes, and came out and said she couldn't "lie still" any more. I sent her back for a little while, but she wouldn't/couldn't stay down or quiet. Fine.

-- I made the tragic suggestion that M2 have a pretend art class at home instead of the one she normally has after school on Thursdays. This led to a 90-minute meltdown that culminated in a torn-up piece of artwork and my daughter singing a song that went something like this: "This is the song that never ends. Live it up, live it up! This is the song that never ends. Live it up!" This is to be repeated ad nauseum with crazy dancing and coherent speech optional.

-- M1 discovered how to make a robot that was NOT the one shown in the instructions on the K'Nex box. This is big.

-- The cat went outside. Ten minutes later, I heard an awful caterwauling on the porch. It sounded injured, so I got up to investigate. No injury. Au contraire. She had caught a bird. And killed it. And brought it to me to share. She played with it for a few minutes for my benefit and then dropped it under the glider and left it. Gosh, she's generous.

-- Finally, after the children went to bed, M2 began giggling. Then she came out and said, "Guess what? I discovered a toot machine in my room!" Oh, my. Oz went into her room a few minutes later and discovered she'd taken a water shooter, covered up the firing end, and pushed the tube down to make noise. She was so proud of herself. I couldn't help but laugh.

As for me? Well, it wasn't a bad day. 'Twasn't great, but at least I didn't get a pair of pliers stuck in my tire!

Indigestion and Adrenaline

As funny and brainless as Saturday was, its effects on my digestive system were far, far worse than those on my children's nervous systems. How, you ask? Let me tell you how it works.

Step 1: Purchase something called 'boudin balls' to eat for a fattening, fried snack someday.

Step 2: Agree to let your spouse fry them.

Step 3: Eyeball the deep fryer your spouse unearths from the bowels of your kitchen cabinets and question its use after such a long, long time (because the last time YOU remember using it was at least two years ago, though your spouse is adamant that he's used it more recently).

Step 4: Trust your spouse when he assures you that the oil is still good.

Step 5: Eat the fried snack.

Step 6: Spend the next 36 hours debating the merits of never eating fried food (or ANY food) ever, ever, EVER again.

That's it, really. It was horrible. The worst part wasn't even the indigestion (though that was awful) or the fact that Oz's metabolism is about 24 hours faster than mine (though that was annoying). No, the worst part was that I couldn't sleep because of it all.

At about 3:15 a.m., I was finally starting to doze off. I could feel my brain starting to turn to mush. I could sense the lack of coherence in my thoughts. And just as I really started to let go...

You cat owners will know the sound... HACK-a, HACK-a, HACK-a... SQUUUUCK.

@#*%&^#)@&^

Sure enough, Hermes had hurled. It wouldn't have been so bad if he had done it on the wood floor, but nope, he had to do it on the whole 5 square feet of rug located in the room. So I sighed and went to go find the paper towels and the carpet cleaner and discovered the source of the problem. A mouse... well, MOST of a mouse... located in the doorway between the hall and the living room.

Gah.

I passed a peacefully snoring Oz several times as I stumbled back and forth from the kitchen to the bedroom to get everything cleaned up, and it took a good amount of self-control not to leave the mouse on him. What stopped me was the realization that if he rolled over on it, then it would have been squished into the couch, and that would have been way, WAY worse than finding it on the floor.

About 4:30, I finally got to sleep. Woke up at 5:30, went out, and rolled Oz onto his side so his snoring would stop shaking the entire house. Got back to sleep around 6. Ignored the world till 10.

When I got finally got up, I had it in my head that I had a peaceful day ahead of me in which to recover.

NOT!

At 12:48 p.m., I looked at my phone and suddenly thought, "SWIM MEET!!!!"

M1 and I were supposed to be there at 1:15. The swim school is clear across town from us. We may or may not have sped the entire way there. But we made it. And I was so glad I had remembered.

M1 did beautifully in both his events.

Suddenly, all my stomach troubles didn't seem to matter one bit any more. It was definitely a blast to sit on the sidelines and watch my son compete. The adrenaline was insane for both of us. He was so excited that he didn't come last (fourth) and didn't care one bit that he didn't get first in both events, which was so noble and so sweet that it almost made me cry. He was thrilled to bring home these ribbons and wants to get a pinboard to hang them on!

All in all, it's been an interesting weekend. The best was definitely the last, and I can't wait till I can get to the craft store.

I definitely won't be eating boudin balls again, though.

Ever.