Will They Appreciate That We Never Ran Errands?
Sunday, March 7th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | 1 Comment
We are not big home maintenance types around here. I do not like to grocery shop, don’t dig shopping anymore, and have the house at a stage where most of the crap can at least be pushed aside into manageable piles. There are hioe and errand-type things that I wish would just happen (for example, i just realized that we’ve completely outgrown our stroller collection, and I really wish the fairies would just come get it). But generally, on weekdays, we work, and on weekends, we do. This weekend we skied. Well, except for Sam, who built a “snowbox” and crashed it down a hill amidst many other snowboxers, which the rest of us watched, after skiing. But Sam skied today.
We didn’t call the many people we like to talk to, or put away the holiday train, or clean the basement, which has mice. We didn’t clear out the hallway, or recycle some of the magazines that threaten to take over every open space. We didn’t invite people to Wyatt’s upcoming birthday, or plan said birthday, or take actions towards acquiring suitable party favors for said birthday or anything of that sort. And there was something else I needed to do or order online, and we didn’t do that either. In fact I can’t even remember what it was.
Because we went skiing. It was a beautiful day, an amazing day, and we skied, and skied hard, and made what should have been terrible decisions, like taking Rory’s edgy-wedgy off (it holds the ski tips together) and then choosing to go down a black diamond with moguls (because it was the only way over to the other lift) for her first free-ski run and then taking that one last run, which featured yet more moguls and steepness, and expecting Rory and Wyatt to power through it all–which they did, with style and grace that provoked actual positive commentary by onlookers (not even exaggerating). They just skied, learning, one hopes, that if you fall, you get back up, and if the slope looks ugly, well, the sooner you start down, the sooner you’ll be at the bottom, one way or another.
Of course it all ended in some shrieking and tears, but not until the car ride home, so we really can’t complain. And fortunately that black diamond mogul slope was Rory’s favorite part of the day, both because she lives for that kind of thing and because it scored her much praise from me, whereas earlier in the day I’d been asking her to make more turns and actually offering some coaching. She much prefers praise to coaching. I’ll have to start coaching via praise, I guess. I LOVE how you’re making all those turns! I can do that.
Anyway, a good day, and one on which we were, kinda, the family I want us to be. I suspect I will never look back on these years and think, well, it all would have been so much better with a clean basement.
About to race!
Saturday, March 6th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | 1 Comment
KJ Dell’Antonia
sent from my iPhone
BoxSled Racing
Saturday, March 6th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | No Comments
With Hannah Kearney at the start gate!
KJ Dell’Antonia
sent from my iPhone
WikiStick Processing
Saturday, February 27th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | No Comments
Our local diner, Lou’s, hands out Wikisticks (you can see them in the picture below) to kids to play with while they wait for their food. Wyatt asked me to help him make a house and two people. Rory looked at Wyatt’s house, handed me her sticks, and said:
C’you make my China?
I said ok, and while I made her a house, she worked with some sticks. That me, she said of a blue circle with two legs. Look! I made me!
She took the house happily, and said, C’you make Baba Mike? (That was her foster dad in China, and her point of reference for all things involving the family she lived with in China.)
I made her a person (mine had arms, lucky Mike!). She took it, and said. Now I got make you. Because you got come get me.
Ok, I said, and she messed around with her final stick and said, There. That you. (I was a blue circle, a little wobbly. ) You not got legs.
That’s ok, I said, I’ll come get you anyway.
Then she moved the sticks around for a while, and then breakfast came, and–other than a brief incident in which she dropped a wikistick and mystified the people next to us by crawling under the table shouting, Where my leg? Where my leg?, that was the end of it.
Seemed healthy to me.
Wiki Processing
Saturday, February 27th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | No Comments
KJ Dell’Antonia
sent from my iPhone
Dear Lily,
Friday, February 26th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | 5 Comments
You must stay in bed. You have been up six times since I put you to bed 20 minutes ago, and you must stay in bed.
Your daddy is out of town. For the third–no, fourth–night this week. And every single night this week, without exception, a dog, a child, or 100 mile an hour winds, or all of the above, has woken me up more than once. And on two days this week, a school has woken me up at 5:30 am to announce that there was…no school. And I have to be up tomorrow at 6:45 in order to get you ready for hockey, and I have nothing…that would be NOTHING left to give.
So please do not get up again. I am sorry that I cannot open my heart, and invite you to curl up in Mommy’s bed, or sing you an extra song, or something like that, since I can see you are having trouble sleeping, but I cannot. It is all I can do, to be honest, not to kill you, and I think I deserve credit for that. But if you get up again I do not feel I can be responsible for my actions.
Bye Bye Nintendo, Day 2
Tuesday, February 23rd, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | 2 Comments
Actually the title’s an exaggeration. I decried no Nintendo except on weekends (in an amount and at times to be determined by me) and asked my babysitter to impose something similar when they’re with her (often at her house, with her kids) and she went with maybe when they’re there in the evenings. So far, so good–we’ve had more outdoor play, more make-believe and more card-playing and puzzles already. It’s a relief to me just not to have to constantly be deciding and explaining, I made a rule and there it is. Thanks for the idea!
Rory had a massive temper tantrum last night and got sent to bed without books (she threw a crayon at me). She was hysterical (and grabbed the skin on my arm and twisted it like a pinch, but didn’t really do it), but went to sleep with the others–and then, an hour later, woke herself up with a rip-roaring additional sleep-tantrum. Screams, kicks and sobs all over the place. I don’t know if it was left-over from the earlier tantrum, or an all new special bonus, or reaction from having scared herself with how mad she was at me (which others of our kids have done, too). The words she managed, though, were “I DON’T WANT YOU.”
Well, ok. I went downstairs, leaving her sobbing on the chair on the landing, but not happy. Rob had to nudge me a little, I admit–but I went back up, and sat, near her but not too near and the sobs abated, and I thought she was kind of sleeping, and I pulled her into my lap. She protested, a little, and kept gulping, little unhappy sobs. I didn’t know what it was, or what to do.
“I was really mad at you earlier,” I whispered to the top of her head, and the sobs increased. “But I still love you. And you were really mad at me, and I know you still love me.” Escalating sobs. “And that’s ok.” The sobs dies down, and she hugged my arm in this way she has–she can be timid with her physical affection, with me at least–probably because I am too often not very snuggly with her except at bedtime, for reading (or with anyone. Working on it.) That’s more words than I’d usually use with Rory–I find that too many words just wash right over her head–but it seemed to work, so I tried another. “I was mad at Lily earlier, too. “(Lily went to her room for a big long time due to various dinnertime transgressions.) “But I still love her.” No sobs–so she wasn’t just sobbing because I was talking to her, which she sometimes does–just a little sigh, and more snuggle, and then I held her until she fell asleep.
She’s been unusually clingy today, too. Again–reaction? Sleepiness? Coming down with something? Your guess is as good as mine. I just accepted it, for now.
Maybe she just misses her Nintendo.
Check out the Player of the Game!
Sunday, February 21st, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | 1 Comment
KJ Dell’Antonia
sent from my iPhone
Any Chance You’re Thinking of Adoption?
Saturday, February 20th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | 5 Comments
Toying with it, maybe–kinda just thinking hey, what-if…
I have a feeling you’re out there. Email me or post a comment and ask me to email you. (No one can see your address but me.)
It is so hard, and you should totally do it. There are so many kids out there, Rory’s age and a little older, that need the life we have.
Still Life by Sam
Saturday, February 20th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | Comments Off
I found this on my camera and it was too good not to post. I think he’s recording the fact that he was able to peel hard-boiled eggs and leave shells mostly intact.
Still Life by Sam
A Day with the GuoJis
Saturday, February 20th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | 2 Comments
We spend an awesome day with the GuoJi famiglia–or at least three of them. Moms bonded over, well, bonding difficulties. Kids bonded over dolls and snow. We actually made dumplings–the first time I’ve done anything yet to “Celebrate Rory’s heritage” because, well, for a while there I think I had Post-traumatic quarantine syndrome. I did not want to even think about China, and that extended to Chinese New Year–but somehow, today, I at least got in a first batch of dumplings ever. Lisen and I, we did good.
A pack of 6 playing together (one's hanging out the playhouse window)
Lily, Wy and Rory plus Spark, Cupcake and Princess EEE
Plane Travel: Piece o’ Cake (thanks Nintendo!)
Friday, February 19th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | 1 Comment
Today we flew home from DFW to BOS, just me and the gang of four–and we were fine. Dandy, even. Got to the airport, checked our bag and the little bag of coats, went through security, ate breakfast, got on the plane, seized our portable electronic devices (in my case, the Kindle) and went to town. Thanks to my policy of forbidding all access to said portables while visiting Grandma (well, ok, not for me), we were delighted to see them and endlessly amused by them. It was a dream flight from my perspective, and apparently a huge relief to the lady seated next to the boys, who even said something nice about their behavior after the flight.
Other parents kept saying wow…just you and ALL OF THEM? And I would nod, and look at their smaller child or baby, and say you know, honestly, all of them are easier than your little one–speaking as someone who’s done both. No one believed me, but it was true. We have crossed the flying Rubicon. No one will scream (except in momentary outrage) or fight to get out of the seatbelt or demand to walk up and down the aisles. Done with all that. Wa-hoo.
One piece of advice for savvy travelers: SIPPY CUPS. Because the minute you let them get an open cup of anything and put it on that tray, it’s all over but the singing. Even Sam gets a dignified version.
Also, candy. We’re going to have to wean Rory back off the stuff now. She’s been mainlining candy and Sprite for the past week.
But those portable electronic devices…well, they were a godsend on the plane. Truly. But otherwise, they’re by way of becoming a problem around here. Not because I don’t just say no, because I do–but because I am getting tired of saying no all the time. I am getting tired of thinking about it all the time. It’s only Wyatt and Rory–and honestly, Rory is maybe more into it, or at least she takes the nos harder. I don’t like her escaping into the little electronic worlds so much. I am thinking about declaring some sort of Nintendo zone–as in, you can play as much as you want on Sunday afternoons, but other than that, no. I don’t want to say, whatver amount of time a day–because often, that should be no time. But sometimes I want them to go ahead and play–that Wii game represents a real break for me, and they do it together. But they just want it so bad, it kind of freaks me out. It’s more interactive than TV–but they almost never actually ask for TV. They don’t care about it. But this–it’s all Rory thinks about. She must ask for it twenty plus times a day. But they do do other things, and very happily, once that option is removed. Which makes me toy with removing it permanently. But I guess I’ll just keep saying no.
On our way!
Friday, February 19th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | Comments Off
KJ Dell’Antonia
sent from my iPhone
The American Girl Doll Store
Thursday, February 18th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | Comments Off
Yum…but after, there was Orange Cup Yogurt: my new absolute fave.
KJ Dell’Antonia
sent from my iPhone
Grandma is barfing, so…
Wednesday, February 17th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | 1 Comment
Grandpa steps up. That’s Fox in Socks: a level five reading challenge.
KJ Dell’Antonia
sent from my iPhone
Texas Hike
Wednesday, February 17th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | Comments Off
It’s gorgeous here today! And no one
Compared this hike to a "forced march."
KJ Dell’Antonia
sent from my iPhone
Rory, Anxious but Coping
Tuesday, February 16th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | 1 Comment
We’re visiting my parents, much loved by all kids including Rory–but she’s never been to their house before. And we haven’t stayed overnight anywhere besides our house since we went to the Cape last summer–a place which offers many, many consolation prizes for not being home, and where Rob was with us. Here, no pool, and no Rob either. Rory is doing really well–too well, some of the time, tearing around shrieking and jumping on the sofa–but she’s also sucking that thumb, way more than ever before. I’ve actually never seen her suck her thumb other than in the few seconds before she falls asleep (she literally falls asleep about seventeen seconds after she closes her eyes and pops the thumb in) but here we’re seeing the thumb during daylight hours, so I’m guessing someone’s a little nervous. But she’ll be fine, and fine, as in with another tough first under her belt. Overall, a good thing.
They Take Mardi Gras Seriously Here
Tuesday, February 16th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | Comments Off
KJ Dell’Antonia
sent from my iPhone
CRAZY SPORTS PARENTS or the MMMRPH MRRPH (or, Hockey Drama in Perspective)
Monday, February 15th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | 2 Comments
You may recall my muffled, angry comments about a mysterious local dispute I referred to as the “MPHOLLYPMHRPYLL MURPH MURPH Tempest, teapot MUMBLE MUTTER GRUPM GRIPE” in an earlier post (one too short to merit a link) and then questioned everyone about here, referring to the whole kerfluffle as “Thingy…” If so, or even if you don’t, prepare yourself for what has, thus far, made nearly everyone I’ve described it to giggle in its utter, insane, blown-out-of-proportion-ness. Here’s what I wrote about it, but didn’t post, last month:
Broadly, here’s the scoop: the coach is intense. Passionate. And good–a former Dartmouth goalie, and he’s got the second tier Mites team (that would be 6-, 7- and 8-year olds to the unitiated)–actually playing like a team and winning, and if you’d seen them two months ago, you wouldn’t have thought they could find the puck if it hit them smack in the mask.
Without going into details (partly because I don’t know them) the easiest way to put it is that what some parents interpret as coaching, others interpret as abuse. I mean, there’s slightly more to it than that, but it looks like, at this point, there’s no smoking gun, so to speak–it’s just that some of us don’t care if some of his constructive criticism comes in the form of shouted commentary, and some do. Some parents are ok with him busting on kids who don’t pay attention when he lays out plays, and some support it. And some parents think that, at 8, it’s silly to say anything to a player that might make him or her feel bad, while others think that’s one of the ways you improve.
I think that’s it. You can probably tell that I think he’s a good coach–in fact a great one–but it’s also true that I’ve known him for seven years, and that Sam has known him since he was two years old and, while he would absolutely take anything this guy said to him to heart (because he worships him) and maybe even get upset if it were really negative, a) he would never think his coach didn’t care about him underneath it all and b) I absolutely, 100% know that this coach puts the kids first. But hey, I admit it–if I didn’t know him so well, maybe I wouldn’t feel that way. I’d like to think I would. I believe it’s the coaches and teachers and bosses that call you out on it every time you give anything less than your best are the ones that change your life, and the ones you remember.
So that’s the background, but here’s the question. Tomorrow night the local hockey powers that be haul all the team parents into the locker room during practice. I’d say there’s flat out no chance it won’t get ugly. Everybody thinks they’re right–and, if I’m right, in a sense, everybody IS right. I think it boils down to some of us being ok with a certain style, and some not.
I have to go to the meeting. The question is, how. Do I go in swinging, to defend both a friend and what I consider to be an important principle–that kids benefit from honest, even if tough, coaching, teaching or anything else? Or do I, as was my original plan, go in head down, mouth shut and just hope to get out of there with a few shreds of relationship with fellow parents and neighbors intact? (I should probably note that I have already written a letter of reasoned support.)
That was last month. Since then, I, as I said, wrote that letter of support–a total of ten families wrote ten different glowing letters–and went to that meeting, where the tale of how the horrible scary coach had the poor, quivering 7-year-old afraid to return to the locker room honestly nearly brought tears to my eyes, except for this lingering feeling that, somehow, we were played like a violin. At the meeting, I said only that I couldn’t imagine the coach behaving that way, and that Sam had had a great year…blah, blah–and was caught, on the way out, by the prime actor in the complaint (and I use the word actor advisedly) who made a great show of how sad she was to do this thing, to which I said oh, you did what you had to do–and left, kicking myself.
Because I knew this was all wrong. I knew, of course, that the coach was a good guy—and by that, I mean a really good guy. I knew, too, that the kid in question bore more resemblance to Bart Simpson than to Little Lord Fauntleroy. We’d been told a story of the kid sassing the coach in the locker room, and the coach speaking to him in such a mean tone that two other people there “wished they’d interfered,” but I knew that one of those people was angry at the coach because he wants his kid to play goalie, and the kid doesn’t always want to play goalie, and the coach is willing to let him explore other positions (imagine! at seven! Not having the commitment to play goalie in every game! there goes that kids’ scholarship.) The other one I had no scoop on, but it felt wrong–other people in the locker room, Rob included, noticed nothing–and man, I just itched.
So I went out with a friend, and regaled her with the story. Why do I feel snowed? She cracked up. You feel snowed, she said, because you listened to me tell you stories all last spring about these people and Little League. OOOHHHhh….
So–to make a long story longer–I very nicely called one of the board members of the hockey association, and politely pointed out that the kid in question had a history of discipline issues, and also suggested he speak–as one does, in a small town–to anyone who’d helped organize Little League, and figured, well, this is the hockey board, after all–surely they’ve dealt with helicopter parents before?
Apparently not, because last week they sprang a letter on the team parents, saying that after “receiving complaints from concerned parents” and a meeting with all parents, they were condemning the team, its culture, and everyone associated with it, that the “entire coaching staff” was responsible and, blah blah blah, the Head Coach would have to apologize to young Bart for refusing to take his sass, and we were all going together to hell in a handbasket.
Does that not sound to you like ALL the parents were upset? Like EVERY player had a bad year? Like the coach had been wandering around with a whip and shouting “the beatings will continue until morale improves?” Well, trust me, that’s what it sounded like.
This grows too long, and I’m sure it’s not over. One parent fired off an instant and very appealing response that can be summed up briefly as “fuck you and the horse you came in on,” and most of the rest signed a letter I wrote, demanding that the Board at least acknowledge that the complaining parents hadn’t lived up to their part of the bargain, by bringing kids to practice on time or, say, raising kids that didn’t behave like wolves…is it just me, or is this not sounding more and more ridiculous by the minute? Are you not sitting there going, are you people KIDDING ME? DO YOU NOT HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO? And you are right. But the thing is, that “entire coaching staff” so blithely gutted in that letter–those were a bunch of guys who volunteered to spend hours–hours–every week, all winter long, teaching our kids to play hockey. Did I say VOLUNTEERED? And the one “head coach” that sounds so official? Another volunteer, a dad, who played for Dartmouth and just really wanted to coach his kid’s team. None of the rest of us are that worked up about hockey. We’re worked up because attacking these guys is just that wrong.
Meantime–and this is where the perspective comes in–I walked into my cousin’s house in Texas today and found her on the phone, nodding and rolling her eyes and trying to hang up. Turns out it was the wife of her 5-year-old’s soccer coach. Why, said wife wanted to know, was my cousin quietly moving her kid–without complaint, just peacefully and in the background–to another team next season after he’d played two years on said husband’s team? (Note, in case you missed it, that he’s just barely about to turn five, which means that by “playing on a soccer team for two years” I mean “standing around in a field wearing soccer clothing and admiring the ball, the dandelions and the pretty sky equally while, for some reason, adults cheered.”)
Well, because said husband has been standing on the sidelines, drinking and shouting things like “What, do you have no interest in this game? Just get off the field if you don’t want to play! Get off the field! That’s it, get off the field!”
Which struck me as a good reason to maybe enroll all of our kids in a nice basket-weaving class.
Texas Snowman
Monday, February 15th, 2010 | Connecting the Dots | Comments Off
KJ Dell’Antonia
sent from my iPhone
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