I Have No Shame

My garage, two years after moving into this house:

At least you can walk through it now. That’s an improvement. I’m happy to provide the public service of letting you feel better about your own garage, or whatever other room of dirty secrets you may have in your house.

Oh, and I can fit a car in here, see?

Sweet, sweet Miss Lucy. I still owe you an alternator. I’m a bad mama. Hey, what’s that on the wall?

No, not the hacksaw. Not the push broom. The long thing straddling the boards, IYKWIM.

Oh, this is new. It came home today with CC. Here’s the part where I win the husband contest, even though my garage (which is all my mess anyway, not his) looks like the Room of Requirement.

Observe.

The back of an arrow:

The front of a different arrow:

The front of the first arrow shot into the back of the second arrow:

Yep.

Color me impressed.

Splitting an arrow with another arrow was the only way CC could drag the range attendants’ attention away from #2, who was with him and is a fine shot herself. For some reason, the old guys there are more interested in a pretty fifteen-year-old female archery protegé than my handsome husband.

When he asked about repairing the arrows, they kind of looked at him and said, “We might be able to fix the back one, but really? You should hang that up on your wall. That’s a trophy.”

The kids and I don’t think the pegboard in the garage behind the Mustang is a good place to display a trophy. They all agree, it’s wicked awesome. We’re exploring other options.

I’m wondering where we can display Dad’s archery talents to have the greatest impact on potential teenage boyfriends. Any ideas?

She Hurts My Soul

We’re doing a summer reading challenge at my house with #2-#5. We let #1 off the hook because she done graduated.

Schools send home a suggested summer reading list with the kids on- wait, I don’t actually know when they do this. Last day of school? It doesn’t seem the list would have a very good shot at making it home if that were the case. Second-t0-last day of school? Do they mail it the week after school gets out? I have no idea. I only know that the list for each kid always makes it up onto either the bulletin board or the fridge, with one exception.

I’m lookin’ at you, #4.

Not that all the other kids eagerly hit their summer reading lists before they start sleeping til noon, eating popsicles for breakfast, and staying in their pajamas until dinnertime. The only one who reads voluntarily even if we’re not having a power outage is #2.

But their lists always go up. Then we commence ten weeks of them not reading anything on their lists, and me using ineffective methods of trying to get them to read.

This is baffling to me. My mom used to have to force me away from my books.

This year I gave each kid a certain number of pages to read every day, the equivalent of twenty to thirty minutes of reading. It’s what they supposedly do anyway during the school year.

There’s even a reward: if they all meet their page goals I’ll buy them a new Wii game. No, the irony is not lost on me. Get off my ass.

Here’s our progress:

Immediately after we started the challenge, #2 went away to volleyball camp at the Naval Academy. Even while playing approximately 187,046 minutes of volleyball every single day, she finished her entire six weeks of reading in ten days.
#3 dug into her list and our bookshelves and found some things she liked. This is a first. She stayed up late many nights reading, not texting boys. I know this with certainty because her phone is broken. She liked The Lovely Bones and The Maze Runner. She finished last week.
#4 acted as if I were asking her to strangle kittens instead of read.
#5 loves the Magic Tree House books. They were on his list last year, but I think this late interest is a result of him being a full year younger than most of his classmates. I’m cool with that. He likes to come into our room to read because it’s quiet.
#4 now isn’t even keeping up with lying to me about reading.

After the first week of the challenge, all the kids give me updates. #4 tries to escape. I call her back into the kitchen.

Me: How’s your reading?

#4: Good.

Me: How much have you read?

#4: Um. I don’t know.

Me, narrowing my eyes at her: Have you read at all?

#4: Yes! I was just in my room for twenty minutes reading!

Me: Well, what’s going on in your book?

#4: Um, I can’t remember.

I make her bring it to me. The book is a challenge for her, which is the point. She’s heading into sixth grade and needs to step up. I try to come up with ideas to help. I tell her that as long as she makes an honest effort, I’ll count it. She can fall short of the goal, but if she’s trying, we can work something out. She reads nine pages out loud to me while we’re in the kitchen. It’s a good book.

I think that’s the last time she reads.

I got home from work the other night and found this:

Her jotted-down user name and password for a kids online gaming/virtual world site.

NO READING 4 ME

ME NO READ

You hurt my soul, #4.

Not to be a total doomsayer, but I’m fairly confident she won’t miraculously bust out her reading chops over the next two weeks. Overall, the challenge has been a success: two of three kids who swore they hated to read are liking reading.

#4 is a happy, well-adjusted, smart kid with good grades who would just rather be swimming or skateboarding or pretty much anything else besides reading. She has a ton of friends and whenever she gets in trouble, it’s usually hilarious. Not a bad place to be, really.

But what about the reading challenge reward? The deal was that all kids had to make their goals to get the Wii game. I can’t very well get a game and be all like, “Don’t let your sister play it!”

I’m open to ideas (unless you live in this house and I refer to you by number, in which case a suggestion such as “Give them their own Wii and TV in their rooms!” will just earn you extra chores).

How do I reward the kids who made their reading goals?

All Over the Map

I heard about the little boy in Brooklyn yesterday. Someone left a NY Post on the subway I took from work and I saw the headline. CC filled me in, just the barest details because I asked him to stop. It wasn’t something I could handle in public.

Later, around 1:30am, way after everyone else was asleep, I looked it up online. And I wept. I sobbed so hard I woke the puggles up and they both tried to be in my lap at the same time.

Christine at Quasi Agitato wrote a post about it that I read and thought me too.

When I could pull myself together, I went into #5’s room. He’s the same age and wears the same glasses as the little boy who took a wrong turn and met the very wrongest man.

I know that real parents do this, but I don’t very much: I scooped him up and I squeezed him and gave thanks for him until I was afraid he’d wake up and wonder why I was acting so weird, and I stopped, because I didn’t want to tell him. I don’t want him to know that things like this happen in our world.

I fell asleep crying, thinking about the little boy and his family, and his close-knit Orthodox community who through all this badness are saying, We were lucky to have him if only for a short time, who are saying, God wanted it, and are being stronger than I can comprehend.

Here’s the part that I hate. I woke up late. I didn’t immediately remember why I felt so heavy, why my eyes were swollen. Found out there was a presentation at Vacation Bible School this morning, the last day of it, and the kids wanted me to come, which made me cranky.

I snapped at all the kids and I didn’t realize it until they went out the door.

Ever wish you could have a do-over? I heard somewhere I could start my day over any time I wanted to, so that’s what I did. I tried to be nice to all the kids and not be a jerk for the rest of the day.

****************

I went to the presentation at VBS. #4 and #5 were participants, #3 was helping with the little teeny kids, and #2 sat with me. It was pretty amusing.

First off, each kid had been given a glow stick necklace, and most of them wouldn’t hook properly. Total glowstick chaos in the darkened gymnasium. The lady running the presentation got on the microphone and apologized for the poor fastening, but told the kids that they needed to leave their glow sticks alone. It was about as effective as you might imagine. The kids who did get them hooked were flinging them around, rolling them like hoops, playing ring toss. The kids who didn’t were largely using them as lightsabers.

They did, however, quiet down for her.

I looked at this gym full of kids learning about God and I remembered that the boy in Brooklyn was learning about God at his camp too.

There was music. They had tracks from a national band that does kid worship music. While it’s not really my thing, I liked that this band took old hymns and totally hipped out the music, all different styles. Lots of hooks. I love hooks.

I also loved that the opening number had a shitload of Marilyn Manson riffs in it.

I learned that God is unchanging. That was the theme of VBS this year.

I was reminded that the people in this church are really nice. I’m the one who doesn’t attend services, but everyone is looking out for the souls of my children and they go out of their way to make sure the kids know about things like VBS and Sunday School, and they even pick them up and take them there. Even though I suck, these people never make me feel anything but welcome.

I learned that they’re soldiers in the Lord’s Army. Which I guess is kind of like the KISS Army, but mightier (except perhaps where marketing is concerned).

When it was over, my kids all flocked over to me and were running up and down the bleachers. #5 informed me that he has a new way to play dead, and indicated that it involves his glow stick. He ran off.

#2: Never a good sign when one of your children tells you he has a new way to play dead.

Me: Too true.

He never did demonstrate it.

Then they fed us. Did I mention that these people are really, really nice?

#5 kept poking my stomach while we were sitting on the ground eating chips and hotdogs. He thought it was hilarious and kept ~~saying~~ screaming at the top of his lungs, “It jiggles! It jiggles!” Thanks, #5. On the way back to the car he grabbed a cookie. It was homemade. Chocolate Chip.

#5: Do you have a cookie?

Me: No.

#5: They’re really delicious. (“delicious”. I love it when he says things like that) Do you want a bite?

Me: No, but thank you, that’s very sweet of you to offer.

#5: Good.

Me: Good?

#5: Yes, I’m glad you don’t want a bite.

Me: If I had said yes, would you have said, “Too bad”?

#5: No. But I would have told you to take only a small bite.

Me: Oh.

#5: You can fit like a whole cookie in your mouth.

*******

When I got home, I saw that Chase McFadden and Leanne Shirtliffe had posted #4 and #5’s Jump Off a Cliff and Fall to Your Doom Song on Stuff Kids Write. That made me smile.

I had a conversation with #1 on the phone. I liked that. We don’t talk enough.

CC had an unexpected afternoon off. He was reading on our bed when the puggles came up and fell asleep in circles next to him. He nodded off. #5 came in and sat next to them and read his Magic Tree House book, petting Casey the whole time. It was super cute and I wish I had a picture of it, but my camera is dead from a recent trip to pick up #2 from her volleyball camp at the Naval Academy, so you’ll have to settle for a different picture of #5 and Casey sleeping.

There’s a thirteen year old girl with type one diabetes at the Bikram yoga studio I go to in the city. She’s doing the 30-day challenge and blogging about it here. I couldn’t go to a class today, so I went to the gym and worked out hard.

Diana at Life Well Blended linked to a recipe that I tried. I think it was supposed to be one of those thirty minute deals but it took me more like an hour and a half (not surprising). I made it ugly but yummy, and the kids mostly ate it.

Sweeping my front porch for the first time since I moved in two years ago, I was joined by a mother wild turkey with eight baby wild turkeys. Wished again for my camera. I love the sounds they make. I’m also glad I don’t drink Wild Turkey anymore.

#5 and I are in the scary part of our current book, I Survived Hurricane Katrina, where the family is trapped in their house and the water is coming into the attic and they’re chopping their way out onto the roof. He wanted to know how big their house was, how tall, and when I told him it was the same as ours, he was afraid. So I got us out of it with a joke, like we always do. We joked about how Jack will always protect us from the storms because that’s why he’s so worried all the time: he’s on emergency watch. And he would bark that water right back to the ocean.

I’m listening to Rasputina. I’m listening to Type O Negative. I’m trying to shake the heavy and accept what is. How I wish I was in Brooklyn on Monday just happening to walk down the wrong turn street at the right time. How I wish I didn’t need do-overs in my own home, that I always remembered what a gift each day, each moment, with each kid is. The familiar feeling comes that somebody trusts me way too much, that clearly there’s been some error.

But I’m still here. We’re all still here. Thank you, whoever, for that.