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Thirty-Eight — Monkey Bars

As part of Ginger’s Bring Back the Words series of prompts, I am posting a moment of peace from my week.

I was going to do this prompt days ago but guess what, there has been little in the way of peace this week. Lots of noise, fighting, adjusting, deep breathing, and some sleeping, but little that I would call peace, until today.

This afternoon the kids and I walked up to the elementary school to play in the playground. It’s a really nice playground, with big trees that provide some shade, and several different levels of playground equipment. We played there before it was Arlo’s school, when my heart leapt to my mouth when he was a toddler climbing the so-many-feet-tall green playground structure. And we have spent many, many hours there since he started school, during which hours I have watched him jump to the ground from that same green structure.

Today, both kids were all about the monkey bars. Arlo has a graceful way about him on monkey bars, a rhythm. He has the same rhythm when he walks, which looks more like skipping or dancing. He uses his whole body, head to toe, to propel himself from one bar to the next. He learned to do the bars halfway through his kindergarten year and has incredible upper body strength. I am awestruck every time.

As a younger sibling, Eli has learned the monkey bars a year earlier than his brother did. He moves from bar to bar with a more jerky movement, his lower body stays stiff while he swings. And he can’t reach the higher bars because his arms just aren’t quite long enough, but he tries and tries, dropping to the ground, laughing, getting up and trying again.

The two of them on separate sets of bars, swinging without speaking, all concentration and the slap of bare hands against metal. I could watch them forever.

Thirty-Seven!!!!!!!!!

I ran into a high school friend today. I recognized her because she and I are facebook friends, and because when you look at someone for five years, you get pretty familiar with her face. She had her three year old with her, I had my two with me. We chatted very briefly about things — I know most of what’s going on with her because, again, we are facebook friends — and then moved on.

Later I got a message from her, telling me it was great to see me!!!!! and she hoped I would have a great summer!!!! and I scanned the message and then debated replying and then replied, to be polite, and then I looked at it again and realized that the first sentence ended in five exclamation marks and the second ended with four.

I want to know, now, how people go from one exclamation mark to five. If one exclamation mark is intended to indicate a level of excitement slightly greater than you would get from simply ending the sentence, then surely two would be enough to indicate that you are excited beyond that first flush of excitement. And if two says you are beyond excited, does three say you are over the moon with delight? And then, four. Four exclamation marks, to me, says you are making a joke about how many exclamation marks you are using.

But five. You went all the way to five exclamation marks. Just because we ran into each other at the mall.

I’m not being as snarky as you might think, here. I honestly want to know a) how she decided to go to five exclamation marks and b) why she stopped there. Once you’re at five, why not six? Eight? Nine? Nine is my favourite number, I would pick nine.

This is what a sentence looks like with nine exclamation marks at the end!!!!!!!!!

There is no way to ask the question that doesn’t result in a de-friending, and I don’t want to de-friend, so I won’t ask, but I will continue to wonder.

Thirty-Six — Hammers

How is it only Wednesday, July 3rd? Seriously.

I mean, already! Already Wednesday, July 3rd. Thinking positively!

We spent almost four hours at the park with the wading pool today. The wading pool gets filled at noon and drained at 3. It takes 45 minutes to fill and test for poisonous bum germs, and another 30 for the park attendant to throw all the toys in. Among the usual water toys (buckets, boats) were three inflatable hammers. At first the shock of the freezing cold water rendered my shouty children speechless (well worth the price of admission.) Then they proceeded to fight over the inflatable hammers because wouldn’t you? Yes, there were three hammers and three boys who were playing together (my two and their friend), but there were also two older boys who took one of the hammers and oh! there was much hammer negotiating and hammer smashing and “don’t smash me with that hammer!”ing.

Bless the park attendant, who engaged everyone in some ball-tossing and What Time is It Mr. Shark-ing, but before long, one boy had turned his head, looking for the hammer, and shortly thereafter the hammer wars started up again.

Next time I go to the park with the wading pool, I will slip a safety pin in my pocket. Hammer problem: solved.

Thirty-Five

Reality has set in. The first half-day of summer vacation, it rained. The second we went to run errands. The three-day weekend involved two adults. Today, it was just me and two kids.

I had no plan for today. I thought about making a plan and then I thought, no, I will WING IT because people do, all the time, and nothing bad happens. Wrong! People do, all the time, and they suffer for it. Make no mistake. Learn from mine.

6:00 The kids are up.

6:30 I am up.

7:00 SA leaves for work.

8:00 The kids have finished breakfast and TV time and they go outside to sell rocks, a task which involves paper and pens and making signs and deciding on price points.

8:30 No customers. Sadness fills the land. They decide to make bookmarks instead. I try to help them make nice straight bookmarks but they are all about the speed. Eli scribbles madly on a bookmark. I am unjustly irritated by this. “What is that?” I ask. “It’s SPACE,” he says. Fine.

9:00 No customers. Sadness fills the land. They come inside and paint each others’ faces with face paint and then decide they will paint peoples’ faces instead of sell rocks.

The same problem occurs, namely that there are no customers. It is Tuesday. People are at work, on holiday, or our lovely retiree neighbours J & B, who have bought their share of rocks already and are no way in hell going to get their faces painted.

9:45 I offer to take the kids to the park. They decline, insisting they will wait for face paint customers.

I feel good about this, I guess, because they are self-amusing, so I can tidy the kitchen and read things and do laundry and not talk to anyone but I also feel out of sorts because we go out in the mornings, it’s what we do, and I feel like I can’t commit to anything unless the proper protocols have been observed which is why, in a nutshell, I cannot WING IT. There are protocols. If I start something, I will be interrupt–

10:00 We need a snack! (see?)

They eat a snack and then go back outside to wait for face paint customers.

10:30 I ask them when they might want to go out and get some apples. We are all out of apples. I have given up on the park but I will not relent on the apples. Eli says in 30 minutes. I take a shower.

11:00 Arlo decides he wants to go out after all! and spend some of his birthday money on a toy. He proposes Toys R Us. I counter-propose Superstore, since I can get apples there. We agree.

11:30 – 12:30 Superstore. I walk past the fitting room in the clothing section and hear two children fighting and their mother say “That is IT there are NO MORE CHANCES,” and I almost go over and knock on her door to tell her it will probably all be OK but I have to stop my children from hitting each other with clothes hangers.

Arlo buys a small gun that shoots darts. Eli brings $2 of his money to spend and while I appreciate that my children are careful shoppers seriously oh my god just buy something I am going to die here listening to Peter Cetera and other peoples’ children fighting in the fitting room. Eli buys two bottles of scented bubbles and is very happy with them so that’s a relief. No bubbles buyer’s remorse.

I buy apples.

3:00 We make an afternoon trip to the park across the street. We are so lucky to have a park across the street. If the park was further away I would *really* be annoyed that Arlo just sits there next to me the whole time we are there while Eli runs around playing, and then whines and complains when I say it is time to go. “I was having fun,” he insists. “It didn’t seem like it to me,” I insist back. “Next time just ask me,” he says. Oh you bet I will.

6:00 Dinner: barbecued chicken, couscous salad with broccoli. SA comes home and takes the kids over to the community centre for Arlo’s first karate class. At first I plan to go too and then I think better of it. If I’m going to survive this summer, I need to take whatever scraps of solitude I can.

(Don’t worry, tomorrow I have a plan.)

Thirty-Four — Canada Day

I made Arlo a birthday cake yesterday for his birthday today. It was passably Canadian, relatively tasty, and frosted with delicious buttercream, which is all that really matters. If the last flavour you taste of your birthday cake is sweet, chocolate, and buttery, then it was a successful cake. And luck will follow you! I just made that up! Let’s see if it comes true.

Last night, Arlo tried convincing me I should put his presents downstairs, just so he could look at them. I declined. He still stayed up until nearly nine o’clock and got up at before six o’clock so we knew it was bound to be a fun day full of mood swings and chaos. But first, coffee.

Just call me “Angel of the Morning.” Everyone else does.

Then, presents. Arlo got some Zinkies from Eli, a ninja costume from his grandparents, a Lego minifigure encyclopedia, headphones, and a box of rocks from me and Saint Aardvark. The box of rocks was a huge hit. Hey, they were fancy rocks. I bought them at a rock shop. Fool’s gold! Crystals! My kid is wild about rocks. (this picture is not of the box of rocks.)

Yay, that book I wanted!

We went to my parents’ house for the day. It was really hot there, but they have a small pool, a big tree, and a hose to fill hundreds of water balloons. There was a lot of screaming. The good kind.

There’s a very involved battle going on here.

We ended the day wet, tired, hot, and happy. Some of us were a bit dirtier than others.

This shot captures the moment of water balloon impact at Arlo’s feet. Cool, huh?

The repeatedly-christened seven year old might smell dodgy but still remembered to say ‘thank you for the rocks, Mommy’ when I kissed him goodnight. And so, goodnight to you all.

Thirty-Three

Today it was hot so we went to the mountains. Thirty short minutes by car and we were in North Vancouver, up at Lynn Valley Canyon, AKA the park with the suspension bridge that is Free. One of these days I should go to the real Suspension Bridge (Capilano) and pay the $20 or whatever it is, and see what all the fuss is about. But, because I have lived here all my life and have crossed a suspension bridge across a yawning chasm over rushing water many, many times, I will not pay until there is a good reason.

Today being the Sunday of a long weekend and summer and really fecking hot, our 10:30 arrival time, while late by our standards, was late even by everyone else’s. We had to park in the over-over-over flow lot, which was fine because it was in the shade. Of course most things are in the shade, the canyon is full of really tall trees.

We filed across the bridge with all the tourists, some of whom were nervous and chattering, some of whom were taking pictures as they walked, which made the whole walking thing slower, some of whom weren’t tourists but very cranky locals who just wanted to walk their dogs on the other side of the bridge, in the forest.

Oh, the forest. I don’t know if I can explain the calm that comes over me when I walk into a west coast forest; it’s the smell of the cedar trees and the mulchy, muddy floor, the way the sunlight bounces like a pinball through the green canopy, the many many shades of green, on the trees, the floor, the moss, the mould, the mushrooms. Everything is green and brown and soothing. Sound is muffled and even hundreds of tourists and dogs and children traipsing through cannot rise above the sound that is the forest.

Beyond it, the faint rushing sound of water, which gets louder and louder until it’s right there, at your feet, just across the path, and the green opens into a clear glass river studded with silver rocks. People and dogs swim there, and from the rocks above, idiot teenagers jump into the water, and every year someone dies doing this but today we did not see anyone die.

The water is ice cold and it gathers momentum around the rocks, becomes a frenzy, carries sticks and froth and leaves down, down, fast, faster. We watched it, dunked our hands, exclaimed at the cold, and then Arlo wanted to walk up all the stairs, so we found the stairs and counted them (162) and took a break at the top for water and a snack.

Back across the bridge, half an hour later, I had to stop myself looking over the edge because sometimes looking over the edge feeds a panic in me. And something about people taking pictures with their phones –and tweeting them, from the middle of the bridge– makes me superstitious. “The last text he ever received…” reads the news article I’m imagining. And there I would be, surrounded by my family, after a very nice day, all of us plunging to our death because someone had to record the moment.

That’s why I record it now, when we’re all safe at home.

It wasn’t so much cooler in the woods, really. By the time we walked all the way back to the car — and by the time we drove the 30 minutes back home, at noon, without air conditioning (uphill! both ways! in the snow!) — we were sweating. But, we were content, not fighting or sulking. Eli fell asleep in the car and Arlo stared out the window. We were refreshed.

Thirty-two

Thirty-two is how many years old I was when I had Arlo, who turns seven on Monday.

Maybe it’s just that I’m a moody sort of person, but the moodiness of age 7 really suits me. It is self-conscious and insecure, sometimes, with a lot of introspection and ‘being alone in [my] room’ (much to Eli’s chagrin)(I mean fury). There’s a sweetness, still, and generally* not as much nastiness.

*except where his brother is concerned, where there’s always room for nastiness! Who’s got room for MORE NASTY? That’s what I thought, all you siblings.

Several times in the past few weeks, something Arlo has done has made me cry and realize that all the talking and talking and modelling appropriate behavior and talking and explaining and patience (and sometimes not patience) does pay off. SEVEN IS THE GOLDEN AGE, THAT’S ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW.

One day this past week, after school, he was disappointed that a friend of his wanted to play with a different friend, not Arlo. He cried and cried and I went over and gave him a hug. After we got home, he went up to his bedroom and shut the door. A few minutes later, he brought me a card he had made. The card said, “You tried to cheer me up when I was sad. Thank you.”

Another day this week, he asked if I could make cupcakes for him to bring to school and celebrate his ‘summer birthday’ with his classmates. I agreed to do so and then we had a brief discussion about how many he would need, determining 23 including the teachers. “Oh, and we should maybe bring some fruit or something for [kid] because he can’t have cupcakes.” At first I was annoyed because who wants an extra thing to do? Then I realized that every day for a week, someone would have brought cupcakes to class to celebrate a summer birthday, and every day [kid] didn’t get to have one. And my kid noticed. The reaction of the teachers when we provided two Canada Day balloons to [kid] in lieu of a cupcake said it all. #heartburstexplosion

He’s not perfect. But he’s a damned fine human.

Thirty-One

Maybe you thought I was joking yesterday when I said I would take pictures of my water bottle. Well, friends, I spent the whole day with the kids and their moodsand I need to go drink some medicinal wine on the couch. Yes, you really do get to see pictures of my water bottle! Lucky.

Last year I was at the dollar store with Eli, looking for something, probably a notebook or paper bags or a plastic shovel. From the corner of my eye, I saw metal water bottles for $2. “Joint venture between Threadless and Thermos,” the sticker said. I was intrigued. I picked one up and I was instantly in love. On one side it read:

“I’m a huge metal fan!”

and on the other:

“Me too!”

And only two bucks! I would have paid at least five.

Thirty — Summer!

Prompt two for Bring Back the Words: “What is your quintessential summer supply list?”

Today was the last day of school for Arlo. Technically it was only 2 1/2 hours of school. We all stood around outside the school at 11:30 going ‘what do we do now? Do we go home? And? Then? What?’ It was raining, so that didn’t help.

Hopefully it all comes back to me.

Must haves for summer:

– Umbrella and rain boots (ba dump!)
– Internet connection
– Library card
– Lip balm
– Hat (ball-cap style)
– Spare hat (full straw style, in case it gets really hot)
– Sunglasses (must be new every season because I wreck sunglasses. Yes, if I bought a good pair I *might* take better care of them, but then again I might not and then I might end up wrecking expensive sunglasses)
– Sunscreen — whatever’s handy. 30 spf for my face all year ’round and whatever doesn’t smell like coconuts for the rest of my body.
– Children’s sunscreen — the spray-on kind, not too smelly, not too cold, not too sticky you get the idea.
– A big bag to put all the stuff in
– Purse in which to carry the stuff I don’t want the children to find (secret chocolate, my phone, etc)
– I suppose I should check the status of my bathing suits as I have a tendency to buy halves of two pieces when I see them for cheap and then end up with yellow bottoms and black and white tops. I know! Travesty!
– Sandals. I only wear one pair but I own three. Last year I was looking for the perfect sandals, despaired of ever finding them, bought two cheap pairs instead and THEN found the perfect ones. #lesson
– 400 five-dollar t-shirts, two of which start the summer white
– Bubbles for the children to blow
– Water bottle. Have you guys seen my new (late summer 2012) water bottle? I’ll take a picture of it for you tomorrow.
– Tea tree oil for all my itchy spots, not that we have mosquitoes here, I am just itchy a lot
– Heel file because my heels are made of coral. They’re so hard and mean they held up a gas station last week, just for free twizzlers. How embarrassing.
– Toenail polish, the brighter the better
– Deodorant! And hair oil goop stuff so my hair lies down a little bit each day. My hair needs its rest.
– Snacks! I like almonds and raisins and fruit; the children enjoy a fine assortment of crackers
– Tasty beer
– Often gin
– In a pinch, wine
– Music. Lately, the children have become obsessed with SONIC HITS the local HIT STATION that plays all THE HITS. They are starting to chafe my nards with this, actually. I turn the key in the car’s engine and the radio hasn’t even come on yet and Eli says “Is this SONIC HITS?” Are they paying you to listen? I don’t think so. Settle down, Beavis.

And the sanity must-haves:

– Regular showers
– Time to write in my journal in the morning, and a break mid-day, otherwise a full day with two children might just result in me stealing a skateboard and running for the border
– Exercise
– Sleep
– Several nights sitting on my porch until it’s dark, talking with Saint Aardvark
– Tiny vacations, even if they are just in my tiny brain.

Happy, happy summer! I hope!

Twenty-Nine

I was reading NurtureShock last week, approximately six years behind everyone else, and something stuck out for me. The concept of praise.

I am a praiser and a praisee. I don’t think I’m a praise junkie exactly but there are things I do more for the praise and recognition than for the joy of them. (What kinds of things? Um, I can’t think of any offhand, but I’m sure there’s something.)

The research says –I am too lazy to cite here– that when we praise for ability instead of effort, what we get is children who only feel successful as long as they are praised, or until their ability ceases to exist. If we praise for effort, we get children who want to make an effort because the reward is the same; whatever that effort’s reward would have been anyway.

So “you’re so smart” is not as effective as “I like how you tried the question over and over until you found the answer.”

It makes sense. Even as an adult, what can you say to a compliment like “You’re so tall! I wish I was tall!” Yep. Tall. I had nothing to do with it.

Yesterday I opened up this comment page and found I had been comment-bombed by Allison. Allison, who is witty and compassionate and a true blue internet friend that I hope to meet someday. She went back and read something like fourteen posts and left comments on them, many of which had no previous comments at all, and it was this warm blanket of happiness around my shoulders when I saw it. “Oh someone is reading,” I thought, “someone IS reading. Someone is CARING. Someone likes what I say.”

Now, I said I would write 100 blog posts in 100 days and I missed one day I think so far but I never said I would stop if no one commented. I love comments, we all love comments, but I find it hard to find the time to comment on all the blogs I used to read / still read. I get it. It’s part of the give and take of blogging; we write for ourselves and others and we read to connect with those others and some days there just isn’t time to write and read and comment and make dinner.

As I work on effectively praising my children so they don’t give up when faced with algebra someday, I’m trying to also be more conscious of how I talk to myself, and how I rally my internal support system. without waiting for someone to tell me I’m great, they like me, they approve.

So: no comments! I want to keep going without your support!

(Just kidding. But no pressure. Not that you were feeling any, probably. It’s the end of June and we’re all tired. I know.)

(As you were)

(Happy Wednesday)

bad with titles

pretty good with stories