Lavish Christmas

I realize that I get defensive when I'm overwhelmed, unprepared, comparing myself, or required to meet somebody else's standards.  Uh... Yes, so that basically describes my lead up to Christmas this year.  That and concerns about money.  Well, not really about money; more about not having it or at least not having it in the quantities that furnish piles of presents, bulging Christmas stockings, and delighted gasps from my children Christmas morning.  I know, I would have thrown myself a pity party, but my calendar was booked.

Then I received three gifts from the internet -not quite gold, frankincense, and myrrh but stories that brought healing into my heart.  I want to share them with you in case you're struggling too.  The first two were forwarded to me by my wonderful mother-in-law just in the St. Nick of time!  At first I thought, "Yeah, sure.  Kids want attention more than stuff.  Not my kid.  My kids wants a Nintendo WiiU.  Hands down.  No questions asked.  Nothing else will make Christmas happy for him."  But then I watched theses Ikea commercials.  What?!  Ikea.  It's for real.

And this one showed me how all that attention can look from a kid's perspective.  If you don't speak Spanish, here's the translation:  The woman says, "Look at all the children enjoying their Christmas presents.  Come here, sweetheart.  What did you get for Christmas?"  He shows her his gift and she is shocked, "That's it?!"  The boy reflects on his joyous Christmas morning.  The woman says, "Poor thing."  The boy looks at her like she's a total weirdo, shrugs, and then returns to his friends.

I was sitting alone on the couch checking my email for the umpteenth time that day.  As I watched these commercials, I became sensible to the fact that my husband was putting the kids to bed.  He was playing the guitar -Jack White, not exactly a lullaby but definitely sing-along material at our house.  I could hear the kids singing with him.  Then he cycled through some originals and some Christmas music.  The flood gates released I realized that even though there won't be a lot of wrapping paper to clean up this year, we are giving our children an incredibly lavish Christmas abundant with attention, bursting with encouragement, and overflowing with love.


The next morning I got a booster shot in the form of a blog post about how one mother's worst Christmas turned into her best.  Read half or read the whole thing.  In case you don't feel like reading it at all, I've included a spoiler at the end of this post.  I read this to my family and we laughed until we cried.  Especially me.  Those are the kind of tears we should have at this time of year.


In that spirit...
I wish you an extravagant, luxurious,  Christmas!



*SPOILER*
The family is experiencing financial straits due to medical issues and the mother is up sewing gifts for neighbors to save money when she realized she has nothing for the children's stockings the next morning and can't even afford a package of gum.  Her 11 year old daughter comes in and learns the plight of her parents.  She says, "All that matters is that we're a family.  I don't care if you squat over my stocking and poop in it."  Lots of laugh.  Clear thinking returns.  The family has an opportunity to bless someone else which has the effect of increasing their gratitude and reducing their worries all in one swoop.  Christmas magic!

Are You Talking About My Kid? Down syndrome

Today we talked to Lily's Sunday school class about Down syndrome.  We didn't dwell on the past or on future.  We talked about what it is and what it means for Lily now.  We talked a little bit about science and hopefully gave the other kids a chance to try on some of Lily's challenges for a few minutes in a fun way.  The children were curious, interested, honest, and completely without guile.

I hope you will talk about my kid.

I'm posting the lesson here in hopes it will help you talk to your children about Down Syndrome. 

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

Bring:

Paper, pencils, chalk, coloring book, marshmallows, goldfish, gloves, weights,  laptop w/photo album of Lily doing a variety of things

Prayer

Sing – I Am A Child of God

Who in this classroom is a child of God?

(all of us)

Before we came to this world, we lived with Him and if we keep trying to obey His commandments, we’ll live with Him again someday.  But for now, we live here on earth and it’s pretty great.  One of the cool things is that we all get bodies that are made to look like God’s body.  We are His children so, of course, we look like Him.

                                                                                                                                                                                      What are some of the ways we are the same?

(emotions, eyes, mouth, nose, hands, legs, teeth…)

But we’re not exactly alike.                           

What are some of the ways we are different? 

(hair color, eye color, skin color, siblings, height, boy, girl, skills)    

What are some of the things that make Lily different?  (Actual comments:  She's short.  She walks like a penguin -Lilys said, "I'm not a penguin!", She talks like a toddler, etc.)

If you’ve noticed Lily is different, you’re right.  Today we’re going to talk about why she is different and how she is the same.  Lily was born with Down syndrome.

What is Down syndrome?

Let’s get fancy:  chalk drawing   Cell – chromosome –gene

Our bodies are made out of teeny, tiny cells.  Inside each cell there are genes.  There is a lot scientists don’t know about genes, but we do know we each have about 25,000 of them!  These genes are packaged into bundles called chromosomes.  Most humans have 23 pairs (sets) of chromosomes.  These chromosomes give your body information about how to grow; whether you will be a boy or a girl, tall or short, dark skinned or freckled.

Chromosomes: 

Chromosomes are the parts of our cells that carry genes.  Genes provide the information that decides the details about us – our hair color, how tall we are, whether or not we like cilantro…

Pass each child a copy of DS coloring book and read pages 4-9 describing cells, genes, and chromosomes

Some people have an extra set of Chromosomes; 47 instead of 46.  When a body had 47 instead of 46 chromosomes, it is called Down syndrome.  It is a condition people are born with.  Lily was born with Down syndrome.  It isn’t contagious, and Lily won’t grow out of it.  I just happens because of an extra chromosome.  All that extra information makes some things, like walking, talking, reading, and writing harder to do.  When things are harder, it may take more effort and more time to get really good at those things.

Here’s another way of describing it: (from Denver Post Mini-Pages)

 

Suppose you’re making sugar cookies.  You use flour, sugar, butter and other ingredients to make the cookies.  But if you add chocolate chips to the batter, you won’t have sugar cookies anymore.  All the cookies will have chocolate chips – you can’t take them out.  When that extra chromosome gets added in, it changes almost every cell of the body, just like the chocolate chips show up in every cookie.  You still have a cookie, but it’s a little bit different.

Lily’s spirit is perfect and pure just like yours, but the extra chromosome in her body also makes her different.

I won’t show you pictures from Lily’s whole life, but I brought an album of photos of Lily from this past year so you can see some of the things she does and enjoys.

Show album – swimming, hiking, sailing, hanging out with friends, making cookie dough, eating pizza, talking on the phone, at the playground, drawing, reading, doing school work, playing instruments, making silly faces, ballet, riding a horse, collecting eggs, at a bonfire, getting her face painted, playing with a puppy, at the library, etc.
Note - There is a picture of Lily with her younger cousin who also has Down syndrome/Trisomy 21.  I mentioned that he had some health issues at first and needed help breathing.  That extra chromosome can affect each person differently.  Lily hasn't had any medical issues related to DS.  

What are some of the things that are the same about Lily? 

(some actual comments:  We both like coca-cola.  We’re both photogenic.  We both like swimming.  We both like dancing…)

Just like you, Lily likes to do lots of different things.  Just like you, Lily has feelings.

Just like you, Lily learned to walk and talk.  She got some extra help to practice making the different sounds.  She will keep getting better at it.  She had to wear weights strapped to her ankles and practice climbing stairs and hills.  Now, she is really good at it and can even run, jump, and dance.

Just like you, Lily is learning to read books and write.  She will keep getting better at it.

I want to help you imagine how tricky some of these things can be for Lily.  

Talking

Let’s practice talking.  Let me hear each of you introduce yourself.  Say, “Hello.  My name is ­­­­­_______________.”  Now, try it with a mouth full of marshmallows. 

Lily’s words are getting better all the time, but if you don’t understand her, she will be happy to repeat herself.  Or if she doesn’t say a word quite right, she is happy for you to help her say it correctly and she’ll try again.  She wants you to understand what she is saying.

Writing – fine motor skills

Next, let’s try writing our names and eating a snack. Let’s try it with Lily’s Dad’s big gloves on.  (Pencil and paper for each kid to write their name).

With the gloves on, try getting a few goldfish out of the bowl and putting them into your mouth.

Even though it is tricky for her, Lily is learning to write her name.  She is learning to read. 

Moving the body – gross motor skills

It is tricky for Lily to learn to move her body.  Try holding a weight in only one hand and notice how much more difficult it is to move that arm.

Have you noticed some things that are tricky for Lily? (talking, sitting still, not touching other people’s stuff, not touching other people, paying attention, needs repeat or reminders, speaking smoothly…)

Some things are really easy for Lily.

Have you noticed some things that Lily is really good at? (SUPER flexible, pranks, volunteering, forgiving, showing love, good friend, hugs, kicking soccer ball, climbing)

Something Lily doesn't like is being left out or left behind.  Nobody likes that.

                                                                

You are each a precious child of God.  He loves you.  Your parents love you.  Heavenly Father has asked us to love each other, too.  When Lily is bothering you can kindly say, “Please stop ­­­____” or  “That’s not okay.”  You can be a good friend to Lily by saying hello.  She LOVES it when you say hello.  It makes her feel SO good.  You can be a good friend to Lily by asking her about what she likes, by being patient, and by inviting her to play here at church or anywhere. 

Do you have any questions about what Lily likes?  (books, games, movies, foods, playgrounds, places to visit, songs…)

Do you have any other questions?

I know Lily cares about each of you.  She knows all of your names.  She talks about you at our house.  Sometimes she prays for you.  She is always excited to come to Primary and see you.  Thank you for being a good friend to Lily.

Prayer

I wish it were that easy

Bedtime conversation last night:

Sparkle: I feel like crying, but I don't know why.

Me: Okay...?

Sparkle: I just thought that since you gave birth to me you might know why I feel like crying.

A Knight's Tale

(No babies were harmed in the celebration of this birthday)


(There was a literary skirmish regarding the definition of "happy ending." Happy for who? The pirate or the prince? Read on for the diplomatic conclusion...

A Knight’s Tale
(As told by the guests of Sparkle’s Medieval Birthday)
Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away there was a princess who was stuck in a tower and a the pirate who was very greedy indeed trapped her. He said, "Argh! Argh! Argh!” And the pirate killed the king.
The pirate hired an evil scientist to make a creature that could help him take over the kingdom. Nearby there was a knight trying to get to the princess to save her. But the pirate killed all the people who were trying to save the princess. Until there was one more prince left.
He had special helpers named Max and Alex. They had super-super power. They had super speed and super vision. The prince heard a voice calling, "help." Then there was a big burning fire from a dragon.
All of them were sleeping at night. the pirate snuck in and went past. The pirate is still alive in the castle with the queen and king dead as Zombies. Watch out. He might get you.
The prince was very quiet back to his cabin. He has a special cabin. His assistants were waiting. He talked to the super speedy one and he said, "I need you to zoom all around the castle."
Then the prince would sneak up because the fast one distracted the dragon. Then the prince killed the dragon. He got the princess and they got married.
Then the magic fairy put an invincible force field around the kingdom and the prince and princess sprinkled magic glitter over all the people to change them back to normal. The pirate and the mad scientist revived the dragon and went to hunt for gold and treasure. So everyone got what they wanted and lived happily ever after.


THE END

Bedfellows: ownership & generosity

I'm not ignoring my fighting girls in the next room. I can hear every word they're saying. I'm letting them work it out.

1: "Get off my BED!!!"

3: "Why are you screaming at me? Why is it such a big deal?!"

1 "I have to scream at you because when I ask you to get off, you don't get off unless I scream at you!"

1,2,3: Variety of yelling, screaming and high pitched harumphing.

Maybe I am ignoring them. I'd better see if I can model some problem solving skills for my beloved daughters.

Me: Do we live in a big house or a small house?

1,2,3: A small house.

Me: Do you have lots of private things and spaces or actually just one private space in the whole apartment?

1,2,3: Just one private space

Me: And what is that private space?

1,2,3: My bed

Me: That's right. Your bed is your one private space that is just for you. You do not have to share it. However, because your bed is your one private space it also gives you an opportunity to be generous. You can extend an invitation to a friend or a sibling to sit or play on your bed and that should be recognized as an act of generosity. In this house, you are not expected to agree all the time. You ARE expected to be kind and respectful to each other. If someone says you cannot go on their bed, I will back them up on that.
Below: This is how we fit five kids into one bedroom (crib left of door)


I'm actually happy that I get to share my bed with someone I love, but it does make me wonder, what is my private space? I share a desk, a computer, a dresser, a closet and a cell phone. Honestly, there is usually somebody reading over my shoulder. My only privacy is in my thoughts. Generally, I want to share those as well. Maybe since my thoughts are the only things that are truly mine, sharing them is the only way I can be generous. So like Dogberry of Much Ado About Nothing, I bestow all my tediousness on you. ;)

Inspection

For the past several evenings I've played witches and evil queens who come to inspect the children's after dinner chores. The silverware must be dry and orderly in the drawer. The tables and counters cleaned smooth from dried food or glue and so on. My children are inspired by the impending inspection, anxious to see my costume and curious how I will behave in my new character. We finish clean-up more quickly than usual, notwithstanding the time it takes to dress up and inspect each chore. Afterwards, they rush to get ready for bed in time for the "reading fairy" who will simply pass by to the next house without giving them a bedtime story if they don't have their jammies on and teeth brushed. It's another costume, another voice, another attitude. As is often the case with people, slow is fast and they are actually getting to sleep earlier.

I know it sounds like silliness, what else could it be? We got the idea from Betty Macdonald's famous Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle. I've learned a couple of things though. The first is that my children want their work to be inspected. They like to know they will receive legitimate praise for a job well done. They also appreciate the refreshing, playful element of surprise. I've learned that I don't like being the bad guy. I've heard actor's say that playing villains is the most interesting. I don't like playing the disappointed witch or selfish queen. Tonight I was the almost-Empress inspecting all the preparations for the upcoming wedding party. My seven year old dried the dishes happily once I explained she was really shining the gold and silver for my royal banquet. They especially loved the kowtows and "My deepest regards to the carpet lady." It was much more fun looking for things to praise lavishly. Later, as the genie-of-work-and-reading, I read aloud while they took turns sorting laundry. Nobody had to work for more than 3 minutes at a time and I got to wear another fabulous costume. ;)

I don't have the energy or inclination to do this every night. But it's delightful to sprinkle it throughout the week. In between, I'm learning to inspect their work and follow-up with judgement. I let them know if improvement is required, but usually I can just praise their thorough work and cheerful attitudes. I have to write about this now while it's still fresh and working. Who knows what next week will bring in the adventures of parenting?

Rockonference

After General Conference on Saturday, my nine year old showed me the list of talk topics and hymn titles that she had written. My favorite was the closing hymn of the second session: Now We Sing at Party!

It did feel like the very best kind of party to me and I'm looking forward to more celebration of goodness today.

Party on!

Torpedo says: be-gone-zo

As a kid, I hated all beans especially those slippery garbanzos that would fly away every time I tried to stab one with my fork.  Good riddance, I'd think as the sneaky bean would shoot off my plate.   Now, I love them.  Garbanzos are a staple in our diet.  Torpedo, who asks for them regularly, calls them "Be-gone-zo beans."  And with him around to gobble them up, they are!

P.S.  I don't buy baby food anymore.  I make "hummus" for Mermaid by dumping a can of garbanzo (or any bean) and veggies (fresh or canned) in the blender with some olive oil (remember young ones need 40% of their calories in digestible fats).  She loves it and Torpedo has even started stealing bites from her bowl.

Too much Twilight?

Sparkle told me that her Sunday school classmates were talking about what they wanted to eat for breakfast. Each child in turn giggled, “Underwear.” You might think the teachers would be pleased to hear a different response from our six year old until she said, “Blood.”

So, the Rabbi says...

My mother-in-law loves to tell a story of a Jewish woman who complained to the Rabbi that her house was too small for her family. No matter how many times I hear it, this one always touches me because my house is too small for my family. The Rabbi sends five more children to live in her house. After a week of this insanity, the five extra children return to the homes they came from and the kvetcher's house feels like a spacious mansion without all those extra bodies and mouths. She is so happy and stops complaining.

That same mother-in-law has just taken in three of my children for the week. I still have a baby and a toddler, but they are easily manipulated and easily pleased. I don't feel guilty if my three year old misses a reading lesson or eats an entire box of Andes creme de Menthes. The baby still has therapy several times a week. But I feel like I'm playing hooky. My responsibilities have diminished drastically. Today, I didn't make my bed until after midnight. I washed and dried the table once. I swept the floors once. I actually mopped the kitchen once. I washed chocolate off the flatscreen, keyboard and mouse only once. But I'm not having to repeat every action multiple times or supervise the repetition of any of these actions, or break up fights, or lose sight of Torpedo while he tears off on some deconstructionist jag. Everything feels so manageable that I don't want to disturb the calm by making a To Do list for myself which would only include more cooking, cleaning, editing and preparing for the future.

In a way, I'm rediscovering myself a little bit. Now, that I can do whatever I want, what am I doing? I'm reading, writing, visiting friends, calling friends and checking out my friend's blogs. I will do a little cleaning and add cooking, editing and preparing for the future next week after I've indulged in a good long Saturday afternoon nap. I miss my girls. It's spacious and simple without them, but I love the richness, texture and joy they bring to my life. I called my children and Sparkle asked, "Mom, could you call back when I have something interesting to tell you?" When they return, I will have fresh eyes and ears for all of the interesting things they have to tell me and Grandma will think she lives in a mansion. =)

More Love

Just putting a little love out there.

A lot has changed in the grown-up world since my last post: economic meltdown, new president, prop 8 fall-out...

In our kid's world there have been changes, too. We welcomed a sweet new niece, Camille, this week. All my girls insisted on sleeping in spongy rollers in preparation to sing for an apostle of the Lord at a special conference of our Stake today. Torpedo is even more in love with Mermaid than at first. He calls her "my baby," and wants to hold her, hug her and kiss her all the time...as do I. ;) Today, I held Angelfish while she wept for a full 15 minutes because (plot spoiler!) Old Dan died in Where the Red Fern Grows. I'm touched by the tenderness of their hearts and the love that multiplies in the world because of them. I have become a better person because there are children in my life. I hope you have some in yours.

Story Problem

“Can we listen to Hannah Montana?” Already, I was dubious about the wisdom of this endeavor. One pregnant woman on a 30 hour road trip from New York City to St. Simons, Georgia, minus one busy husband, plus four children under ten stuffed shoulder to shoulder in a minivan; great idea or hormonally induced catastrophe?! I had avoided traveling alone with kids since a blizzard stranded me as the sole pair of arms to bear the baggage, car seats and collective tears of three small girls watching an empty luggage carousel make its pointless midnight rounds. Though my devoted husband, My Hero, wasn’t available for this new adventure, we had places to go; life to live! Besides, there are no blizzards in September. True, we had added a fourth child (a boy!) in the intervening years and I was well along in a new pregnancy. Still, I only planned to fill the van for one day each way. I would deposit Star, my type-A firstborn, and Angelfish, my wanderer, with their aunt in Maryland while I continued to Georgia with the clingy younger children, Sparkle and Torpedo. Once in Georgia they would be completely absorbed into the same-age children of my hosting friend. Essentially, it would be a kid-free vacation.

This paradisiacal plan sprouted from an humble intent to tour the White House. My Maryland sister had importuned her congressman and six short months later our extended family had been granted access. New York to D.C. had been the impetus upon which our “side trip” to Georgia embellished. This was also supposed to be the easy part of the journey. But the distance between point A and point B now stretched into a sharp, eternal ray. Near stand-still city traffic meant hours in the car, guzzling our allotment of bottled water, covering very little distance. Even with the aforementioned pop diva, once all that water raced through their little systems the typical whines took on a fevered urgency. Only ten miles outside of the city, I informed my belligerent brood that we could not possibly stop this close to home. Star voiced the growing consensus, “Mom, we’re hungry and we have to go!” Maybe the diaper days weren’t so bad after all. I envisioned unbuckling, entering, sticky fast-food fingers, tense whiny exits, and buckling four sweaty bodies back into the same seats now dusted in pretzel crumbs, all deviations from my plan. My shoulders dropped in defeat and I mildly resented the universal release of tension from my triumphant mutineers as we rounded the next exit.

My boy set a New Jersey Turnpike record for the most items attacked by a single toddler at a single rest stop. I grimaced and supported my pregnant belly with one hand while sprinting past indecisive travelers, blankly thumbing artless postcards, to save the Sunglass Hut from Torpedo's disastrous touch. I did not get there first. Star did. Her steady hand deftly caught his chubby wrists before he even grazed the expensive eyewear. Where did she come from? Still in the astonished moment, I spun chasing Torpedo with my eyes. He was headed for the arcade, but Star and Angelfish were racing after him unasked and with surprising success. His small stature enabled him to dart through travelers, but he couldn’t shake them. My husband calls the addition of each new child a “promotion” to which I respond by rolling my eyes, but maybe he had a point after all. I couldn’t safeguard four children at a busy rest stop by myself, but maybe I could delegate. I had to delegate. Angelfish supervised Sparkle at the food court table. Star shadowed our two-year-old Tasmanian. I shouted directions from my position in a slow line for fast food. A well timed rest stop always lightens the mood. For me it was something more, more than a high fructose corn syrup haze. It was the revelation that I could count on my children for meaningful help. We were becoming a team.

Traveling hours are like dog years, especially when listening to “tween” music. I snuck in a few lectures regarding lyrical subtext, but I also memorized many of their favorite songs as we perfected our stereo time-share. Confession: I actually liked most of it. Star's shot-gun seat gave her the most freedom of movement for car dancing, but Angelfish shook her abundant copper hair to great effect. Miraculously, Torpedo slept soundly despite Sparkle “dancing” in the back of his chair. My short legs didn’t allow much room between my belly and the steering wheel, but I caught some of their standout moves in the rearview mirror. Their car dancing choreography all seemed to fit together coglike until it suddenly didn’t. We were only 90 minutes from our nighttime destination when Armageddon rumbled behind me. “She’s leaning on me!” Push. “Well, she hit me!” Glare. “We already listened to her song five times.” Smirk. Shove. “WuuuaaaahhhHHH.” Torpedo wasn’t sleeping anymore. No debates. We veered onto the exit ramp for another micro-managed rest stop. Well past bedtime I finally pushed in the parking brake at Grandma’s house. We could boast an enviable collection of free local maps from the last rest stop, but that would have to wait till morning. We quietly sank into the deep slumber of those who sit too long and stretch too little.

We had two excursions planned for our time in D.C. The White House tour was obviously the jewel at the center of this chain of events. But first we squeezed in a big kids visit to Mount Vernon while Grandma babysat. We had annual membership passes and a systematic approach. We had already viewed the welcome center, the main house, the herb gardens and slave quarters on previous visits. We determined that an indoor expedition would be wise as the mercury was pushing 100. So we kept a steady, if somewhat limp, march over the few hundred sweltering yards to the education center. Beads of sweat were already forming on Angelfish's brow and Star's cheeks were pink with the heat. We had nearly reached our turn off when a free shuttle bus parked at the stop immediately in front of us. Maybe Torpedo's absence made me adventurous. One glance toward my matted girls raised the question. Our deliberate plan included air conditioning and educational opportunities, but this bus shuttled to a boat waiting on the Potomac River only a mile or so away. They resisted. “We need air conditioning.” Nevertheless, they loyally followed me through the open doors where we joined several elderly women in pastel pant suits and name-tags. I smiled, “Hey! The bus has A/C.”

The half-sized bland colored bus bumped along steep forest trails like some ancient roller-coaster ride. We braced ourselves. More than once, I expected to hit a tree. How many pacemakers had been activated on this pilgrimage? We lived to behold to the lazy Potomac river. Other sweaty tourists who had survived the shuttle bus sat under a pavilion fanning themselves with glossy brochures awaiting the next boat. Dust from the departing shuttle bus had settled before we realized that no boat rides were included in our membership. Bummer. We instinctively felt the miles separating us from the air conditioning so precious in southern climates. The unusually calm river did nothing to abate the humidity and supported an abundant mosquito population. I had gambled and lost.

Trudging up the return path, we discovered a four-acre living museum plantation on our left. We hadn’t seen it in shuttle bus blur and I had never heard of it. No other tourists were there. In fact, it almost seemed we had stepped through a time warp to find farmers planting cabbage, touching tobacco plants and carding cotton. An encouraging breeze picked up and carried the cool of the river just across our cheeks and shoulders. My delighted daughters spent the next two hours receiving private training in the horticulture techniques of the 18th century. Watching Angelfish converse with an elderly farmer and plant cabbages in the dust, dripping in costume jewelry rhinestones and sweat, it struck me that my children were between times. They were between fashionista and farmer, between city and country, but also between childhood and the adult world. They were between following and leading. I realized that ‘between’ was a wide open space full of surprising opportunities.

Emboldened by our Mt. Vernon successes, I felt ready for the White House. My childhood dream was coming true. Background checks and security measures which stripped us of water bottles and cell phones only added to the prestige. We were prompted at every turn of our self-guided tour not to sit, not to touch, and not to breathe too freely in the historic halls. My children complied. They didn’t sit on or touch anything. In fact, I had to catch my breath just to keep up with them. They raced past photographs. They barely registered paintings, décor or the craftsmanship of custom cast doorknobs, molding, fire places, etc. They whizzed through so quickly that I wasn’t sure if they’d seen more than an historical blur which probably looked much like any other blur. After the fact, they did recall “sparkly chandeliers” as the standout feature of the famous building. This 25 minute jog through the big white house with “sparkly chandeliers” had been the premise for my entire adventure. I was flabbergasted.

Nevertheless, a pattern for success began to emerge: if the kids were willing to try new things and I was willing to be flexible we all had fun. I enjoyed being with my children. They enjoyed being with each other. They enjoyed being with me. In this miraculous moment I did not want to leave them behind. Given the choice, I wanted to spend 20 more hours crammed in the car and two more days unbuckling, buckling and spreading Georgian sand everywhere with my children. I invited Star and Angelfish to join us. They weren’t impressed by my palm tree appeal, but to my amazement, their proclivity for sleeping in won them over. Evidently, waking up for the seminary class Auntie was teaching that week was less desirable than squishing in the mini-van for 20 hours where you can, after all, sleep.

On departure morning there was little eagerness. Fearing mal de mer, Angelfish nearly escaped without eating breakfast. Sparkle couldn’t find her shoes because she wouldn’t look for them. And Torpedo arched his back in opposition to the car seat. Only my ten year old gem, Star, sparkled with cooperation. Of course, she was riding shotgun and felt the pleasure of her new privileges and responsibilities; not the least of which was controlling the radio. Before the first CD ended, Angelfish did lose her breakfast in the backseat. Armed with a container of wet wipes, Star bravely released her seatbelt and shimmied into the backseat to minister to her suffering sister. With all of the windows opened, our noses eventually adapted to the offense. I empathized with Star. Responsibility was sometimes overrated. Only nine driving hours left for the day.

As we trekked further south of the Mason-Dixon line an odd pattern emerged. We had to make multiple stops for every break. One stop would provide public lavatories, grassy spaces, picnic tables and huge civil war plaques; another stop to fuel the car and a third stop for food. That meant fumbling with seatbelts at least 20 times and finding eight pairs of shoes. Growl. They were clean and well stocked, but in a region famous for its hospitality, the rest stops were unexpectedly inconvenient. Star chased squealing Torpedo in a game called “Don’t die in the parking lot.” Luckily, she was mostly winning because I was too tired to play. I merely watched from the little nest my crossed arms made for my head on a rough hewn picnic table. Angelfish and Sparkle entertained themselves by balancing on the raised gardens ledges around civil war plaques. They found fun at a rest stop with nothing more than a public lavatory, historical plaques and some picnic tables. Surely I could pick myself up by my sandal straps and exhibit a little enthusiasm as well. I corralled my sticky, smiling family around a huge sign boldly declaring “Georgia” and took a picture to prove to my children, lest any of us forget, that I did take them somewhere…once.

Then, I almost took them nowhere. We arrived on St. Simons island after dark. Even a small island can hold infinite wrong turns. Star instinctively understood “Are we lost?” was taboo and transmitted the message to the backseaters who stopped rumbling about the lack of travel tunes, food, space, light, etc. She shifted calmly into navigator mode and maintained constant cell phone communication with my girlfriend as I repeatedly traversed the same few blocks in the last uncertain minutes of our drive. Thanks to her, we finally parked in front of the correct house and stumbled onto the spongy southern grass. “You made it!” my friend cheered. “What’s that smell?”

We had a singularly happy time with our friends against the gorgeous and varied setting of St. Simons, Georgia. Serendipity netted us 19 live sand dollars, an amazing chocolate bread pudding and countless tender memories. Our return trip was smooth. We functioned in concert; little cogs fitted tightly together in a watch. If the cogs were separate, they wouldn’t bump into each other, but the watch would stop. We bumped into each other constantly, but we could soften the blow by working in rhythm and responding to each other’s needs. Yes, we made more unplanned rest stops. We bought greasy, sticky food to make our blood sugar soar. We buckled on shoes and seatbelts ad naseum. We got lost again. And we may never get all the crumbs from the secret crevices all minivans hide, but we will never forget our journey. Based on this proof, my hopeful hypothesis is that the odd family in this story problem can continue at the speed of happiness from point A forever.

Olympic moment

I ran a marathon today!

I know. If I didn't do it myself, I wouldn't believe it either.

I just want to leave you with my favorite quote from Angelfish:

"Mom, do you feel like an Olympic champion even though you didn't get to stand on a podium and you had to put your medal on yourself?"

Yes, Angelfish. I do. =)

HAIKU: Not Torpedo

Phone. Remote. Mouse.
Open window.
4th Floor.
Gone.
Not Torpedo.
The stuff.

No TV

Here is what happens when our kids aren't watching TV:
photo shoot
making a movie
learning the herringbone braid