June 23, 2008
Summerfest
We’ve been worshiping at the altar of baseball so frequently that my fanny has permanent ridges from the aluminum bleachers. We head to Cooperstown for a week of baseball on July 4 and the team is working hard to get ready for facing other 12-year-olds from across the nation.
It was only fitting then, that in atonement, and also to get them out of my hair, I sent Finn and Porter to Vacation Bible School this morning. Finn is an official helper and Porter is a participant. Drew is still at camp, wearing a pink shirt and his wallabys as he rides horses and jumps over posts.
During my three hours of freedom, I was the quintessential suburban mom. I Jazzercised. A new lady there told me I was a “great dancer” and you’d have thought the Rockettes had contacted me, I was so buzzed about the compliment.
On to the carwash, where I made out a grocery list for the week: tiny burgers and lamb pilaf from Cooking Light, Chicken Adobo and tacos with some of the mounds of venison in the freezer are on the menu. If anything stands out I’ll report back. I made some phone calls in preparation for our upcoming trip to Cooperstown, then ran by the grocery and the library to pick up a copy of Darkness Visible
, William Styron’s book about his experience with crippling depression. It’s been on my list of books to read for a while, and I’m hoping that the beautiful writing will make up for the melancholy subject matter.
Porter watched “The Parent Trap” this weekend, and I should have guessed that he’d try to masquerade as his brother at Bible School, but I didn’t. It was only when his teacher told me that “Drew had a great day and was very well-behaved” that I realized he’d pulled the twin switcheroo. Finn thought it was dumb, but I think it’s one of the few tricks you’re entitled to as a twin, especially since it works even when the twins look nothing alike.
As we drove home, Finn was devastated to learn that I’d been unable to locate the tortillas at the store. His current lunch consists of pizzas he makes himself with tortillas, pizza sauce, pepperoni, cheese, oregano and Tabasco. Nothing would satisfy him but a quick swing by our neighborhood Piggly Wiggly for tortillas, and that’s what we were doing when he saw two of his friends walking down the street and yelled for the car to STOP.
The boys greeted me, but I couldn’t help noticing that one was making odd twitching movements with his neck which Finn seemed able to interpret.
“I don’t need any tortillas– we can get them tomorrow– I’m gonna go hang out,” he said and bailed out of the van.
“I bet he left so he wouldn’t have to help put up the grocery bags,” Porter said.
“You’re probably right.”
I refrained from saying that as I drove away, I looked in the direction the boys were heading and caught a glimpse of two females of approximately the same age in the distance. Dude picked ladies over tortillas. Things are changing fast around here.
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Two years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Reason #588 Why I Love Publix
June 19, 2008
Not Reassuring
The letters we get from Drew at camp are often a mixture of alarming and reassuring.
Dear Mom,
Your not aloud to have candy at camp. I miss Skittles. Also i need some cortusone really bad.
love, Drew
or
Dad,
I’ve started jumping on horses. You trot over ground poles in 2 point then jump over a pole then canter. Last nite I got sick and had 105. The nurse gave me some medisin.
Drew
He doesn’t look sick to me.
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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Our House Is A Killing Field
June 16, 2008
We Talked Too Much
There’s no polite way to say it. Porter, one of my nine-year-olds, talks too damn much. He narrates his actions as if I’m blind and can’t see what he’s doing. “I’m going to make an omelet with ham and eggs,” he’ll say, pulling the eggs and butter out of the refrigerator. “First I’ll mix up the eggs and scramble them,” he’ll continue, as he cracks the eggs into a bowl. “Now I’m waiting for the cheese to melt a little. Is it melted? It looks kind of oozy…”
I’ve learned to ignore most of the running commentary. But Porter’s also exceptionally curious, and his questions would drive even the most enthusiastic teacher to the brink of insanity.
“What would happen if the sky fell? What Mom?”
“The sky isn’t going to fall, Porter,” I’ll say tiredly.
“But what if it did? Just say it did? Would you feel it hit your head? If you looked up, would you see blue? Would the clouds fall, too? Would we be able to see straight into heaven?”
It had been a hot and dreary day. I’d been juggling Finn’s baseball schedule and trying to mark Drew’s clothes for camp. In between, Porter had followed me around, asking, “How many seeds do you think fit in Feather’s bird feeder at one time? Why do we have grandparents? What would happen if we didn’t? Who invented summer camp?”
By dinner I was spent. I could feel the symptoms of PMS creeping up on me like a cagey leopard. Across the table I saw Finn wielding his fork with surgical skill to extract the onions from the Bowties With Peas & Prosciutto I had prepared.
“Dude, just eat it all in one bite,” I snapped.
“I can’t eat onions,” he whined. “They’re like, really nasty.”
“They’re not nasty,” Porter said, stuffing a quarter of an onion into his mouth and chewing. “They’re actually quite delicious. What makes onions so delicious, Mom? And why can’t you eat the skin? Why do they make you cry when you cut them? What if everything tasted like onions—do you think Finn would starve?”
I slid my chair back abruptly and stood up. “I can’t take it anymore,” I said. “The questions, the criticism of my food, it’s all too much.” I looked at Bill. “Honey, y’all take care of this kitchen. I’m going to bed to read.”
I had barely taken a step when Porter asked, “What are you going to read? Can I read with you? If I bring a book, will you read to me?”
I was shaking. I got in his face and yelled, “Porter, if you want to continue to live in this house, The Questions Have Got To Stop.”
Then I got in bed and wept, over my picky eater, over my nutty schedule, over my cruel remark.
A while later Porter tiptoed in my room and handed me a piece of paper. It contained one last question:
It was nice to be forgiven.
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Two years ago in My Tiny Kingdom: The Dirtiest Camper
June 11, 2008
Feathers And Her Feet
I was getting ready to whip up some Pork Lo Mein when I heard chirping coming from the sink. Upon investigation, I discovered Feathers perched there, apparently ready to help grate ginger. I believe Porter must have been in the kitchen when he was seized by the urge to skateboard, so he deposited Feathers on the kitchen sponge, used the Palmolive and the Fabuloso to hem her in, and dashed outside.
The weird part was not that I found a parakeet by my kitchen sink. It was that Feathers relished her sponge, and refused to climb onto my fingers, no matter how much I coaxed her.
It appears that the sponge massaged every part of her foot, and she needed a little stress relief.
That’s okay, Feathers. All ladies need a little toe rub every now and then.
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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: Sardines & Songs- Off To Camp
June 9, 2008
Drew Busts A Move
It’s rare for me to have uninterrupted time with any one of my sons. Drew and I drove to Greenville on Friday and spent the night, and then I dropped him off at camp the next morning.
Drew padded his seat in the car with his favorite pillow, his iPod, and his teddy bear. His bear is less cuddly than you might imagine, as Drew pierced his ear and stuck a gold loop earring in it. He then unraveled the bear’s knit cap and refashioned the strands into blue dreadlocks. That is one reggae teddy bear.
I spent part of the drive teaching Drew how to blow a bubble with bubble gum. We bought three flavors of Bubblicious and chewed them, then I went through the “flatten, tongue poke, and blow” routine with him. I highly recommend this activity as a bonding experience.
I let Drew pick the music on the way up, and we listened to the rap playlist I created with all of your valuable input. I added a couple of tunes of my own, and so we listened to Chic sing “Good Times,” and then noted that “Rapper’s Delight” shares the same background music. We did the same exercise with “Superfreak” and “U Can’t Touch This.”
While Drew got the point that a major part of rap involves sampling other songs, I don’t think I’ll be teaching Porter the same lessons just yet. I can hear the questions now: “Why can’t you take her home to mother?” “What’s she doing on the street?”
I sang every word to “Rapture” and the background vocals to “Bust A Move.” Drew showed a definite preference for “Brass Monkey” and “Parents Just Don’t Understand.” He was thoroughly entranced with the latter song, and I have no idea why he found it so appealing, thus illustrating Will Smith’s premise, I suppose.
He also asked insightful questions, such as, “Which came first, Bubblicious or Fergalicious?”
One of my college friends lives in Greenville. I’d let her know we were coming up, and she emailed back and said they had a Scottish parade at six. I wrote back, “WTF is a Scottish parade?”
Turns out it’s exactly what you’d imagine, and it marched right in front of our hotel.
I never dreamed that Greenville, South Carolina was the heart of Scottish parade country, but there you go.
This man was clearly the star of the show.
Drew was entranced by the spectacle. The bagpipe rendition of “Amazing Grace” was a far cry from “Baby Got Back,” but I guess that just shows Drew’s appreciation of a wide range of music.
He didn’t say so, but I know that inside Drew was thrilled that he’d worn his plaid Old Navy shorts, like a true Scotsman. He fit right in, except that he was wearing underwear beneath his plaid.
The next morning we got to camp, and my Braveheart got a bit jittery. The custom at camp is to register and go straight into the lake for the swim test. A camper must get a rank of 3A in order to be able to do the water activities such as sailing and kayaking. Even if you plan to stay on land, planted firmly on horseback or on the tennis court, you’re required to take swimming lessons if you don’t reach a 3A. This happened to Drew last year and upset him so much he almost decided against going to camp this year.
As I wrote earlier, Drew worked diligently on his swimming all spring, culminating with his triumphant swim in the triathlon a few weeks ago. Still, even with that under his belt, returning to the scene of his earlier failure, coupled with the prospect of three weeks away from home, turned my usually unemotional son into a red-eyed, quivering mass of bones.
The camp encourages you to leave before your son goes for the test, but it was such an emotional hurdle for us that I found a towel to hide behind and watched as Drew walked down the pier to demonstrate his racing dive, his crawl, his float, and his ability to tread water for twenty minutes.
Although he’s grown several inches this year, he still looked tiny to me.
They got out and stood in line to get marked with the level they’d achieved.
I thought I might die from the suspense. It would be embarrassing when a counselor found my corpse lying beneath the mildewy towel. Plus, I was wearing a pretty short miniskirt, and if I collapsed, I might look indecent. I’d be the “Superfreak” personified– the mom who couldn’t live through her son’s swim test and then died with her leopard undies showing.
Thank God this had a happy ending.
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One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom:Bad Bride
Stumble it!
